The Fourth Sunday in Advent 2012
Last summer I made a new friend. A friend who was sent a family Christmas card. A friend who very kindly called my cell phone to see if we all were ok in the aftermath of Super Storm Sandy. His name is Mark. He lives in West Virginia. Despite the distance and the fact that our contact is extremely occasional, he feels more a friend than an acquaintance. He’s definitely not someone I shared an experience with and, as can happen, whose welfare I never again gave much thought to. I, along with a wonderful work crew, first got to know Mark while repairing his home, which we were assigned to as part of the Appalachia Service Project.
In many ways my getting to know Mark was similar to other folks I’ve gotten to know on these love of the Lord building mission trips. But what distinguishes and places Mark in my friendship bank is one particular moment when the home repair work was paused. Pausing at various points on the worksite is when important space for other repair work can happen, such as helping someone rebuild, even if just a bit, from all sorts of brokenness in their life.
The moment that stays on my mind and heart is when I stood with Mark in his kitchen listening to country music. It sounded like what I consider classic country, which I like a great deal. It was much more like Hank Williams, Sr. than Jr., and it was at the very farthest other end of the spectrum from the tasteless punk stuff of Hank Williams III. This male singer’s voice was nicely mellow and melodic, accompanied by solid guitar work.
The music came from an old looking piece of equipment I’d never seen the likes of before. It appeared to be an early prototype of a combo cassette and CD player. What we stood listening to was a cassette -- and, as I quickly learned, a rather old one. I was so pleased when Mark indicated (shyly, I should add) that it was his music, a demo of his originally written songs that he had recorded when he was roughly the same age as when I was singing in a band. Mark had mentioned early on in the week that he used to sing and play, and I recall first thinking to myself something like, “Well, so many folks down here do.” But standing there in his kitchen, I was struck with the thought that his talent could have orange blossomed into something really special. This was the sound of his God-given gifts … before the days of his physical disabilities, before the days of suffering the early death of a child, before his divorce. It was clearly important to him to share this demo from back when life and love filled his young ambition and hope.
I once had singer-songwriter career ambitions myself – ambitions also forged from hardships in life -- so I felt a definite bond being built with Mark. This bond was then strengthened on Thursday of that ASP week, when we got a chance to play music together at the ASP volunteer and family picnic. What song did we play? Do you even need to wonder? It was, of course, John Denver’s “Country Roads.”
If I’d never chosen to go down those country roads, never gone on an ASP trip and thus never experienced ministry in that constructive context, I would have missed experiencing some really powerful spiritual bonding. This kind of bonding that solidly builds and frames faithful displays of Christ’s love in this world.
I share this word of witness today because it’s the time of year when we focus in on the biblical account of the beginning of Jesus’ life. We, of course, recollect the miraculous aspects of this amazing moment in holy and human history. We also, though, should consider well what the more ordinary, easily relatable aspects of his coming into and growing up in this world were.
One such important aspect is that he was raised in a context that was all about a particular kind of building and bonding that happens between people and in community. He grew up the son of a carpenter. We know this from Matthew 13:55 and Mark 6:3. There were many projects Joseph dutifully carried out in providing for the needs of his community. Of all hard work, I like to think Joseph’s finest project, the most faithful frame he ever put together with his time and talent, is what was begun the moment he committed to his role God’s plan of salvation. His was a powerful yes to abiding by Mary, to loving and raising Jesus as his own, to teaching this boy the physical and interpersonal tools of his trade as was the custom of that day.
This focusing on Jesus as Joseph’s son while Jesus also gradually fulfilled his life as Son of God, our Savior, is the topic of a fine book that gets promoted by ASP. It’s called Lessons from the Carpenter, authored by Presbyterian pastor H. Michael Brewer.
The book’s main point is that the whole craft of carpentry is comprised of twin tasks – “building what is needed and restoring what is broken” and that these twin tasks shaped the child Jesus’ view of life and the unfolding understanding of his holy identity. Learning the lessons of a woodworker was, Brewer writes, “part of God’s plan to mold the mind and heart of the Messiah,” in that it “mirrored his purpose for coming into the world.” The author rightly notes that carpentry makes the world a better place, and that while far from being glamorous work, “after the sweat dries and the fatigue passes, the accomplishment remains. The table serves, the door keeps guard, and the house stands.” I find every chapter of this small book to be a very good theological reflection on things Jesus likely had to have learned from Joseph. Things such as discovering potential within rough wood, and therefore in rough edged people the likes of the apostle Peter; meeting needs while building to last; and restoring whatever can be saved.
So Jesus didn’t just grow up being taught to love his neighbor as some idyllic concept. He grew up learning all sorts of tools needed for building and restoring people’s lives. Pastor Brewer writes that he takes comfort in knowing “the one who shapes us for service is a loving craftsman taught from childhood to take pride in his work. The universe at large and our lives in particular are safe and secure in the skilled and callused hands of this Carpenter.”
In the middle of my reflecting about how we are disciples of this Holy Carpenter, and about my bonding, building experience with Mark while on ASP, I happened to notice that one of our church leaders posted a new quote on her Facebook page. I read it and immediately gave the Holy Spirit praise for calling the freshly posted quote to my attention in such a relevant fashion. It’s a quote by novelist Anne Lamott, who in her life has personally experienced more than a few rough edges. Here’s what it said --
“It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do.”
We find the shiny and the rusty tools in Jesus’ blessed toolbox. This carpenter’s son, our Savior, teaches us by example how to use these tools to build our frames for displaying his holy love where building and restoring is desperately needed.
What projects in your life do you need to work on with Him and alongside your fellow faith construction workers?
What holy hewing tasks for others is Jesus calling you to commit your yes, your true trust, your time, your talent to in the coming year?
I ask these questions in Jesus’ name, Amen.
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