“Look at that,” she said, pointing at the ground.  I didn’t look.

“Look, look,” she said, bending over to pick something up.  Or drop something which she then picked up. It was a ring, made to fit the finger of some enormous sausage-fingered man. Some guy maybe six times my size.

“Is it yours,” she asked.  I said that it was not.  “Look, look,” she continued.  ”Is it it gold?  I think it’s gold.”  It wasn’t gold. It was brass.  I mean, I’m no metallurgist, and even if I had been, I didn’t have my spectrometer handy.  But the thing looked like brass.  ”It’s gold,” she insisted.

Then she held it up, offering it to me. “Your lucky day,” she said.  ”Take it.” I backed away, urging my wife and son to back up too.  This was obviously a scam, and although we weren’t quite sure how it was supposed to play out, none of us particularly wanted to find out the hard way.

In some countries, you might take the thing and ten minutes later be “arrested” by the “police” for carrying a stolen item. Usually, the contents of your wallet would be just equal to the customary fine.  In more law-abiding nations, a pickpocket might be watching to see where you put your newest valuables.  Or any of a dozen other cheesy criminal tricks.

France is a remarkably law-abiding country, because a little quick web research explained to us how the scam usually works there.  You take the ring, and the person who “found” it for you asks for a few euros as a finder’s fee. After all, you can sell the thing for — who knows?  – two hundred dollars.  So why not buy the poor woman a couple of pains au chocolat, just to be nice?

It’s a wildly popular dodge, practically a local tradition.  Rumor has it that the streets of Paris are paved with these golden rings.  Several people describe having been hit up two, three, even five times in rapid succession, occasionally even by the same person.  And of course there is the natural temptation to respond.  A woman says  One guy says that when the con artist handed him the ring, he simply hurled it away.  (I’m thinking somebody hadn’t had his cafe-au-lait that morning.)

It’s a fairly gentle con, and you even get a little trinket out of it, a souvenir of the time you got cheated in Paris.

Still, it makes me think.  People are cheated most easily when they get greedy, and try to get something for nothing. Because of this, other people get suspicious. When somebody offers them something for free, they are immediately on guard, trying to figure out how they are being lied to. I am one of those people myself — just ask the lady with the ring.

So what does this mean for the Church and its mission?  After all, the Gospel is an offer of salvation, a free gift of grace. You can’t put a price on it, and so you can’t earn it or buy it.  But does that very fact make people less likely to believe?  Do they think it must be some sort of scam, just a little more sophisticated than a brass ring in Paris?

I think that may be exactly what happens.  Throughout the history of Christianity, there have been some people, and some movements, which presented salvation not as a gift but as a reward for doing something right. From Simon Magus to Pelagius, from the abuse of papal indulgences to some of the modern TV preachers, there is a long tradition of putting salvation up for sale. And these guys are very successful.  They can fill churches, amphitheaters, even football stadiums — fill them up with people ready to buy the product.  People know that it’s a good thing, and reason that it must be worth whatever it costs.

So here’s the paradox.  The same instinct that helps us to avoid one kind of scam can make us fall victim to another. We cannot bring ourselves to believe that anything worthwhile could actually be free.  Or at least many of us can’t.  Which gives preachers a strange choice:  Preach the Gospel as a free gift, knowing that many people cannot believe it; or dilute the message, and offer righteousness in exchange for good works, or right faith, or some other verbal formula that lets people contribute to their own salvation. The second choice will always be popular.  Too bad it is really just another scam.

Finally, we skipped town for a few days, leaving the Sunday service in the capable hands of Pastor Attila, as well as our trusty worship leaders — Zoltan, Adriana, Andra, Anthony and Mickey.  (Not to mention Noelle Heber and her string quartet!)  And off we went to Paris.

It was a wonderful trip.  We did some of the usual sightseeing — Notre Dame, the Musee de Cluny, the Eiffel Tower.  But, honestly, that was the least of our pleasures.

Cluj is a wonderful place to live, and anybody who reads this blog knows I think so.  But there are some things only a bigger city can provide.  So in a strange way, visiting Paris was a little like going home to New York. I picked up some English comic books; we ate Thai food; that sort of thing.  Best of all, friends from New York were in the city at the same time, so we got to share it with them.

