Two years ago, the USPS delivered a letter written in 1945 by an American soldier named John Gonsalves who was serving in Germany in the aftermath of World War II. Seventy-six years after penning it, his letter was finally delivered to his family. As his wife sat down at her kitchen table to read his words, she said it almost felt like John was in the room with her. “It was a weird feeling – like he was standing there, reading it to me. I smiled when I saw his beautiful handwriting. I always loved how he wrote his E’s.” It is a story touching enough to give me pause when my Amazon package is running a few hours behind schedule. It may take longer than expected, but, rest assured, the goods always get delivered.

Hand-delivered mail (fittingly known as snail mail) is one of the most outdated systems in our society. We seem to have little use for it these days, considering that most of it is either spam or bills, and yet it has somehow grandfathered its way into the framework of our world.  The USPS has long been the butt of a joke ever since email was introduced in the mid 1990s. From that point on, snail mail has been the outdated alternative to instant, free messaging. Now that texting reigns supreme as the primary way to communicate, the postal service feels even more out of place. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, it is a “dazed and confused distant branch of the Cub Scouts, bumbling around the streets in embarrassing shorts and jackets with meaningless patches and victory medals, driving 4 miles an hour 20 feet at a time on the wrong side of a Jeep.” He notes how ridiculous it feels when the Postmaster General anxiously raises the cost of stamps one penny when any of us would gladly throw him a nickel. It all begs the question: how long can we keep this running gag going?

Despite our mockery, mail carriers remain a constant in our daily lives. We wait to hear the clink of the mailbox that announces their delivery. In conditions unfit for man or beast, we see them outside our windows, carrying their courier bags door to door. When snow days have canceled school, leaving restless children and frustrated parents to the confines of their homes, they trudge through the icy fray to deliver our Bed Bath and Beyond discounts, hospital bills and, if we’re lucky, a handwritten note from Aunt Tilly. Chances are you have a letter from a loved one stored away as one of your prized possessions.

It may be the most outdated branch of the government but the USPS is also the one that is keeping us all connected. As writer Abby Pratt said, “The Postal Service has been, to me, the bond of my scattered family.” Since the post office was first established in 1775, there has always been a particular rush upon hearing a certain phrase: “Something came for you in the mail today.” The intimacy of opening a message for your eyes only feels almost sacred. Perhaps Jesse Lichtenstein said it best in Esquire: “No branch of government serves us so consistently, so intimately — a federal employee literally touching every house in America every day but Sunday.” The postal service may look ridiculous in the process, but they somehow always make sure the message gets delivered.

This is often how the gospel functions, not as a communal poster board for all the world to see, but a message delivered to a specific home. The gospel is a message from God’s heart, delivered to the real, beating heart of a human being. Every minister (or Christian, for that matter) would do well to imitate the directness with which each postal worker delivers. As Paul writes in his letter to the Romans, “How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the Gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things!” The message itself is the source of our joy and peace, but thank God for the messenger that has to outrun a labrador retriever to deliver it to your door. It brings to mind the noble words of the USPS creed: “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” After all, the message is not just for anyone — it’s for you. It is not a message blasted from a heavenly megaphone or spelled out in contrails in the sky. It is often whispered through Scripture or spoken from one redeemed sinner to another. Its aim is not efficiency, but love. The delivery always seems to take longer than we had hoped, but, somehow, despite all odds, it makes its way to our mailbox.

“The Letter” is an inscription carved into the building that was originally the Washington, D.C., Post Office (now home to the Smithsonian’s National Postal Museum). The first five lines describe the function of the United States Postal Service:

Messenger of Sympathy and Love
Servant of Parted Friends
Consoler of the Lonely
Bond of the Scattered Family
Enlarger of the Common Life

On its best day, one could describe the church as such. Lord knows, Christianity is guilty of being outdated even more than the postal service. On Sundays, some of us play 16th century dress up, move our hands around as if performing sorcery and speak in a language that most of the world can barely recognize (name the last time a non-Anglican used the word “oblation” in a sentence). Others like to put on a big-budget rock concert at 9AM in the morning and close their eyes while waving their hands as if that was a completely normal thing to do. And the way all of us parade the instrument of death on which Jesus died is downright embarrassing. And yet, perhaps being a smooth operation is not the end goal. Perhaps having ample resources and state of the art equipment is not essential to our mission. We may look ridiculous in the process, but, by the grace of God, the message gets delivered.

Despite all odds, and sometimes after taking 76 years to make its way, the message finally reaches your door.  You come home after a long day to find that something, indeed, came for you in the mail. Tossing aside the furniture catalogs and pre-approved credit card offers, you find an envelope with your name handwritten on it. Apparently, someone you love was not only thinking of you, but took the time to put pen to paper and had an extra stamp lying around. It is an unexpectedly intimate exchange. As you read the letter, you might get the strange feeling that the person is standing there reading it to you, whispering in your ear that you are loved.

 

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