Sunday, February 24, 2008

(Lent 3) At the well without a bucket

Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:5-42

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This morning the scriptures have opened up two stories for us.
Very similar stories,
in that they’re both about thirsty people who needed water.
But very different stories, in almost every other way.
Different as night and day.

Biblical stories like these have enough power in the telling of them.
I could just leave them alone, let them speak on their own terms.
There’s certainly nothing I can add.
They are the word of the Lord to us. Thanks be to God.
So my role as preacher this morning,
as it is most times I preach, as a matter of fact,
is not to say anything new or original.
It is merely to shine a light, as it were, on these stories.
To prompt us to see the treasures there to be discovered.
To encourage us to sharpen our perception.

The first story is from Exodus 17.
On this occasion,
the whole people of Israel were tired and hot and thirsty.
With good reason.
They were in the desert.
They were carrying all their earthly belongings,
setting up camp every night,
packing up every morning.
They had been doing it for a couple weeks already.
The kids were getting whiny and irritable.
That’s not in the text.
But as one who personally has been on some
2-week camping trips with kids,
I think I’m on solid ground assuming it.
The donkeys were probably getting more stubborn.
And nearly every adult’s nerves were getting frayed.
What Moses had on his hands here,
was over a million people, who literally,
were not happy campers.
We can understand that.
It’s what happens when you’re tired, hot, and thirsty.

But on the other hand,
when you take into account the events of the last couple weeks,
it’s a little harder to excuse their whining.
They had just been delivered from 400+ years
of back-breaking slavery in Egypt.
They were freed by the mighty hand of God.
When they got stuck between the Red Sea, and Pharoah’s army,
God acted, to part the waters of the Red Sea so they could cross.
Soon after, when they got to a spring where the water was bitter,
God acted, through the hand of Moses, to turn the bitter into sweet.
And a few days later they finished the last of their traveling food,
and were getting hungry,
so every day since then, God acted,
by raining down bread and meat from heaven,
in the form of manna and quail.
With one miracle after another,
they saw God’s mighty hand reach out to them,
and in a demonstration of amazing
love, compassion, and deliverance.
God met their every need.
Whatever their need, God responded.
Every time.

But in today’s story, they apparently were suffering
short-term memory loss.
They forgot God acted, just a few weeks ago,
to deliver them out of slavery.
They forgot God acted to get them across the sea.
They forgot God acted to sweeten the water.
They forgot God acted to send food from the sky.
They forgot God acted.
Now when they were hot and thirsty,
with no water in sight,
they had no God-memory to draw on,
no confidence in the one who acts to deliver.
In other words, no faith.

A crowd formed and they went to confront Moses.
This was not a well-thought-out, and well-led,
rational grievance procedure.
They were a mob.
They were hopping mad.
And they were out to get Moses,
the very leader who had been instrumental
in getting God to rescue them every time so far.
They charged Moses with intentionally bringing them out of Egypt
in order to kill them and their children and livestock.
They were so angry they were about to stone Moses to death.
They were inflamed.
They were demanding their rights.
They were insisting that their needs get met
right here, right now, or else.

Which, fortunately for them—and fortunately for Moses—
is what happened.
God told Moses to go to a certain rock,
and strike it with his stick,
and a spring of fresh water came from it.
Even in the face of their bitter, selfish, demanding behavior,
God rescued them once again.
And apparently, no thanks from the people.



That’s the first story.
This next one unfolds quite a bit differently.
In this story, it was Jesus who was hot, tired, and thirsty.
And that fact alone merits some reflection.

Because, we don’t often think of Jesus in terms of his
very real, very physical, and very human needs.
We know all about this story
of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well.
We heard it ever since we heard Bible stories.
And we usually assume that this was simply a divine appointment
God set it up especially, for Jesus to dispense heavenly wisdom
to a certain Samaritan woman,
and thereby leave an eternal spiritual lesson for all of us
who would read this story, even 2,000 years later.
Well, looking back, we could certainly say it was divinely appointed,
and there are spiritual lessons to be learned.
But the story itself is not quite so lofty.
It’s a very earthy story.

