Sermon Sampler: November 6, 2005

Most of you had no trouble figuring out who my brother was the first time you met him. And when Mom came up to Litchville a week later for my installation, you probably recognized her immediately. It’s a standing joke at our family gatherings that if you’d taken Mom, my brother and me, and our aunt Nancy, to a Twins game, spread us around the stadium, put a picture of Mom and Nancy’s folks on the big screen and offered a prize to whoever could find all four of their descendents, no one would have any trouble at all rounding us all up. We’ve all got that Jorgenson blood – we all share that Jorgenson look.

All the way back to the maternity ward, most folks are good at seeing how the newborn baby has his mother’s eyes or his father’s chin. We marvel over how much she looks like her sister, or how he’s the spitting image of his great-uncle Charlie. And it’s true – each newborn’s face is a family history, written in dimples and jawlines, there for everyone to read. The secret language of genes gets translated birth after birth into this open book of family likenesses, generation after generation.

But here’s something odd: There’s a likeness to be seen in families who share no blood.

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