Friday 12 July 2020
 
Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois
 
Dear Friends, 
 
            The only driver who never gets a ticket? Mary Gritten guessed right: a screwdriver. I hope to re-introduce my corney jokes in my next Monday emailer.
 
* * *
 
            Here’s a borrowed essay from Su Voz, produced by friends in our Cuba Partnership:
 
GOD IS ALWAYS HERE 
Psalm 34:4 and Isaiah 66:3
 
“I sought the Lord and he answered me…”
 Psalm 34:4a (CEB)
 
My mother was always someone very special to me due to all of the love and kindness with which she taught me.  When my father was dying, I was with him, observing how he agonized.  Desperately my mother read the Bible and passed her hands through his hair, kissing his forehead and praying.  Until this moment I had never accepted that God existed, that there really was a living and all-powerful God.
 
Something happened within me–I remembered the Lord’s Prayer that I had learned as a girl and I began to repeat it without stopping, over and over.  Instantly I saw this great God’s answer, and my father was full of much peace and gently left this world.
 
I left from that hospital room, looked for a place to sit under the stars of the dawn, a soft breeze surrounded me and an almost imperceptible drizzle touched me.  There was God in a sweet caress, saying to me: “You are not alone.  You called to me and I responded:  I love you.”
 
Dios siempre está ahí
Salmo 34:4 e Isaías 66:3
 “Busqué a Jehová y Él me oyó…” Salmo 34:4
 
Mi madre fue siempre alguien muy especial para mí por todo el amor y ternura con que me educó. Al partir físicamente yo estaba junto a Él observando cómo agonizaba. Desesperadamente mi madre le leía la Biblia y le pasaba la mano por sus cabellos, besaba su frente y oraba. Yo hasta ese momento nunca había aceptado que Dios existía, que era realmente un Dios vivo y todopoderoso.
 
Algo ocurrió dentro de mí que recordé el Padre Nuestro que había aprendido de niña y comencé a repetirlo sin cesar una y otra vez. Al instante vi la respuesta de ese Dios tan grande que tenemos, mi padre fue lleno de mucha Paz y partió apaciblemente de este mundo.
 
Salí de aquella sala de Hospital, busqué un lugar para sentarme bajo el cielo estrellado de la madrugada, una brisa muy suave me envolvía y una llovizna casi imperceptible me tocó. Ahí estaba Dios en una dulce caricia, diciéndome: No estás sola. Clamaste a mí y te respondíí, yo te amo.
 
* * *
 
            We need humor, human touch, and ice cream to survive. I’m a little nervous to share these “Mom” jokes that were shared with me. I don’t want to be guilty of ‘micro-aggressions’ against either women or moms. I have a beloved mom and I married a beloved woman. If I’ve stepped out of line, I trust you to tell me. (Seriously.)  
 
            I hope you enjoy these. 
 
            You are beautiful when you smile.
  
Why God Made Moms
 
Answers given by 2nd grade school children to the following questions.  
 
* Why did God make mothers? 
1.  She’s the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2.  Mostly to clean the house.
3.  To help us out of there when we were getting born.

*How did God make mothers? 
1.  He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2.  Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3.  God made my mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

*What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men’s bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

*Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom? 
1.  We’re related.
2.  God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s mom like me.

*What kind of a little girl was your mom?
1.  My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2.  I don’t know because I wasn’t there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

*What mom needed to know about dad before she married him? 
1.  His last name.
2.  She had to know his background.  Like is he a crook?  Does he get drunk on beer?
3.  Does he make at least $800 a year?  Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
 
*Why did your mom marry your dad?
1.  My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world.  And my mom eats alot.
2.  She got too old to do anything else with him.
3.  My grandma says that mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.

*Who’s the boss at your house?
1.  Mom doesn’t want to be boss, but she has to because dad’s such a goof ball.
2.  Mom.  You can tell by room inspection.  She sees the stuff under the bed.
3.  I guess mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.

*What’s the difference between moms and dads?
1.  Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
2.  Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power ’cause that’s who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friends.
3.  Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.
 
*What does your mom do in her spare time? 
1.  Mothers don’t do spare time
2.  To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long. 
 
*What would it take to make your mom perfect? 
1.  On the inside she’s already perfect.  Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2.  Diet.  You know, her hair.  I’d diet, maybe blue.

*If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be? 
1.  She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean.  I’d get rid of that.
2.  I’d make my mom smarter.  Then she would know it was my sister who did it not me.
3.  I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.
 