Jesus was hot, and tired, and thirsty.
When he and his disciples got into Samaria,
the disciples went on into the city to buy food.
Jesus stayed by the well.
Why?
Because he heard the voice of God to stay there,
because a Samaritan woman would be coming along?
It’s certainly possible. But I doubt it.
I think the reason was pretty simple.
Jesus stayed by the well because he was physically exhausted.
John tells us in v. 6 that Jesus was “tired out by his journey.”
He was probably huffing and puffing, and a little wobbly on his feet.
So he said to his disciples,
“You go get the food. I can’t take another step.”
Not to be irreverent,
but let’s be realistic.
The disciples were probably more physically fit than Jesus!
At least four of them grew up as hard-working fisherman.
Jesus grew up sitting at the foot of a rabbi, studying Torah,
and maybe helping his dad out in the shop.
I doubt he could keep pace
with his rugged and brawny disciples from Galilee.
So he stayed by the well.
Alone. Hot. Tired.
And no bucket to dip water.

So when the Samaritan woman came along,
I’m sure Jesus wasn’t thinking,
“Now, here’s an opportunity to teach a valuable spiritual lesson.”
He was thinking,
“Finally, somebody with a bucket.”
So, out of a purely physical need, he asked,
“Will you give me a drink?”
Simple, straightforward. “Will you give me a drink?”

Except, it wasn’t simple at all, really.
And Jesus knew it.
Jesus knew full well all the social, spiritual, and moral implications
of speaking to this Samaritan woman.
But Jesus had a need.
And even before the woman came to the well,
Jesus made a deliberate choice
to cross some major social and religious barriers.
Most self-respecting Jews would never be caught in Samaria
to begin with.
Samaritans were worse than heathens.
They were the descendants of Jews who married Gentiles.
They were half-breed Jews.
Jews gone bad.
Jews who flouted the law of Moses.
True Jews like Jesus would have gone far out of their way
to avoid ending up where Jesus ended up.

Not only did Jesus and his disciples go through Samaria,
Jesus stopped at the only well near the city,
a place where he surely knew that very soon
he would have a personal encounter with someone from town.
He would have to speak to a Samaritan,
something most Jews would never do.
And not only that, but since men rarely drew water,
this person would likely be a woman,
another taboo for a Jewish man.
Jesus knew all of this full well.
But...he had a profound need. A need for a drink.

So when, inevitably, a Samaritan woman approached with her jar,
Jesus asks...sincerely, “Will you give me a drink?”
Now, you have to understand.
Not only was he speaking to a Samaritan woman,
he was placing himself in a position of dependance on her.
He was making himself vulnerable.
Plain and simple, he needed her,
and he didn’t think twice about telling her –
“I’m tired. I’m weak. I need your help.”
His act of vulnerability was so remarkable
that it stunned the Samaritan woman,
and it rendered Jesus’ disciples speechless,
after they got back from the food market.
This may be the only place in the Bible where the writer
makes a point of telling us what the characters in the story
did not say.
John says in v. 27 that when the disciples came back,
they did not say, “What do you want?” or,
“Why are you speaking with her?”
They did not ask the obvious questions.
They were speechless.



So, that’s the second story.
There’s lots more to it we could explore.
But I want to stop there.
Let’s think for a bit about these two stories
and the different ways people responded to thirst.

In both cases, the need for water was real. It was desperate.
Physical health and well-being were at stake.

When Jesus needed water,
he openly acknowledged his weakness and need,
even when it meant asking a favor from a social outcast.
He was willing to be completely vulnerable,
in recognition of his need.
When the mob went to Moses,
they were thinking about their rights.
They went to their leader (and in essence to God),
and issued demands. “You owe it to us.
We have a right to have our needs met.
So do it now, our pay the price.”

Like Jesus, the people of Israel were in a position
of complete dependence on their provider, Yahweh.
Their position required a relationship of trust.
Their provider had already proved to be trustworthy,
again and again.
But rather than wait in trust and in faith,
they issued demands.
When Jesus stooped to ask for help from the Samaritan woman,
he was offering dignity and worth to an outcast –
rejected by her own townspeople, no doubt,
having been five-times married,
and now living with a man she wasn’t married to.
Which could explain her being at the well at high noon,
rather than joining the other women of the town,
in their important daily morning social gathering at the well.

When Jesus asked for help, he was building a relationship,
building up the helper.
When the Israelites went to Moses,
they trampled on a relationship,
tried to stone their helper.

