Picture another perfect Pennsylvania night. It was last Sunday, the tail end of Mother's Day, around 6 PM. The sun beams, stretching low in the sky, hit those puffy white clouds so majestically with values of blue and pink that we're reminded of just how good life is, how peaceful. But everything wouldn't be peaceful for long.

A certain minister is out on Adam's Ridge with the troops. And the troops are off leash because they're out in the deep, familiar woods and expansive fields that, with their minister buddy, they travel two or three times a day. Here, in this heavenly place, they regularly see wildlife: a squirrel here, a chipmunk there, open expanses riddled with crows or the loud flutter of wild turkeys as they take to the air are sights they regularly see and hear.

From this near utopia, let's fast-forward the story enough to the animal hospital emergency room in Plains, which we know is in Wilkes-Barre. That certain minister is me and we need to jump ahead in this story because of the wildlife I mentioned a moment ago—squirrels, chipmunks, crows, and turkeys—I didn't mention porcupines.

That's right, the reason for the rapid run to the 24/7 vet hospital an hour south of Harford is my lab cross, Cleo, whom I've mentioned in a sermon several months ago, joined with one of her cohorts to give us the setting for another sermon.

A side note: if, in this current job market situation, you're thinking of becoming a minister and want to secure enough material for your messages, get a dog!

Both dogs, Cleo and her partner in crime, were so riddled with porcupines in and through their mouths that this open all night vet trip was absolutely necessary.

Now quills are quills and dogs are dogs, so the worry level here should be very, very low, even though both dogs need to be sedated. My worry level, however, is through the roof because Cleo had extensive surgery on January fifth of this year. The surgery was on a joint known as the hock, which is the joint many of us without a dog anatomy book would think is the knee. At a snail's pace she's recovered. But immediately following the battle with the porcupine, (who won, in case you're curious) she immediately manifested symptoms of the genetic disorder that caused her major surgery in the first place. According to her surgeon, Cleo's breed is prone to injuries on her major joints. Wounded in the shoulder by what could have been trauma during the porcupine battle, Cleo hobbled into the hospital like a broken hobble horse because she looked like a dog who'd been hit by a truck traveling some 55-miles an hour.

Because her past surgery was so painful to endure, let alone pay for, and because she was displaying great pain in her shoulder that night, I was emotionally unavailable. Gone, cold and vacant would be three good words to describe me.

But someone else there that night was none of these things.

Because Cleo needed hands-on comfort on the ride south, I travelled the hour to Plains with someone. The person I was with the night in the animal hospital waiting room made the right choice. In the hours we waited for the dogs, she simply chose to not only follow but also live the commandment brought to us in the text this morning.

To get into the text, let's get into this story a little more. See, we had to wait for awhile. We were told from the blood work to sedation to recovery our time there could be up to four hours, which, at that point, would get us home around 1 AM. For night owls this is fine, but morning people on the other hand, well, that's a different story. The person with me is a self-professed and widely known morning person who, at this point, is already past her bedtime.

But the command Jesus gives is there—to love others.

Again, I'm gone. Like a malfunctioning vending machine, I might as well have had a sign around my neck that read, "do not use", "broken" or "out of order"—but my mom does what so many of us do yet don't name, or name enough. She does what we're called, no, commanded to do—she starts reaching out.

My mom didn't know what this sermon was about until it started about 7-minutes ago. While her acts in that waiting room were indeed caring, she would be the first to tell you that this care she provided was by no means some grandiose gesture. Though a nurse by training and profession, she didn't come swooping in like a present-day Florence Nightingale. Instead, she was simply present to those who were worried, and worse, suffering.

Here's what I mean. A 50 year-old man and his son whom I'd say is in fifth grade brought in their cat. Their cat had been hit that night by an unknown driver who fled the scene. The father and son only knew their wounded cat was in their yard because a neighbor was kind enough to tell them so.   

With the exception of their ages which she didn't ask—all this information I share came because my mom, in perfect timing, asked them. She started them talking. She had them sharing. And this is pivotal because, several closed doors away, you can hear the cat screaming pain.

