Herod, the New Pharaoh, a sermon based on Matthew 2: 1-12, preached on January 4, 2026

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Why not a stroller, a Pack ‘n Play, and some diapers? No expectant parent registers for gold, frankincense, or myrrh. They’re not good gifts to bring to a baby shower, yet why did the magi bring them to the manger? We must think of them symbolically. They’re gifts for kings who rule over and control people, and they work kind of like this. Imagine someone leaves a message on your phone: “Do I have an opportunity for you! I’m on the ground floor of a new business, and I need a few sharp, motivated people to join my inner circle. Do you have 15 minutes for a quick chat that will change your life?” That quick chat leads to a meeting in a hotel conference center. There, the presenter lays out the qualities of the amazing product. All we have to do is recruit two people to sell it with us, then those two each recruit two more, on and on the model goes, earning commissions all the way down. “Just look at the math,” they say. “If your network grows just 10 levels deep, you’ll be earning passive income from over 1,000 people. We’re talking six figures a month. Easy money!” Have you ever been in this situation? I have at least twice, both times at the invitation of a trusted family member, and while I was in the hotel conference room listening to the sales pitch, the logical part of my brain was screaming, “This is a scam,” yet the part of my brain that didn’t want to offend my family member told me to sit politely. That’s the power of a ritualized environment. There were no smells nor bells, but there was a stage and lights. It had all the right ingredients to legitimate the one speaking who then told me: “You have to have a little skin in the game. The starter kit costs $500, but it will pay for itself in no time at all.” If you’ve been in this position, you may have taken a deep breath, then handed over a credit card number, but two months later you finally got out, a little poorer and a little wiser than when you first began. That’s a pyramid scheme, and building bricks for Pharoah’s pyramid is not the life that God wants you to live. Follow the magi, who give their gold, frankincense, and myrrh, not to Herod, the new Pharoah, but to Jesus. The gold represents wealth and the promise of it. The frankincense, an incense burned in worship, represents ritual, and whether the ritual takes place in a temple or a hotel conference room, it doesn’t matter. The pharaohs of the world are using conference rooms, board, rooms and press conferences to glorify themselves all the time, in the hopes of using myrrh, an oil used for burial, to magnify their legacy and build for themselves a pyramid off the sweat of your brow. Jesus wasn’t like that. Jesus never accumulated anything, saying, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none,” and when someone handed Him a coin with Ceaser’s image on it, He said, “Render to Ceaser what is Ceaser’s.” He wasn’t interested in gold coins bearing the image of Ceaser. Jesus was interested in human beings who bear the image of God. Likewise, while Herod, like the pharaohs before him, would have used the frankincense in religious rituals to maintain control over his subjects and to get them to do what he wanted them to do, the King of Kings kneeled before His disciples to wash their feet saying, “As I have done for you, so must you do for each other. This is my command, this is my mandate, that you love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” That’s why they gave Him the frankincense. It’s because the religion of Jesus is a different kind of religion that humbles the proud and brings dignity to the afflicted, so this cloth that we wear is the sign that we pastors are the chief foot washers in a church called to lift up the lowly rather than keep them in their place, following the Savior, who on the night of His arrest, before He was crucified like a criminal, washed His disciples feet, offering His very body and blood that we all might have abundant, eternal life. His death and burial were the very opposite of a pharaoh’s, for while the pharoah brought honor to himself with that grand memorial, the pyramid, Christ died the death of a criminal and was buried in a borrowed tomb not to bring glory to Himself but to bring salvation to all. My friends, the magi could see what is different about the Savior. Can you see it? Can you tell the difference between King Herod and the King of Kings? George Bailey could. In my mind, there are three essential Christmas movies: It’s a Wonderful Life, The Bishop’s Wife, and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Of the three, the greatest, surely one of the greatest movies of all time, is It’s a Wonderful Life. The hero of the movie is George Bailey. His whole life is lived in service to others. As a boy, he saved his brother Harry from drowning. He postponed going to college so his brother could stay in school. On his way out of town for his honeymoon, the stock market crashed. He and his new wife used their honeymoon money to bail out the Bailey Bros. Building and Loan, and so long as the Building and Loan was in existence, it kept Mr. Potter from having a monopoly and charging as much interest in loans as he so desired. Mr. Potter was in the business of building a pyramid for