jesus

19. God’s Call to Ordained Ministry & Pine Valley

~ toddgoddard ~ Leave a comment

Reflecting back, I was not developmentally prepared to leave home and go away to college for my first two years at Clarkson. I was undisciplined and exploited my newfound freedoms in behavior that I’m not proud of. Hungover one Sunday afternoon, I met up with Bill, the college chaplain assigned by the United Methodist Church to North country colleges, to visit a local church Youth Fellowship gathering. Bill grabbed a hold of my shirt, pulled me close, and looked into my bloodshot eyes. “What does God want you to do with your life?”

There was a question I had never considered. God’s will for my life. Hum. 

The winter of my sophomore year, the Clarkson hockey team traveled to Boston to play in the ECAC tournament at the Garden. I loaded up a car load of fraternity brothers and made the road trip to support our team. I dumped the others off at their hotel and I met up with Phyllis, a graduate music student at Boston University, and a fellow Casowasco summer staff member. I slept on her apartment floor and Phyllis gave me the grand tour between games. 

Late one night we were locked away on the observation deck of the Hancock Tower watching airliners take off and land across the bay when Bill’s question kept returning to my thoughts. What is God’s will for my life? Engineering? Two kids and a boat in the driveway, earning a big salary at a large company? Or, was it something else?

Phyllis gave me a tour of BU, ending at Marsh Chapel, the cornerstone of the School of Theology. She introduced me to professors and students she had come to know during her time there. Serene. Peaceful. Powerful was the space. We exited the chapel and before us was a sculpture dedicated to BU’s most popular graduate, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. On the pedestal were his words to “I have a dream.” 

The sun was just right. My heart was strangely warmed. I knew God was calling me to do what my father had done: serve as a pastoral shepherd of local churches. 

—

My laps this morning flew by. I replaced a 101 year old regular lap swimmer. “Did you warm up the lane for me?” I asked. “Yep,” he smiled, “and I made sure all the water in the lane remained wet.” God bless his soul.

One, one. One, two. One, three. Two, one. Two, two. Two, three, I counted as each lap passed me by. The cool water hydrated my dried out skin, giving me a break from the omnipresent summer heat and humidity. 

Push. Glide. Stroke. Breathe. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Swimming laps is a beautiful thing, especially in retrospect when they are completed.

—

I was 19 years old, had transferred from Clarkson to Elmira College, and moved back home to settle myself down. The commute for my Junior year would be from Chemung, NY where my father served the Chemung and Willawanna parish. A major in Mathematics would ensure my transferred credits would be translated into a bachelor’s degree in four years and a ticket to graduate school. Math and computer science, back in the age of programing with IBM punch cards in BASIC or FORTRAN on a computer main frame the size of a house, would be my home.

That fall the phone rang. It was the District Superintendent, Bill Swales, calling. “I’ll go get my dad,” I replied. Bill knew me well from Casowasco and my solar panel hot water engineering days. “No, I want to talk to you.”

“What’s up, Bill?”

“I heard you were thinking about going into ordained ministry,” he said. He didn’t question my call, judge my youthful lack of maturity, or my utterly lack of knowledge.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Well, kind of. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well I have a church for you,” Bill offered. WHAT? Does he even know that I’m a 19 years old kid without a clue, my subconscious screamed. “What would I preach about?” I innocently asked.

“Well, you’ve got a Bible, don’t you?” Bill replied. Besides, your dad could help you along. “Plus, it pays $55 a Sunday, right out of the offering plate.”

“I’ll take it!”

Oh, boy. I’d have to put up or shut up. 

Pine Valley was about a 20 minute drive from home and a full hour from Casowasco. My first vehicle was a Datsun pickup truck, rusted to the rims, hand painted with a brush by the previous owner with green latex paint. Holes in the floor boards ensured a shower when it was raining. It was impossible to put the stick into reverse without opening the passenger door. Flies gathered on the inside of the windshield and died on the dashboard. It was the perfect vehicle for a pastor. 

The people of Pine Valley were so gracious and kind. They knew that their role as a part of the larger United Methodist Church was to give prospective pastors a start with a taste of ministry, or, to help ease into retirement those who were ready to go. I was a member of the former category. 

My first funeral was for a patriarch, a retired contractor with a large family. Dad gave me the Book of Worship. The undertaker told me when to enter, where to stand, and when to leave. Just read from the book, I thought to myself. How hard could that be? Another pastor entered and sat in the last row, a kind gesture of support. 

