We're about at the end of the spring commencement season, a time when we give recognition to those who have completed a program of study at a school or university. A forthcoming issue of the Sentinel will list those in this congregation who are collecting diplomas or degrees this spring, and most of us probably find we are contributing mightily to the wellbeing of the Hallmark Co. as we buy congratulation cards for the graduates in our own circles of family and friends. Now presumably we are congratulating these grads for more than just surviving; we assume they've learned something, and therefore their diploma or degree is a credential that they are better able to cope with life and to exercise a particular gift or skill. Today we know that being a graduate doesn't guarantee anything; you still have to prove you can perform. So the degree or diploma is a gateway you must pass through in order to apply for a job, or, in many cases, to go for further education that will get you the chance to show you can perform. The proof of one's credential is in the performance.

Our biblical forbears didn't have formal degrees to aspire to or contend with; yet having credentials was important to them. And for them, as for us, those credentials were established basically by their performance record. Both our scriptures today are about people getting credentials. Elijah understood himself called by God as a prophet in ancient Israel, destined to speak truth to kings and to a whole nation. But first he had to prove to himself and to those around him that he in fact had divine credentials. So he was sent to the home of a poor widow in the little town of Zarephath, and though the widow thought her food supply was nearly gone, she discovered that as long as Elijah stayed with her, there was always enough food. Score a point for Elijah! But then in today's reading the widow's son becomes ill to the point of death, and she is sure that Elijah's presence has somehow brought God's curse on her. And Elijah himself begins to wonder! So he carries the boy up to his bedroom and does some very heavy praying over him, and miraculously the boy revives. Simultaneously, Elijah's credentials as a prophet of God also revive, and he goes forth from that point to carry on his mission in God's name.

The story of Jesus resuscitating a widow's son in Luke's gospel is a very similar but more straight-forward version of the Elijah story. Jesus simply touches the man's body and speaks to him, and at once he comes back to life. And again, Luke is very clear in pointing out what this act did for Jesus' credentials as a prophet and teacher.

Both Elijah and Jesus took credentials seriously; it was essential for them to know their own connection to God, and to have others know it. But their credentials were never an end in themselves. Rather they were a port of entry for carrying on ministry. Friends, we need to take care that we do not get confused over this point. The Bible puts so much emphasis on the credentials of people like Elijah and Jesus that we may get the idea that the credentials themselves are the goal rather than what they're used for. In some parts of the church, being "born again" is seen as a godly status that takes care of everything; for others, baptism or church membership are treated as credentials that say we've arrived and can rest easy. But both Elijah and Jesus knew better. They recognized that their status before God was not something to boast about, but rather it was a license to carry out the mission entrusted to them.

And the heart of that mission was to give life. "I have come that you may have life, and have it abundantly," Jesus told us. There's a reason so much of Jesus' ministry was taken up with healings and bringing people back to life. He understood that God's agenda in the world is to give us life in as full a measure as possible--to heal what is broken, to reconcile and restore and make whole. Above all, Jesus knew he was credentialed to give life. And I would submit that's why we are Christians today--not first of all because we see Jesus' divine status, but because we see Jesus as a life-giver, and we are hungry to find that life for ourselves.

As Christians we also are given credentials, and in a world hungry to find life, it seems clear what the nature of those credentials is meant to be. As followers of the Jesus in whom we find life, we, too, are called to be life-givers. Now, some of us may question what credentials we have for such a task. Our sense of God's calling and presence may seem uncertain, and we may feel like such amateurs with regard to the quality of our own lives. So we do well to remember that every one of us has the status--and the credential--of being a beloved child of God. God has declared every one of us to be a worthy son or daughter. And that means we are all credentialed to be life-givers, no matter what our inner sense of our calling may be. We are called to live our lives on the side of God's life-giving purpose for the whole human family.

But it's also true our credential to give life will count for something only to the extent we accept it and live as though it's really ours. Just declaring we're on God's side won't matter if we aren't giving life to others in some specific ways. Elijah and Jesus were taken seriously because others saw them giving life--both physically and spiritually. No one will expect us to raise the dead, but they will look to see if we're contributing something to the hope and healing and growth and enrichment of the lives we touch. Are we Good News or Bad News--or are we no news at all? Only Good News will say our credential means anything. 

Today, on this Father's Day, I want to address a few words to you fathers in the congregation. What I want to say is really not limited to fathers, but it's your day, so you get the spotlight. Dads, it seems to me, have a unique and most significant credential to give life because of who they are in the family structure. It's no less true of mothers; yet I'm convinced there is something unique and essential about the bond of children with their fathers--a bond fathers need to take seriously for their children's emotional and spiritual health. What children need, I believe, is to know their fathers as caring and connecting parents who are really there for them and with whom they relate at a deep level. Contact may be the key image here. There are some images of masculinity and of fatherhood out there that work against this kind of fatherly bonding. Fathers can see themselves as needing to be strong sources of authority and stability for their households: witness the character of the marine father next door in the movie American Beauty. The tough and authoritarian image can easily tie in with the strong, silent model of manhood, which says that men are to be basically private persons who do not share much of their inner lives with others. So the role of fathers is to put bread on the table and stoically protect their families from all assaults. But for children, that's not enough. Children need warm human contact with their fathers, by which they come to know what their fathers think and feel and care about. They need to experience a father's love and caring, which can only happen as their fathers share themselves openly with their children in appropriate ways. They need the connection and the bond to be real. So one of the most essential and life-giving things a father can do is to open himself to his children in this way. For some of us men who grew up with a different orientation, this is not an easy task. I frequently find myself struggling to connect meaningfully with people who matter to me. It's easier and safer to guard one's privacy and keep one's inner life under wraps. But to be life-givers calls for pushing beyond that. The truth, I believe, is that we men do care more deeply and feel more deeply about our families and those who matter to us than many know, and we can give life by pushing this envelope of our lives.

That's a word for fathers, but it goes without saying that God's call to be life-givers is meant for all of us, in all kinds of relationships. So we do well to ask ourselves, to what extent am I nourishing life in those I relate to? Am I offering support or guidance or encouragement to others? In a wounded world, is the net impact of my life to hurt or to heal? Am I adding to the alienation and animosity and unraveling of life, or am I on the side of reconciliation and bringing together and making whole? Does my life bear some witness to life-giving values? Do I care about building an abundant life for myself so that others may find life in me?

Up at Stanford some years back there was a Scottish carpenter who had worked at the university for 30 years or so. He was a quiet man who was hardly ever noticed--but he was a very conscientious worker. One day as the chaplain was in the university church, he noticed that the carpenter had repaired with great care and skill a part of the building that was almost completely out of sight. The chaplain was so impressed that he told the president of the university about it, and they decided this quiet but faithful carpenter should be recognized. So they organized a party in the president's office with deans and faculty and the press all invited, and they lauded the carpenter for his good work. When they asked him to say something in response to the tributes, the only words of this faithful Scottish craftsman were, "Well, wha' di' ye expect?"

What else should we expect from our lives but some clear evidence that by God's grace we are life-givers, doing our part to repair a wounded world. As Jesus' disciples, we are credentialed to give life, and our task is to let God's grace work through us so the world will also see the evidence of the credentials we have.