Before worship on Sunday I checked the news about the tragic shooting in Orlando.  The report at the time was that 20 people were dead.  During worship we prayed for the families of the victims.  By Sunday afternoon the number of dead had risen to 50.

That does not seem right, but it happened in lots of churches.  We prayed for the families of 20 people who had been killed, and then the news got even worse.

We have way too much evidence that prayer does not work the way we wish prayer would work.  Prayer does not keep the news from getting worse.  Prayer does not protect innocent people.  Prayer does not prevent hateful people from buying guns.

We have gotten used to praying after horrific events; Littleton, 2012, 12 deaths; Newtown, 2012, 28 deaths; San Bernardino, 2015, 14 deaths.  Each time, our hearts are broken.  Each time, we pray fervently.  Each time, we remember the lives snatched away by gun violence.  Each time, we experience grief and despair.  Each time, nothing seems to change.    We have started to feel numb to it.

We do not need to pray silently.  We need to make our voices heard.  People who pray do not have to agree on the exact interpretation of the Second Amendment to agree that gun violence is a national tragedy.  We can point out that there are options between taking all the guns away and the AR-15s that keep being the instrument in these shootings remaining readily available.  4 of 5 NRA members support expanded background checks.  There is plenty of room for improvement in the space between the two sides in this debate.

People who pray need to talk to their elected officials before the next tragedy.  Innocent people are murdered with weapons specifically designed for killing and we behave as if nothing can be done, but representatives do change their position when enough people speak up.  We can push for common-sense gun laws that will prevent more tragic bloodshed.  People who pray should protest gun shows—where many of the rules about background checks and waiting periods do not apply.  We need to work for change that will make our communities safer.

We have gotten too used to praying after mass shootings.  We have to do more.  Our prayers will feel routine until we pray, “God, show me what I can do.”

Heavenly father, we have witnessed many times before that even the tiniest part of your perspective and wisdom is far greater than any of us ever seem to imagine.

Know that it is our desire that your vision become our vision, and that OUR focus be on you and you alone.

Forgive us for the infamous Brooklyn sin of ever thinking that we might know better, and for ever knowing that we think better.

Help us here and now to humbly see beyond what we think we know.

This day is not about Plymouth.

This day is not about Brett.

Help us to see that this day is about you with their help.

Take us now into your hands,

so that we may feel your way,

so that we may think your way,

so that we may truly live and walk your way here at Plymouth and beyond,

just as your son Jesus taught us to do.

For nearly 170 years it has been our privilege and honor to walk with you here at Plymouth and we thank you for guiding us on that journey.

As we enter this new chapter with Brett and Carol, we ask for your guidance that there not be a needy person among us, between us, or around us.

We ask that you reach far back and beyond to bind a new and growing Plymouth together to feel as though it’s “of one heart and soul.”

We ask that we feel now, more than ever, that everything we own is not ours, but yours.

We ask you to help us to live out the Great Grace of which you speak, so that it may enlighten and inspire us to be truly humble stewards of your place, this place, its property, and its people.

We ask your help in showing our greater Brooklyn community, and each of us how to live out this Great Grace such that we may extend it to Brett and Carol with all the love and generosity that they should expect from being a part of your great kingdom…and a sweet place they now call home.

We ask all of this in Jesus’s name.

Amen

“Moving Day” has all the initial appeal of “Income Tax Day,” “Root Canal Day,” or “Commitment Sunday.”  We should admire the people at Mayflower, because it’s honest to name your moving company after a long, miserable trip on which everyone got sick.

While a few of our boxes were accurately labeled “Towels, linens,” I was surprised to find boxes marked “miscellaneous,” “leftovers,” and “under the bed.”  Seven boxes of “Christmas stuff” seems excessive.

I am still wondering: “Where did we get all this stuff?  Why do we have a tripod?  Do we need high school annuals?  Is this our chair?”

But by the grace of God and the goodness of the people of Plymouth, moving day/week has been a gift.  We walked in the door to find two big, beautiful cards from the children welcoming us to Plymouth.  Good people came on Sunday and waited with us for the moving van that showed up nine hours late and took out several garbage cans on Hicks Street.  Saints spent their Memorial Day unpacking boxes.  They taught us how to bag recycling, critique every restaurant in Brooklyn, and, by the end of the day, sit on a stoop exhausted.

The parade of food has been amazing.  We recognize that most people do not know the joy of moving into a house where the refrigerator is filled.  People have been bringing meals and goodies.  New York Bagels are not over-rated.  Everything with Brooklyn in the name works—Chocolate Brooklyn Babka, Brooklyn Lager.  We are eating well.

Moving reminds me how wonderfully fortunate I am and how incredibly dependent we all are.  I depend on friends, family, and friends who become family.  The church is made up of those who recognize that they do not have the ability, need, or desire to make it on their own, because we are in this together.

Henri Nouwen said that he lived with the fantasy that every time he landed at an airport he would be met by someone he knew shouting, “Hey, Henri.”

Predictably, Nouwen knew a lot of disappointments.  Each time that he got off a plane and no familiar figure was there to meet him, Nouwen thought to himself: “It’s all right.  When I get home my friends will be there.”

Out of that consolation, Nouwen came to a wonderful conclusion about the nature of eternity: “Heaven is going to be like that.  God will be there and will say, ‘Hey, Henri, how was it?  Let’s see your pictures.’”

That’s how God’s people greet one another.  From the moment we arrived, friends have been shouting: “Hey, Brett.  Come on in.  Welcome home.”

Bible Building and Baking is celebrating its seventh year. For all that time Sunday School children ranging in age from two to ten have been gathering weekly after school, most recently on Mondays. Theoretically we meet to build and bake; what actually happens though during this hour and a half- two if the oven is not cooperating- is much less tangible and far more magical. What happens has also changed a bit over the years as the participants have.

In the early days, we focused on the task and the product- the baking and of course, the eating. Yeast dough was transformed into everything from pizza to stollen. There were field trips to a local bakery and chocolate factory. We learned about ingredients, measurements and baking tools. We created a small cookbook and my mother complained that I had gained too much weight.

Gradually, as the class got bigger and the children younger, things loosened up. They just had to. Sometimes there were over twenty children. Older kids started bringing their younger sibling or two. The field trips were to the bathroom to wash hands, the ingredients became fewer and the knives plastic . I lost some of the weight because there were no longer any leftovers.

Sometimes, I feel guilty that the yeast dough we now use is made by Trader Joe’s; then, I remind myself that the class is about so much more. It’s about learning to love Plymouth as part of our daily lives. It’s about wanting to come to church, befriending other church kids. It’s about making memories.

Here are just some recent highlights: Two weeks ago a child lost his first tooth while eating an apple he had sliced and dipped in caramel. At the same time, one of the lovely caregivers who stays in class because of a younger sibling was photographing the younger sibling’s first steps to send to her mother, away on a business trip. That day, our weekly Bible story was read by a nine year old and a five year old said the closing prayer.

This week, the older kids were eager to help out in any way that they could. They were bathroom- runners, they supervised the hot glue gun, they drew hearts for the younger kids to fill in and they tirelessly filled the water pitcher. The rewards? Admiration, hugs and a long pink beaded necklace from the younger ones.

So, please, if you are ever available on a Monday afternoon, feel free to join us for some of the wonderful chaos!

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