In Jesus’ request for help,
he helped to lift up, and give worth to another.
In the Israelites’ request for help,
they insulted and accused and threatened.



It takes a lot of courage to ask for water
the way Jesus asked for water.
It’s something people don’t do real often, or real well.
Especially us industrious, hard-working,
and enterprising Mennonites.

But we have lots of thirsty people among us.
Lots of people longing for something they don’t have.
I know that,
because I have heard some of you express that thirst.
I also know it, because it’s my own story.
I thirst. Often. And repeatedly.
And I know how hard it is to ask someone else for a drink.
It’s easier to make demands of God,
than to do like Jesus did,
and put myself in a vulnerable position
especially to those who ought to be looking to me for help.
A good pastor leads others to the water.

I need to remember what the good teacher did in Samaria.
He sat by the well, and waited.
Our Lord, willing to be helpless,
willing to take help from whoever would offer.

I know I’m not alone in being slow to make my needs known.
It is the human condition.
There are many thirsty people here today, I imagine,
who’ve not yet had the courage
to turn toward someone with a water jug,
and say, “Will you help me...and give me a drink?”
Maybe we’re afraid they’ll think ill of us,
think we’re less spiritual,
if we can’t carry our own water jug.
Or maybe we look down on them,
thinking we are above asking help of someone like them.
Whatever the reason,
we choose not to ask,
and we lose an opportunity to be refreshed.



This morning we’re going to practice asking for help.
If you are tired, if you are parched,
if you have a longing to be refreshed by God’s Spirit,
and you are willing to openly express that need,
you are invited to come to the water this morning.

But you will notice, if you’re observant,
that the well here at Park View is missing something.
This is like the well Jesus encountered at Samaria.
There is water here, but no way to drink it.
There are full pitchers,
but no cups to bring the water to your mouth.

Jesus took a risk when he sat down by the well and waited.
He had no assurance of who might come
and be willing give him, a Jewish man alone in Samaria, a drink.
If you want to drink from the water this morning,
you also will need to take a risk.
You’ll need to come to where the water is, and simply wait,
not knowing who will help, or when help will come.

Then, if anyone here is so led to be the Samaritan helper,
you may go and fetch a cup, from the small table on either side,
and go to the one waiting,
and pour water into the cup,
offering it in the name of Jesus.

Anyone is welcome to come,
no matter what the source of your thirst may be.
If you are a thirsty soul, come to the water.

Whether you stand waiting at the well,
or whether you come to give a drink,
is no indicator of spiritual maturity.
It’s simply an indicator of who is thirsty this morning,
and who is available to serve.

So come as you are led.
There might be multiple persons waiting at the well.
If the one you went to serve has already been given water,
give the water to someone else.
You don’t even have to know the person waiting by the water.
Jesus and the woman were total strangers.
Yet one could serve the other.

So here we are, at the community well this morning.
Come and be refreshed by the cool water of God’s people.
Even more, be refreshed by the Spirit of God, the living water,
as it is shared with us by our sisters and brothers.



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Sunday, February 10, 2008

(Lent 1) Seeking God East of Eden

Matthew 4:1-11; Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

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We celebrate the season of Lent every year,
not because it’s a fun thing to do—which it clearly is not.
At least I’ve never heard anyone ask,
“What can we do for fun, during Lent this year?
I know. Give up chocolate!
Or maybe no desserts for 40 days!
And in church, let’s have more confessions,
and less ‘Alleluias’!
Ah! This is going to be great!”
No, we don’t do Lent for the fun of it.
We do it out of spiritual necessity.
If we claim to be Christian, we simply must do Lent.

No, I don’t mean we have to set aside these 40 days before Easter,
and go through some particular ritual on these particular days.
We don’t even have to give up chocolate.
And we definitely don’t have to give up coffee... Do we??
What I mean is that Lent calls us, as Christians,
to take on a certain kind of posture before God.
And if we cannot take on that posture,
we cannot claim to be Christian.
It’s that simple and stark.

Living the Christian life is not, I’m sorry to say,
one great big long season of Easter,
lived in constant high celebration.
That should be obvious to all of us.
But as obvious as it is,
we often act like Christians don’t belong in the wilderness...
ever...period.
That if we find ourselves groping in the dark,
and having trouble seeing the light,
we must be in a state of moral and spiritual failure.
It’s not failure. It’s an opportunity.

