I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but one day during the past nine and a half years, Beaver became home. Oh, it wasn’t the day we signed the deed to our house on Taylor Avenue and it wasn’t the day we registered to vote. It certainly wasn’t the day we sent Sally Frank the first of the many checks that were sent her way. It may have been the day that Becky talked about walking upstreet or when I said, “The lawn needs mowed.” By the time I knew exactly where you meant when you talked about the building next to Rowse’s Drug Store or wondered myself what they were going to do with the Anderson Building, Beaver had become home. And because Beaver is home, I can tell you newcomers to drive down Third Street and turn left where the Sheetz Station used to be and expect you to know exactly where that is.

More than that, though, Beaver became home when we knew exactly who we’d call if we needed to call someone in the middle of the night or who we’d talk to when the news we received was very good or very bad, and we have received both kinds of news in the past nine and a half years. Beaver became home when we cried at funerals and weddings and everyone knew why.

There’s something exceedingly happy about calling a place home, and there is something exceedingly sad about leaving home. More about that next week.

Outsiders don’t know the language and the customs, the history and the traditions, the values and the expectations of the place we call home. Simply put, they don’t quite belong. And simply put, that is the great dilemma of the human condition, something happened and we don’t quite belong in the world God created for us to care for and to tend. You can scrub the slate trying to make it clean for the new year about to begin, but the stain of not quite belonging remains; like the rust on my old Ford Escort, the corruption of sin continues to eat away at who I am. Save for something called grace, there’s nothing I can do about it – and even then, there’s nothing I can do about it.

The story whose beginning we tell this season of Christmas is, of course, the story of the gracious God who created all that is – and called it very good – doing something about “it.” Theologians define grace as “unmerited favor.” They contrast it with justice -- getting what we deserve and mercy – not getting what we deserve. Grace is getting what we do not deserve. Grace describes what God has done for us, what he’s done about the problem of not quite belonging.

The Apostle Paul puts it this way in his letter to the Christians at Ephesus: It is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. The gift we receive from God in Christ is the gift of salvation, not because of justice or mercy, but because of grace. We do not deserve it. I pray that I have preached no other gospel for all the years that Beaver has been home to us. Grace alone, faith alone, Christ alone.

And what is this salvation that God gives so generously by grace, through faith, in Christ? What was the good news of great joy that the angels sang to Bethlehem’s shepherds? Why did the babe in Elizabeth’s womb jump for joy and why did the Magi fall down in praise? There are a thousand ways to describe this indescribable gift that God has given in Christ. The old has been made new. The stain has been washed away. The dross has been consumed and only pure gold remains. We have been born anew. Our punishment has been borne and a ransom has been paid. The door once bolted shut has been opened wide. A light has shined in the darkness. The strangers gathered from the highways and the byways have been given places of honor at a great wedding banquet. The prodigal son is welcomed home by the loving embrace of his father. The wandering sheep has been found. The wild shoot has been grafted into the strong root of the olive tree.

What is salvation? Again to our text in Ephesians, “You are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God's people and members of God's household.” What does it mean to be saved? What happens when allow the Holy Spirit to begin its work within us, Christ to dwell among us, the Father to rule over us? We begin to claim a new home, a new nationality and a new family. We learn the language and the customs, the history and the tradition, the values and the expectations of our new family. Of course, we’ll understand it better by and by, because by and by there will be no question where and to whom we belong.

There is a heresy alive in the land today that says that salvation is just about me ‘n Jesus, just about me getting my ticket punched and my way paid. There’s a heresy in the church, even Park Presbyterian Church, that says that salvation is just about a personal relationship with Christ. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have a good shepherd who calls me by name, a loving father who forgives my prodigal ways and welcomes me home. If you do not have a personal relationship with God through Jesus Christ, I beg you to turn to Christ, open the door to your heart and let him in. Please Lord Jesus, come into my empty heart.