Note to self: when leading a funeral, print the deceased name on a sticky note and post it in the Book of Worship. The second lesson I heard from Ted’s funeral was to write in the title “The Lord’s Prayer” so I wouldn’t forget it. Sounds silly, but for a newbie, these little tips lasted me 41 years in the parish. 

From November 1981 until June 1983 I commuted to Pine Valley every Sunday morning to lead worship and preach. It fit my summer schedule working at Casowasco and my routine the rest of the year when school was in session. My first sermon was “On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand.” The rest is history. 

Kind. Gracious. Faithful. These were the people of Pine Valley who affirmed my call to Ordained Ministry, who encouraged me to continue down the path towards seminary. These salt-of-the-earth people would be found in every small church I served. They were God’s gift to me, mentors, cheerleaders, even financial supporters. Each, beloved. 

By the time I graduated in 1983 and was headed to United Theological Seminary, I had saved enough to trade in that Datsun for a used VW Rabbit. With a car loaded to the gills, I set course for Dayton, Ohio and three years of the unknown, leaving tears and gratitude behind.

18. Casowasco – 2040

~ toddgoddard ~ Leave a comment

It is wonderful to recall fond memories of my youth, call to ministry, and deeply felt connections to Casowasco. But, I ask, what of Casowasco’s future? What can Casowasco become by the year 2040, a mere fifteen years from now?

Two conditions that must be honored are related to the property being sold to The United Methodist Church in 1948, namely, the site carry on the “Case” name (i.e. Casowasco), and, that the land be use in ministering to youth and children. These conditions must be honored. Our word matters.

In earlier years, stable leadership and the popularity of summer church camp proved widely successful. Former campers and staff have enriched local churches with exceptional lay members and clergy. In recent years, the popularity of summer church camping waned, leadership frequently changed, and Casowasco oversite lacked mission, vision, and accountability. Today, Casowasco sits empty, the property is heavily capitalized and in need of repair. Consultants have been employed by the church to lead discussions and to create a plan for the future.

One consideration that should not be given the light of day is selling the property. This would harm the integrity of the Upper New York Conference, alienate prior campers and staff, and violate our word to Gertrude Case, her family, and estate. Legacy needs preserved. Cremains need to be honored. Furthermore, the potential for real estate development is high. This would lead to an environmental disaster to the woods, watershed, and lake.

A vision forward is needed.

For a vision to be transformed into mission and evaluative goals, the first priority for the next 15 years is to create a solid foundation upon which Casowasco may be resurrected. To this end,

  1. The stewardship of Casowasco should be transferred to an independent not-for-profit corporation, while the ownership of the property must remain with the annual conference.
  2. A solid financial footing must be established by a capital fund drive by the annual conference to stabilize and eventually to improve the property, facilitate donor development, and to pursue investment and grant opportunities.
  3. An effective not-for-profit board should be exclusively United Methodist, employ capable, stable leadership, establish a long-range plan, and be held accountable for the achievement of measurable and realistic goals.
  4. The long-range plan should stabilize the property, enact sound economic principles for the buildings and grounds, and make plans for future site development.
  5. The long-range plan should grow the financial foundation, support an aggressive development effort, and be flexible to a changing market for camping and retreat ministries. Casowasco can become financially sustainable, especially when the potential for fund raising is unleashed. Prior campers and staff will be generous in their support, provided the necessary policies have been put in place to ensure fidelity and trust.
  6. The long-range plan should include for the gradual implementation of site use.

What might the Casowasco experience be like in the year 2040? I can imagine three opportunities for the future of Casowasco

  1. Children and Youth Ministries
  2. Lay and Clergy Development
  3. A Finger Lakes Education and Cultural Experience

Children ministries should be maintained on a deliberately modest scale, anchored to one lodge or site, should be themed, and should be limited to a limited number of weeks throughout the summer. Perhaps one lodge should survive and become the sole host for children’s seasonal camping.

Youth ministries should anchor district and conference councils of youth ministries, provide short term camping experiences over educational breaks, and, possibly serve as an educational incubator for innovative local church Christian education initiatives. Think: training and running an effective vacation Bible school by hosting a Bible school academy every spring. Think: youth retreats, training efforts for youth mission trips, youth trip camps.

Lay development. Casowasco should be dedicated to training, empowering, and deploying effective lay leaders in our churches. Casowasco could host efforts to license and credential lay ministers and local pastors. Think: Mission academy, to develop the mission potential of local churches; Stewardship school, to develop effective stewardship programs; and Justice Institute, to develop and deploy effective justice ministries throughout the conference, impacting the entire world.

