9.23.12--Sermon on Mark 9:33-37 and Mark 10:13-16

In one of the Sunday school classrooms at Crosswicks, there is a certain poster tacked up to corkboard on the wall. On this poster is a cartoon painting of Jesus, surrounded by little children. Everyone is smiling and laughing, and it looks like Jesus is about to wrap all of them up into a group hug. It is supposed to represent a Scripture lesson, one of the many stories of Christ that is found in all three of the synoptic Gospels—it is in Matthew 19, Mark 10, and Luke 18.

In this story, some families bring their children before Jesus so that he might bless them. In all of the stories, Jesus is in the middle of speaking to crowds of people. It seems to be a fairly common day in ministry for Jesus: he is healing the sick and injured, verbally battling it out with the Pharisees, and teaching the multitudes about the Kingdom of God. And in he middle of all of this, some families are trying desperately to parade their children before Jesus.

Now, it was a pretty common practice back in this day for rabbis to speak a blessing over children. What was not common then, though, was for this blessing to happen in the middle of his teachings. In all three of the synoptic Gospels, Jesus seems to be in the middle of pretty important conversations when these children are pushed forward.

I’m sure it was not much different than an over-excited mother pushing her kids to the front of the line to see Santa. You see, back then, for a well-known and well-respected rabbi to bless your child was important. It invoked God’s protection on your son or daughter, and greatly aided them in growing up to be healthy, prosperous people. You did not want to miss your chance for your kids to receive this blessing.

9.16.12--Sermon on Mark 8:27-30

A few days ago, as I was driving home, I witnessed a wonderful occurrence. As the sun was going down and evening approached, an older gentleman was lowering an American flag from the flagpole in his front yard. I stopped at the stop sign a little longer that I needed to, because I was enthralled by the care and respect he was showing this flag. He did not simply unhook a piece of cloth and walk back inside with it balled up in his hand; no, he carefully undid the clasp, folded this small standard in his hands, and reverently laid it over his forearm, gently holding it in place as he unhurriedly made his way back inside.

His eyes never left that flag. It was as if the most important thing he would do all day was bearing this banner safely inside.

Now, I drive by this house almost every day, and I’ve seen this flag quite often as it perched atop its pole and allowed the wind to whip it back and forth. I gotta tell you, this was not the nicest or biggest or boldest-colored flag that I’ve ever seen. It was a small nylon sheet, the reds and blues faded almost into pastels of their once dominant primary colors and the whites in need of brightening. It was probably something that you could find on sale for less than $10 at Walmart if you went the week leading up to the 4^th of July.

But to watch this man interact with it, you would have thought that this was the same star-spangled banner that so long ago did wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

It was inspiring to watch. It was beautiful.

Now, I do not know this man’s story, and I do not know why the American flag means so much to him personally. Maybe, like my dad, he is one among the brave men and women who fought for our country to protect our rights and our freedoms. Maybe the flag means so much to him because the flag reminds him of the cost of our freedom and our ways of life. Maybe honoring the flag every evening as he lowers it from its pole is a way to remember and honor the dead, those who served alongside him and did not make it home.

I don’t know. All I know is that I will never forget watching him and thinking to myself, “I wish that we as the church had that kind of loyalty and devotion to our God.”

9.2.12--Sermon on Mark 7:1-8

Have you ever heard of TED Talks? They are these short video presentations done by individuals and posted on the web for all to see. These talks range in topic from how-to’s to business and leadership techniques to expositions on new inventions, and almost all of them are worth watching. They are hosted by the non-profit company, TED, which stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design, and they include talks from some of the best and brightest people from around the nation and around the globe.

I will never forget the first TED Talk that I watched. A friend had posted it to my wall, and it was a short clip of man teaching the world how to open a banana. He said that we have been doing this wrong for thousands of years, and making a giant mess in the process. You see, when most people pick up a banana, they cannot help but see the stem and think: handle. We might have a few different methods for how to work this handle, but 99% of the time, we use this stem to open our banana.

I’m fond of the method where you use your thumbnail to break the skin of the peel before you pull it back so as not to risk bruising the banana if the stem does not immediately peel back.

But apparently, by studying chimpanzees and other apes, primatologists—that is, scientists who study apes—have discovered a much easier and quicker means to open bananas. If you flip the banana over and simply pinch at the bottom, the peel practically comes apart for you. There tends to be less mess because most of the little stringy bits stick to this side of the peel and peel away with it, and there is little to no chance of it bruising the banana.

This might seem like a random thing, but it blew my mind. I’ve been opening my bananas wrong for years! Who would have thought?

But you know what’s weird? I don’t like to open my bananas the “right way” even though I have now seen the light about it. It has been ingrained in me from birth that you open bananas from the stem, and every morning when I am getting breakfast ready, I pull off a banana from the bunch, grab it by its stem, and pull.

It’s become a ritual for me, one to which I cannot help but stick. In a weird way, its become a part of who I am. I am Wes Cain: banana stem puller.