Rev. Kelley Becker: God's love is alive. Show everyone.
When I was a child, on Memorial Day weekend, there was a strawberry festival in the little town where we lived. It was the best weekend of the year as far as I was concerned. Strawberries have always been one of my favorite things to eat. And on Memorial Day weekend in the upper Midwest, strawberries are generally at their finest. On the vine, they actually smell like strawberries; they are a deep red and they aren’t too firm and not too soft. They are perfect.
A big part of the fun that weekend was the eating of all things strawberry. There were strawberry pies, jams, and salads, strawberries dipped in chocolate, and strawberries over shortcakes and ice cream. It was a strawberry lover’s paradise! We would gather around tables, sampling all things strawberry and talking about which strawberry-laden concoctions we liked best. I was always partial to the homemade strawberry ice cream that we could watch being made right in front of us.
In addition to the tasting, another part of the strawberry festival fun was going into the strawberry patches to pick fruit. We could take baskets or bags and pick as many strawberries as we wanted to. I am sure the number of strawberries I ate equaled or exceeded the number that landed in the basket. I loved being there in the strawberry patch. I loved the smell of the dirt mixing with the smell of the strawberries. I loved hearing the adults talk about what a great harvest there was that year, as the weather had been perfect or how the strawberries had endured despite the weather’s lack of cooperation.
The farmer who grew the strawberries milled about, chatting with all the visitors, but he always paid special attention to the children. He had what seemed like hundreds of stories about life on the farm, from coyotes to locusts and everything in between; he had seen it all. It was clear he was doing what he loved and loved what he was doing. By the end of the day, all of us wanted to be farmers when we grew up. When we were done picking, our berries would be weighed, and Grandpa would pay for them. The farmer always told us we were great fruit pickers and would remind all the young farmers-in-training that he would need our help in the fall when it came time to pick apples.
Thinking back on the years of strawberry festival fun, I realize that as much as I loved eating and picking strawberries, I loved the sense of community that was formed among the festival goers. Even as a child, I think I sensed that there was more to the strawberry festival than strawberries. As children, we were being taught an appreciation for the land and the people who make their living from it. We were being shown the value of working together and being together. And, perhaps most importantly, we learned that even though we were very young, we had something to contribute. We were included. We weren’t relegated to a kids’ table or told to go play while the grown-ups worked; we were included and our contributions valued.
The world is full of places and situations in which some people are excluded. Because I am a minister, I’ve heard so many stories of the ways in which the Church has excluded people. This, of course, is the exact opposite of the ways of Jesus whom we claim to follow. If it is nothing else, the Church must be the place where everyone is included and where there is enough for everyone. If it is not that place, then it cannot claim to be about the ways of Jesus. In the stories of Jesus, we see him teaching his followers about radical inclusion and over-the-top abundance. When Jesus was around, there was enough bread and fish to feed thousands. There was plenty of wine at the wedding. It seemed that everywhere he went, there was a feast, and there was always enough for everyone…women and men, Jewish and not, tax collectors and clueless disciples. Everyone ate…nobody was sent away hungry.
Jesus’ message that there was enough for everyone wasn’t just about food. It was also about love. There is enough love for everyone, too…for a Samaritan woman at the well, for both sons in the prodigal son story, for Mary and Martha, for people in need of healing, and for followers who watched and listened and still very often didn’t have a clue what Jesus was really talking about. Love, dear ones, is our hope for a future and a world that is more equitable, more just, and safer for all people. And it starts in our homes and in our communities.
Since Christians all over the world have just observed Easter, which is the celebration of God’s love alive in the world, now is a good time to point out the places in which love is alive. Love is alive in you who make music and art for all of us to enjoy. Love is alive in you who protect, teach, and care for children. Love is alive in you who work for justice alongside the ones who are vulnerable. Love is alive in you who volunteer your time at non-profit organizations. Love is alive in you who care for the Earth and for the creatures with whom we share the Earth. Love is alive in you who show kindness even when your heart aches. Love is alive in you who joyfully serve others as your vocation. Love is alive in Bartlesville and that is always worth celebrating! Happy Easter! We are better together.
Rev. Kelley Becker is senior minister at Disciples Christian Church in Bartlesville.
This article originally appeared on Bartlesville Examiner-Enterprise: Rev. Kelley Becker: God's love is alive
