Pastor Kevan’s Weekly Email

Back in the days of the Unibomber, a package arrived on the doorstep of our New Haven parsonage. The Postal Service encouraged a thorough inspection of unmarked packages; only months before, a Computer Science professor at Yale University, David Gelertner, had such a package blow up in his face, partially blinding him and maiming his right hand. So I listened carefully for any ticking noises, shook the box gently, and then, having wondered who in the world might want to blow up the pastor anyway, tore off the brown butcher paper which encased it.

Inside was a mandolin, one of the most extravagant gifts I have ever received. And a note, which read; "From a friend". I knew at once who had sent the package. Years before, I was in Glen Cove, Long Island, and a man named Joe Calzone was one of my parishioners. By his name, you will know something of Joe. He was Italian, and we would sing together--"O Holy Night" at Christmastime and "We're You There" in Holy Week. My nasal Kentucky twang and his Italian, Long Island accent seemed to blend perfectly--at least to us. I enjoyed our singing, but didn't think too much about it. But to Joe, it was a gift.

And one day, we were just talking about music, when I commented off handedly, "I'd like to play the mandolin some day". And Joe remembered that statement. He's a plaster-er. He applies stucco to walls and houses, but his body is wearing out on him. Because, Joe was born with some physical challenges that make climbing and holding a bucket full of stucco difficult. And when I think of the times that this man climbed those ladders and hauled up those 50 pound buckets of stucco, just so he could buy his pastor a mandolin, it's almost more than I can bear.

That's why it's a gift. It's just like God's grace. You can't buy it; you don't deserve it; you couldn't earn it. But you got it anyway. It's a gift from God, and you sure may not deserve it, but you have to live differently now that you've received it.