If you are traveling to Paris, especially with a small child, here are a few things we learned that you may want to know:

• August is a strange time to visit. The weather can be very hot.  As in many European cities (including Cluj), many of the locals take their vacation.  Some (but certainly not most) shops and restaurants are closed; tourists have a free run of the place.  This isn’t a bad thing, but it isn’t for everyone.
• The Metro is a wonderful thing — underground trains that will take you almost anywhere, quickly and cheaply.  It is, on the whole, cleaner and quieter than New York’s subway.  Stations are very close together, and even on the weekends trains come frequently.  But, like the subway, many stations are not stroller-friendly.  Be prepared to lug Junior up and down some stairs.  Children under 4 ride free, and 4-11 pay half price.
• Paris Visite is a subway/bus pass that also provides discounts at some museums.  For a short and comparatively mellow trip like ours, this would not have been cost-effective, but for heavy-duty sightseers, it could save a few euros.
• Parks and playgrounds are easy to find. It is easy to find little neighborhood playgrounds with slides, swings and sand.  Even though many Parisian parks are formal, no-running-on-the-grass places, some of them have designated play areas.
• Fountains suitable for a child to splash in are harder to find.  Try the Place des Vosges.
• Pickpockets. Every city has them, and the City of Light is no exception.  Ditto scam artists, and the occasional crazy street person.  Take the usual precautions, especially in crowded areas.
• For church services, we went to the American Church in Paris, on the Quai d’Orsay. It is a large enough community that, even on a sweltering hot August morning, there may have been 300 people present.  Small children were welcome, and both nursery care and  special activities in the worship service were offered.  The worship style seems to be, in essence, Presbyterian — loosely structured, not very formal.  Holy Communion is celebrated weekly at the 9:00 service, monthly at the 11:00.  There is also a “contemporary” service in the afternoon.

Here’s the key sentence:  “Reading the Bible together makes Jesus present with us, as truly as the Eucharist does.” Click here for more.

Don’t worry.  It all makes sense, at least after a while.  The idea is to to pray and sing, to hear the words of Scripture read and talked about, and to share the meal that Jesus gave us.  The rest of it is just details.

But there’s no reason to waste time puzzling over the details, when they are easy enough to explain.   From time to time, I’m going to post a little bit about the hows and whys of Lutheran worship, and leave them on the “Pages” bar on the left side of the page.

And here’s the first one, about the Brief Order for Confession and Forgiveness.  I hope you enjoy it.

People were good sports, though, and celebrated along with us.  We had cake, with sparklers, and sang the “Star-Spangled Banner”, more or less right.  Theodore wore an Uncle Sam hat.

Before all this, though, I taken a few minutes to reflect upon the way that different nations observe their national holidays, and on what it means.  I said something like this:

July 4th is a big holiday in the United States — a celebration of our history and our liberty.  We celebrate in different ways (grilling meat in the back yard, selling cars at a discount), but the most traditional of them by far is setting off explosions.   From a few friends lighting firecrackers in the driveway to a massive display of fireworks over the harbor of a great city, Americans celebrate today with bursts of light and color.  They are beautiful and exciting, but they also remind us that our liberty was purchased with violence and war.

I suppose that every country has some day like this, and I suppose that on such days, our nations give a sort of testimony.  They tell a story about who they are.   In Cameroon, one member tells me, they set aside one day each year to rejoice in their bilingualism, their two official languages, French and English.  A few days ago, Canadians held their national day; no explosions, because their independence was a peaceful transition.  Sometimes they invite the Queen to visit, as a reminder that they are still part of one Commonwealth.  These are our stories, the things we value about ourself, and they are not the same from one nation to another.  Independence; tolerance; peacefulness — they are all beautiful things, and they are all different.

And what about us, my friends?  What about our “nation,” the Church?  What story do we tell the world about ourselves?

Christians have much to celebrate.  Much of the greatest art in human history has been created by Christians, to the glory of God.  In places where there is poverty or disaster, Christian relief agencies are often on the front lines.  When Jesus sent out his seventy apostles, they returned with joy, saying, “Lord, even the demons submit to us.”  What was true then is true now as well:  God gives us the power to subdue the forces of evil, the powers that seek to take away human dignity.

But Jesus warned the apostles, and he warns us as well:  ”Do not rejoice because the demons submit to you.  Rejoice because your names are written in Heaven.”  In other words, the wonderful things that God gives us the power to do, and that we do in God’s name, are not the ultimate reason for our celebrations.  We celebrate not because of anything that we do, but rather because of what Jesus did for us, when on the Cross he won a decisive victory against the powers of death and hell, and gained us the hope of eternal life.

Some nations fire rockets into the sky; others invite a foreign queen, or rejoice in their many languages.  But our nation, our Church, tells its story in a different way.  We tell it by gathering together to sing and pray, whether five or six of us around a table, or thousands packing  massive amphitheater. We tell it when we reach out our hands to help those in need, victims of fire or flood; to lift up the oppressed or comfort the lonely.  We tell the story of Jesus, and his victory against the powers of death; the story of God, who has made us and redeemed us. Each time we make peace or protect the weak, each time we forgive somebody, each time we love somebody, we tell the world who we are — and who God is.