Clergy Development. Casowasco can become a leader in clergy support and professional development, as well as nurturing physical, emotional, and spiritual health. Think: Preaching Academy, where pastors can hone their homiletical skills; New Pastor Start Up school, to orient new pastors to serving in our conference; Clinical Pastoral Education; spiritual guidance and retreats; and Board of Ministry meetings, retreats, and interviews. Consider partnering with The Upper Room, evangelism and discipleship ministries, local seminaries and universities.

A Finger Lakes Education and Cultural Experience. Casowasco can be transformed into an educational center of excellence, teaching visitors about the geology, flora, and fauna of the Finger Lakes, ecology and environmental history, history of native Americans and colonials, the Burned Over District of religious fanaticism, women’s suffrage, industrialism, and the Great Gatsby Era, as reflected by the Case family history. Think Elderhostel, Ted Talks, corporate leadership retreats. Think retreats that support sobriety, serenity, and spirituality. The only limit is our imagination.

These thoughts are not an attempt to derail the process of discernment that is taking place. Listening is essential. United Methodist across New York and beyond have much to teach us. Intentional, gentle policies and procedures must be put in place that honors the legacy of Casowasco, rebuilds trust, and affirms a future that only God knows, even as we faithfully attempt to discern God’s will moving forward.

I’m praying the Casowasco discernment process bears fruit, worthy of the Lord. God dreamt big; in six days the earth was created, and the Lord took an additional day for rest. I’m praying for the day that Casowasco will return to bearing fruit, worthy of the Kingdom. Decades of decline must end. The tomb is empty; Christ is risen, and so, too, should the Church. Parishes need to be resurrected and placed on a growth trajectory. Casowasco can be that springboard of new life, grace, peace, and hope for the future.

15. Casowasco – Captain John and Clergy Shenanigans

~ toddgoddard ~ Leave a comment

John Spooner is a Casowasco legend. Many will remember him from his campfire ukulele strumming silly songs, his waterfront antics, his Venture 21 sailboat, Pegasus, and his wife, Clair, his son, Larry, and daughter, Louise. John was a second-career elementary school teacher from Barea, Ohio.

John’s first career was as a bachelor ship mate on Great Lake freighters, homeported out of Cleveland. He plied their magnificent waters from Duluth to Montreal, learning navigation and weather, lighthouse and reefs like the back of his hand. He recalled to me once that he enjoyed a day in port, showering and air-drying buck naked on the open hold of his ship, just as a tourist boat slowly chugged past, its rail filled with gasping sightseers.

It is unknown to me how Captain John came upon Casowasco, but he was a fixture when I arrived in 1979. It offered him a free dock to berth the Pegasus, and for the small price of teaching sailing on the camps Sunfish and Phantoms, and shifts lifeguarding nippers, the good Captain was free to fix and polish his beloved sailboat. Summers were grand, for John I’m sure, a restorative respite from elementary school life.

Each evening Captain John would join the rest of the summer staff rotating among campfires with his ukulele, singing songs that remain rooted in my memory. “All God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir.” John was singing and practicing inclusion generations before it was being maligned as woke. “The Big Rock Candy Mountain” was one of my favorites, for it painted a picture of what the kingdom of God would look like, complete with the buzzing of the bees and the bubblegum trees.

His wife Clair, volunteered in the office. Larry, in high school at the time, was the camp Romeo. He was always on the prowl for members of the opposite sex. He was good looking and knew all the best places around camp to sneak away and swap spit. Louise was Cosmopolitan as fully as a teenage girl can be, blow drying her hair and painting here nails before that was a thing. I took her on an Adirondack canoe trip once. She assured us she could live without a blow dryer for a week. When it came time to drive home, she was a long time in the Pizza Hut’s women’s room. She said that she made work each day as she disappeared into the woods with a shovel, but her agony and groans said otherwise.

One evening at dinner, Captain John asked me if I wanted to go sailing that night. “In the dark?” I asked. “It will be perfect,” John assured me. “The moon will be full and the wind is expected to be brisk.” “Sure,” I agreed. This should be fun. It was just John and I tacking Owasco Lake at midnight. Other than red and green running lights, we were sailing like lightning, healed up until both our butts were soaked.

“I got something to show you,” John told me, with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve been working on this all week.” What could it possibly be, I wondered? John slipped into the cabin and I heard a cassette tape sucked into a player. High on the two stays off the main mast, newly installed Radio Shack speakers came to life. Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries woke the waves with a hundred decibels of pure exuberance. I stood, as if at attention, and directed the imaginary orchestra like a conductor, sans a wand. Wind and waves, speed and angels, sound and fury expanded my conception of God’s magnificent kingdom and the potential it is waiting to reveal.