It takes people who are empty,
to experience a full measure of God’s presence, and God’s grace.

In fact, I think that lying at the root of all sin,
is this failure to admit and to embrace,
this state of emptiness before God.

Remember the two men praying in the temple, that Jesus talked about?
The man who bowed low, crying,
“God, have mercy on me, a sinner!”
went home reconciled with God, Jesus said.
The man who stood tall, full of himself,
thanking God he wasn’t empty like that other poor man,
went home still carrying his burden of sin.

And I think this same failure to embrace emptiness before God,
is what caused all the trouble in the garden of Eden.
We heard the story again this morning.

Adam and Eve were placed in the garden to care for it, on God’s behalf.
They were given the task of being God’s humble servants.
Utterly dependent on God.
In themselves, empty.
The temptation, presented them by the servant,
was to reject that emptiness.
The serpent said, “You can be like God.”
Boy, that sounded good. To be like God.
Better than being empty, and dependent on God for everything.
That was the temptation. And they bit on it, literally.

And suddenly their eyes were opened.
And they knew they were naked.
And that made them uncomfortable.
Well, yeah!
If emptiness and dependence was a problem,
how much more the vulnerability of being naked before God.
So they sewed together some fig leaves.
This tendency of human nature,
to cover up before God,
to hide our vulnerability,
to deny our emptiness and need,
causes us to act in all kinds of sinful ways.
We start orienting our whole lives around ourselves.
Protecting. Guarding. Securing.
Looking after our own interests first.
With force, if necessary.

Lent is the season we so desperately need, spiritually.
It forces us to face up to this lie that we’ve been living.
That we are self-sufficient.
It brings to light the shadow-side of our humanity,
and reveals us to be what we really are.
Creatures loved by God,
but sorely in need of redemption.
Of forgiveness. Of grace.

The punishment for Adam and Eve,
later in chapter 3, which didn’t get read,
was that they were sent out of the lush green garden of Eden,
and into the wilderness beyond the garden,
and God placed a team of cherubim on the east side of Eden,
to keep them from coming back in and eating of the tree of life.
So Adam and Eve, in this primeval story,
and still today, all of us, figuratively,
are living East of Eden.
Not in the garden, but in the wilderness.
Not where green plants and fruit spring up spontaneously
by the hand of God,
but where we have to toil, to fight against natural enemies—
thorns and thistles, insects and disease—
and produce our food by the sweat of our brow.
This is where we live. East of Eden.

So where has God been, since Adam and Eve were sent East?
In the garden, God came to them, and walked and talked.
Where is God east of Eden?
Are we destined to wander alone in the wilderness?

That is the big question that humanity has wrestled with,
ever since the cherubim took up their stations at the garden gate.
The whole story of God’s people,
throughout the Old and New Testaments,
and throughout the history of the Christian church,
is a story of seeking God in the wilderness.

At times we have remembered and embraced
this place of emptiness and barrenness before God,
and we have looked to God in deep trust,
and willingness to risk and obey.
And God has often blessed us
with love, and presence, and joy, and peace.
At other times we have stubbornly clung to this deception,
that we can do this alone, on our own strength and wisdom.
And we walk away, as did the man in the temple, in Jesus’ story,
still carrying the burden of our sin.

Where is God east of Eden?
That is the question Jesus himself had to face,
at the beginning of his ministry.
In today’s Gospel reading, from Matthew chapter 4,
Jesus was led by the Spirit,
right after his baptism,
right after God’s public affirmation of him as God’s beloved,
right after Jesus’ mission was becoming clear to him,
and he was filled with the Holy Spirit,
the Spirit led him into the wilderness.
Jesus found himself east of Eden.
And here, in the wilderness,
the same place Adam and Eve were sent,
Jesus, the new Adam, was sent to encounter his own emptiness.

40 days of fasting laid bare Jesus’ desperate need, his utter emptiness.
So the tempter met him there,
just like the serpent in the garden,
and fed Jesus the same compelling lies.
You don’t need to be empty like this!
You don’t need to be content with this helpless position
of complete dependence on someone else.
You can take matters into your own hands.
Why wait on God? You have what you need.
Use it for your own benefit.
Turn the stones into bread, and eat!
Jump from the pinnacle of the temple, and be saved!
and draw a following!
Own all the kingdoms of this world,
and seize the power that is yours!
You have it! Use it for yourself!