There’s a new link on the side of the page, or else you can click this link here.

These are my own sermons, which is a shame, since many people think Pastor Terri is the better preacher.  You’ll just have to check back for samples of her work … or better yet, join us on Sunday at 5:00.

After a great victory against their enemies, God’s people “went home” to pray.  But sometimes, God’s people have no home.  Sometimes, the enemies against which we struggle are poverty and homelessness.  And sometimes, working together, we can gain a great victory in God’s name.

Since 1976, Habitat for Humanity has been helping poor families build and pay for their own homes.  Habitat, or HFH, is a nondenominational Christian organization committed to ending poverty housing worldwide.  (It is also dear to Pr. Terri’s heart, since many years ago she helped to start the first-ever college chapter, at Baylor University).  Here in Romania, the independent HFH organization has been at work since 1996, and has helped more than 1000 families into new homes and renovated apartments.

In the wake of the worldwide economic crisis, which has dramatically reduced the funds available to many charitable organizations, HFH Romania has remained faithful to its mission goals, but changed its strategies for achieving them.  In rural Romania, for example, many families still live without fresh, clean water.  Improvements to a village’s water and sanitation system can sometimes achieve more, and for more people, than simple construction can to end poverty and improve housing.

Habitat needs partners.  It seems strange to imagine our little church can do much good.  We are so few, and needs are so great!  But every church feels that way, from time to time:  overwhelmed by the needs of a broken world.  Yet we have a call from God, and we have the Spirit of God to give us strength.  Who know what we can accomplish together?

To learn more aboutHhabitat for Humanity, and to explore ways to help our neighbors in need, please join us after worship on Sunday, 13 June, for a presentation by representatives of the Cluj chapter.  The service begins at 5:00 pm.

If you worship with us on Sundays, you will usually hear, among the prayers of intercession, something like this:  ”We pray for our partner churches in Romania and New York, and especially for Trinity in Long Island City, as they welcome Paul their new pastor.”  If you are new here, you may wonder why, out of all the churches of the world, we are praying for these in particular.

Here’s why:  they are our partners in a very direct and personal way.  Terri and I were sent here by the Metropolitan New York Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.  We are their missionaries.  We keep them in prayer, and ask them to do the same for us.

Well, the synod has another missionary, as well.  His name is Aaron Schutte, and he is in Tanzania, where he teaches at the Kibeta English-Medium Primary School.  To learn more about him, read his blog.  Kibeta may seem like a different world than Cluj, and his daily work — teaching children how to read and write — is very different from ours.  But we share a ministry, which is to be living symbols of the connectedness among Christians all over the Earth.

So I ask you to keep our brother Aaron in your prayers, as you keep Terri and me.  Pray for the Northwest Diocese of the Lutheran Church in Tanzania, as you pray for the Evangelical-Lutheran Church in Romania.  And remember that we are one in Christ.

On Pentecost, we said goodbye to some friends.  Charles and Jann were here on sabbatical, Rob and Marsha because of sports.  But seasons and semesters end, and it was time for them to leave.  So after Holy Communion, Pr. Terri led the “Farewell and Godspeed” service.

Soon, of course, we will say many more goodbyes.  As the school year winds down, we know that many of our Sunday evening “regulars” will disappear.  We’re a little uneasy about summer worship services, as you can imagine.  Pastors in college towns and resort communities are used to this, but it will be new for us.  We are bracing ourselves for the shock.

The strangest part, for us, is that the English ministry in Cluj is so new that we have scarcely had time to say a proper “hello” to anyone.  We have not formed the long, deep relationships that parish pastors get used to.  As Terri said, we can’t even say we’re losing members, because this isn’t the sort of congregation that has members — only friends.  But of course, it’s hard to lose your friends.

So here’s what we tell ourselves:  that we aren’t losing anybody.  Not in the way that matters.  Nor are we really all that far from our old friends and colleagues in New York, about whom we spend more time thinking than you might expect.  Because if you go to church on Sunday, wherever you are, then you are worshiping with us, as we are with you.  Wherever we may be standing, we are all gathered around the same altar.

One of the things that Lutheran pastors do is get together, with each other and with laypeople, at an assembly every year.  We call it a synod, from the Greek words for “on the same road.”  Anyway, I have ben attending them since 1992, and it feels strange to be far away right now, while my own synod assembles.

But I put this video together, so that some friends could show it at the Westchester Marriott, while they described the work Terri and I are doing in Romania.  It runs about two minutes, and I hope you enjoy it.