I suppose that one of my favorite Bible stories is the one of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho. You know the story - God had a city prepared for Joshua and His people. For six days they circled the city with the Ark of the Covenant which represented the Word of God. "On the seventh day they rose early, at dawn, and marched around the city in the same manner seven times. It was only on that day that they marched around the city seven times. And at the seventh time, when the priests had blown the trumpets, Joshua said to the people, "Shout! For the LORD has given you the city. So the people shouted, and the trumpets were blown. As soon as the people heard the sound of the trumpets, they raised a great shout, and the wall fell down flat; so the people charged straight ahead into the city and captured it."

I may be wrong but I truly believe that we are living in the midst of a world filled with man-made walls. Not walls built by God but man-made walls. Walls which desperately need to come down.

In our texts this morning we find the heart of the Gospel. First that Jesus is God’s Son. Second that there is not one person on the face of this earth who is to be excluded from His forgiveness, His Grace, or His Salvation. That every man, woman and child is afforded the opportunity to experience His Forgiveness, His Grace, and His Salvation whenever they call upon His name.

"And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased." (St. Mat. 3:16-17NRSV)

Many say Jesus was nothing more than a glorified preacher. Others say that he was the leader of a cult. Make no mistake about it - Jesus is the beloved Son of Almighty God - and He came for a purpose - "Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." (St. John 3:17 NRSV)

Have you ever gotten a Wedding Invitation? Man those things are worded so perfectly. I remember when Stephanie and I sent out our wedding invitations even the stamp on the envelope had to be in a perfect position. She would get so mad at me when I simply licked the stamp and slapped it on any ole way. I will tell you the exact same thing I told her - I have been performing and attending weddings for many years and I have YET to look at how the stamp is put on the envelope. But that if someone switched our invitation for another? That guest, whom we wanted to come to our wedding - would never have arrived!

The pure meaning of that salvation has been lost throughout the years. What it meant when John wrote his Gospel account is not what it means to everyone today. There are some who have placed walls around God’s invitation. Like an intentionally misplaced wedding invitation they have decided to exclude some people groups from God’s salvific plan.

I don’t know how many of you remember Sam Hickerman. "Sam, just plain ol’ Sam," is the way he referred to himself. For those of you who were not able to attend Nancy Brook’s funeral - Sam was a transport person who would push Nancy to and from her treatments. Whenever Sam would transport Nancy he’d sing for her. Sam sung those songs here for her funeral this past Wednesday. And he sung them as if he loved them and Nancy.

In the Fellowship Hall Sam walked up to me and hugged my neck saying "Pastor you have some wonderful people here. I felt no barriers." I replied that I did have a marvelous congregation here and that I was glad he felt accepted. Accepted? Yeah because Sam is an African American - he’s black. And I was indeed very proud of you!

Many of you know that I love the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I found this little story I want to share with you: It’s called: "An Inch of Kindness," by Jeanne Williams Carey.

"It was the Sunday after Christmas and the seven o'clock Mass was beginning. Chilled latecomers hurried up the side steps and the rear seats were filling up with stragglers, who welcomed the warmth of the radiators that backed the last pews.

The assistant pastor had begun the age-old celebration and the parishioners were very quiet, hardly participating. Each was in his or her own world. Christmas was two days ago and it had taken its toll. Even the children were still. It was a time of rest from the season's whirlwind pace, and everyone was content to just sit back and relax.

As Father John began his sermon, he looked over a very subdued crowd. He began with a pleasant introduction about the holiday time and its true meaning. Then he carried his sermon a little further and talked about charity and love and being good to others all the time. He said we couldn't go wrong by being kind. It was a talk we had all heard before, and we each felt smugly that we had done our part.

Then there was a pause, and Father John added a new thought for his flock to contemplate, and we were startled and roused from our reveries.

He talked about the vagrants, the bums and the homeless that were walking the streets of the city and giving testimony to the new poverty of our time. In quiet tones, he said that they needed care most of all. Some of us squirmed in our seats and exchanged glances. It was obvious we had some reservations about his statements. Most of us were thinking about the influx of wanderers into the city. Vagrants inhabited the parks, the shopping malls and the downtown area. Most of the petty crime seemed to be blamed on them, and they certainly weren't viewed with charity.

Mrs. Scupp was terrified by their looks and grimy appearance. Last week, a dingy stubble-faced man with a blanket wrapped around him had asked her for money. Startled and scared, she had dropped all of her packages as she exclaimed, "No!" He stooped and helped her pick up her gifts. Then she did find some money in her purse and gave it to him. The experience had unnerved her, and now she shuddered at the thought of repeating it.

