MAYBE, MY LAST SERMON

My five grandchildren were all too young to ever hear me preach.

On Sunday June 4 I preached twice @ 9am and 10:45am.

I did better the 2nd time. The recording was of the 1st. Too bad. I had trouble seeing my brief notes in the dim lighting. 2nd time, I fixed that, and I also had more control of my thoughts. 

'SOUND THEOLOGY IS ESSENTIAL FOR LIVING A RIGHTEOUS LIFE' - Backstory: Paul started many churches in Galatia, comprised of Jews and gentiles converted to Christ. Some Jewish Christians couldn't shake their dependence on being justified by works as well. Paul was a by grace alone, by faith alone, in Christ alone theologian. This letter is his attempt to correct their thinking.

Here is the link the church website, https://crossridge.church/404-2/sound-theology-is-essential-for-living-a-righteous-life/

And here is the link on Youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0x2P-gS6twc

My sermon begins at the 23 min mark.

I have thought it was my last sermon before. I feel it again. I love preparing, and I am comfortable preaching ... at least I think I do. But I likely do not know myself. Christine says I've been wound up tighter than a drum for one month. On Sunday afternoon I was exhausted; I napped and woke to joint pain all over as tho my PMR was returning. I'm OK, Mon and Tues I am fine. My wiring for the stress is shot perhaps - stress that I create for myself, expecting too much, leaning on my stupid perfectionist bent. 

The best thing for me among so many friends who heard I would be there and who showed up from other churches, were my own 5 grandchildren. 

I'M NOT ALL GONE

I’M NOT ALL GONE (a poem)

 

Though I spent a lifetime providing counsel,

helping people to navigate life.

Don’t ask an eighty-year-old to give advice

in those fields where my knowledge is thin.

People like me haven’t learned to say “No.”

Auto-pilot altruistically kicks in, and

I grope in vain for the off switch.

No lack of self-confidence 

but short-term memory is shot.

Haven’t won Jeopardy any time lately.

No worries, I have Google, my uber intellect.

What I don’t know, I know in an instant.

You ask me for help, you get what I got.

Ask succinctly and loudly, my hearing is gone.

Ask about life, and love and loss,

Those are close to me now. 

If when you tell me what’s going on,

you may see me tear up, ‘cause I understand.

If when you tear up, I hold your hand,

you will sense I know someone who

knows more than Google or AI,

who has what you need if we ask him together.

 

© Ron Unruh, June 2023

 

CONNIE

CONNIE

A gravel path winds through the park surrounded by forests of evergreen, alders, and cottonwood. Connie walks to the park every day. Down an apartment elevator, pushing a four wheeled walker, she crossed a busy street, and slowly made her way to the large pond. Her purse and bags of seed purchased at Wild Birds Unlimited were positioned on her walker. Varieties of ducks heard her coming. So did I yesterday. Standing on the far side of the pond, I heard her wheels on gravel before I saw her. 

Ducks on water moved toward me at Connie’s feeding station. 

Rounding a corner, ducks on land followed Connie as she walked toward me, small steps, duck steps. Connie is less than five feet tall, eighty-eight years old, came to Canada fifty years ago, constantly cheerful, an inspiration. Her hands, fingers with severe knuckles bent from arthritis dipped into the seed bag. Ducks from the path waited. Ducks from the water climbed the banks. With her restricted arm movement, she tossed seed toward her friends. To me she said, “Take some, you can throw it farther.” She and I talked in the warming sunshine, looking into each other’s watery senior eyes. We talked about pets. Ducks are her pets now. She used to have two cats. Each lived about eighteen years. She won’t get another cat now. “I’m eighty-eight. Who will look after them?”