* * *
 
See you on Sunday. Invite a friend.
  
* * *
 
Pay attention to God’s activity in the world around you.
            Be amazed.
                        Tell somebody.
 
PEACE,
 
Matt Matthews
864.386.9138
More
* * *
 
From your Nurture Team — Congrats to Kathy Schoeffmann for being the first to correctly recognize last week’s photo of Bill Marble!  

Here’s this week’s photo challenge. 

Visit http://fb.com/groups/firstpreschampaign to make your guesses, or email them to photos@firstpres.church.  
 
Please join in the fun!  We would like you to select a photo from your younger years (grade school, high school or early adulthood). Photos need not be professional. Candid shots are welcome. Please send your photos to photos@firstpres.church.
 
Saturday Evening French Prayer Service 6 pm
Email zoom@firstpres.church for the link.

* * *
 
Friday Night at the Movies: What movies do YOU recommend? Send me the name of one of your favorites. I’ve shared with you mine. (I hope I told you about Local Hero and O Brother Where Art Thou?)
 
* * *
 
Two very different songs for your Friday concert.
 
Prayer…
The Lord Bless You and Keep You
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=akT32E83zjI
 
…and, from our friends at Stax Records, dancing…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGVGFfj7POA&list=PLThMPoPkQmGzGyEgWPurRu13Whzc57Qo_&index=13
 
 
 

Wednesday July 8 2020
A daily e-mailer from
Matt Matthews
 
To Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois
 
 Dear Friends,
 
            How many of you have seen the play “Hamilton”? I saw it on Friday evening on TV. I was amazed. Check it out and tell me what you think. (Some of you have already chimed in.)
 
            Tomorrow, in my Thursday emailer, I hope to include another essay by Ian Evensen. Remember, he’s a high school junior in our church. I’ve asked him to write about this: “What have you learned this week about racism?” 
 
            What have you learned? Send me your essay.
  
Take on Race:
 
            My friend Allen Huff’s sermons are so good. He preaches in East Tennessee in Jonesborough. I hesitate to tell you this lest you defect. Listen:
 
            The life of faith takes hard work. It takes determination and conviction, imagination and creativity, patience and forgiveness. 
            [R]econciling the hard work of discipleship and the gift of grace doesn’t take fancy theological gymnastics. It’s a matter of perspective. The hard work of discipleship is our grateful response to God’s gracious initiative . . . [T]he longer and more intentionally we follow Jesus’ ways of compassion, forgiveness, and justice, his yoke fits more naturally and his burden causes less strain.
            Yesterday I re-read Martin Luther King, Jr’s. Letter from a Birmingham Jail. In this profoundly eloquent, prophetic, and love-wrought epistle, Dr. King calls religious leaders of all faith traditions to task for their reluctance to take on the yoke and the burden of solidarity with God’s love for all humankind, and especially for those who suffer discrimination and oppression. 
 
* * *
            I, for one, am not eager to take this yoke of naming and ending discrimination. That burden seems too heavy and my shoulders are too narrow. But I’m reminded that with Jesus I can do anything he calls me to do. And it’s not my will that matters, but God’s.
 
            So, this is my song. Listen, again:
 
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5krFNUMQHI
 
News:
 
A service for Todd Lebetter, the homeless man murdered last week at West Side Park, will be in the parking lot of the Phoenix Center on Washington Street, home of CU at Home, at 7:00 p.m. I’ll be masked and physically distanced; join me if you wish.
 
That is also the exact hour of our Wednesday Vespers on Zoom. Online is the safest place to ‘meet.’ Rachel will be leading the program, and you gathered saints can pray as Langston Hughes teaches:
 
Gather up
In the arms of your pity
The sick, the depraved,
The desperate, the tired,
All the scum
Of our weary city

Gather up
In the arms of your pity.
Gather up
In the arms of your love—
Those who expect
No love from above.
 
(“Prayer,” Langston Hughes)
 
* * *
 
The Wednesday Vespers Zoom link is: 
Email zoom@firstpres.church for the link.

Thursday Youth Gathering 4 pm
Email zoom@firstpres.church for the link.
 
Good Word: 
 
Matthew 11:28-30    
“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Let us pray 
 
Our Holy Father, we confess the weakness and sinfulness of our lives. We have often turned away from thee to seek our own desires. And often when we have done no evil, we have undertaken nothing of good, and so have been guilty of uselessness and neglect. From this sin of idleness and indifference set us free. Lead us into fruitful effort, and deliver us from profitless lives. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.
 
