Resurrection letter no. 2

Dear friends,

As many of you know, we moved this past week. We're still settling the mess, but we're in the house. It's good to be out here.

One of our first encounters as we were just starting to move some boxes was with our neighbor Darrel Gettler. Many of you might know him. He's been in this area and in his house next to ours for a while. And as a neighbor, he's kept an eye on the house we're occupying for a while. He knows about the house. He knows the area. He can tell us all sorts of stories about who's lived in the house, who lives on the block, stuff about the town.

We had this sort of experience with a few others, too. Roger and Kathy Metzger, Cheryl Williams, Connie Littler, Rick Huss. I could name more. They know our house, too. They know the area. It's actually quite comforting and good to hear this familiarity.

It occurred to me that though we're new, we're moving into a known place.

At some point, we plan on not being new, though I suspect in a town like Adair, unless you're born there, and your parents were born there, and your grandparents were born there -- you're always going to be "new." It's important to notice this, I think.

We're coming into a known place. We're coming into a place that is not "ours." It is the place of the people who know it, who have been here, who have been around. There's a history to this place and to the people here, a history of families and people supporting one another in this community. The history and the place needs to be recognized and understood.

And as it goes, as the new folks we're probably being watched, too. We're being noticed. Every newcomer is. It's not just that it's small town. It's that this is part of coming into a place that's known, that has individuals and families rooted in the place and the people and the history. It's part of coming into a place that's considered precious and valuable.

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Yet, it also occurs to me that there's a knowing that is beyond your knowing of the area.

Just as many of you know this place and you know the people, you are also all known. Your story, your life, your history, your tendencies, your fits, your blunders, your joys, your dreams that have not quite come true. It's all known. And it's being watched, too.

Yes, I think you know what I'm going to say. And I don't say it just because I'm a pastor. I say it because I think this is the foundation of life. God is watching you. He has been. But it does not need to cause you to close the blinds and hide out for fear of being "seen." The fact that God is watching you and knows you is so you can come out into the light and live in the world.

I think of the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis. They had done what God told them not to do. It was for their own good. But they did it anyway. And they hid. But God knew and God looked for them. He wanted them to come out, so who they are could be seen, the ugly and the good parts. They have to face up to what they did, but they also faced who they are: they are still God's creation, loved and cared for. God still clothes them and looks out for them.

That God knows you and your community better than you do is a comfort. In Scripture it's comforting because God's watching is not to catch you doing stuff he won't like. To think this is to miss the point. And as humans, we're darn good at missing the point of things.

I think of Psalm 139. Most of this Psalm talks about how there is nowhere on this green earth that God is not. In other words, no matter where we go or how we think we hide ourselves, God is everywhere. For the Psalmist, this is not creepy, like a neighbor watching the new people on the block. God's seeing and watching is a comfort for the Psalmist. It's a watching of love.

God already knows you. God created you. Because of this, God has great love for you, and so nothing and no place on this planet will escape his notice. This doesn't mean God is like a helicopter parent, hovering around everything you do. It means God knows you. In a world where we struggle to be known and cared for, God's watching says otherwise. When you close up or feel unnoticed, take heart. You are not just seen; you are known and loved.

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There's another part to this being known. As I read Scripture I find that the truth of the matter is this: there isn't anything that surprises God. 

Sure, some of you might think that you're beyond God. That you say things that God doesn't want to hear. You've done things God doesn't want to see. But God sees it all. God knows it all.

I think of the book of Ecclesiastes or Kohelet, as it's called in Hebrew. Kohelet means "the teacher." And the writer of this Old Testament book has some straight-shooting stuff to teach all of us.

One of the main things he says is, "There is nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

It's like us moving into town. We're new, but we're not new. Not that we'll come and go. But there probably isn't much about us that this town hasn't already seen.

Same with all of us as we live our lives. There isn't anything God hasn't seen, there isn't anything God hasn't already dealt with in the course of humanity, there isn't anything God hasn't forgiven.

Here's what I think sometimes: we think more of ourselves than we ought. Now, usually that means that we can be conceited. That we can think we're more important than we really are.

But there's another way to spin this. We in our lives of independence, or our feelings that God won't like us because we're not perfect, or our sometimes "too cool for God" attitude that I might see in, say, junior high and high school students (just sayin') -- sometimes I think we make more of ourselves than we really should. Sometimes I think we're a little to big for our britches.

Do we really think there are things about our lives that God hasn't seen before or that God can't handle? From all the stories in Scripture, there are some pretty dicey characters. And we have a God who is really not all that impressed with all of that. We not as bad as we think. We're not as cool as we think. There isn't anything, and I mean anything, about our lives that surprises God. Nothing that embarrasses him. Nothing.

We're just passers-by in this world. We come and we go. Someone before us thought God didn't care for them or know them. They were wrong, of course. People after us will think these things, too. Let me remind you today, in this letter, that you are known. You have come into a world that is known, a world that is God's place. Even Adair, Iowa is God's place. It's really not yours. You -- we -- are all just passing through. We're occupying space for a time. Then someone else will move in.

So maybe we should open the windows a bit and let some light in. Let God in more. He already knows you, he knows this place. God's been around, we haven't. Maybe it would be good to just recognize that, and embrace it and live freely because of it. Let me encourage you to top resisting and be loved and cared for by the God who made you, who knows you.

We're all looking for it. You know it and I know it. Maybe we should let our guard down and let ourselves be known. Like the many people of this town who know this place, who know their small piece of history of this place and the people here, let's live in that comfort and security, knowing that God knows you, your life, your history. He wants you to come out and live in his love.

In defiant hope,

Pastor Kyle