by Ernie Kranias
I have been a member of St. James my entire life. Some time ago, I stopped attending services regularly.
As the owner of a small restaurant, I dealt with people all the time. Customer service can be challenging, and at times customers can be curt, even rude, for whatever reason. I had a pretty big ego, and I sometimes perceived some of this as being looked down on, that some thought they were better than me. Then these same people would be nice to me at church on Sunday. I perceived them as hypocrites.
“If they can’t be nice to me when I am getting their lunch, then they shouldn’t be nice to me at church.” I said that a lot. Linda would usually roll her eyes. But we did stop coming to church.
Church is hard…however…
Matthew 5: 44 But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? 47And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others?
I learned that I was the hypocrite, and I was judging. I have wondered how often I was preoccupied with a problem or issue in my life, and dismissed someone who wanted to just say hello. I’m sure many times I’ve been the same person that I had complained about.
I learned that I do not go to church to gage how others treat me, or how others behave. I am in church to share myself with God, to reaffirm my faith, to celebrate being a Christian.
I learned that it is easy to love and feel compassion for someone who is obviously in need. But everyone needs love, everyone. Jesus knew that, taught that. No matter how strong and self-assured a person may appear, no one can tell what struggle may lie beneath the surface. It is not for us to judge, but rather to love. Not be kind expecting kindness in return, but rather to love. Without reservation, without expectation. Just love.
Love everyone. even those who do not love you back. Being a nice person when it’s easy doesn’t make a good person, being nice when it’s easy doesn’t make a good Christian. Learn to love, with your whole heart, learn to love everyone.
“Love each other”. Sounds easy. But it can be challenging. For me, it continues to be a good first step to being a better man, a better Christian.
So I didn’t attend church. For decades I was a “Christmas, Easter and Mothers’ Day” churchgoer. I had faith, I always believed God was watching over me. I just didn’t go to church.
I have a great respect and admiration for “quiet Christians” who come to church regularly, participate in church activities, help others, and do so without fanfare, with little recognition. Good Christians. I sometimes felt I did not belong with them, that I shouldn’t share worship space with them. I began to realize it wasn’t hypocrisy that kept me from church, but rather my own insecurities.
A few years ago, I became friends with the pastor at St. Lukes in Fayetteville, and not long after I lost Linda, began attending services there. I experienced Holy Week for the first time there, Good Friday, the stripping of the altar, and Easter Sunrise services.
I enjoyed the services there, and enjoyed the sermons. But I never felt at home. Everyone was nice, everyone was welcoming. But I never stopped feeling like a visitor, it just wasn’t a good fit for me.
I decided to come back to St, James. It was a decision made in part out of the convenience of Saturday evening services. But, also, I had met Pastor Mike quite a few years earlier. He presided at a memorial service where I sang, so, in a sense, we “worked together.” I was touched by his way, his gentle sense of priority. I had met Pastor Andrew not long after he came to St. James, we chatted briefly at a relative’s memorial. His quiet confidence, and kind sense of humor left a mark on me.
I knew I would feel a little uncomfortable, out of place. I know a lot of people in Gettysburg, from years of being in business and playing in bands here, and I know a lot of people here at St. James. I wanted to be anonymous. I feared I would be viewed as a cliché, the lonely widower with nowhere to turn has finally come back to church.
That first Saturday, I sat over there, in the back, and kept to myself. Pretty easy to do at a Saturday evening service. My first interaction was with an old friend who I had not seen for some time. He was taking collection. His eyes lit up, and he switched the collection plate to his left hand, shook my hand sincerely and quietly told me how happy he was that I was here. I felt his warmth, his honesty.
Understand, I always had a problem with the story of the “Prodigal Son”. I remember a comedian once doing a bit about how celebrities recovering from addictions and other personal issues were revered and celebrated, while people who lived their lives responsibly were unrecognized. That seems backwards to me. I sort of felt like one of those “lost souls” returning to St. James. I didn’t want anyone making a fuss over my returning to church. I didn’t feel I deserved any undue attention.
