Sadie Gooch

Isaiah 55:1-3a
Mathew 6:19-21


Rockville United Church
The Rev. Suzanne Rudiselle

November 5, 2006

My name is Sadie Gooch and this is my story.

A few years ago I was new in town. I didn’t know very many people except those I work with, and I didn’t have much time to explore the area. I woke up one Sunday morning and decided that on such a nice day I’d go for a walk and see what my wider neighborhood looked like. I beat my straw-like hair into submission, put on clean jeans and a sweater and headed out, with no specific plans. I walked down the street and saw a sign to a cemetery. Imagine finding that in the middle of town. Sure enough there were a few head stones and a peaceful little park.

Bolder now, I moved on to a part of town where the houses were fewer and small businesses dotted the street - a “Mom and Pop” grocery, a dry cleaner, a hair dresser. A bus went by, and then another, and when the third one came I stepped up and got on.

There were only a few other people on the bus. Odd, I thought. It’s 10:30 am. Where is everyone? An older gentleman across from me smiled and said “hello”. I nodded back. Several people exited and a few more entered. The man, in a suit and tie, asked where I was going. He seemed friendly and innocent. I told him I didn’t know - I was just along for the ride, to see the sights. It made me think however, that I really didn’t know where I was going or why. I was suddenly hungry, so I asked him where I might get a cup of coffee.

“Just up the way there is a Dunkin Donuts with good coffee and eats. Want to get a cup?” he asked. Without thinking, I said yes. We got off the bus in a small shopping center - where all the stores were open, and went in for a delicious breakfast treat. The man, his name was Stan, said he was on his way to church, right behind the shopping center. It seemed an unlikely place for a church. I told him I hadn’t been to church since I was a little girl when my grandmother took me, and added that church wasn’t important to me. He wasn’t offended. We talked about the weather and the football teams - Redskins vs. Eagles - no contest for this Philadelphia girl! Then he stood up, paid for our coffee and donuts and said, “come with me!”

“I can’t go to church - just look at me - I’m in jeans. Besides, the place would collapse if I entered! He laughed and took my hand. I’m not sure why but I just went along. A nice couple greeted me at the church, shook my hand and didn’t scowl at my clothes. Stan introduced me to a couple of people and explained that I was just visiting. The music began. It was terrific! Not like the church I remembered at all. It was jazz - in a church! Well, it wasn’t going to be so bad. The minister stood up and made some announcements and other people added concerns and opportunities. Well, for one hour - never to be repeated - I could endure. Stan never looked my way.

After a while the minister stood up again and said it was stewardship Sunday. I knew I shouldn’t have come! Maybe that’s why Stan was so nice to me - he wanted my money. I just knew it was going to be awful from that point on. Good grief, I thought preachers were supposed to talk about Jesus - and God and stuff like that. I slumped down in my seat. First the pastor told a couple of jokes - “Noah was the first financier, he floated his stock while others were in liquidation.” Ha ha! “Pharaoh’s daughter was the first investment banker. She went to the river and drew out a little prophet.” (groan) OK so that wasn’t terrible.

Then he began to talk about trusting God with everything we have. Like, I have much of anything. I can hardly pay my rent and metro fare and eat. What am I supposed to trust God for? I started to squirm. Then he told how a family had hard times, the husband desperately sick, the wife and kids doing without, so that the little bit they had could pay for medicine. It seems that that family didn’t go to church much either, although they had been regulars before. They were worried about not having the right clothes and worried that they couldn’t pay their pledge, so they stopped going. The pastor heard about their dire straights, went to offer help. The family was embarrassed, but accepted. Again they were worried because they thought they could never repay the kindness or the money they were given. But the pastor asked if they had prayed. “Yes,” he was told. They prayed all the time for help and healing. “Well then”, he said, “God is answering your prayer. Your prayer was expressing your trust.”

I never thought of that, but then I’ve never been so sick. How does someone like me trust? What if I did trust? What would that mean? How would God know if I have enough for myself? Would God know that I need a car – or a house? It seemed pretty far-fetched. Maybe it wasn’t about things at all. What if I trusted God about my job and my future? How would God know what I wanted? How would I know if the answers were from God? All of a sudden I realized that I was thinking about trusting God! Darn that Stan!

Then I was aware that the preacher had changed tactics and talked about gratitude. I know about that. I’m really glad my Dad and Mom could help pay for my college expenses. I’ve said thank you to them. What am I thankful to God for? Well, I suppose I’m grateful for my family and the fact that I have had a good place to live, and never had to worry about my next meal. Is that from God? The pastor said that saying “thank you” was the first and most import prayer. But what about all the hard things in life, death and war and famine and lost children, prejudice and hatred? How can I be thankful to God when the world is full of pain? For that matter how can I trust a God who allows that to happen? This is complicated. He quoted the apostle Paul who said give thanks in all circumstances – thankful for God’s presence and strength. That hurts my head! Except that when I’m grateful for something in my life I seem to see the need in others and then try to help someone who doesn’t have what I have. I’ll have to think about that.

Just as I was beginning to feel comfortable the pastor started talking about tithing. I didn’t know what he meant, but it became clear that he wanted me to give the church 10% of everything! My grandmother used to put her butter and egg money out, 10% for the church 10% for the savings account and the rest to spend. I knew my grandparents didn’t have much and certainly didn’t live lavishly, but they always had enough and they were happy. I didn’t remember that until that moment. Does that mean that everyone has to do that? The pastor said that was the ideal but that each person made up his or her own mind. Some set aside a percent for civic donations and other charities and gave the rest to the church. He said most people like us live in a Cadillac world and give with a Yugo pocketbook! Ouch!. That stung. He said the need is great to help others, to work for justice issues in our community and far beyond that. He talked about how the church is a sanctuary in the midst of a troubled world, and the one place where people can come and hear Good news about God’s love. I’ll think about that too. Trust, gratitude, giving back, helping others.

That was a while ago. A funny thing happened. I couldn’t stop thinking about that day at the church. I didn’t return for many weeks. I didn’t know what I wanted from the church or from God, but I was grateful and found myself trusting God in little tiny ways. I was conscious of those around me who had so little. I even set aside some money to give to a helping organization, and, I confess, stashed 10% of my paycheck in a drawer as a trial -in case - just in case - I ever went to church again. I managed some how - and it wasn’t so hard; and once I started doing that I didn’t really miss it.

I woke up one beautiful Sunday morning, stretched, did battle with my straw-like hair and reached for my jeans - no maybe a nice pair of slacks and a sweater, walked a few blocks past the cemetery and shops, hopped a bus, stopped for Dunkin donuts, and then - well you know the rest.