Watch. Wait patiently. Expect the movement of the Holy Spirit. Lessons taught to me by Captain John. Thank you, Captain, my Captain.

—

Lane choice was no choice this morning. The only lane not occupied by two swimmers was lane 6, the outside lane of the aging pool. “Okay, then,” I thought as I slipped on my goggles and began my laps.

Lane 6 is the road less traveled for multiple reasons. At one end, entry stairs crowd the wall. A Hoyer lift held belts and pullies overhead, making for a cramped approach and turn. At the other end is a chrome ladder into the deep end. Catch a hand on that and, yikes! All of which to say, the sandpaper textured edge of the pool ran its length. Careful positioning avoided stubbed toes and jammed fingers, but also distracted my glide induced meditation. When in Rome, they say.

As I pulled my sorry butt and wrinkled body out of the pool, I saw a cue of three waiting for a lane to swim. I was ashamed to think to myself how I was mentally grumbling about swimming lane 6 all to myself while others were waiting just to begin their laps.

I’m not proud of how selfish and shallow I can be. It’s a character defect that I’ve worked a lifetime to perfect, and a lifetime to correct. Some days are better than others. Sigh. Forgive me, Lord.

—

United Methodist Clergy frequently made their way to Casowasco for meetings, retreats, visits, and to direct one of the many summer camps for children. I practiced this rhythm throughout my pastoral ministry, at times more frequently than others. Driving down to camp has always been like finding respite from the anxieties of the world, a chance to breathe deeply, to claim a bit of serenity, if even for a time before reentry into the storm tossed world.

Other than exposure to my dad, who ended up serving 19 years in the parish before dying young, and, Bob Stoppert, the Director / Manager, my perception of Methodist ministers was they were a bunch of conservative, straight laced, black suit kind of humorless Oxford wing tipped preachers, who wore protective rubbers at the first sight of rain.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Harry came to our staff table Sunday afternoon and reported in a booming voice that he needed “two gigantic red balls” for his camp. We about knocked ourselves out laughing so hard. Harry, in his naivety, had no idea why we were all laughing. Another preacher stopped if he saw any of us loafing and told us to give him ten pushups. He was also known to tell my buddy Clint to retrieve a flash light that fell through the hole landing on top of the pile in one of the Highland’s outhouses. Um, no thank you.

Gordon woke his camp every morning at 6 am clad only in a bathing suit and flip flops, blowing a tuba, sans a polished bell. He probably bought it at auction. He also had a habit of driving his boat right onto shore instead of taking a regular mooring like everyone else; fuel leak and scratches be damned. One night Gordon and his wife startled my gal and I down by the waterfront. He was pushing her in a stolen shopping cart on Galilee’s south lawn, testing it out for his camp “M*A*S*H.”

Sam was a socially awkward, lovable pastor, and academic who did his seminary work at the University of Chicago at the foot of Paul Tillich. His boney chicken dance broke the nose of one senior high girl on the south porch. His eye filled with tears over his guilt and remorse. Sam would eat his sugar donuts like a mad man, coving himself in powdered sugar, looking at us staring, asking, “What? What did I do now?”

Les, considered Casowasco a second home, without the taxes. He was frequently there on his day off. He showed up when the Bishop met with his cabinet of District Superintendents when it was appointment season. He could be found sulking in the hedges under a cracked window or outside a door hoping to catch a snippet of information about who was being sent where. As soon as he caught a whiff of information, he’d hit the telephone and get the rumor mill started. Les was a fly fisherman who taught me, along with others, to tie flies and fly fish lake, pond, and stream.

One morning, Les was marching his camp of older elementary campers down to the waterfront for a polar bear swim. We had been building a hip roof on the staff house and the building was draped with ladders and tarps, the grounds with stacks of shingles and pails of nails. As was his practice, Les called his gaggle to halt, threw open the door and began to sing at the top of his lungs, “Good morning to you! Good morning to you! You look kind of sleepy, in fact, you look creepy. Good morning to you!” At 6 am every morning, his camp’s chorus was not welcomed.

We prepared the ambush for his Friday morning arrival the evening before. We filled buckets full of water balloons and hoisted them to the roof. We ran hoses inside the staff house and charged them at the ready. We populated ourselves in the bushes and on the hillside fully ammo-ed up with hundreds of water filled projectiles. As soon as Les flung open the door and took a deep breath we sprung the trap. He was soaked with streams of water. The kids were bombed with water balloons, such they were dancing, laughing, and begging us to take aim for them. It was a slaughter. Everyone loved it. We still talk about it today, nearly fifty years later.

