Most Holy Covenant

It's no secret that, overall, the church is aging. The so-called young people in many of our congregations are baby boomers themselves; the old folks are the ones with white hair, not just gray hair. And churches say they want young people in the church. That is, of course, if those young people will come and be like them, or at least something they understand. At least that's the way things come across.

So here's my request: be in covenant with me.

I remember a time when the old folks were in covenant with me. No, they're not the same people with whom I worship now, but those people were part of the same holy covenant. They were part of the ancient command given to God's people long before Jesus, people who were told to teach God's commandments to their children at every single moment possible. They were part of the Christian commitment to Jesus' Great Commission: teach them to obey everything I commanded you.

I remember all those who kept those covenants with me as a child. My mother was among those who taught me, but she was only one, along with Diane and Judy and Linda and Wayne and Ron and Cheryl and Randy...and well, that is who I can name off the top of my head. All those people taught me within the first ten years of my life. Some were older than my parents. Others were teaching their kids alongside me. And Ruth, the seemingly ancient woman whose class I never sat it, was surely in covenant with me. She talked to me each Sunday morning, even putting up with my playing with Cheerios during worship. I remember staring at her hair in fascination; she was the only person I ever knew with a beauty shop hairdo--part of a generation that went and had their hair done each week.

And all those lessons they taught me stuck. God's word is written on my heart and in my mind. I tried to forget it and couldn't. I never left the church and I pray I never will.

So please, be in covenant with me now that I am grown. I know that I haven't fulfilled all the expectations you had for me and that I have exceeded others; that's true of most kids. I know you don't understand a lot about my life. But it never hurts to ask. Ask where I find the holy and if it's not church, then go with me there. Ask what I find moving about worship. Don't worry so much about me still being single and allude to the day that problem is rectified. Learn a song I like to sing. Not because I'm a pastor, but because I'm that thing you say you want in the church.

Be in covenant with me.

Because, you see, I am in covenant with you.

It's true. I would rather not worship on the morning of a precious sleep-in day. I would rather walk a little faster. I would rather eat at a restaurant than cook for a church potluck; like other folks my age, cooking's not really my thing. Sometimes you smell weird. Sometimes you talk too much about doctors and pills and pain and creaks and groans. Sometimes you offend me with your language, a remnant of an era I wish had never happened. Some of those old hymns you love make me cringe; others I adore. But I learned them all.

Because I am in covenant with you.

That's what people in covenant do. They learn from each other. They hear about the things that are important to the other person and even participate in those things. You may not enjoy it so much. You may have the time of your life. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you shared in the covenant with me, that most holy thing that binds us together when other things should separate us.

You have heard: there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female for all are one in Christ Jesus. Sixty years or less should certainly be less divisive.