Today's Sermon: Back To The Future

Well.. I'm not in Reedley anymore. And I felt better once I was outa there too. One would think a weekend in a sleepy.. well catatonic little American town would be somehow soothing. But Reedley is a dying town. The packing plant, one of Reedley's major organs, has already shut down.
It was reflected in the church service I attended too. In the sparse and elderly congregation described in last weeks sermon. It was also reflected in the fixed somewhat sardonic smile that the reverend wore as well. If he had been a sports figure I would have called it his "game face".
It is the lent season now. The last couple of weeks before Easter. The sermon was about Peter. The Three Strikes Your Out sermon.. I called it.
He read the bible version of Peter thrice denouncing Jesus.
Then he interpreted it.
How Peter being an "outa towner" felt threatened by the locals who could tell by his speech and mannerisms that he was "foreign".. like that Jesus dude. Plus they had been seen together.. Guilt by association.
And so in fear Peter not once, not twice but three times stated that he did not know this Jesus dude.
I'm not sure how the rest of the congregation saw this parable. But as I looked at the worried grin of the preacher man standing next to that American flag.. I saw those paranoid townspeople as America and Peter as almost any foreigner (especially and ironically anyone from the Middle-East).
I left that congregation with rather mixed feelings. I'd be happy to explain them to you.. but I haven't exactly sorted them out yet.
Maybe a hymn would help. Please turn to page 69 of your hymnal.

Eleanor Rigby

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice
In the church where a weddin' has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearin' the face
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong
Father McKenzie writin' the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him workin', darnin' his socks
In the night when there's nobody there
What does he care
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wipin' the dirt from his hands
As he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ahhhmennn.

Anyway.. as Reedley fades in the rearview mirror my eyes are fixed ahead. I've turned off highway 99 and am once again speeding along the Information Highway.
Will write again soon.
Love,
Sister Jomama


 

the word was delivered at:
¶ 9:40 AM