Running Out of Excuses

I feel like a dog, the way it circles around and around a spot before it is finally ready to lie down.  This idea of God’s preference for lowliness has been lurking in my head for weeks. It has jumped out of everything I’ve read lately, like the cat who hides under the furniture, waiting to surprise your legs when you walk by.  I’m just readin’ along, enjoying myself, then BAM it socks me square between the eyes again.

Part of my problem in getting started is this: I don’t think I can do the subject justice.  But maybe what I don’t think I can do adequately is exactly the point.

Everywhere I looked, there it was.  In Mary’s Magnificat:  My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.  Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.   Luke 1:46-49 NRSV

First, I had trouble with the word “magnifies,” thinking that the Lord can’t be made any greater than he already is, so how’s Mary going to be able to add anything whatsoever?  But it was precisely that “lowliness” that made her all the more transparent, an empty vessel that God filled with himself.  I saw her then not as someone that added to God, but as someone that, by not letting herself get in the way, allowed us to see him.

A side note to that text in my Lutheran Study Bible reads, Martin Luther’s “theology of the cross” describes the way God often works through the unexpected, unlikely, and lowly. 

God shows a preference for the lowly, so why are we so uncomfortable with lowliness?  The guy who begs at the intersection with the cardboard sign makes us want to look the other way.  The families who file in to wait their turn to be served in the food pantry aren’t the people we socialize with.  Their lowliness seems obvious, but what about ours?

Our goal is to appear humble, but not lowly.  We want to be reasonably well-regarded, but not disregarded.  We chastise those who act “too big for their britches” while shaking our heads at those who “will never amount to anything.”  It’s a tricky balancing act we’re trying so hard to pull off.

From the time we are a child, who doesn’t want to be the last one left standing there while the rest of the teams have been chosen, we try to avoid it, but God is not ashamed of the lowliness of human beings.  God marches right in.  He chooses people as his instruments and performs his wonders where one would least expect them (God Is In the Manger, Dietrich Bonhoeffer).

Have you ever gone back to a high school reunion only to discover that the person voted “most likely to succeed” …didn’t?  Or that another classmate who wasn’t particularly exceptional turned out to be outstanding in a way you would never have dreamed?  Our way of assessing people is clearly not God’s way.  It seems we have been looking at ourselves all wrong.

It matters not to God that we are weak.  In fact, it would seem that he actually prefers us that way because that is where the greatest opportunity lies for God to do the amazing things that God does.  As I found in Martin Luther’s Christmas Book …when you do not know where to turn, to yourself, or to anyone else but only to God, that the work may be God’s alone and of none other. And also ...that we may fall into distress and lowliness and that God thereby may have his work in us.

It’s a great story that gets even better as we turn out attention from Mary to the Christ child himself.  In him we see perhaps the best example of God’s ‘most’ appearing in the ‘least’.  (God) meets us in the helplessness and defenselessness of a child…in order from this place to judge and devalue and dethrone all human ambition.  (God Is In the Manger, Bonhoeffer) 

It’s not about us.  God’s coming as a child shows us that it’s God who does all the work. 

Who among us will celebrate Christmas correctly?  Whoever finally lays down all power, all honor, all reputation, all vanity, all arrogance, all individualism beside the manger; whoever remains lowly and lets God alone be high; whoever looks at the child in the manger and sees the glory of God precisely in his lowliness. (God Is In the Manger, Bonhoeffer) 

So, there are no more excuses for inadequacy.  When the power of man fails, the power of God begins…(Luther’s Christmas Book) Or, as my pastor is so fond of saying, “Let go and let God.”

A Last Note from Dad

I've decided to take a little side trip on my way to the Twin Cities.  The weather forecast looks promising, at least for December in Minnesota.  Since I have the time, it seems like a good opportunity to perhaps find answers to some questions I have.

Following his retirement from aerial spraying, my dad, in his mid-fifties, took up driving semis.  He would often come back from a trip with stories of interesting things he’d seen along the way.  If I hadn’t been busy teaching and coaching, I’d have loved to ride along.  My solution was to send a disposable camera in the truck with him.  That way, at least he could share pictures of all those roadside wonders he encountered.

 

I never got to see any of those pictures.  Dad died driving his truck.  The camera was lost, but his little pocket notebook survived.  He carried it everywhere he went and in it made short notations for me about the things he had photographed.  