Lessons from a diverse community of Clergy men and women still guide me to this day. “Never fish from your own dock,” one mysteriously told me. He was in his second marriage with six children. “What?” I wondered. “It cost just as much to keep a full tank of gas as an empty one,” my future father-in-law told me before I went on a date. Pastors were a diverse bunch of folks. What I learned was that every one of them had a passion for Christ and a deep reservoir of faith.

Casowasco, where the butterflies fly and the bluebirds sing, at the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

12. Casowasco – My Beginning

~ toddgoddard ~ Leave a comment

God had been moving quietly, subtly, deliberately in my life, beginning with my conception, periodically during my childhood, throughout my public school years. I didn’t see it then, but I see it now. My call to Ordained Ministry began before my call was discerned, characteristic prevenient grace that is rooted deep in the heart of the United Methodist experience. The fingerprints of God’s prevenient grace is written all over the first chapters of my life and development. Did you perceive it as you read through my story?

  1. Where I’ve Been – Embracing Change: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/07/30/where-ive-been-embracing-change/
  2. From Whence I Came – Tears of a Birthing Mother: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/08/05/2-from-whence-i-came-tears-of-a-birthing-mother/
  3. Epiclesis: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/08/10/3-epiclesis/
  4. A Smidge of Grey: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/08/14/4-a-smidge-of-grey/
  5. Discipline, Honor, Integrity and Herb Larson: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/08/23/5-discipline-honor-integrity-and-herb-larson/
  6. Dairy Farmers, Bus Drivers, and Don Jordan: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/08/31/6-dairy-farmers-bus-drivers-and-don-jordan/
  7. Advent in August: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/09/07/7-advent-in-august/
  8. Addison and Vernon Lee: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/09/25/8-addison-and-vernon-lee/
  9. Discipline Matters: The Education of Todd Goddard: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/10/07/9-discipline-matters-the-education-of-todd-goddard/
  10. Becoming a Wolverine: https://breakingyokes.org/2024/12/17/10-becoming-a-wolverine/
  11. The Smell of Hoppes: https://breakingyokes.org/2025/03/11/11-the-smell-of-hoppes/

My experience and perception of discernment is both personal and communal. God called me, pinging me like sonar. Even as a child, my spiritual antenna received the signal loud and clear. However, it took years for me to piece together the evidence that God’s hand was working in and through others at key moments in my life. It took a long time for me to get to an “aha” moment of recognition.

My call to ordained ministry wasn’t random. It wasn’t from out of the blue. Neither was it from a mentally delusional individual. God pumped the dime into the payphone and dialed my number. Over time, God worked through others, a community of disciples, to question me, encourage me, guide me to make choices that were consistent with a disciplined life of an ordained pastor. At first, it was informal. Friends and family. In time, others in the Church dropped hints. At the end of the process, it was the formality of Church polity; confirmation from the local church, the District Committee on Ordained Ministry, the Conference Board of Ordained Ministry, peer elders, and finally, the resident Bishop. My call took place over the first 26 years of my life.

—

I couldn’t bring myself to the pool this morning. My weekly self-injection 36 hours ago leaves me nauseous and without an appetite. Tomorrow morning I will swim. Reach. Pull. Kick. Push. Glide. Breathe. Uninterrupted silence, space for prayer, meditation, reflection.

Come, Lord. Come quickly.

—

Casowasco is a property on the shore of Owasco Lake, one of New York’s beautiful Finger Lakes. It is the former summer estate of Theodore Case and his family, an inventor who ran with the likes of George Eastman and Thomas Edison. Case on Owasco is 73 acres of woods, one mile of shoreline, and since 1948, it has served as a host for children and youth ministries operated by the United Methodist Church, as directed in the family’s bequest.

Summer, 1979. I graduated high school and prepared to attend Clarkson as an engineering student. Science and math came naturally to me. I took off two weeks from work to join my dad volunteering at a work camp at Casowasco. Bill Swales was the director. He was my dad’s District Superintendent. He knew of my interests. He was charged with building a solar hot water system for the Highlands, the camping area on the West end of the property. Bill needed a lifeline and he phoned a friend. I answered the call.

Over the course of two weeks I led the team clearing land (think chain saws, shovels, and heavy equipment), building the plumbing (think copper pipes, tin solder, valves, and couplings), and erecting a gravity system to provide hot water. It takes some serious planning and construction to safely locate a 500-gallon water tank eight feet above the floor and enable it to be annually winterized.