[Martin Luther King, Jr.]
 
PEACE to you all,
 
Matt Matthews
Cell: 864.386.9138
Matt@FirstPres.Church
 
 

Monday July 6 2020
A daily e-mailer from
Matt Matthews
 
To Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois
 
Dear Friends,
 
            Unimaginable.
 
            There are things in life we never want to face. We know we may. We know that no one is immune. But we don’t want to face them. 
 
            In WWII—not that long ago—my grandmother hung four stars in the front window of her house signifying that she had four men in the war: her husband (a stateside major inspecting training camps, my grandfather), both sons (my father and Uncle Jim), and a son-in-law (Aunt Mary Louise’s husband, Joe). The thought of losing a son must be unimaginable.
 
            In the Broadway smash “Hamilton,” Alexander and his wife Eliza face the death of a son. It’s “unimaginable” the chorus sings.
 
Chorus: If you see him in the street/ 
walking by her side/
talking by her side/
have pity. 

He is trying to do the unimaginable/
See them walking through the park/
long after dark/
Taking in the sights of the city.

They are trying to do the unimaginable. 
 
            That’s what dealing with loss sometimes seems: unimaginable. We can’t get our minds around it. We have nothing in our play book to help us. Our emotional tool box is empty.
 
            I love this song because it reminds us that the strangers we pass by on our walk around the park may be dealing with the unimaginable. Show pity. Be kind. You never know what they may be thinking about, suffering through, grieving. It just might be unimaginable.
 
            One of our DREAAM families is working through the death last week of a young daughter in a car accident. Laketia Thomas’s daughter Leondra Hopkins died. Melo, the brother, is a DREAAMer. Tracy Dace and his staff have responded with care and grace.
 
            And on Wednesday near midnight, Todd Ledbetter, a homeless man who sat and slept (and sometimes preached) on the park bench in front of the Episcopal Church across State Street from West Side Park was brutally beaten to death. On Friday, Damon Rowell and I sat on that bench awhile and visited his friends who grieved. We brought cold Gatorade, but they were drinking stronger stuff. We prayed. A parking lot service lead by Rev. Beth Maynard will happen soon.
 
            Unimaginable.  
 
            Your church is attempting to walk alongside those who grieve. It would be unimaginable if we didn’t. We are a part of something bigger that transcends our small lives. Your contributions matter. Thank you for your prayers. 

News
Men’s Breakfast Bible Study Tuesdays 8 am
Email zoom@firstpres.church for the link.

 
Take on Race:
 
  Racism
 
            When the wound stops bleeding,
            Will it heal?
            Will the rent flesh clot, scab, peel?
            Will the skin be as smooth to the touch,
                        as wondrous a sight,
            As Black or as Yellow,
            As Red or as White?   (C. Moore Grace)
  
* * *
 
Let America Be America Again
By Langston Hughes
 
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
 
(America never was America to me.)
 
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
 
(It never was America to me.)
 
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
 
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
 
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
 
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
 
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
 
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
 
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
 
The free?
 
Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
 
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
 
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
 
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
 
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
 
Good Word: 
 
Romans  7:14-25        
14 For we know that the law is spiritual; but I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin. 15 I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. 16 Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. 17 But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. 18 For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. 19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. 20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.
21 So I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. 22 For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, 23 but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. 24 Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? 25 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!
 
So then, with my mind I am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin.
 
Let us pray 
 
From Desmond Tutu:
 
The right hand of God is writing in our land,
Writing with power and with love.
Our conflicts and our fears, our triumphs and our tears
Are recorded by the right hand of God.
The right hand of God is pointing in our land,
Pointing the way we must go.
So clouded is the way, so easily we stray,
But we’re guided by the right hand of God.
The right hand of God is striking in our land,
Striking out at envy, hate and greed.
Our selfishness and lust, our pride and unjust
Are destroyed by the right hand of God.
The right hand of God is lifting in our land,
Lifting the fallen one by one.
Each one is known by name, and rescued now from shame,
By the lifting of the right hand of God.
The right hand of God is healing in our land,
Healing broken bodies, minds and souls,
So wondrous is its touch, with love that means so much,
When we’re healed by the right hand of God.
The right hand of God is planting in our land,
Planting seeds of freedom, hope and love,
In these Caribbean lands, let his people all join hands,
And be one with the right hand of God.
 
AMEN.
 
PEACE to you all,
 
Matt Matthews
Cell: 864.386.9138
Matt@FirstPres.Church