blessed

from my sermon on 2/27/11 from Matthew 5:1-12

May I tell you a story about being blessed? It was 1978. The place was Mason, Tx, where I did my internship in ministry. He said, "My name is George, but everybody calls me 'Old Man George.'" So I called him Old Man George. He said, "I'm 86 years old, and I've been married to the same woman for 63 years." I was 25 years old. I couldn't imagine even being 63 years old, much less married that long.

Can you be friends across the generations? We became friends. Old Man George and his wife Meta would have me come out to their ranch north of town. I would do little chores for them, and they would feed me a meal. I remember once taking down those old glass insulators along a row of low telephone poles along the dirt road that led to their house.

Old Man George would take my walking across his property. He pointed out an Indian midden, a pile of flint chips. He picked up one and said, "This here could have been used for scraping buffaloe hides." I still have it in my office. I don't mean to offend anyone here, but once we out walking and came upon a cow paddy. He said, "Be careful, Lynn, and don't step on that Republican platform!" He was a yellow dog Democrat. He would rather vote for a yellow dog than any Republican.

Old Man George were faithful in attending worship and Sunday School at the First UMC. Before the Sunday School would start, the 3 adult classes would gather in the social hall for a devotional. They would sing some of the old songs of the faith, and then someone would offer a brief meditation. This particular Sunday they had sung their songs. I got up to lead the meditation. As I approached the podium, I could see Old Man George coming from the back of the room. This room was filled with good German people with sturdy names like Brandenburger and Durst. He came up to me and said in a voice much too loud, to be easily heard by everyone, "Ain't sex wonderful!" I was in shock. "Well yes, Old Man George, it sure is." "No, ain't sex wonderful!" "Yeah, we will talk about that sometime." "No, I mean, ain't it a good gift from God."

We sometimes translate the word blessed to mean "happy." Happy doesn't go far enough. It is sometimes translated as favored or fortunate or honored. When I think of what it means to be blessed, I have a picture of Old Man George standing up in front of those old German people in church and saying "ain't sex wonderful." That's the first meaning of being blessed, that deep joy.

I didn't know it till I looked it up this past week that there are 40 beattitudes in the Old Testament, 40 blessed are you's. In Genesis 12, Abram and Sara are "blessed to be a blessing" to the whole world. In the OT, to be blessed meant to be healthy and wealthy and to live a long life and to have many children.

In the NT, there are 44 beattitudes. There are several in the last book of the Bible, the Revelation to John. The greatest concentration of beattitudes are found here in Matthew's Gospel as he remembers Jesus teaching at the beginning of a section we call the Sermon on the Mount.

Some people say that they are virtues to aspire to keep. Some say that are entrance requirements to the Kingdom of God. Some say that are a feeling. I don't go with any of these meanings. Who would choose to be this way? Poor in spirit? Mourning? Persecuted? They seem odd, counterintutive.

I am getting to the second meaning of what it means to be blessed, so I continue with the story of Old Man George. For some of you who have lived in Texas, you are going to find this hard to believe, but that summer there was a drought. It was hot and dry. The land was burning up. Old Man George and Meta had a daughter and son-in-law who lived south of town. This daughter, Doris, had some fish tanks that were drying up. Doris treated the fish like pets. She would go out with a big bag of dog food, throw handfuls on top of the water and shout, "Here, fishy, fishy, fishy." This big ol' mouth would appear from below and swallow the floating chunks. As the tanks dried up, the fish were dying from a lack of oxygen.

Doris resolved to thin the number of fish. Cathy, not yet my wife, and I, being great humanitarians volunteered to help with this noble cause. Old Man George and Meta were there too. I am not saying the fish were big, but I had 20# test line on my rod and reel, and when I tried to drag one of them in, it broke the line. Old Man George rigged up the following: he took a mop handle with its steel triangle at the top and got 106# test line that was used for trot lines. He put a bobber and hook on the end. When you threw that out there with some dog food for bait, it didn't break. You should have seen Old Man George's eyes when he hooked one of those big catfish. They were as big as silver dollars.

Old Man George taught me how to clean the fish. We hung them up under the shade trees right there by the ponds. We gutted them. You peel off the skin with these special pliers. You fillet them. You put some breading on them. You have a deep fat fryer going there hooked up to a butane tank. You toss the fillets in until they are golden brown. You might cook up some hush puppies. You could have a little salad on the side. Now friends, I am here to tell that is some pretty good eating. Fresh catfish, fried up and eaten right there underneath the shade trees with a slight breeze blowing.

I don't know if if was a fish bone that did it, but 2 days later, Meta was sick. She had a perforated colon. Peritinitis, an infection of her gut, had set in. The hospital in Mason was more of a first aid station. Meta was loaded onto an ambulance and taken to Sid Peterson Hospital in Kerrville, 60 miles away. The senior pastor was gone. The family found me, and we rushed behind the ambulance to the hospital. They prepped Meta for surgery. We went in to see her. The family looked to me to say a prayer. It was really the first time anyone had ever turned to me as their pastor. I don't know what I said. All I remember is Old Man George holding Meta's hand and looking at her. They took her into surgery. We went to wait.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek....These are not things that we would choose. These are not the kind of things that we seek. But there are the kinds of things we all have experienced. We are getting to the second meaning of being blessed. It is a relational word. It means that no matter what happens in life we are connected to God. There is nothing beyond God's touch. We are not called to pursue these things. They are simply the way life is. And God is there....in the midst of these circumstances. Right now...and in the future.

It like what happens to Mary, that young girl, when the angel says to her, "You are favored, blessed, because through you will the Messiah be born." She reacts to that overwhelming news by saying, "Let it be...may it be so." A covenantal relationship is enough to see us through anything.

Well, Meta came through just fine. She recovered and thrived. At the end of December, after 7 months, I left Mason. Several years later I was serving in San Saba, not too far from Mason. The pastor in Mason and I were friends and were in a lectionary group together. He filled me in with the rest of the story. Old Man George and Meta finally had to move out of their ranch house. Meta's health dictated that she needed to be in a nursing home. Old Man George was in the same facility but in the assisted living wing. Every day, he would go to Meta's room and hold her hand. He would say, "I love you Meta." She would reply, "I love you, Old Man George."

That's what it means to be blessed. That's the good news I have to share with you today.