Which is why, some 23 ½ years later, I’m heading for Garden City, Minnesota.  I might not find what he intended to show me, but maybe I'll discover something else instead.

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Walking Through Valleys

My two volunteer jobs bring me into contact with elderly people on a weekly basis.  One of the things that I’ve always liked best about those jobs is the opportunity to get to know these people.  That’s easiest with the assisted living residents; I see them fairly regularly.  The home alert system clients might be only once, but sticking around to visit seems to be a big part of the deal.

As many people discover in serving others, you go into it with the intent of doing something good for someone else and find yourself coming away feeling like you’ve received more than you’ve given.  Typically, that is the case for me, too.  For example, one of my “regulars” likes to talk about trucking, which is something my dad and my brother both did.  So, my client gets someone who will listen to his stories and, in a way, I get a little piece of my family back again.

The most recent ones I’ve been sent to see have been more difficult for me.  Before I got a chance to explain how to use the help button, one lovely lady had told me all about losing her husband less than a year ago and how they had been married for more than 50 years.  She went on then to show me the picture of the 8-year-old son they had lost in a tragic accident.  How could I not cry along with her?

And last week, I met with a lady who had lost not only her son (who was the same age that one of mine is now) and granddaughter to car accidents, but also her daughter and husband to cancer.  I was totally not prepared for that. “It’s just not fair,” she said.  I had to agree.

When I first started volunteering, I assumed that I would spend a little time with people, chatting about nice things like the weather and maybe share a cheerful, uplifting story.  I envisioned being someone who was there to enjoy a good time with elderly people.  For some reason, they usually seem to like me.  

But I think this last month, I’ve learned a little more about sharing the sadder side of life.  Though I wanted to be their good-time gal, I had to walk along with them through their dark valleys.  Some of those valleys, I’ve been to myself.

Oh, Psalm 23.  Somehow, I’m hearing it in a way I never have before.

Maybe that’s why I like the different seasons that we observe through the church calendar.  Because life isn’t all happiness and joy all the time.  We don’t have Christmas and Easter every day.  It’s not one praise song after another about me and my Jesus. 

Sometimes our lives are just sort of routine, like that long stretch of time after Pentecost.  Sometimes they get a little worse.  I think we need to go through Lent because sometimes, we face horrible, painful things that there is no way around.  So we have to walk through, but never alone, and the darkness is never the end of the story.

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

he leads me beside still waters;

he restores my soul.

He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

I fear no evil;

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff-

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD.

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Get Up and Go

The paralytic man who was healed by Jesus in Mark’s gospel was the focus of our women’s group lesson this month.  I thought I knew the story. It goes something like this: A paralyzed man’s friends can’t get through the crowd to Jesus, so they haul him up on the roof, cut a hole, and lower him inside.  Jesus forgives his sins for him, and in the process thoroughly ticks off those who thought they knew better.  And, to further make his point, Jesus heals the man’s paralysis, too. 

²So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them. ³Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. ⁴And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. ⁵When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’ ⁶Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, ⁷‘Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?’ ⁸At once Jesus perceived in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves; and he said to them, ‘Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? ⁹Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, “Your sins are forgiven”, or to say, “Stand up and take your mat and walk”? ¹⁰But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins’—he said to the paralytic— ¹¹‘I say to you, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.’ (Mark 2:2-11)

And Bob’s your uncle.  Which, by the way, is a saying picked up from living in North Carolina for several years.  It is roughly equivalent, I guess, to saying “And there you have it.”  Wow. That’s a great story, even if it ended right there. 

But that’s not the end of it.  You know how sometimes when you are watching a movie in the theater and you think it’s all over?  You get up from your seat and start moving toward the aisle.  Then you see something that tells you there’s more!  It’s not quite over yet.  Wait, sit down, and see what you might have missed if you had left too soon. 

¹²And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We have never seen anything like this!’ (Mark 2:12)

He went out before all of them.  

This man experienced the forgiveness of his sins as well as physical healing.  The friends who brought him had faith that Jesus could help him.  Somehow, they knew.  But there were plenty of other people around there who didn’t, so he showed them.

They were all amazed and glorified God, saying, "We have never seen anything like this!”