Notice now how we're always presented with choices. There, in that waiting room, what would you have done?

There's more.

Spaced, I go out to the car and ironically start reading this week's scripture that my mother is practicing inside. About an hour later, I find out the cat's name is Kit. I only find this out because in my pacing, I see where the father and son had checked in. Kit's name was clearly written in one column. When I return to the waiting room, I see the boy and his dad had gone home. When I asked my mom, she said Kit had died.

The story continues. An hour or so later, a woman comes in with Buddy, this little dog whose obscure breed she clearly shares with my mom that I totally forget. And it's the same situation here a second time. My mother asks. She's not intrusive or in your face. She's not over the top sympathetic, nor is she business-like. She simply listens. She cares. She loves. She really did touch these three people.

Listen carefully. I'm not raising my mom up on a pedestal nor making excuses why I was down. I'm using this very real experience to illustrate what is true and good and right: God is within each of us, and the commandment is clear. We can be like me in this story—we can wall ourselves off—and we've all done that—or we can be like my mom, and we've all done that, too.

What will it be? Will you sit in the car, or will you care?

Today, invite this scripture into your heart and get in the groove. To do so, name God in your life. Built in his perfect image, name that power—that presence—that alone you don't have but that with Him you do. Agree that we never know when we're going to be a light onto someone else's path. But the opportunities are there for all of us. Look to verse sixteen of today's reading to see what I mean. Let's read that together. Again, it's verse sixteen. You didn't choose me. I chose you. I appointed you to go and produce lasting fruit, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask for, using my name.

What's so striking to many in that single verse are those two initial sentences. You didn't choose me.  I chose you. Through his father, Jesus Christ made the first choice—to love and to die for us, to invite us to live with him forever.  We make the next choice—to accept or reject his offer. Without his choice, we would have no choice to make.

No matter where we are, whether in life you're on smooth, four-lane highways or on bumpy paths, whether things are all rock-and-roll for us, or we've lost the rhythm and have the blues, we all need to reach out to another person. We need to reach out to another person, even if that reaching seems uncomfortable or unnatural to us at first. This reaching out is love. And love means care. And this is not what Jesus is asking, no; he's commanding us to love beyond ourselves and those closest to us.

To love, get in your groove thing.

Now I have no idea where the phrase ‘in the groove' came from. Some may think of baseball players who have long-standing hitting streaks. Others think of perfect moments when they're mowing or gardening, hiking or vacuuming. Consider now those times when you lose track of not only time—but also yourself—in the kitchen, on the golf course, on the horse, are out on the water. Being in the groove is the runner's high, the painter's free expression on a canvas. It's the euphoric time when, if we stop and think about it, we know that what we're doing is good and right and true.

There's others times and places when we experience the groove thing, though we may not name it as such until, hopefully, today. The groove thing is when we really reach that other person.

Get in the groove with God. Seek that out first, perhaps in a way you haven't done so before. Connect or reconnect and when you do, hold onto it. Let it move you to reaching out of your own limits, your own skepticism, your own doubt. The groove thing means you'll live God's message of love when you get out there and dance.

Rock and roll and rhythm and blues came at us earlier. I'm not asking now if you generally like to be in a crowd or you gravitate toward quiet times, and I'm not asking if you're a good dancer or not. But imagine a dance floor. On this imaginary dance floor—and again, I'm not asking if you consider yourself a good dancer or not—you're out there. You're swinging and you're moving and you're grooving. Here's the question. Is it more fun to dance all alone, or with a group of people?

From our gospel message today, take this message: get out there and dance. Meet people, move with them.

I'm not the only minister here. We all are. If, however, you did start to think about preaching as a career and you're looking for a place to hang out and find material for a sermon, you may not need a dog as I've suggested earlier. Even without a pet, you may just want to hang out in a 24/7 emergency vet hospital on a Sunday night. 

Or better yet, find other places where you can love. Again, I'm not the only minister here. Look around you. Look at the history of this church and this church community. Find places or everyday experiences where you can be out there. Once you realize you're in a place where you can be fully present to someone else, get in the groove. Go. Find these places.