himself, and so he wanted all the gold, all the frankincense, and all the myrrh, but George Bailey wouldn’t stand for it, launching into an incredible speech in the Building and Loan that goes like this: Now, hold on, Mr. Potter. Just a minute. Now, you’re right when you say my father was no businessman. I know that. Why he ever started this cheap, penny-ante Building and Loan, I’ll never know. But neither you nor anybody else can say anything against his character because his whole life was… why, in the twenty-five years since he and Uncle Billy started this thing, he never once thought of himself. He didn’t save enough money to send Harry to school, let alone me. But he did help a few people get outta your slums, Mr. Potter. And what’s wrong with that? Doesn’t it make them better citizens? Doesn’t it make them better customers? You said that they had to wait and save their money before they even thought of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what? Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they’re so old and broken-down that… you know how long it takes a working man to save $5,000? Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you’re talking about, they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn’t think so. People were human beings to him, but to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they’re cattle. Well, in my book he died a much richer man than you’ll ever be. If you’ve seen the movie, then you know that without George Bailey, Mr. Potter would turn the town of Bedford Falls into Pottersville, a town where the poor are trampled and women are objectified. It is a town without hope, which is the kind of town we’ll all be living in if we give all our treasure to the Herods of this world. I know what he promises. Power, wealth, prestige. Yet think about how being a cog in his wheel makes you feel. On the backs of whom is his pyramid is built. Is a larger paycheck worth sacrificing your morals? Is going along with the crowd filling up your heart with joy? My friends, Herod lives, and his message is still the same: “Do I have an opportunity for you!” Don’t listen, for there is only one way to eternal life. It comes through following Jesus, who promises not a Cadillac but a cross, who came not to be served but to serve. Through serving others rather than glorifying Himself, He leads us from isolation to community and from material wealth to a wonderful life. Remember George Bailey, surrounded by so great a crowd of family and friends at the end of that movie that his brother declares him, “the richest man in town,” while Mr. Potter sits in his office virtually alone. No one is there other than that creepy old guy who pushes his wheelchair around. That’s the message of the wise men, the magi, the three kings or whatever you want to call them. They show us that Herod just wants to glorify himself. Avoid him and people who take all the glory. Avoid those who create monuments to glorify their own name, for there is only one name to be lifted above all others and His name is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Herod wants our treasure, but do not kneel before his throne. No. Kneel before the manger. Amen.

Refugees in Egypt, a sermon based on Matthew 2: 13-23 preached on December 28, 2025

Words like “refugee” or “immigrant” bring a particular kind of person to mind, and the kind of person that comes to mind depends on what you’ve heard about refugees and immigrants. Who are they to you? Why have they come? What are they doing here? I’ll never hear the word “immigrant” without thinking of my father-in-law, who came to Knoxville, Tennessee as a graduate student from Columbia, South America, longing to learn about how the Tennessee Valley Authority brought electricity to the rural south. He applied and was accepted to the University of Tennessee with a plan to go back to help his home country do what the TVA had done. He learned English well enough to be accepted in their graduate school, yet he learned English in such a way that he was prepared for the classroom and not the real world. He ordered biscuits and groovy in the school cafeteria. A couple of evangelical church ladies asked him if he’d been saved. He said, “I have a checking account, but not a savings account.” I love these stories, and I also admire the man for what he did. Leaving home takes courage, as does living in a country that’s not your home. It can be dangerous and exhausting. One summer, I lived for two months in Argentina as a missionary intern. The first few days I was there, I slept for 12 hours each night because my brain was exhausted from taking it all in. It was a different language. It was a different world. There, I lived with college students who lived in a dorm the church owned. I practiced Spanish with those students as they practiced English. I had never been so far away from home, and I missed so many people that I wore out a long-distance calling card my dad gave me. This was in the days before cell phones, and the dorm I lived in didn’t have a phone, so I’d be out on the corner using a payphone with this calling card, and because I had a card, I never put any money in the payphone, which made a couple police officers suspicious. There are few feelings more terrifying than being questioned by police officers and not being able to understand what they’re saying. To