In other words,
“Skip the wilderness altogether!
Why suffer? Why toil and sweat?
Live in the garden...now.”
I doubt we can fully appreciate,
how powerfully Jesus must have been tempted
to take this short cut back to Eden,
rather than seek the face of God in the wilderness.

That is the basic temptation we all live with.
To skip the wilderness.
To skip this place where there is
suffering, with no relief in sight,
violence, with little hope for peace,
emptiness, and no evidence of food and water,
questions, with no ready answers.
The basic temptation is to usurp the place of God in this equation,
to take matters into our own hands.
The temptation with which Jesus was faced,
and which faces me every day,
is to abandon my identity as God’s servant,
and become God’s rival, instead.

Every time I reject my emptiness,
and take matters into my own hands,
I work against the purposes of God in this life East of Eden.
I become God’s rival.

Every time I live as if I have to prove my worth,
I become a rival to God, who made me worthy,
created me in his own image.
Every time I turn my back on someone in need,
I become a rival to God, who provides for me,
to whom I owe everything, even the air I breathe.
Every time I act out of anger, bitterness, or resentment
against someone who has done me wrong,
I become a rival to God, who loves me no matter what I do,
and forgives me without hesitation, time and again.
Every time I participate in violence,
and we all do, in one way or another,
I become a rival to God, and to Jesus the Prince of Peace,
who called me love even my enemies.
Every time I put my hope in the political process,
as I will undoubtedly do, the closer we get to November,
I become a rival to God, who rules over a greater Kingdom,
and invites me to live differently, as a citizen of that Kingdom.
Every time I grasp for power and authority and control,
I become a rival to God, who in the person of Christ,
emptied himself, even to the point of death on the cross.
Every time I gather wealth and possessions around me
because of the comfort and security they bring,
I become a rival to God, who revealed himself to us in Jesus,
living as a servant of all,
refusing to let the things of this world
distract him and own him.

Every time we fall prey to the sin of denying our emptiness,
and our need for redemption...
every time we commit the sin of taking matters into our own hands,
we move from being God’s servants, to being God’s rivals.

Seeking God east of Eden
requires a constant, vigilant, awareness
of who I am in relation to God.
The world around us, this side of Eden,
would have us believe we belong to ourselves.
That by a sheer act of the will,
and the power of positive thinking,
I can become the person I want to be,
no matter what.
But that is not God’s story about me. That’s not God’s narrative.

God’s narrative is that God has an exclusive claim on me.
Though I am always free to choose,
free to accept or reject this claim,
free to take my life in my own hands.
Nevertheless, God’s narrative says I am God’s child.
I am loved by the one who willed me into existence,
and whose love continues to draw me toward Godself.
All that I am, and all that I possess...
all that I ever will be or ever will possess...
is owed entirely to this lover-creator God.

The position of God toward me,
is one that I must gratefully receive and live into.
When I reject it, and begin to usurp God’s role,
and start orienting my life toward myself,
seeking to manipulate others toward my advantage,
I become a lost soul in the wilderness east of Eden.

The season of Lent is a golden opportunity for me,
and for all of us,
to wake up from the self-oriented stupor of our culture,
and to be reminded of our holy emptiness.
I say holy emptiness,
because it’s an emptiness that we
hold before a loving, redeeming God.
And God will fill it.
Not, perhaps, with the food and drink our culture values,
but with living water.

The season of Lent is a time for us to repent of our sin,
and turn toward God the source of all life.
We began this season four days ago on Ash Wednesday,
when we openly acknowledged our emptiness and need.
Now, we are moving, slowly, deliberately,
from these ashes of repentance,
toward the fountain of life that will wash us clean
in a flood of grace.

—Phil Kniss, February 10, 2008

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Sunday, February 3, 2008

Open House

Membership Sunday 2008
Ephesians 2:19-22


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What a gift we’ve been given this morning!
17 persons have stood before us,
and told us, in personal terms,
what it means for them to become part of our family.
Wish we all had the opportunity (or felt the obligation)
to put into words every once in a while,
why we want to be part of this household,
what it means for us to name Jesus Lord,
and to count ourselves as part of Christ’s body.
I’m open for volunteers. Talk to me.

