Someone had cut our grass while we were away.
We're in trouble now, I thought. Our lawn's about the size of a coffee table, and friends had even given us a lawn mower -- but between the constant rain and our travels and an incredibly bountiful crop of dandelions, we just couldn't keep up with it.
Struggling to decipher Holland's ever-expanding mystery of rules had left me on edge since we moved into town. So I assumed that the city had mowed our lawn for me -- and that the next step was a fine to pay for the service. We live right on "tulip lane," and with the Tulip Festival just around the corner I felt like all of Holland was judging my lawncare. Here's our beautiful tulips in full bloom, I imagined the tour bus drivers saying, and there's the home of those slackers who don't mow their lawn. They're Lutherans, you know...
The doorbell startled me. "It's about the lawn," Sandy said. Here it comes, I thought as I joined her at the front door.
It was Juan, our next door neighbor. "I hope you don't mind," he said gently, "but I guess I got carried away. Our lawns are so small, so I just mowed them all at once."
It was a gift, I thought, feeling a little foolish as relief and gratitude swept over me. I have been afraid of a gift. And in receiving Juan's gift, I finally began to feel like my house was home, that this is a place where I belong.
Moving to a new town can make anyone feel like a stranger in a strange land -- and sometimes we don't even have to move to feel that way. Sometimes we stay put but our lives seem to change -- we get new jobs, our kids grow up, we buy a new home, our parents grow frail. We live in a world that judges us by how hard we work and how well we play the game; and then without warning, all the rules seem to change and we can't get enough work done.
What we have in Christ Jesus is a neighbor like Juan, who does the worst of our work for us without even asking for permission; and then offers us the fruits of his labor as a gift. "I hope you don't mind," our Christ says gently, "but I have given my life for you. Your life was so small, so I died to set you free." It's God's way of saying that we belong, that there is a place for us no matter where we move or how strange we might feel or how foreign our lives or homes or families or bodies become.
Sometimes God breaks into our world to set us straight, sending people like Juan to remind us that Christ walks with us yet. But there is one place where that saving moment is absolutely guaranteed. Join us there Sunday mornings, my friends, in the word our Lord offers and the super our Lord shares -- and the company of friends who will welcome you home.
Pastor Jim
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E-mail your comments and questions to Pastor Jim in care of Good Shepherd Lutheran Church at gslc@sirus.com.