The buildout worked like a charm. The property manager, a pastor and Japanese scholar by the name of Bob Stoppert, took notice. He remembered my name. Mid freshman year Bob gave me a call and invited me to join his 1980 summer staff.

Confidence. Fleeting in adolescence, confidence is panned for like specks of gold. As it is discovered, developed, and amassed, it becomes a solid foundation for a fruitful life. Where is confidence found? In a phone call. Words of appreciation. Recognition of a strong work ethic. A twinkle in the eye; evidence of God’s greater will being lived out on stage and in the spotlight called youth.

What little confidence I gained in those two weeks at Casowasco would be shaken with a difficult freshman year at college. Everyone was way smarter than me. Alcohol and marijuana were as destructive to me as an unexploded time bomb. Fraternity life was a distraction and grades suffered. Developmentally, I wasn’t ready. It would take me an additional four years before I was truly prepared to grow up and move out to live independently. The summer of 1980 couldn’t come fast enough.

Move in day was as early in May as college let out. Maintenance staff were needed early to get the property ready for the first week of nippers, er, campers, as we called them. I went straight to Casowasco to open the next chapter in my call to ministry and life’s unfolding book.

Sermon for November 17, 2024 – “From Fear to Hope”

~ toddgoddard ~ Leave a comment

Mark 13:1-10

The Rev. Todd R. Goddard

Mark 13:1-10 (http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=409206313)

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?”

Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.

“As for yourselves, beware; for they will hand you over to councils; and you will be beaten in synagogues; and you will stand before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them. And the good news must first be proclaimed to all nations.

| Centering Prayer |

Cynthia and I went to the rare movie this past week.

We saw “Conclave”,

A drama about the death of a Pope

And the election of his replacement.

I highly recommend it.

The hundred plus Cardinals of the Church gather

From the far points of the globe,

In Rome,

Cloistered in the Sistine Chapel.

They represent diversity,

Culture,

Language,

Race,

Beliefs.

For many of those in the running,

The sky is falling,

The Temple is about to crumble,

The very future of the Church is in peril.  

—

For some of us

For many of us

This might feel like we are living in the end times.

The result of division into partisanship is fear.

If you like it, keep doing it.

There is another way.

Look at our great nation.

Like the grand Temple where Jesus and his disciples met.

Certainly, this great nation will never fall.

Or might it?

Those at either extreme

Appear to be most alarmed,

Fearful that these are the end of times,

That the only future is one that hurts, harms, or kills.

Anxiety is real, and for some debilitating.

“I can’t breath.”

—

Those at the left or right are not alone in trembling before a doomed edifice.

Consider the black, male driver of a car pulled over by the police.

Consider the closeted gay man, knowing he is one breath away from destruction, family, career, calling.

Consider the individual this morning placed on hospice.

Consider the student who failed their final exam in their major.

Yes, the end is at hand, and is well neigh.

Many of us choose to hunker down,

Fly low, hoping to keep under the radar.

The United Methodist Church hemorrhage near fatal wounds

And now lies weak, sick, and in intensive care.

Twenty percent of the churches in our conference,

Over thirty percent worldwide chose to leave,

Leaving us with budgets and programs on life support.

Destruction feels near at hand.

The Temple, like Babel, is

Like a house of cards,

Ready to collapse.

—

Context is the key to understanding.

First, some historical context:

Nobody likes ever rising taxes.

The result was protests and attacks on government officials.

In the decades after the resurrection and ascension of Jesus,

Governor Florus over-played his hand:

He had the Temple plundered and the treasury emptied.

This was the spark for the first of three wars between the Jews and Rome.

Wars the Jews could not win.

Wars our ancestors fought.

Lost before they began.

Desperate.

Hopeless.

To the end.

The Jewish rebels fought back against Roman heavy handed rule,

Leading the pro-Roman king, Agrippa, government officials, and soldiers to flee Jerusalem for their lives.

The rebellion was getting out of control.

Nero, the Emperor of Rome, had to act.

First, he sent Gallus to bring his legions of troops from Syria

To restore order and end the revolt.

6,000 troops were caught by Jewish rebels west of Jerusalem

In the Beth Horon pass.

All six-thousand Roman soldiers were slaughtered.

The Jewish victory attained great support throughout the land

And won over the hearts of the people.

Volunteers poured into rebel recruiting stations

Offering to fight Rome.