The apostle Paul, in the words we just heard from Ephesians,
uses a house as a metaphor for the church.
I think it’s a wonderful image.
Most of have had the experience of living in a house
that almost literally wraps its arms around us,
and invites us to settle down, settle in,
and rest in the security and comfort that house offers us.
There may be some of us who don’t have that experience right now.
Maybe we are between houses, or in a less than ideal house.
Soon, Park View Mennonite will be opening its doors
to those who have no house at all,
and for one week of nights,
we will try to provide for them
a warm and welcoming and safe house.
I hope many of us get involved in that work of hospitality.

But Paul thinks the church should be for us
like a big, warm, welcoming house
that invites in the foreigner and stranger,
and opens the way for them to become family.
He was saying this to the Gentile Christians,
who were just beginning to find a place of belonging
in a primarily Jewish household.
He said, this church is a different kind of family.
The household of God is built not from a common genealogy,
or shared bloodlines,
or even uniformity of doctrine.
It is a building, not even constructed by us,
but by Jesus Christ, who fills multiple roles in this house.
Jesus is builder, head of house, host, and cornerstone.

And those who accept the invitation of Jesus to come into this house,
to settle down, and settle in,
even though they entered as foreigners and strangers,
now are fellow citizens, members of the household.
This is their house.
What a wonderful gift for the Gentiles,
who had known only exclusion and rejection
from their Jewish neighbors.

So as we come from many places, and accept Jesus’ invitation,
we are built together into a wonderful house,
a warm, welcoming, and nurturing house.
And an open house.
A house whose doors are open to the world,
to all seekers,
all who desire a place of refuge,
all who need a home and are willing to receive
the warm embrace of our host, Jesus.

So here we are, a household seeking to live openly in the world,
who gather regularly at this particular place
between College Avenue and Park Road.
We come to this physical space, this open house,
to meet together,
to worship,
to pray,
to sing,
to sit in silence,
to spend time together talking, learning and laughing,
eating and drinking.
But this building is not the house of God.
According to Ephesians 2, we are God’s house,
God’s open house in the world wherever we live,
and wherever we gather.
But we do need a place to meet,
and this is the place we have chosen,
have built, and developed, for almost 40 years now.
In some ways, this place is almost nothing.
It has no eternal value, whatsoever.
But in other ways, it is crucial to who we are,
because it becomes part of our mission,
a tool to use to become the open house God wants us to be.
Like it will be next week when we host the HARTS program,
and shelter the homeless.
This building is a wonderful resource that is a gift of God,
and thus, is our responsibility to manage well.

It’s a matter of stewardship,
and stewardship is not just one of many things we believe.
It is THE central concern in our relationship with God.
All that we have, and all that we are, belongs to God.
God is the owner, of our lives, our finances, our talents,
our property, our houses.
God owns this place, no matter what the deed says.
And it is our privilege to care for it
in a way that honors and pleases the owner.

I believe, and so do many of us,
that the owner of this house is not terribly pleased,
that we spend between 30 and 40 thousand dollars a year,
in interest on a debt,
when those funds might be used to invest in God’s mission,
and to be God’s open house to the world.

This debt happened because we made certain decisions in the past
about this building—how large it should be,
how it should be built, how it should be furnished.
Not everyone agreed 100% on every one of these decisions—
surprise, surprise!!
But this is now our house to meet in, God’s gift on loan to us,
God’s property for us to manage, to care for,
in a way that pleases God.

Today, we all have an opportunity,
no matter how we felt, or how we voted, on decisions in the past,
to participate in a bold step of faith that can free us from a debt,
that limits our ability to be God’s open house.
Your participation is not just a personal decision of stewardship,
although it is that.
It is also a decision to join with others of God’s household,
in a group effort to embrace our mission & be God’s open house.
This is a combined effort of this community to “Climb the Peak,”
and be free of this burden of debt.
May God bless this effort, and each of our contributions,
as we become free to serve God and God’s people
without restraint,
without hesitation,
welcoming the foreigner, the stranger, the pilgrim.

—Phil Kniss, February 3, 2008



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