About twenty years ago, people relaxed into their chairs in the sanctuary as Pastor Bill Chadwick began what seemed at first to be just another sermon, perhaps another telling of the story of the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son.  Some may have been hoping that there weren’t too many prayers of the people so that they might get home in time for the noon kickoff of the Viking’s game.  Some may have planning when to get the dock out of the water at the cabin and others wondering if there were enough frozen peas in the freezer for dinner.  Everyone however, including Bill, was jolted back into the present moment in the sanctuary when God interrupted him, not in the form of a burning bush, but over the public announcements system.  It wasn’t God, of course, not directly anyway.  It was probably someone like Larry Stickler.  God said,  “Yes.  Yes, Bill.  Sermons are fine, but I expect you to live a simpler life so that more of my children may have what they need.”  Bill, a tither and a good man, stood his ground if a little nervously, this being God and all.  Stoutly, Bill asserted that he was careful to buy only the things he needed.  “Is that so?” pressed God.  Then God, in the form of several men from St. Luke, it may have been Rod Fisher and Chuck Heuser, began hauling in shoes presumably from Bill’s closets.  More than one trip was necessary.  Soon the altar was heaped high with Bill’s footwear: a couple pairs of nice dress shoe, brown and black, three sets of running shoes in varying degrees of rattiness (he might have saved himself some embarrassment by throwing out the worst), comfy slippers, work boots, deck shoes, tennis shoes, galoshes, moccasins, hiking boots, winter boots, waders, and on and on.  One by one, there was nothing excessive, not in Minnetonka anyway, nothing like Imelda Marcos, nothing most men in the congregation couldn’t have matched him for, shoe for shoe.  But the heap on the altar was big and the point made, made so well that even twenty years later in dozens of households in the western suburbs when someone wonders out loud, “I saw some cool deck chairs at Target yesterday,” someone else often asks, “How many shoes do we need?” a response that makes sense only if you are a St. Luker.