Church is hard…however
Luke 15:
The son said to his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve never disobeyed your orders. But when this son of yours who has squandered comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
“ ‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ ”
As it turned out, the “undue” attention I received from the family here at St. James, deserved or not, was more uplifting than I ever imagined. I instantly felt a part of this beautiful group of people, of these compassionate leaders, and of this abiding faith.
Accepted and loved unconditionally, without pretense. Everyone I encounter here is as welcoming and friendly as that first handshake. It continues to just feel right, comfortable. I’ve grown closer to Pastor Andrew, Pastor Mike and Tim Braband.
And there’s the added bonus of seeing Pastor Keyser and Pastor Foltz occasionally, a reunion of sorts for me, seeing either of them always sparks warm memories.
I truly feel a sense of returning home, of belonging again.
When I married Linda in 1982, she was Catholic, but divorced, so no longer recognized by the church. She did not have a church home, and though she was very spiritual, and hands-down the most loving Christian I have ever met, when we went to church together, she didn’t take communion.
After we married, she became a member of St. James. I can remember, after several weeks of classes and discussions with Pastor Foltz, the service when she was introduced to the congregation as a new member. Linda was shy, and didn’t like being the center of attention. When she took communion that day, she cried. We stood right here. At the time, I thought it was a release, the stress of the service, the stress of being the focus of many, and a sense of relief that she had completed the process.
I realize now that the tears of joy, she had a home now. It was not the completion of anything, but a beginning. The beginning of her relationship with St. James Lutheran Church. She belonged to a church again, in her heart, she belonged to God again.
A few years ago, I read the book “The Case for Christ”, and I began to truly embrace the story of Jesus. The book tells of an investigative reporter who doesn’t believe in God. When his wife discovers Jesus Christ, and begins to worship regularly, he sets out to prove her wrong. He investigates the Gospels as a reporter would any story. What he finds is a mountain of forensic and archeological evidence confirming everything written about Jesus in the New Testament. What he did was prove himself wrong. That book strengthened my faith as much as anything ever has.
I had taken St. James for granted, I was confirmed here when I was a teenager, and communion to me then was just something you did in church. I now have a better appreciation. And I have a better understanding of the emotions that Linda felt.
I have attended Catholic Services, and do not stand for communion, per their principles. But I always knew when I went to a Lutheran church, my church, I could participate in communion. Looking back, I cannot imagine not being accepted at any church, not being able to join in the holiest of traditions anywhere. I cannot imagine the feelings my Linda had every time we went to church, and she sat quietly while the rest of us took communion.
Sadly, this personal epiphany did not happen for me until a few years after I lost Lin to cancer. I never got to talk to her about it, to let her know how happy I am that she had a home for her faith, a Christian home. I think about that often when I stand for communion. It is one of many regrets.
Church is hard…however…
Matthew 26 – While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it, he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks, he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
Holy communion is something tangible, concrete. To me it is something I can touch, I can feel. In a real way experiencing some of the same feelings and sensations felt by the disciples two thousand years ago.
Tomorrow, Maundy Thursday, the anniversary and remembrance of the Last Supper, and the First Communion, has become very meaningful to me. Last year, I was blessed to take a trip to the Holy Land. One of the many places we visited was the Upper Room in Jerusalem, renowned as the site of the Last Supper.
When I stand for communion, I also think of that. That room. The significance of the ceremony. The actual physical feelings of the bread, the texture, the taste of the wine. Sharing that experience with our congregation. Sharing that experience with countless Christians around the world. Sharing the experience of those 11 men, and thinking of the journey that began for them that night.
And when I stand for communion, I remember that beautiful, gentle, caring woman, standing shyly with me the first time she communed here. Sharing with her, her new beginning, sharing with her, her new home, sharing with her, her renewed relationship with God.
Many emotions capture me when I stand for communion.
Yes, church can be hard….however… nothing worthwhile is easy.
Sermons at St. James Gettysburg 