2 Cor 5: 16-21
16 From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view;* even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view,* we know him no longer in that way. 17So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! 18All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; 19that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,* not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. 20So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. 21For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

There’s a theme that keeps coming up for me again and again... the importance and power of sharing stories... especially as a family of faith. After worship last Sunday, we kicked off our new members class by sharing our individual stories of faith. It was such a blessing to see the different ways that God has worked in each person’s life to bring them to the point of being ready to join our congregation.

One of our new members shared that he had actually had a part of his faith story published in a religious periodical. Glen Sneyd was good enough to root around in old files and send me the story. I couldn’t help but share the story with you. It’s perfect for our theme for today.

At the time of the story, Glen was in a very difficult place. He had come off a painful divorce and he was broke. It was a hard, hard time in his life. His pastor had given him the job of polishing the large, historic brass chandeliers at his previous church, a delicate and labor-intensive process. He brought an old, portable radio he’d found in the garbage for entertainment while he worked.

He shares, On a night in mid-February I was only able to receive a Christian radio station, which didn’t sound too entertaining, but it was all I could get, so I rubbed on and let it play. It was one of those hokey radio dramas with background music more suited to a roller-skating rink, and I chuckled at how dumb it was. Some guy was whining to a friend about how he’d ruined his life with booze (organ music for punctuation) and drugs (more organ music) and women and plain stupidity, and how he was at the end of himself with nothing left and nothing to live for.
I stopped chuckling.
He said he had no friends left and couldn’t bear his loneliness.
I stopped rubbing.
He was talking about me.
The hokey organ music became soothing, and his friend put his arm around him (I could see it in my mind) and said, “You’re not alone and you are loved. God loves you.”
I knew this was fiction. They weren’t talking about me – couldn’t be. No way God was throwing away love on an empty piece of garbage like me. I scowled at my hideous impression of myself, and scowled at the radio for showing it to me. This was cruel. This wasn’t entertainment. I slumped with the smelly polish rag in my hand, and the show played on.
“Yeah, right. God loves me. Are you kidding? Look at me. My own family wants nothing to do with me.”
“Listen to me. God wants you right now, just as you are, no conditions.”
“No conditions?”
“None. Well maybe one.”
“I knew it. Too good to be true. They always want something.”
“Yeah, there is something. God wants you to love him back.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“But why? How?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’ll listen.”
Now I couldn’t hear the radio show any longer. The signal was too weak and I was crying, then sobbing. I held my face to the cold brass and sobbed out, “Me, Lord? You’d love me?”
My tears slid down the gleaming metal arm, staining it, and I looked up, up there where we always figure God is, and begged “please.” I could find no other words. I held onto that gently swaying chandelier, in that cold silent church, and prayed. Years of fear, loneliness, and despair poured out of me in great racking sobs, and dripped down those ornate swirling arms. There was still hope.
But what about my end of the deal? How do I love God back? I was a pretty hollow excuse of a man. Could I do anything that the Lord who looks into my soul would believe?
I was broken now, completely broken, and I was ready to accept healing. I remembered precarious little of what I’d learned in church with my parents as a kid, but I gave God the tiny bit I could recall, and I started singing, faintly, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so…”
There I was singing and sobbing and then smiling like an idiot at what I must look like, hugging a chandelier, crying and singing a Sunday School song. I couldn’t’ remember the whole thing, so I dug under the pew for a hymnal and pored through the pages until I ran across another I liked even better, “Amazing Grace.”
This one I belted out, standing on the pew, my voice echoing through the empty church, and I laughed out loud between verses and exclaimed through tears of joy, “Even me, Lord!”

What a powerful story. What a beautifully tangible example of today’s scripture, “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

It’s also a perfect example of the rhythm of worship we call the confession series. When I was in campus ministry, I called the time of confession the reality check. It’s a chance to be honest about ourselves... about our lives and our world.

We are amazingly adept and denial. And yet, when we stop to be honest with ourselves... when we stop to ponder God’s amazing love... when those cheesy organ chords break through our walls of protection, we can’t help but recognize that we’re not living as the people God has created us to be. At the same time, when we’re honest with ourselves, like the Glen’s story so powerfully shows, we become open to God’s amazing grace.

Our Book of Common worship reminds us that, “Before God’s majesty and holiness we become painfully aware of our selfishness and disobedience. We repent of our sin and ask God’s forgiveness. We cannot earn God’s forgiveness by our repentance. Nor can we ever be worthy of God’s mercy. It is only in the assurance of God’s prior mercy given freely to the undeserving that we dare make our humble confession before God.”

The assurance of God’s mercy... that free gift of grace... that promise that God’s love is for - even me. That is why, week after week, we come before God and confess. And that is why, week after week, we proclaim the assurance that God’s love is stronger than anything we have done and anything that has been done to us. We remind ourselves that nothing..neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This is the good news we proclaim. “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

The Book of Order also reminds that, “Confession of sin therefore takes us back to our baptism. In the waters of Baptism, washed in the name of the triune God, we receive God’s assurance of forgiveness and cleansing. Claiming the promises of God sealed in our baptism, we boldly confess our sin and accept forgiveness. We are confidant that in our dying to sin and old destructive ways, the God of boundless grace raises us to new life. “

And, like Glen, when we’re reminded of the amazing grace we receive, we can’t help but sing out. This church regularly sings the Gloria Patri. Glory be to the father and to the son and to the holy ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end. Amen. Amen. Contrary to what you may have been taught. It’s not what you sing, it’s that you sing. For Glen, “Jesus loves me this I know” was the perfect song, followed by Amazing Grace. We can’t help but sing... it’s the gratitude that bubbles up when we recognize the gift we’ve been given.

“If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

But, there’s more to our scripture today. “All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.”

This is why, since the early days of Christian liturgy - the worship work of the people - after people have confessed and received the assurance of grace, and after they have sang their songs of gratitude, there is the tradition of passing the peace to each other.

We are freed, not for ourselves alone, but so we can share this gift with others.

Our Book of Worship shares, “In giving signs of peace to each other we express the reconciliation, unity, and love that are in Christ. The peace is a sign of the blessing and presence of God, a sharing of the peace that comes only from God. It is a glad demonstration that as God’s people we are seeking to abide in the peace of God. It expresses an openness to the power of God’s love to heal our brokenness and make us agents of that love in the world.”

Now, I have to confess that I was warned. People said to me, they’ll never go for it. They’ve tried it before and people just don’t want to shake each other’s hands during worship. When I heard those words, I thought to myself, “How can that be?” How could someone not want to shake hands with their sisters and brothers in the faith during worship?!?

Over the months, as I’ve gotten to know this church, I’ve learned what big hearts are sitting in these pews. There may be some old hurts. There may be some relatively new hurts. There may be memories of harsh words spoken. There may be reminders of mistakes made.

But, passing the peace is to dare to proclaim - in the midst of our hurts - that God’s love is stronger. Whether it is with a new visitor or an old nemesis, passing the peace of Christ is the visible example - the tangible expression of our faith in God’s grace.

Ever week when we gather in this space, with the baptismal font in the front, we are invited to confess... to take a reality check. And, after doing so, we are given the assurance of God’s grace that will prevail... even for me... even me. May the love we receive and the peace we share multiply when we reach out to others. And may those waters of grace flow right out these doors to the world around us.

May it be so. Amen.