What brings you to meet Jesus in worship?  Did your parents or a friend bring you?  Did they know something you didn’t know, like the friends of the paralyzed man?  Or did you come on your own? I'm not talking about when you didn’t have a choice whether or not to come to church when you were a kid.  And I don’t want to hear about how your neighbors don’t come to church on Sunday.  Why are you coming?  There must be a reason now that you have a choice. 

Has Jesus changed you?  Has this Love made a difference in your life?  Can anyone else see that? What happens to us when we come (or are brought) to meet Jesus in worship?  What do we experience? What keeps us coming back week after week, year after year?  Isn’t it the same thing all the time?  Aren’t you tired yet of those same old bible stories and hymns; sitting in the same pew with the same people?  Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?

There must be something pretty compelling in this day and age, when the societal pressures to attend church aren’t what they used to be.  You can get by with staying in bed or playing golf on Sunday now without getting a lot of flak from the community.  Heck, even your fellow congregation members probably won’t give you a hard time for not showing up.

He went out before all of them.  

Jesus changes lives.  He changes us.  When we figure out how to convey that in a way that is visible to those who have not seen, we won’t have to be anxious about filling empty pews because we will be too busy making room for everyone who comes to see what is so amazing. 

They were all amazed and glorified God, saying, "We have never seen anything like this!”

The text doesn’t tell us that the man said anything about what happened to him, though maybe he did.  Either way, I’d still call him an evangelist.  He shares what Jesus has done, if not through words, then through his actions.

When I hear the word “evangelize,” the first thing that comes to my mind is preaching, which is something we normally just expect the pastor to do.  If that is all there is to it, though, then we are relying on someone else to do what God has called us to do as well.  What it really means is simply speaking the faith to one another.  In other words, we talk in everyday conversational language about the difference that God has made and is still making in our lives.

It’s tough to put into words, I know.  I, too, struggle with how to express it.  We don’t want to sound preachy.  We don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.  But we need to develop the vocabulary and the confidence to talk about faith as easily as we discuss football or movies or decorating or farming or cooking or whatever.  If we don’t, how will anyone else know what is so amazing?

Every week, we hear Good News, the Best News.  Our sins are forgiven and we are changed.  Isn’t it worth finding a way to share outside the church walls?

And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We have never seen anything like this!’

In Search of the Perfect Pastor

Our congregation has been gearing up to enter the call process.  With the help of our intentional interim pastor, we have reflected on who/what we were in the past and tried our best to define who/what we are now. We are now beginning the phase of discovering who God is calling us to be.  With a new vision to guide us, we will be better prepared to discern who God is calling to lead us in that journey.

This collective visioning is perhaps the most important part in the process.  I’m hopeful that in doing so, we will avoid one of the big difficulties that could hamper the work of the Holy Spirit.  Because I’ve served on a call committee before, I know that all of us, whether we are willing to admit it or not, have a picture in our mind of the perfect pastor.  But the problem is no pastor we interview will meet that expectation because that pastor doesn’t exist.   

Although it’s meant to be humorous, there is still a ring of truth to this piece:

Picks only hymns WE like to sing.

The Perfect Pastor (author unknown)

The perfect pastor preaches exactly 10 minutes.He condemns sin roundly but never hurts anyone’s feelings.He works from 8am until midnight and is also the church janitor.

The perfect pastor makes $40 a week, wears good clothes, drives a good car,buys good books, and donates $30 a week to the church. He is 29 years old and has 40 years experience. Above all, he is handsome.

The perfect pastor has a burning desire to work with teenagers, and he spends most of his time with the senior citizens. He smiles all the time with a straight face because he has a sense of humor that keeps him seriously dedicated to his church. He makes 15 home visits a day and is always in his office to be handy when needed.

The perfect pastor always has time for church council and all of its committees. He never misses the meeting of any church organization and is always busy evangelizing the unchurched. The perfect pastor is always in the next church over!

If your pastor does not measure up,simply send this notice to six other churches that are tired of their pastor, too.Then bundle up your pastor and send him to the church at the top of the list. If everyone cooperates, in one week you will receive 1,643 pastors. One of them should be perfect. Have faith in this letter. One church broke the chain and got its old pastor back in less than three months.

The male pronouns used throughout this betray one preconception right away; that imaginary pastor is never a woman, which right away excludes a lot of very gifted candidates, who are no less Called by God, from the pool.  Intentionally or unintentionally, there’s an unspoken assumption among many that “pastor” = ”man.”   

