This coming Sunday, the last Sunday of the church year, is traditionally focused on the theme of Christ the King. What kind of sovereign is Jesus? To find an answer, this week, we travel to the cross. We read Luke’s account of Jesus’ final hours, with that poignant exchange only provided by Luke. Thieves on either side of Jesus enter into conversation, one taunting Jesus, one defending him. The second thief then makes this request: Jesus remember me, when you come into your kingdom. Of all the things that this thief could have asked in final moments, he asks to be remembered. He prays that he will not be forgotten. Maybe that’s an unusual prayer. Maybe that’s everyone’s prayer.

My 92 year old mother has moved out of her home into an apartment in an assisted living facility. She has made the rather significant transition with grace. We have been working to help in the down-sizing process by going through her books. There are lots of them. On one shelf, she had spiral bound calendars going back over 30 years. I happened to open a few of them, randomly scanning the decades.

What I learned was that my mother was years ahead of Facebook. There’s a lot not to like about social media in its current unregulated state. But here’s one of the good things about Facebook. On any given day, one is reminded of birthdays, and given a chance to send a greeting. People are remembered. For the most part, people report feeling good about that.

Well, my sweet mom was way ahead of Zuckerberg. She’s been remembering birthdays for decades. For almost every day in those calendars, there was an indication of whose birthday it was. Some days had five or six entries. I’ve learned over the years that I should have bought Hallmark stock. Every single day she mailed multiple birthday greetings. She sent them to close relatives and good friends. I think she sent them to people she met standing in line at the dry cleaners. She sent them to prisoners she met with weekly, and to rehab center residents. She sent them to folks living in mansions. She sent them to relatives of relatives. And in doing so, she let people know that they had been remembered. Not a bad feeling.

It’s a small thing, I know. Obviously the prayer of the thief on the cross was a request for a more profound kind of remembering. It was of course more than a birthday greeting. I don’t know exactly what the thief was asking, but I imagine that his request to be remembered was a request for forgiveness, and grace, and inclusion, for hope of life changed not ended.

What he asked of Jesus, and in a small way, what my mother’s mailings indicate is that people matter, that there is inherent dignity in everyone. Everyone. As Jesus stretches out arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, I hear him saying to all of humanity: You matter. You are actually worth remembering. He says that to you and to me. That’s good news because too many in our world are simply forgotten.

I regard my mother’s birthday cards as sacramental, a small outward sign of something deeper, that people are worth remembering, and that we can be part of that remembering, in the spirit of our baptismal service which tells us there is dignity in every human being. In ways great and small, we can offer forgiveness, grace, inclusion, all ways of being noticed, remembered, honored.

Who in your orbit stands at risk of being forgotten? Who has gone invisible? Maybe it’s an old friend, or a relative who drives you nuts, or someone in the nursing home you drive by every morning. Who in our society is forgotten? Can we find a way to work for justice and peace for the sake of the dignity of every person? 

Can we do some holy remembering this week?

On the last Sunday of October, I was privileged to worship at a church led by a good friend, a priest I admire. I enjoyed the opportunity to sit in the pew and worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness, exceptional beauty because his church happens to be on the big island in Hawaii. Let me explain. I was invited to offer a few presentations at the annual convention of the Diocese of Hawaii. I thought it my duty to do so. That’s the kind of devoted disciple I am.

After the convention, I visited my friend’s church, a vibrant spiritual community. I’d attend regularly if it wasn’t 6000 miles away. Under the leadership of my buddy (a fine and faithful priest), this church is really humming. I found myself wondering what made that true, because I come into contact with a lot of churches that struggle mightily.

I got a hint as my friend was welcoming worshippers. The announcements were made at the beginning of the service, and there were a few of them. As those announcements were winding up, an ambulance passed by the church. My friend stopped his announcements and said to the congregation: Let’s have a moment of silence to offer prayers for whoever is in that ambulance.

That may seem simple, but it struck me as an indication that his church was connected to its community, and that the regular course of things could be paused, indeed interrupted to attend to a local need. In my time there, I realized that small prayerful gesture was sacramental, an outward and visible sign of a deeper sense of service to the community in Jesus’ name.

The church has a community meal. Anyone can come. No charge. Live music makes it festive. Extra meals are taken to folks without homes, who sleep in tents on the beach. It started small. No one knew how it would be paid for, but now each week about 300 people come, whether they are part of the church or not. The Lord has provided. It’s drawing people.

This church also offers a weekly mass on the beach on Saturday evenings. Members of the church attend and participate in a eucharist. The altar is a surfboard on sawhorses. Maybe not everybody’s liturgical style, but it is an outreach to the community, welcoming anyone who passes by.

The early church, the beginnings of the Jesus movement, experienced dramatic growth. I’ve wondered why that is so. One ancient commentator noted that it was because people outside the church looked at people inside the church and said: See how they love one another. I wish that were true of the church today. I’m guessing, based on surveys of people’s associations with the word “Christian,” that many folks outside the church would say: See how they judge one another. We have work to do.

Our research into churches indicates that one mark of a spiritually vital congregation is that such congregations pastor the community. That doesn’t mean they just dole out charity. It means they engage in advocacy for justice and peace. They enter into inter-faith dialogue. They seek relationship with the community. They see what God is (already) up to in the neighborhood. They live into the baptismal promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons.

This pastoring of the community is true of my friend’s church on the big island, as it is true of many churches I am privileged to visit. Another thing we’ve learned in our research is that many of our most active churches, already doing a lot to pastor the community, are not satisfied. They feel called to do more.

For individuals and for congregations, I throw out Monday morning questions. How are you pastoring the community? How are you following Jesus who came not to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45)?

Give thanks to God for ways that is happening. Say yes to ways yet to be experienced. It may be as simple as saying a prayer for a passing ambulance.