Saw this from a friend.

Last Words and Words that Last
by Gordon MacDonald

I grew up in a pastor's home and was therefore sentenced to sit through every inch of church each Sunday morning (and evening, since we were Baptists) of my life. I have no memory of how long worship services lasted back then, but I'm betting it was at least a 90-minute endurance test, at least for children. Few preachers in the fundamentalist tradition—and my father was one of them—preached less than 55–60 minutes.

Sitting alongside my mother in the sanctuary, I often had what is now called "restless legs," and I remember squirming in the pew like a contortionist as I tried to relieve the cramping leg muscles. Perhaps this was the first indication that I was to be a runner. But my mother saw less the future runner and more a badly behaving boy and always responded in some judicial manner. For me standing in the corner for 60 minutes on a Sunday afternoon was not unusual.

Sermons in the church of my boyhood were followed by a closing hymn (all verses) and then the most welcomed of all Sunday-morning events: the benediction. It was the long-awaited signal that church was finally over. Hearing the "amen" that concluded the benediction, I was out of there.

I can't say that my childhood memories of church are real good ones.

Today the tables have turned, and I am often the preacher, and when my sermons end, I am the one who gives the benediction. Incidentally, my sermons are considerably shorter than my father's, but then again, you'd have to ask the children how it seems to them.

But it's thoughtful benedictions, not long sermons, that I have on my mind today.

My memory of benedictions is that they were the same every week: "Now unto him who is able to keep you from falling …" It seemed to be a universal way for pastors to say, "We're done, see ya!"

Some years ago I came to believe that a benediction just might be more than a signal that the service was over. It occurred to me that the benediction should be a thoughtful and affectionate blessing upon the people, the last words that might send them from the place of worship out into a larger world where cursing, competition, suffering, and disappointment often strive to do us in. Soon I was telling myself that this blessing might become a final charge that, rightly heard, would remind the listener of the most important dimensions of Christian policy until we met together again.

For this reason, I started writing benedictions and pasting them into my Bible. Among the themes: the incomprehensible enormity of a God who is greater than all other powers in the world; the importance of extending Christ's love to those we encounter during the week; the challenge to keep from sinning; the significance of replicating the character of Jesus in everyday life; and the "maranatha hope" that Jesus might return at any moment.

The benediction, I decided, was not about life in the church; it was about life in the streets where people—from Monday to Saturday—earn their living, play, study, and try to make the world a bit better in the name of Jesus. So I've tried to make my benedictions point away from religious property and toward common life in the larger world. The benediction asks, Will Jesus be Lord in any way, shape, or form twenty minutes after you leave here?

I began to conclude my benedictions with the physical sign of the cross as I said, "In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, I bid you farewell." It became my gentle, even visual, fatherly way of saying, "On your way, now. God be with you!"

I love offering people blessings, even though they rarely draw comments from anyone who hears them. Sometimes it seems as if everyone's mind is already out the door. Other times I have the sense that there is intense listening. Then again, what would a worshiper say about a pastor's benediction? Compliments? Critique?

Often I wonder if anyone remembers this final blessing during the week. Has it checked anyone's attraction to sin? Has it triggered anyone's sensitivity to someone's need for Christ's love? Has anyone—anyone!—pondered the conceivability that Jesus just might come again before next Sunday? Or is the theological theme of Christ's second and sudden coming something like my appendix: a part of my doctrine but with no practical use in daily life.

Each Sunday I give these benedictions, and then the musicians launch into a song, ushers begin cleanup, and children rush for the door (as I once did). Some adults move swiftly toward the exits because they have something to do that dawned on them while I was preaching. Others gather in small groups to catch up on each other's lives. A few come to the front to offer a comment on the sermon or to ask for prayer. Most head for the Commons room for coffee and little side meetings about church life.

Maybe when it comes time to bury me, they'll scrape around for something good to say about my memory. And someone will say, "Oh, he was the guy who gave thoughtful benedictions. Let's give him one to send him on his way."

To which I responded...

I'm deeply stirred by Gordon MacDonald's account. I'm thinking of the whole drama of parting.

I'm remembering the young couples I met last year in the Philippines that would give their little children to the grand parents, say good by, then the couple would be gone to spend several months in Muslim villages sharing Christ...fully expecting to die. I met them, looked into their eyes, and shuddered with wonder at their anticipation of going back...to die. I'm wondering what benediction their parents gave them...I'm wondering what they must have felt as they said, "Good by" to their sweet children.

I'm remembering standing with a hundred spouses leaning over the bed... longing to hear just one more word...one more sign of recognition...then I've heard so many times..."It's OK honey...you can go now...it's alright...I'll be OK." Isn't that some sort of benediction?

I'm thinking of Paul leaving for Jerusalem with the fledgling believers weeping and begging him not to go...what were his last words? Then his last written words, "I'm ready to be poured out..."

I'm wondering what were the last words Christ heard from God before the fateful cry..."Why have you forsaken me?"

Never really thought about Christ's last words to us as a benediction, "Go and make disciples..." But they must be a benediction of a sort?

And we do it each week as a church family...go into the world beloved...or whatever we would say?

It does mean something doesn't it.

I've never thought much at all about Sunday morning benedictions, I'm embarrassed to admit.

That has changed today.

Thank you.

xtnyoda shalomed