It tempts me to try a visioning exercise with our congregation something like the one that attorney Jake Brigance ( Matthew McConaughey) uses so brilliantly in his summation in the movie, A Time to Kill. In his defense of a black man who killed two white men for raping his little girl, Brigance describes the men’s brutality in painful, graphic detail, then at the end, asks the all-white jury to imagine that the little girl in the story is white instead of black.  It obviously has the intended effect on the jury.

To what extent does our preconceived image of what is “church” limit our ability to envision new ways of being the church?  When, as a relative newcomer, I say I love the church, I recognize that I’m probably not talking about the same church as the families who have been coming there for generations.  As I noted in my last post, many of those components that used to make up a typical church experience in the past either aren’t there anymore or exist in a diminished state; like junior choirs, Luther League or Ladies Aid.

I pray that we all, women and men, young and old, new and established, contemporary and traditional, conservative and liberal, red, green or cranberry hymnal-lovers, can surrender our personal preconceptions of pastor and church to God so that we might be able to share together in the new vision God has for our congregation. 

Called together by your love, sustained by your love and sent forth to share that Love, Father help us to see where you are taking us and to trust you to show us the way, even when it may not look like we think it should. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Where Have All the Acolytes Gone?

WHERE HAVE ALL THE ACOLYTES GONE?

adapted from “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” by Pete Seeger

Where have all the acolytes gone?

Long time passing

Where have all the acolytes gone?

Long time ago

Where have all the acolytes gone?

They need to be here when they’re assigned.

When will they ever learn?

When will they ever learn?

Where have all the children gone?

Long time passing

Where have all the children gone?

Long time ago

Where have all the children gone?

We have all these Sunday School rooms to fill.

When will they ever learn?

When will they ever learn?

Where have all the Luther Leaguers gone?

Long time passing

Where have all the Luther Leaguers gone?

Long time ago

Where have all the Luther Leaguers gone?

Why don’t their parents just make them go?

When will they ever learn?

When will they ever learn?

Where have all the confirmands gone?

Long time passing

Where have all the confirmands gone?

Long time ago

Where have all the confirmands gone?

Why don’t they have to memorize more?

When will they ever learn?

When will they ever learn?

Where has all the junior choir gone?

Long time passing

Where has all the junior choir gone?

Long time ago

Where has all the junior choir gone?

We have beautiful robes hanging in the hall.

When will they ever learn?

When will they ever learn?

Where have all the people gone?

Long time passing

Where have all the people gone?

Long time ago

Where have all the people gone?

Why don’t they come to church like us?

When will we ever learn?

When will we ever learn?

I’ve heard those words (or something along those lines) more often than I would like.  And while I can sometimes sympathize with the sadness that is experienced by those who look so fondly upon the church of their memory, I also feel impatient sometimes, wanting to move forward, past the grieving for what used to be and on to the work of being the church of the present.

Since I’m not a cradle Lutheran, most of what I know about the glory days of the church are from the stories I hear, and the education I’ve received reading “Lake Wobegon Days” and “Growing Up Lutheran.” Through these sources, I have gathered that once upon a time, our churches all had:

·         acolytes who took their responsibilities seriously and were properly attired

·         Sunday School classrooms filled every week at every grade level

·         throngs of teenagers coming to Luther League meetings, playing games, electing officers, etc.

·         confirmation classes that memorized the catechism as well as scripture

·         large, beautifully-robed junior choirs that sang arrangements in four parts

·         members who attended worship so reliably that others noticed and worried about their absence

·         pews that were filled every Sunday with people who sat in their regular spots

·         pastors who preached about hell

There’s a kind of a common theme in the song stanzas above.  It reflects a question I have often asked, but haven’t come up with a good answer for yet.  To what extent did all of those things take place in the past because there was, at best, an expectation? Yes, we had posteriors in the pews and kids in the choir, but how many of them were there because they were afraid something bad would happen to them if they weren’t?  Is fear a good way to motivate people?  Sure, it’s effective, but is it really fair to award a prize for perfect attendance if the alternative was something a lot worse? 

“We weren’t given a choice,” is a reason commonly given, and that was true at my house as well.  One Sunday, my brother and I, while dressed in our church clothes, decided to go play in the oats shed.  Oh, that big pile of loose oats was so much fun to roll around in and throw at one another.  When our mother called out the door for us to come get in the car to go to church, she quickly discovered where we had been because the oats clung to our hair and our clothes, inside and out.  The yardstick was swiftly employed (and not to see how much we’d grown), we were cleaned up and brought to church.