be pushed out of the view of onlookers, to be frisked and questioned by police officers in another country is a much worse feeling than not having access to peanut butter, which they don’t eat in Argentina, or being cold in July since winter in the southern hemisphere happens while we have our summer. What was it like for Jesus, Joseph, and Mary while they were in Egypt? How were they treated? What did Joseph do for work? Did Jesus like it there? In our Gospel lesson for this morning, we focus on the Holy Family who so soon after Jesus’ birth, leave home in fear for their lives. An angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream, saying, “Get up and go to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for Jesus to destroy him.” Like so many people in the Bible, including Ruth and Naomi in our first Scripture lesson, the members of the Holy Family were refugees. To preserve their lives, they packed quickly and left everything they knew. They depended on the kindness of strangers to make their way down dangerous roads. Surely, they faced many terrifying situations while crossing borders and evading authorities just as many immigrants and refugees do, but when we hear those words: “refugee” or “immigrant,” does the face of Jesus come to mind? Maybe not, yet what else would you call Him? They lived in Egypt until they knew that Herod had died. How many years was it before they could go back home? An angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph again, saying, “Those who were seeking the child’s life are dead,” but Joseph was too afraid to go back from where they had come. What about Jesus? When it was finally time to go back to Israel, did Jesus even want to go? By then, did He feel more like an Egyptian than an Israelite? As a church, we know from experience how quickly children assimilate. For 35 years, a profound ministry of our church, we call it Club 3:30, has provided afterschool care for kids who would go home to an empty house after school. For some reason or another, most of our kids today are from the same region of the world, Guatemala, and the volunteers in this program know that while the kids may start kindergarten not knowing a word of English, in no time at all, they adapt, yet their parents are not nearly so fast. I imagine the child Jesus in Egypt much the same way. I imagine Him as being something like one of the Club 3:30 students I got to know. When I first met her, she never spoke because she couldn’t understand what I was saying. Not only did she not speak English, she was from so remote a region of Guatemala that she didn’t even speak Spanish. She spoke an indigenous dialect of the Mayan people, called Kʼicheʼ, but before she had even finished kindergarten, she was given a medal by the Kiwanis Club of Marietta for most improved English speaker. When I imagine Jesus in Egypt, I think of Him this way: shy at first but then learning the language and understanding the culture. Before long, I imagine He felt at home in the shadow of the Great Pyramids. Scripture was fulfilled in this way so that “Out of Egypt God would call his Son,” the Gospel of Matthew tells us. Like the sons of Jacob who went to Egypt looking for food. Like Joseph who rose to power there and was able to save them from the famine. Like the Hebrew people who labored in Egypt so long that generations passed before Moses led them out of slavery and back to the Promised Land, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph fled to Egypt then came back out again that He might lead us all to salvation. Salvation comes through remembering these things. Salvation comes through compassion, understanding, and sympathy rather than the cruelty of Herod, and so as a nation, we boldly put on the Statue of Liberty a poem: Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses Yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed, to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! Those are the ideals. That we see in the face of the immigrant and refugee the face of Joseph and his brothers, Ruth and Naomi, Joseph, Mary, and young Jesus, that is the ideal. We remember the proclamation of Matthew’s gospel: What we have done to the least of these who are God’s children, so we have done it to Jesus, and yet today many immigrants in our community live their lives afraid. Most of the kids in our Club 3:30 program don’t go trick-or-treating. Their parents don’t feel safe enough to let their children do such a thing, so they trick-or-treat to the church staff offices at Halloween. Then at Christmas, they do something similar. Following a Central American Christmas tradition, like Joseph and Mary, they go to each staff office looking for a place to stay. We all respond as the innkeeper did, “We have no room,” but then we say, “Take this treat for your journey.” The treat we give them for the journey is something small: a toothbrush or a sheet of stickers, but one year I challenged the staff to up their game, telling them that I was going to give all the kids bicycles when they come to my office. I was just joking about that, but later that afternoon, County Commissioner Keli Gambrill called the church telling me that she knew of an organization in town that had 35 bikes to give away. Did I know of any kids who would want them? I couldn’t believe the divine coincidence. I called Tim Hammond, who helped