But let me tell you something, Jesus isn’t the only one who is going to walk through that open door. Jesus isn’t the only one who will come into your heart. Paul says that in Christ we have become members of the household of God. Along with Jesus, you get all his adopted brothers and sisters as well including that older brother who’s off in the corner pouting about rings on your fingers and sandals on your feet. That is, to be saved, to be a Christian, to have a relationship with God through Jesus is to have the church.

The doctrine of no salvation outside of the church has been greatly misused, but it is true. Christianity is a team sport, in fact, it is a contact sport. It’s like football, you can’t play it alone. I pray that this, too, has been part of the gospel I have preached at Park for nine and a half years. Jesus loves me, but his bride is the church, beautiful and beloved. Being a Christian, being saved, knowing Jesus, is knowing the language and the customs, the history and the traditions, the values and the expectations of the place we call home, the household of God, the church.

There’s another heresy being sold to the church that says that for our faith to be relevant it must learn the language of the culture around it. There’s some truth to that. But when you become a part of a family, you must learn its language – and its customs, history and traditions, values and expectations. The new in-law isn’t going to get very far if he or she demands that this new family behave just like the family he or she was raised in.

But I am not sure I have preached the truth that if you love Christ you must love his bride as well as I could have in these past nine and a half years and for that I apologize. We’ve renovated our building and created new programs to meet needs and exciting mission projects that have changed the world, and, to be sure, those are very good things, but have we tended to the health of the church, the family and the household of God? Have we renovated our relationships with one another so that they more resemble the relationships of a healthy family? Have we created a new way of being with each other that allows Christ to speak through each other to each other?

Americans love choices. We want to be able to choose between Coke and Pepsi, Chevys and Hondas, rock and classic, spaghetti and sushi, paper or plastic. We like to choose how we’re going to spend our time. Baseball or football, shopping or tanning, text-messaging or watching a video. Too often we’ve made the church, the Bride of Christ, the family of faith, nothing more than one more choice in the smorgasbord of life activities. Choosing not to worship or not to go to Bible study or not to engage in mission or not to get to know the person at the other end of the pew has no more consequence to us than choosing not to go to the mall on a Saturday afternoon or not to have pepperoni on our pizza.

We did not promise Dean and Tricia to pray with and for them if we feel like it. We did not promise to be a nurturing family for E. when it is convenient. We did not promise to teach in the Sunday School and learn to call him by name if there’s nothing better to do. We promised to welcome him to the family. There better be someone home when he comes knocking.

In a couple of months you will be electing a pastor nominating committee to find the next pastor for Park Presbyterian Church. Start praying for that process now, and my prayer is that this committee brings a candidate who is not ashamed of gospel who knows it as the power of God for salvation and is willing to preach it as such. We can afford nothing less. And, yes, I pray that in his or her love for Christ this new pastor also shares a love for the Bride of Christ, the church. Pray now for Park’s new pastor and the committee that will be charged with finding the person God is already preparing to accept your call.

My guess is that it will be no sooner than late 2008 that this committee will be ready to start reading resumes and screening candidates for the position. In the meantime, of course, an interim pastor will fill the pulpit and do those things you need a pastor to do.

I am bound by the vows of my ordination not to meddle in the life of Park Church after I’m gone. I’m supposed to stay away. That’s the way it is with former pastors and that’s the way it ought to be. Don’t ask me to do anything other than what I ought to do. But I’ve got a few more days to meddle.

How can you best prepare for the next chapter in the life of this good church? Love Christ, behold his beauty; there is salvation in no other. But also love one another as brothers and sisters in Christ. Don’t just be nice to one another, love one another. Don’t just be friendly with one another, be friends to one another; be willing to listen when the news is very good and when it is very bad, be ready to jump out of bed when a call comes. Don’t just show up or get involved when it’s convenient, do so when it’s not. Christ and his bride deserve no less.

By the way, thanks for being home when we came knocking.