I’d be willing to bet that not all of those former acolytes, junior choir members and Luther Leaguers are still active in the church today.  You’ve probably heard the joke about how to get rid of bats in the church. You confirm them, and then you'll never see them again.  Even though we weren’t Lutheran, I went through a similar indoctrination.  The result? My 20’s and 30’s went by with very little church involvement.  At best, I was disinterested and at worst, disdainful. So, how effective was that old system?  I’ll admit to my own stubbornness, but does that account for everyone who chooses to do something else on Sunday?

Even putting aside overt threats of bodily harm or burning for eternity in the fires of hell, do we still want people coming to worship out of nothing more than a sense of obligation?  Do the ends, Christian fellowship and the opportunity to hear the Gospel, outweigh the means by which they have come?  I don’t know, maybe so.  Though Jesus does warn against praying loudly and conspicuously like the hypocrites, he encourages some people who were casting out demons in his name to continue.  If absolute sincerity was a prerequisite for entering the sanctuary, I doubt any of us would get inside.  I know I wouldn’t.

We may be inclined to paint history in a more favorable light, but I do think that trying to compare the present church with the past church is an apple and orange kind of thing.  There are different external forces acting on us today than what we experienced years ago. Those influences once tended to drive people in the direction of the church. Today, they are driven in other directions and we don’t have control over how people respond to those things.  As the last stanza in the song suggests, I question how constructive it is to speculate about others.  What we can do is respond to and share what (Who) does draw us.

The church to come is not going to be the same as the church of the past.  That time is gone. But maybe rather than being so concerned about doing what we think our parents, our neighbors or our pastors expect of us, we can learn to focus our attention on what we see God is doing in, among and through us now. Then we can begin to move ahead together in perhaps even more intimate communion than what we had previously, where the Church can come closer to being Christ’s living body.

A Shooting Gallery Theology

It’s probably sacrilegious to say around these parts, but I’m just not a big fan of the State Fair.  I can almost hear the collective gasp, but the butter cow and whatever-on-a-stick don’t trip my trigger, so to speak.

But Opie Taylor sure thought he had a good reason to go the fair. In one of my favorite episodes of The Andy Griffith Show, Opie is on a mission to win a gift for his father.  The boy is pretty confident in his marksmanship, so he figures his best chance of success is at the shooting gallery.  Yet, again and again he raises the rifle to his shoulder, takes careful aim, but still misses the target. 

What Opie doesn’t realize is the game has been rigged.  The rifle he has been given has a bent sight.  No matter how straight he tries to shoot, he is not going to win the shiny electric razor that he thinks will make his dad happy.   After spending most of his allowance, he walks away shaking his head.  Defeated, he says, “I can’t win.” Andy Griffith Show - Opie and the Carnival (Part 2)

You can almost hear the same frustration in Paul’s voice, when he writes, ¹⁵I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. ¹⁸For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. ¹⁹For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.  Romans 7:15, 18-19 (NRSV)

When I was Opie’s age, it seemed to me that God worked pretty much like that dishonest carnie.  By the time I was in my teens, I had reached the conclusion that no matter how hard I would try, I could never be good enough.  Sure, confessing sins (wait…did I remember them all?) to that voice behind the screen in that dark little room would get me a little closer to a spot in heaven, but it was just a tease, like those enormous stuffed animals at the fair.  As soon as I walked outside those church doors into the world, sin would be waiting for me, and God would be watching.  It made me wonder why anyone would keep playing such a ridiculous game if there was no way to win.

Unfortunately, many of us carry at least some version of this shooting gallery theology with us into adulthood.  We still want to believe that if we’ll just shoot correctly, we’ll receive the reward we deserve.   But there is always a problem.  As sincerely and as faithfully as we try to hit the mark, we are still shooting with a faulty gun.  Our good works are influenced by selfish desires and so we are going to miss.  We are unable to keep our focus from turning inward.  Even if it’s only a little, the result is off.

In our Confession we say, “We confess that we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.”  No matter how well we shoot, no matter how much we’ve practiced, no matter how bad the other shooters are, no matter which gun club we choose to be affiliated with, we are not going to win this game on our own.