me pick up the bikes, inflate all their tires, and make sure they were in working order. That year, each kid in Club 3:30 got a bike for Christmas, and I hope that there was a group of people in Egypt who did the same for little Jesus. I hope there was kindness. I hope He didn’t have to fear that one day He’d come home to an empty house. I hope He didn’t have to worry every time He saw a police car in the neighborhood. For there’s not always kindness shown to immigrants and refugees, yet remember this story of Jesus and know that His story is theirs. Back home there was danger. They came here looking for safety, and notice with me the way God acted towards them: first warning Joseph in a dream, then calling them back home again. My friends, see the face of Jesus in the immigrant and know that we are called to help them on their way, for we are, all of us, pilgrims in a foreign land who long for home. Let us show kindness to the fellow travelers as the Savior leads us all to our eternal home. Amen.

A Great Light, a sermon based on Luke 2: 1-20 preached on Christmas Eve 2025

I read a quote the other day in a magazine called the Christian Century: Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Can you relate to that? Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. That doesn’t sound like a very cheery thing to say, and yet it may be exactly how you feel and exactly how Clark Griswold felt. In National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Clark Griswold had a perfect Christmas in mind, and then the people started showing up. First, the parents and then, an RV with an extra family pulled into his driveway. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Maybe that’s what my mom was thinking when I set one of the Christmas decorations on fire. Last Sunday night, we were eating dinner with my mom and dad in their home in Hendersonville, North Carolina. My mom put out a Christmas carousel that her now-deceased aunt brought back from Germany. Have you seen one of those things? Cousin Eddie breaks one in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. The hot air from four candles moves the fan on the top. On my mom’s Christmas carousel, the movement of the fan moves the three wise men and a shepherd around in a circle, moving in and out of the manger. I wanted to see it in action, so I lit the four candles, which had never been lit before. I watched the procession in and out of the manger a couple times. It didn’t work quite right. The candles were too close to the wooden fan. I left the candles burning when we were called to the dinner table. Before long, dinner was interrupted by a fire alarm because the candles lit the wooden fan on fire. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. I remember standing in line at a grocery store and seeing a magazine cover of a perfectly decorated Christmas dining room. The cover promised a how-to guide for perfect tablescapes. I’d not heard that word, tablescapes, before, but there’s no other word to describe what this magazine had captured on the dining room table. Not only were there plates, but there were chargers under the plates, and there were chargers under the chargers. Not only was there a centerpiece, but there were centerpieces. Decorations dominated the center of the table and spread to the edges, so that every surface of the dining room table was adorned with something beautiful. According to one description, perfect Christmas tablescapes blend festive themes with personal style, using layers of texture, a cohesive color palette, and a stunning centerpiece like garland, candles, or seasonal fruit. Do you know the problem with using seasonal fruit to decorate your Christmas table? It’s that clementines are good for throwing, and cranberries fit right up a child’s nose, but they’re too large to get back out. Christmas could be perfect, the dining room table could be perfect, but once people sit down at the table, it won’t be. There are arguments to be had and tears to be shed. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Imagine with me the perfect Christmas tree. A Tannenbaum worthy of Instagram. Do you know what I’ve never seen on a designer Christmas tree? An ornament made by a kindergartener. An angel at the top with bite marks from a dog or limbs amputated by arguing siblings. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Certainly, that’s what Clark Griswold was thinking when onto the curb, coasting in on fumes, came an RV with Cousin Eddie, Aunt Catherine, Rocky with the lip fungus, and Ruby Sue whose eyes got crossed when she fell down a well, then straightened back out when she was kicked by a mule, plus, the dog, Snot. They weren’t invited. They didn’t call ahead to ask if there was room. They brought no money to buy their kids presents. But if they didn’t show up, would the movie be worth watching? Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people, but let’s replace that word “perfect” with “boring.” Christmas would be boring were it not for the people, and the people who really spice up Christmas resemble the shepherds in our Gospel lesson for this evening. On the night of Christ’s birth, shepherds were watching over their flocks by night, and an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel of the Lord said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” You know what happened next because you’ve heard the story before. With haste, they went to visit Jesus, and Mary was about as excited to see them as Clark Griswold was to see Cousin Eddie. I’m sure she was polite, but shepherds sleep outside. Their clothes were unwashed. Their teeth were unbrushed. Their hair was uncombed. Their style was unrefined. Shepherds in the time of Jesus were the lowest of the low. They were the group of people that served as the punchline of every joke. When the conversation died at a dinner party, someone would enliven the conversation by asking, “How many shepherds does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Or, “If you ever showed up to the family reunion to look for a date, you might be a shepherd.” You get the point. This is literally true that in the backyards of mansions in the Roman Empire, archeologists have uncovered statues of shepherds. Wealthy Romans would install into their gardens depictions of toothless, unkept, shepherds because out of all the people of the Roman Empire, the lowest on the social ladder were those who would have spent their evenings out in the fields watching their flocks by night, and yet our God saw fit to first announce the birth of his son to shepherds. The angel told the shepherds to go and see the baby, and if you are to understand anything about Christmas, then you need to know that when Mary saw them, she said to herself, “Christmas could be perfect, were it not for the people.” Mary and Joseph’s experience had already been far from perfect, but these first-time parents did not want a bunch of shepherds around their baby any more than any first-time parents would have wanted to see them there. First time parents are a little crazy. When Sara and I were first-time parents, if you wanted to hold our baby, we’d ask that you wash your hands and provide a copy of your immunization record. I promise you, Joseph and Mary didn’t want to see those shepherds pull up any more than Clark Giswold wanted to see Cousin Eddie or the Christmas pageant organizers in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever wanted to see the Herdmans. Did you read The Best Christmas Pageant Ever or see the movie? In the Gospel of Luke, there are the shepherds. In The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, there are the Herdmans. Did you hear that? Shepards and Herdman? The author did that on purpose, naming this family Herdman, this family of outcasts, to help us understand the crucial role that the shepherds play in the Christmas story. Without them, we forget the meaning of His birth in the pursuit of perfect. If you remember the plot, in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, plans are unfolding for the pageant to be just the same as it had been for 75 years. Year after year, the same pageant at the church took place. The same lines were recited, the same type of girl played Mary, while all the boys tried to avoid playing Joseph. It was going to be fine. Some would have called it perfect, but that was before the Herdmans showed up. According to the book: “The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world. They lied and stole and smoked cigars (even the girls) and talked dirty and hit little kids and cussed their teachers and took the name of the Lord in vain and set fire to Fred Shoemaker’s old broken-down toolshed.” Yet on the night of the pageant, Imogene Herdman played Mary, and she cried holding the baby Jesus because she understood that He came for her, and as she realized the meaning of the story, the entire congregation realized what this story is all about. It’s not about being perfect. Instead, it’s all about redemption. It’s not about having the perfect table or tree or Christmas card picture. It’s all about a great Light coming into our darkness. It’s about God coming to save all of us and to bring the marginalized in from the cold. Yesterday, I heard a story of a man who walked into a tiny little church one Christmas Eve. No one knew it, but he had made plans to make that his last night on earth. He was estranged from his family and hadn’t seen any of them in 10 years. His friends had all moved away or died. He saw no reason to go on, but something made him take a walk that cold Christmas Eve, and with freezing fingertips, he quietly snuck in the back of that tiny little church. Sitting down, a woman on the same pew greeted him warmly and then introduced him to the man in the next pew towards the front. One by one and person by person, they greeted this lonely man, not knowing who he was, but welcoming him in as Mary welcomed the shepherds. The next year, the man returned and told the pastor his story, and the pastor said, “That’s what Christmas is all about.” My friends, it’s not when Christmas is perfect that we learn the true meaning. It’s when the shepherds are invited in. It’s when the rejected are embraced. It’s when we stop pushing each other away and start learning to see each other as God sees us. When we welcome the shepherds in, we hear what they have to say: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” And whom does God favor? The shepherds. The marginalized. The impoverished. The lonely. The afflicted. The undocumented. The unhoused. God favors them all, so let us favor one another. Make room at your table for imperfect people, and see His great light shine upon you. Alleluia. Amen.

