Alex A. Gondola, Jr.

(This installment was originally published in 2007.)

The Philippian jailor does not appear in any of our selected readings for this Sunday, but his fundamental question reverberates through our texts. "What must I do to be saved?" he asked Paul and Silas (Acts 16:30). It is an elemental question, and our selected passages can help us elucidate the answer.

What do I need to do? This is the pragmatic question of the would-be home buyer sitting with the loan officer in the bank. It is the poignant question of the husband who wants to

John sat in the front seat of his car and looked at the door of the apartment building. Every mile of the five-hour journey he had thought about his mother and the last time they spoke. They had gotten into a screaming match about something he couldn’t even remember anymore. The yelling had ended when he stormed off and swore that he would never speak to her again. Now three years later, he was sitting in the parking lot looking at the door he had slammed behind him so long ago. He was looking at it and wondering how he could possibly go through that door.

Call to Worship:

Jesus said, "The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few." In our worship today, let us ask God to equip us and send us out into his harvest.



Invitation to Confession:

Jesus, sometimes we fail to notice your harvest, because our eyes and ears are closed.

Lord, have mercy.

Jesus, sometimes the task of acting as your harvesters seems too overwhelming for us.

Christ, have mercy.

We would all be well advised to be careful where and how we tell this story.

I stand before you today as one in need of healing, as Naaman was, as we all are.

We come here in our brokenness, suffering as we all do from the diseases of racism, sexism, nationalism, denominationalism and homophobia. Some of us come bearing the scars of dysfunctional families: sexual, physical and emotional abuse - both abusers and abused - some of us hurting from wounds we have received from brothers and sisters sitting in these same pews.

Sometimes it seems like God has taken a powder. No matter how theologically astute or disciplined in spiritual practices one might be, it seems that everyone comes to a moment where it feels like God is somewhere else. In a firefight in Baghdad or an AIDS clinic in South Africa it would be possible to wonder, wouldn't it? As genocide stamps out a people in Darfur and grinding poverty consumes millions, it is tempting to wonder if God is hiding his face (v. 7). But this is the big picture. Such feelings emerge, also, in times of more personal struggle.

It was many years ago now, right after I had first started in the ministry that Sharlon and I traveled to Little River Canyon in Fort Payne, Alabama. Somehow along the trail we were separated and I found myself alone standing on the rim of the canyon viewing a vast expanse of indescribable beauty. Looking across to the other side, I shouted at the top of my voice, "Baloney!" Nothing came back. This is my chance, I thought to myself.

Christian thinking about salvation has divided itself into two main streams which I like to think of as: "Monkey-hold" salvation or "Cat-hold" salvation. The difference in theological viewpoint is seen in how monkeys and cats protect their young. A mother monkey will sound the alarm when danger lurks. The baby monkeys come running to her and hold tightly to her fur as she runs to safety. A mother cat, on the other hand, picks her kittens up by the nape of the neck and carries them in her mouth out of harm's way. So, which is it? Monkey-hold salvation or Cat-hold salvation?