But wait!  There is more to the story.  The good news is we don’t need to play that game.  Christ has already won the battle over sin, death and the devil.  As the only One without sin, He was able to accomplish what no one else could, what we never can.  And He has already done it for us.  It’s a gift, not a game. 

Let’s go back to the shooting gallery, where Opie’s father (Sheriff Taylor) has caught wind of the shady goings-on. It takes him no time at all to figure out the rifle’s flaw.  Compensating for the bent sight by aiming slightly to the right, Andy proceeds to win everything off the shelves, much to the chagrin of the crooked carnies.  Andy Griffith Show - Opie and the Carnival (Part 3)

When Opie returns to try again, things have changed.  Because this time he receives the “good” rifle, his shooting improves dramatically and he is successful in winning the razor. 

It’s such a great story! What makes it even better, though, is the fact that Opie never asked his father to intervene on his behalf.  In fact, he wasn’t even aware that it took place.  This is the amazing grace that we sing about.  

I think what Paul describes here is how we are released from playing that fruitless game. There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. ²For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. ³For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and to deal with sin, he condemned sin in the flesh…, Romans 8:1-3 (NRSV)

Oh, what the heck, maybe I will go to the fair after all.  You never know; I might just win something.

When Grit Becomes Grace

Jeff Bridges as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit (2010)

While this probably isn’t the first image that comes to mind when you think of Jesus, as one precocious little boy pointed out during a recent children’s sermon, he could look like anyone, couldn’t he?

It’s not normally my goal to go looking for spiritual themes when I watch movies, but in the case of the 2010 version of True Grit, just released on DVD, I could not help myself.  Right off the bat, the soundtrack plays “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” in the background and the voice of the adult Mattie Ross declares that “nothing in this life is free except for the grace of God.”  Does she speak from the perspective of one who has personally experienced that grace?  I think she does.

Searching for clips from the movie on YouTube, I came across an interesting commentary by Fr. Robert Barron.  You might enjoy hearing his observations from a spiritual perspective, too.

In 14-yr-old Mattie Ross’s quest to avenge the death of her father, she is intent on doing what is Right.  She believes (that word doesn’t seem strong enough in her case) the murderer, Tom Chaney, must pay for what he has done. Outraged that the local authorities are not doing the job to her satisfaction, she makes it her mission to see that justice is carried out.  As Fr. Barron points out, Mattie is all about law, and there probably aren’t many folks who would argue with her.  If you kill someone, you’re going to have to at least suffer for it, but you really deserve to die.

She enlists the help of Reuben “Rooster” Cogburn, a marshal with a reputation for meanness and “true grit.”  Calling him Christ-like at this point would appear to be a huge stretch, but biblical stories are full of unlikely characters who are chosen to carry out God’s work.  At one point, Rooster’s grit seems to wear thin as he tries to convince Mattie that their endeavor is hopeless.  As focused and determined as ever, she will have none of that.

Eventually, just as she had hoped, Mattie is presented with the opportunity she’s been waiting for.  In the act of exacting revenge, she falls into a deep hole in the ground that she cannot escape from.  And in the pit with her are deadly snakes and human remains, no less.  Fr. Barron sees a lot of symbolism here, and I’m not sure I agree with (or maybe don’t understand completely) his take on this scene.  At any rate, she is doomed unless someone comes by.

So who should appear at the opening, but Rooster?   With the help of LeBoef, the trusty Texas Ranger, Mattie is brought up out of the pit of death, but she isn’t out of the woods yet.  Bitten by one of the snakes, she is still in danger of dying from the effects of the venom.

Now I have to confess that in the original version of True Grit, my favorite scene has always been the one where Rooster (then played by John Wayne) takes the reins in his teeth, shouting "Fill your hands, you son-of-a-bitch!"

But in the remake, the most moving scene for me occurs shortly after the 1:37 mark.  Rooster has taken Mattie on horseback in a ride for her life, desperate to get her to a doctor.  Utterly exhausted, the poor pony collapses, throwing them both to the ground.  It is then that Rooster reaches down to take an incoherent Mattie into his arms. In her delirium, she fights against him.  Yet he persists, picking her up and carrying her on foot until they are within sight of the light of the trading post.

This is grace.  When we cannot come to him, Jesus comes to us.  When we cannot call for him, he comes.  When we can do nothing for ourselves, he comes.  And yes, thanks be to God, even in our resistance, he comes.