This, Our Valley: When the warranty runs out

 

"Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.” Psalm 25:3

Legend has it that when Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, he rang up his assistant and said, “Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you.” That was in 1876. What was never recorded was the second call,”We’re calling to inform you that your car’s warranty has expired.” To which Watson asked, “What’s a car?”

I was thinking about that the other day when I picked up my cell phone to take a picture of some lilies that have bloomed ever so prettily on our back deck this past week, but the cell phone’s display was all out of focus. I checked to confirm I had on my glasses as my peepers aren’t what they once were (in terms of visual acuity). My specs were fine, as was the cell phone display screen. It turned out the problem was the glass that covers the camera’s lens on my phone was broken.

What a pane in the glass, I exclaimed to no one but myself. I bought a repair kit online but couldn’t remove the broken glass or dissolve the glue that holds it in. I called a local cell phone repair shop and left messages, but they never returned my call. I assume they were on hold waiting to hear back about their own extended car warranty matters.

So I bit the bullet and went down to my local cellular service provider to see what they could do. I shared my tale of woes with the customer service representative who greeted me warmly upon my entering their fine establishment. “We don’t do phone repairs,” he confessed, “but let’s see what we can do.” 

He checked my plan and noted that I was due for an upgrade anyway, and that between trading in the old phone and applying current rebates and cancelling my old plan for a better unlimited (and cheaper) plan, that I could, at the end of everything, pay about twenty dollars a month less than I had been currently paying. I could see it was a great deal, even if I hadn’t been wearing my eyeglasses!

I gave him my go-ahead and we got the process underway of not only buying the new phone, but transferring all my apps and files from the old phone to the new one. This was all done wirelessly: no cables, computer interfaces, or other assorted gizmos. Just two devices talking to one another quietly, silently and, perhaps, lovingly as siblings – children of Mother Pixel.

I did have the cellular whiz install both a screen protector as well as camera lens-glass protection while we waited. When we were finished, the fine young man thanked me warmly for my time and business, and I went home to begin the arduous process of applying all the updates, user-names, passwords, and PINs that had not been transferred between devices (for the sake of security).

Life throws us curves. I make every effort to take things as they come, take them in stride, and not let those curves fuzz up my day like the image of a lily through the crinkled lens of some coal-fired antique of a cell phone. 

Why let mechanical failure or accidental damage send me off in a tiff or a huff? Stuff happens, as any cattle rancher will tell you. You either watch where you step, or you wear boots. Either way, you do what you need to do and move on.

“Show me your ways, O Lord,” prays the psalmist. That line is a standard part of my daily devotions. It doesn’t matter if that “way” takes me to still waters, green pastures, or even the valley of the shadow of death (or cracked glass). “Thou art with me,” says the psalmist a few psalms earlier.

I like to think God works as seamlessly alongside us as those two mobile units there in the cellular showroom – one broken, in need of repair, and one ready to receive everything the other had to offer, without judgment, without prejudice, without fear.

Better yet, God comes with no spam, no dropped calls, and no being put on hold. Just being held closely in the palm of God’s hand with a message clear as day, “I love you.” Not in text, but in Person – who’s warranty never expires here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Proper 10 – Who is not my neighbor?

Proper 10 – Who is not my neighbor?

Amos 7:7-17, Psalm 82, Deut. 30:9-14, Psalm 25:1-9, Col. 1:1-14, Luke 10:25-37

O Lord, mercifully receive the prayers of your people who call upon you, and grant that they may know and understand what things they ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to accomplish them; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Some years ago I was driving along the east shore of Ennis Lake in Montana. There’s a gravel road that runs past our little church in Jeffers where I was serving, and I think I was heading out to do a home visit on one of our elderly shut-ins. It was summertime and warm and I was just bumping along; I came around a shallow corner and saw a bicyclist walking her bike. 

She had on one of those bright red racing helmets cyclists like to wear, along with a nice sleek spandex racing suit – sort of looked out of place on the gravelly roads of the woodsy wilds of Western Montana.

I didn’t think too much of it; I slowed down and moved over to give her plenty of room and suddenly wondered if she had a flat tire or some other problem.