Passion and patriotism surged with youthful vigor.

Hold on there, dearly impassioned Jews.

Victory was short lived.

Nero wouldn’t be embarrassed again.

The more experienced general, Vespasian,

was handpicked to crush the rebellion in Judaea.

Avoiding a direct attack on the heavily reinforced City of Jerusalem,

Four legions of troops landed in Galilee in 67 AD.

For three years, the legions advanced, led by Vespasian’s son, Titus,

Who served as second in command.

Rebel strongholds were eradicated, the fields were salted, and the population was punished.

February, 70 AD found the Roman legions knocking at the gates of the City of Jerusalem.

The Jewish rebels held out against the siege for 7 months.

All food supplies inside the walls were exhausted.

Time was on the side of Rome.

Jerusalem fell on September 7th in the year 70.

The Temple was destroyed, timbers burned, every stone above the foundation was thrown down and smashed.

The fire was so hot you can see the burn stains on the rubble to this day.

Rome found its revenge.

Josephus, the famed Jewish historian,

claims 1.1 million people were killed during the siege, and 97,000 prisoners were taken into Roman slavery.

The few surviving Jews fled,

Diaspora-ed under cover of night to the four corners of the world.

Among the traumatized, surviving Jews

Were a small band of disciples

Who, as luck would have it, witnessed Christ’s ascension

a mere 38 years earlier.

By the light of the burning Temple,

St. Mark and his band of new Christians,

Began to convert memories to word,

Put pen to paper

and begin a first draft of their Gospel.

(Historical references from:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Jewish%E2%80%93Roman_War

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Jerusalem_(70_CE)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gospel_of_Mark )

—

Context is the key to understanding.

Some theological context:

“Remember when Jesus made his final visit to the Temple?”

Mark and his small band of brothers probably opined.

“Jesus told us,

‘Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’” (13:2)

Not one stone.

The thirteenth chapter of Mark

Is called by some scholars

“The Little Apocalypse”

Written in the form and style of Jewish writers of old.

Apocalypse, as found in the book of Daniel, Isaiah 35, Jeremiah 33, and Ezekiel,

Is a revelation of cosmic mysteries or the future.

Combined with concerns and expectation of the present age,

We see here in Mark 13

Jesus lifting the veil,

Providing for his disciples and the Early Church

Insight to the end of time with the promise

Of God’s judgment and salvation.

…

What does this mean for us today?

Yes, for the faithful,

The end is always near;

As near as the next breath or heartbeat.

The Temple is pulverized by chest pains or stroke,

Destroyed by death or probate,

Shattered by temptation or evil.

Judgment and salvation are at hand.

Jesus doesn’t simply build a sandcastle on the beach

And foretell of its destruction.

Frankly, any visitor to the beach knows that,

If patient, all tides rise.

All that is made of sand,

Will soon be swept away.

Rather, Jesus takes his disciples,

Peter, James, John, and Andrew

privately to the Mount of Olives

where he teaches them what we are to learn today.

Listen to what Jesus has to say.

First, beware.

There will be those who try to take advantage of the fear, anxiety, hysteria.

Beware they do not lead you astray.

They may impersonate Jesus,

Falsely boasting salvation with no hope of making good.

They will lie, planting false rumors, and spin out of thin air wacked out conspiracy theories.

Impersonators and liars should be avoided at all costs.

Run-away bravely!

Second, be strong.

Wars and rumors of wars will take place.

Wars. Violent. Deadly.

They tear out the heart and soul of community, whose destruction continues from generation to generation.

Be strong enough of faith to outlast their insidious impact.

Endurance and strength is what we need.

Seek from the Lord, that you may be found.

Third, watch.

Watch for signs of new birth.

Earthquakes? God is making all things new.

Famines? God is using adversity to communicate to us

That the end of these former days is upon us, and

The beginning of God’s new creation is about to break forth.

Lastly, be assured.

Expect strife and persecution.

It isn’t pleasant or without pain.

Know full well that suffering is a witness,

A testimony to all nations

That Christ is King and

Jesus is Lord.  

Be the witness!

—

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The bad news:

The end is near.

The good news:

The end is near.

We are teetering on the edge of God’s new creation.

The stain of the cross and grave

Are soon replaced by the presence and promise of the resurrected Lord.

This old, worn out body, will be replaced.

Hatred, racism, antisemitism, structural discrimination will soon pass away.

What has happened to the United Methodist church is done,

What is emerging is something that God is making brand new.

Apocalyptic breads danger and fear,

Yet, Jesus brings calm and assurance.

