Lectionary reading: The NINTH SUNDAY OF ORDINARY TIME - August 2, 2009

John 6:24-35

So they said to him, "What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing?

SANTA IN JULY by Larry Patten

This is what Walt Kowalski said to his priest:

You don’t know anything about life or death because you’re an overeducated twenty-seven year old virgin who holds the hands of superstitious old women and promises them eternity.

I wish I could say, it’s only a movie, only Clint Eastwood playing a cranky racist widower who’ll do most anything to insult his parish priest. But in Gran Torino, Eastwood directed and starred in a movie that hit close to the bone for me.

I saw it this week ala DVD. Walt’s pastor, a newly minted and “overeducated” Roman Catholic priest, reminded me of me. I was twenty-seven when I served my first church. Was I overeducated? When I processed down the sanctuary’s middle aisle for my first worship service I’d continuously attended school since kindergarten. I frequently (and foolishly) preached on life and death. Eternity, even.

Yeah, I also held hands with older women. A virgin? No. I was divorced, so I guess the start of my real ministry scored a notch higher on the pain-and-experience scale compared to the reel priest.

Still, what did I know then? Or, more importantly, what did I believe? Or perhaps, even more critically than knowledge or belief, what did—and what do—I do with my faith?

If you haven’t seen Gran Torino, though the language and violence might make it unsettling for some, I highly recommend a viewing. Why? For many reasons: an authentic glimpse into Hmong culture, a difficult reminder of why families become dysfunctional, terrific action, and unexpected humor. But I’d recommend the 2009 film because it’s a story that wrestles openly and painfully with the difference between actively doing faith versus believing.

What do you believe? And is that as important as what you do in your faith?

In John’s Gospel, a crowd approaches Jesus—the same crowd that had recently been miraculously fed—and wonders how they do the “work of God.” John has Jesus answer, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

Does John mean we are to “believe” in Jesus? Okay, again . . . what does that mean for you? For me? Too often it has meant an argument, millennia old, about belief systems. Do you believe in the trinity, atonement, and the virgin birth? Are you pro-life, and if not then pro-death? Are you pro-choice, and if not then shallow and insipid? Do you support gay marriage or are you going to hell in a man purse? Do you take the Bible literally, that the words of scripture are God’s immutable laws, or are you a lost soul, falling for anything because you stand for nothing?

You see how belief goes. It becomes a test. In a recent newspaper column the always insightfully irksome Karen Armstrong pondered,

All good religious teaching—including such Christian doctrines as the Trinity or Incarnation—is basically a summons to action. Yet instead of being taught to act creatively upon them, many modern Christians feel it is more important to ‘believe’ them. Why?

So what do I believe? I think I believe in Santa.

Last week I went to the local post office for an errand. As I entered, a man exited. He gave me a dude-nod. You know: acknowledge the other person, but don’t get carried away. There was also eye contact. He looked familiar and I realized it might be someone I hadn’t seen for awhile. I blurted out, “Hey Frank!”

“No,” he said, “my name’s Steve.”

Wrong guy. But with his ruddy face, flowing beard, and bandy legs, he looked an awful lot like good old Frank. Years ago, Frank taught me how to cross-country ski.

As I apologized, Steve responded, “No big deal. I get it all the time since I’m Santa.”

Whoa! Santa in July! My friend Frank has a nice beard and a welcoming smile, but Steve looked the real fake deal. Just like Clement Moore wrote, Steve had a broad face and a round little belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly . . . Probably in his seventies, Steve shared his love of children and rattled off the local and national Santa Claus-related organizations he was a member of (including one for Santas with natural beards . . . who knew?). Steve said he’d volunteer anytime anywhere.

As we parted he, of course, said, “Merry Christmas, kid.”

I, wiping the July sweat from my brow, replied, “Thanks Santa!”

Do I believe in Santa? Naw. And yet now I believe a little in Steve. In someone volunteering time to help kids and adults laugh.

The fictional Walt Kowalski cares less about proper belief and more about helping another. Santa, even in summer, offers to volunteer wherever he’s needed. The crowds, bellies full, want more signs and guarantees. Jesus, prove yourself! I don’t want to promise anyone eternity anymore. But I’ll still hold hands with others and help them remember, in my doing, that God’s love is best revealed by our gracious actions.

in Peace,

Larry Patten

(written on July 21, 2009)