So I stopped and backed up to where she had come to a halt and asked if she was OK, or if she needed any help. She smiled, said she was fine, just stretching her legs, so I gave her a polite wave and continued on my way.

The question I want to ask you is, Why did I stop?

You’re probably going to say, “You’re a nice guy. She looked like she might need some help, and that’s what Christians do; we help people.”

You’re right, of course. I am a nice person and I do like being helpful. But there was something else going on. It wasn’t chivalry. As I passed her by, I knew the Gospel for that Sunday was the gospel lesson we just read a moment ago: The Parable of the Good Samaritan, and there was no way I was going to be like the priest in THAT story and pass by without at least asking if she needed help.

In other words, my ego put its thumb on the scale as I weighed whether I should pass on by and mind my own business, or stop and help!

The point is, as human beings, our motivations are always mixed. Most of the time we do the right thing simply because that’s mostly who we are and what we are. We know right from wrong. We pay our taxes. We pause and let others cut in line if they have two items to buy and we’ve got a grocery cart full. If someone says something really stupid or dumb we just let it go.

We may groan inside; we may have to bite our tongue, but we mostly don’t fight fire with fire unless the issue reaches that tipping point which kind of moves around a bit, but it’s there. We go along to get along and try not to make waves.

In many ways, we’re like the lawyer who comes up to Jesus and asks him, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” 

Jesus says, “You know the Law. What does it say?”

He answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." 

And Jesus said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."

We all know that, don’t we? We know we’re supposed to love God, love neighbor, love self. We also know there’s exceptions to the rule, don’t we? I mean, we’re not fools; we’re not naive. There are bad people out there who do bad things. Each of us has our own list of Public Enemy Number One. 

Yes Lord, I am called to love all people, but there are exceptions. Do we have time to write them all down?

We have our reasons for disliking some people; we have our reason for hating some people; we have our reasons for detesting some people. We’re like the lawyer who at least has the good sense to ask the question: Who is my neighbor? Aren’t there some people I can just box out of my life?

I can’t criticize the lawyer for asking the question. I need to take a moment and stand in his sandals and ask: Who am I trying to push far enough away that they are no longer my neighbor?

He’s not being bad; he’s really asking this question on behalf of all of us. Where can we draw the line? 

Jesus answers the question with a story. We know it so well we don’t even need to read it or hear it. The moment I say The Parable of the Good Samaritan, we jump right to the end – to the moral of the story: “Who proved to be neighbor? Go and do likewise.”

We don’t have a lot of time, but I’d like to unpack that a little while we’re here. The question is, Who is my neighbor? And Jesus introduces us to several characters, and along each step of the way we need to ask: Is this our neighbor.

There’s a man going down to Jericho. Is he our neighbor? We don’t know. At this point he is a complete stranger. We don’t know if he’s single or married, Jew or Gentile, slave or free, young or old. So we give this guy a question mark. We don’t actually know if he is a neighbor. At this point he’s not NOT a neighbor.

Then there is a band of bandits who attack the man, beat him half to death, steal his valuables, strip him naked, and run away. Are they neighbors? Of course not! 

Then there is the priest (and they were among the 1% by the way, among the wealthy elite of the day) who passes on by. Our victim is invisible to them. Are they neighbor? No, they’re certainly not acting neighborly or caring, so no.

Then there is the Levite, a temple worker who sees our victim; he draws near to look, to gawk, but not to touch, not to help, not to render aid. Is he a neighbor? No, once again we can see they’re not.

Then there is the Samaritan. Now remember, this is one you would rather be dead than have them touch you. We’re not talking about political or religious differences. 

We’re really talking about gut-churning, get your filthy ape paws off of me kind of animosity. But here’s the shocker: He undoes all the evil of the other three. He sees the victim. He draws near and touches him. He binds up the wounds, picks him up, lays him on his own beast and finishes the journey to Jericho where he pays for our victim’s continuing care.

Who proves to be neighbor?