Love, a sermon based on Matthew 1: 18-25, preached on December 21, 2025

Have you ever felt overlooked? Underappreciated? Misunderstood or taken for granted? If so, then you have a friend in Joseph. Unlike Mary, there aren’t many songs about Joseph. There are a couple. In the early service, I said that there aren’t any songs about Joseph, but Cheryl Davenport knows of three, and Herbert Kearse knows of another. Certainly, there’s no song about Joseph that’s we’ve heard as much as Mary, Did You Know? or Ave Maria. The best of all the songs about Mary, in my opinion, is Momma Mary by Roger Whittiker. It makes my mother-in-law cry. It touches her heart. It goes like this: Tell me how did you feel when the angel came into the garden? How did you feel? How did you feel? When he said "If you're afraid I beg your pardon But you're the one to bear God's son.” It’s a great song. My mother-in-law loves it, only why aren’t there more songs that ask Joseph how he was feeling? Why hasn’t anyone sung, “Joseph, did you know?” Imagine with me what you would be feeling if you were in Joseph’s shoes. You’re engaged to be married. The wedding plans are in place. There have already been multiple bridal showers. Invitations have been sent. Maybe, because you’re a carpenter, you’ve already put an addition onto the house, or maybe you’ve been working on a bed for your bride to sleep in. I don’t know exactly what it was like. There aren’t any songs about it to tell us, so just imagine what it would have been like for you to find out that, after you’ve told everyone and prepared in various ways, Mary was “found to be with child,” and the child wasn’t yours. How would you have felt? What would you have been thinking? Now, imagine what your mother would have said. It’s hard enough for the daughter in-law-to-be. I was once a son-in-law-to-be. I love my mother- and father-in-law very much, but about the time Sara and I were getting serious, her father bought a revolver. He did. He said it was because of the wild boar that had invaded their property up on the mountain. Yet it may also have been because a wild young man had invaded his daughter’s heart. It’s hard to be the son-in-law to be. From what I’ve heard, it’s harder to be the daughter-in-law to be. How much more so when the wedding hasn’t happened, the bride is pregnant, and the baby isn’t the groom’s. “Well, I never liked her anyway,” Joseph’s mother might have said. Parents can be like that. People can be like that. But the angel of God calls on Joseph to be more than that. We read in the Gospel of Matthew: “Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly.” Only then, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” That’s a high calling, right there. While it’s not as heavy a load to bear as the one Mary is asked to carry, consider Joseph with me. Imagine what it would have been like to be in his shoes. Like Mary, God called on Joseph to step out in faith: to take a step, not based on what his eyes could see but based on what God had said. Believe, the angel said. Trust, the angel said. Have faith, the angel said. The faith God calls on Joseph to have is a particular kind of faith. The faith of Joseph takes the form of love. “Love her anyway,” the angel said. “Cherish her anyway.” “Stand by her anyway.” That’s the call of Joseph, and while you may know what it feels like to be overlooked, underappreciated, misunderstood, or taken for granted, I hope you also know what it feels like to be seen, to be loved, to be appreciated, understood, and valued. That’s the call of the angels to Joseph, and that’s the work of God. I read last week in our book of Advent Reflections that Jane Manning put together with our Director of Communication, Kelly Dewar. I’ve started each day this Advent season reading a brief reflection written by a member of our church, and one of the most powerful was written by three young mothers, Stephanie Schmid, Lisa Stokes, and Caitlin Watkins, who celebrated with Mary, who declares that God, “has looked on the humble estate of his servant.” Now this sermon is about Joseph, but know that Mary is able to do what she is able to do because she knows that God sees her and understands her. The three young women who wrote the devotional celebrated this quality of God. In other words, God sees me, they declared. In those thankless moments of parenthood when you work hard to get a dinner on the table yet no one takes the time to