Joe Walden's puffy face twisted with a grimace. Yeah, sure, he thought. Show these people an inch of kindness and they'll ruin your business. At first, he hadn't complained about the groups playing violins and guitars in front of his store and asking for donations for their entertainment. But prospective buyers were uncomfortable and passed the shop by. His sales had dropped, and he blamed the street people. What was this priest suggesting? He didn't want to know.

Margaret was so horrified by the group down in the grocery store parking lot that she hated to go shopping there, and she cringed at the thought of even being near the homeless. But the store was the closest place to home, so she went at noon when there were plenty of other shoppers.

Al sat back in his pew and was lost in this part of the message. He was deeply involved in reviewing his career as a cop and how it applied to the priest's words. It was his job to round up those that disturbed the peace or interfered with others. The terrible antagonism aroused between the citizens and these wanderers had led to many arrests and "move on" orders. Were they justified? One thought came to mind. Is there a little extra I could do? Al pulled his head into the warmth of his coat, stuck his hands into his pockets and dismissed the thoughts.

The priest continued with the sermon, touching on many sore spots. He ended by asking people to be kinder to the less fortunate, to be fair, and to treat everybody the way Christ would treat them. He left the pulpit to continue Mass, leaving everybody in a ruffled mood.

The Mass continued, and at the same time a noise began to interrupt the solemnity of the occasion. A cross between a groan and a whistle, it sounded again and again. A snicker ran through the church. It was a snore, and a mighty one at that. Anxious looks at the altar proved that Father John was unaffected by the noise, but others were. A lady in front with a big red hat was turning one way and then the other, seeking its originator. Three children were giggling. Their father tried to quiet them and at the same time scanned the congregation. Halfway up the middle aisle, to the right, was a hunched-up figure covered with a blanket - the source of the noise. Each time a chord was struck, the gray covering vibrated as the snore escaped its confines.

The snorer was obviously not a member of the church. Maybe he was one of those wanderers on his way south, or somebody who came in from the cold. Maybe he was a bum. One thing was certain, his snoring was offensive. People coughed nervously (like we do when our stomachs growl during a prayer!) and then waited for the next sound.

"Do you think he had a nice Christmas, too, Mommy?" Whispers and hugs identified a little girl in a new pink jacket.

"God loves him too, doesn't he, Mommy?" Another flurry followed as her father, nodding, picked her up in his arms. She rested her chin over his shoulder and was looking at the inert man. The people moved in their seats. This was a member of the poor that the sermon was all about. What an uncomfortable thought!

Father John was saying the final prayers when the little girl spoke to her father in a stage whisper that carried from one end of the church to the other. "Daddy, can't we share our Christmas with him? Can I have some money? I won't wake him up. Promise." There was quiet rustling and movement as she crossed the aisle and laid some bills on the blanket. Al rose to his feet and did the same. Joe Walden strode up with his offering. As Father John finished the Mass, other bills were dropped on the sleeping figure. He watched Mrs. Scupp gingerly place a five-dollar bill on the gray blanket that was now heaped with money. Margaret met Father John's grin as she left her offering.

It was a strange crowd who greeted Father John after services. The man in the blanket had made an impression, and while few words were said, everyone greeted the priest with a special heartiness. It comes with the satisfaction of giving, he thought privately.

When Father John returned to the empty church and walked up the aisle to the man, he saw the green bills nestled in the folds of the gray blanket. There was more money on the floor around the man. Father John gently shook him. The snoring man raised his head and looked vacantly at the priest for a moment. "Oh, I fell asleep, I guess. What's this?" The money cascaded around him as he rose and dropped the blanket. The priest looked with surprise into the face of Chris Gregory, a fireman and paramedic he had known for years. "Gee, Father John, I'm awfully sorry." As Chris gently scooped up and counted the wealth, Father John explained what had happened. Then Chris told his story.

His department had received three calls for fires down in the lagoon and along the railroad tracks. He had been out all night. The last call included a girl who was about to give birth. She was one of those who had sought the warmth of a fire that got out of hand. Before she could be taken to the hospital, he delivered her baby, a boy. Chris went to the hospital and stayed longer than he expected. It had been a long night, and he had stopped to make early-morning Mass before going home to sleep.

There was $600 altogether. Father John said, "Suppose we divide it. I'll use my share for the soup kitchen and you take the rest for the new mother. She's going to need it. Now, let's get some breakfast. And fold up that blanket - I don't really think the parishioners want to know who the man in the gray blanket was."

Over the years we have built a lot of walls. Some are over race, others over lifestyles, others over dress, yet is that what God intended? It’s time to bring down the walls and say as we remember the words of Peter: "I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him." (Acts 10:36-37 NRSV)

Links Reverend Osborne's Other Sites:

FUNERAL HOMILIES

People Have Visited This Site Since It's Inception in January 1999