The one who doesn’t abuse, beat, kill, maim, or hurt others; the one who doesn’t turn a blind eye, the one who dares to get involved, the one who chooses to see people, not walls. 

None of us is perfectly like that. There are times we hurt others. There are times we are blind to others. There are times we may be entertained to see what’s happening, but fail to act on what we see. And that’s the point. There are times we do NOT love God, neighbor, or self the way we know we should. 

Jesus invites us to reflect on that and give thanks that we have a God who chose not to kill us, turn a blind eye, or ignore us, but chose to kneel down with us, bind us up, and carry us all the way to our Jericho so that we can continue with our healing.

God chose to be our neighbor, in Christ, so it doesn’t matter who MY neighbor is, it matters that I BE a neighbor wherever I go, just like Jesus – In Jesus’ Name. Amen

Sermon delivered to Chandler Square, Anacortes, WA 07/13/2025

By the Rev. Keith Axberg, retired.

This our Valley: The safety belt that wasn’t!

 

"My boundaries enclose a pleasant land; indeed, I have a goodly heritage” Psalm 16:6

I did something the other day I haven’t done in decades. I put something together over the course of several hours … and I didn’t bleed!

That may not sound all that amazing to most of you, but I confess that while I possess a fair amount of skill and coordination – enough to do many of the little things that need doing around the house – when it comes to working with sheet metal and other sharp objects, I make Freddy Krueger look like a rank amateur and a pacifist rolled into one. I’ve even been known to suffer paper cuts while sending email! Anyway …

I received a new barbecue grill for Father’s Day. The old one had served its purpose faithfully for almost twenty years, but earth, wind, fire, rain, and ice had taken their toll. So off she went, and in came the box from an online retailer that shall remain nameless (I don’t know how the owner of the website had time to ship it as he was so busy planning his wedding in Venice, but I digress).

The new charcoal grill was well-packed in its carton. Usually opening a box is where I begin my blood-letting, but I was able to open the box, remove its contents, and toss all the packing material off to the garage without opening any wounds. So far so good!

I then began to assemble the new grill, despite horrible instructions written in either sanskrit or cuneiform (it was hard to tell as the print and illustrations were possibly drafted by an ink-squirting octopus). Nevertheless, due to my superior intellect and aforementioned skills and coordination, the barbecue grill went together with nary a scratch, bruise, or loss of limb. 

I DO believe in miracles!

What’s funny (as in strange or weird) is that a few days later as I was getting ready for bed, I took off my shirt and noticed a two to three inch slash across my stomach. Now, my shirts are cloth (as opposed to steel wool or chain-mail), and I wash them in soft water and my laundry detergent is infused with a fabric softener; my fingernails are trimmed neatly, and I’m really a gentle spirit when preparing for the time of lullabies in the land of snores, so how on earth did I injure myself?

I could not have cut my tummy while assembling the barbecue, for I worked fully clothed, and as slow as I can sometimes be in my advancing dotage, my wounds are never days late in developing or showing themselves. 

So, it’s a mystery, and that’s OK. I didn’t bleed out, and it honestly was barely more than a finger-length scratch. It was just bizarre that it had happened, and I had no recollection of when or how it might have happened. 

Life is like that. Things happen to us and we don’t always know how or why. Sometimes there simply is no reason why. In hindsight, it could very well have been done by the seatbelt on my truck, for the strap that goes across the stomach is worn and does have a bit of a toothy edge to it that can (and does) rub me the wrong way occasionally.

Well, I do believe that’s another mystery solved, which creates a new mystery, of course. 

How might I prevent myself from being sliced and diced in the future? I do so little driving anymore, it really isn’t necessary or cost-effective to replace the seatbelt. Perhaps I could purchase a knee-length chain-mail hauberk for use when driving. I’ll wait and see if Jeff B. has any in stock, but only after he gets back from his honeymoon. 

After all, I wouldn’t want to order a hauberk just to have him go berserk. I’m afraid that could fold, spindle, or mutilate our relationship beyond repair. 

Speaking of spindles and other sharp objects, it’s time to restock the band aids. I just got an ash vacuum cleaner for the barbecue and need to open the box now here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)