This is God’s kingdom.

These are God’s terms.

We are God’s people.

Beware.

Be strong.

Watch.

Be assured; Christ will come to save you.

Amen.

Sermon from November 10, 2024 “Out of Poverty”

~ toddgoddard ~ Leave a comment

(I’m taking a pause writing my memoirs, because I’ve been called to fill in for a colleague on medical leave, for the foreseeable future, I’ll be posting my Sunday sermons. Thanks for following my blog Breaking (present tense) Yokes (plural), dot, org.)

Mark 12:38-44

As he taught, he said, ‘Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the market-places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.’

He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’

| Prayer |

Lord, please don’t let Jesus paint me into a corner and force me to identify myself with this poor widow.

She lost everything.

Her husband.

Her house was devoured by the legal power of organized religion.

Her independence. No money. No pension. Nothing.

Her last two small copper coins, she brought to give.

Not that it would make any difference.

In forty years, the large stones and magnificence of the Temple would become a smoking crater.

Her two coins wouldn’t make a difference.

Lord, please don’t allow my hubris and privilege identify me with the scribes, who walk around in long robes,

To be treated with respect in the marketplace,

To be seated in places of honor.

Money is power.

Money is freedom.

To come and go as I please,

To contemplate and decide for myself,

To live wholly independent of others.

Taking from widows is easy money.

Imposing taxes and employing usuary is smart business sense.

That’s what MBAs are made from.

From a position of privilege

I renounce my privilege,

But … not completely. 

Let’s not go overboard.

As Walter Brueggemann said in his book, Prayers for a Privileged People,

“We are tenured in our privilege.”

“We are half ready to join the choir of hope,

half afraid things might change,

     and in a third half of our faith turning to you,

     and your outpouring love

     that works justice and

     that binds us each and all to one another.

So we pray amidst jeering protesters

     and soaring jets.

   Come by here and make new,

     even at some risk to our entitlements.”

(Prayers for a Privileged People, Abingdon, 2008, p.21-22)

The third half of faith isn’t

A Weight Watchers portion of apple pie.

So, Lord, allow me to identify with the disciples of Jesus.

They appear to be the safest bet.

Yes, most dropped their nets,

Walked out on their families, or

gave it all away to come and follow,

But they aren’t widow-poor;

Neither are they uber rich.

Be careful for what you wish for.

Two such disciples of Jesus

Cynthia and I were privileged to know came

From serving the church in Palmyra.

Otto was a modest bench chemist.

Bernice was a stay-at-home mom,

Raising one son.

They were a family of simple means,

Drove secondhand beaters,

Never spend much on themselves.

Cynthia recalled Bernice telling how their church tithe was paid first,

Before taxes,

Before bills,

Before groceries,

Before everything else.

Because, why?

Bernice and Otto had learned to be wholly dependent upon God’s grace and love.

They tithed, not for what they could do for the church.

They tithed for what dependence upon God did for them.

I buried Otto in 1993 and

Bernice in 1997,

Side by side in the Town of Huron cemetery,

Truly saints of the kingdom.  

Giving transformed their lives

From living in this world,

Filled with elections, politics, and power,

Filled with wars and threats of war,

Filled with anxiety, death, and unexpected disability,

Into living in God’s kingdom,

Fulling embracing the life that God had to offer.

The gift Jesus seeks

Is one that transforms the giver.

Five quick take aways for you to further ponder:

1. First, honor and wealth gained at the expense of the poor results in condemnation.

“How might this impact me today?” you may ask.

Perhaps we need to be a bit more knowledgeable and responsible in the use of our money… and

make sure it isn’t used at the expense or detriment of another.

2. Secondly, Jesus is telling us that giving is not an option.

If you are going to follow Jesus, you must give your money.

Like it or not, it’s that straight forward.

Return to God

That which God has given to you.

3. Thirdly, Jesus tells us that giving to God must be sacrificial.

Q: What does this mean?

A: If it doesn’t hurt, you haven’t given enough.

It’s not enough to give out of your abundance.

Give up that which would make you hurt.

Give such that it transforms your life.

4. Fourthly, Jesus tells us that giving to God means

Being transformed from independence

To absolute dependence upon God.

5. I would lastly add, joy comes when you can relate

your own sacrifice with the sacrifice Christ made for you.

Jesus gave everything for you and for me.

He gave up his dignity, his life, his very being for our behalf.

Jesus sacrificed everything!

So what do we do in return? What can we do?

We can take what we have

And give it away.

We can allow ourselves to be completely transformed

By God’s grace and love.