say thank you; when you pack nut-free lunches for a preschooler who only wants to eat his dessert; when you organize a birthday party that ends in tears; when you give up your career and no one seems to understand, God sees it all. That’s true. And God, who sees it all, invited Joseph to see Mary. God invited Joseph to see Mary, not the way the gossips in the community saw her, but the way that God saw her. Joseph is a hero of the faith because he had faith enough to love Mary, to believe Mary, to trust Mary, to stand beside Mary, even as his mother was ready to throw her out. Now that wasn’t easy for Joseph, and so he deserves a song. He has four, but I don’t know any of them. The song I do know that gets to this same sentiment was written by R. E. M. You probably know it: When your day is long And the night, the night is yours alone When you’re sure you’ve had enough Of this life Well hang on. Don’t let yourself go Cause everybody cries Everybody hurts sometimes. Do you know that song? Live that song. Dare to believe that everyone is carrying a burden. Before you judge, dare to show compassion. Before you assume, dare to understand. Even when the world would allow you to gossip, hate, deport, dismiss, or imprison, choose to love. Last night, I was honored to take part in the Christmas Program at Turner Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church. It was an incredible evening. I was honored to be invited, and from the parking lot to the pew, I was welcomed so warmly. I sat next to Chief Deputy Rhonda Anderson, who runs the Cobb County Jail. She was invited to lead the service, too. I’ve known the Chief for a while now. She’s been instrumental in our partnership with the jail that has resulted in our church providing books for the library and clothes for men and women upon their release. She’s an incredible person, and there’s always a smile on her face. “Chief, if you’re at the jail all day, how do you keep your joy intact?” I asked her, just making conversation before the program started. “I treat everyone with respect,” she said. “When you give respect, you get respect.” That just blew my mind, but she’s right. Joseph had the chance to dismiss Mary quietly. Instead, he chose to love her. Instead, he chose to see her. Instead, he chose to stand beside her, even as the community whispered behind her back. Have you heard whom our community is whispering about now? It happens all the time and in every season, yet I call on you to show them respect. Dare to see them, not as the world sees, but as God sees, for when we dare to see and appreciate and value, wonderful things happen. Did you hear what Kirby Smart did? He’s done a lot, so let me be more specific. Two members of our congregation play in the University of Georgia Marching Band. They are Jacob Duda and Joel Clotfelter, and along with the rest of the Redcoat Marching Band, they practice multiple times every week. They travel along with the University of Georgia Football team, but there is no NIL money for the marching band. They inspire the team, yet they do not make the highlight reel on ESPN. They provide a homefield advantage no matter where the bulldogs are playing, and yet they are unsung heroes, and so, when Coach Kirby Smart, after the Bulldogs beat Alabama, took the time to acknowledge them on national television, it made a difference to them - a wonderful difference to them, for there is tremendous power in taking the time to notice, in taking the time to say, “Thank you.” Dare to see people as Joseph saw Mary. Dare to love people as God loves you. We’ve had the pleasure of welcoming new members into this church in recent weeks, and we’ve welcomed 485 since 2017. That’s a lot of people, yet so many of them say the same thing. They say things like, “I tried a lot of churches and was able to slip in and out without being noticed, but here, people took the time to welcome me. They called me by name. They helped me find my way. This is the kind of church that I want to be a part of.” This is how we make the love of God known, not by assuming we know, not by following the judgementalism of the world, but by loving beyond appearances, embodying the love of God. Amen.

Hope, a sermon based on Romans 13: 11-14, preached on November 30, 2025

Last Thursday made me very hopeful. It made my mom hopeful, too. My mom, dad, and sister came into town from North Carolina last week to visit, and near the end of Thanksgiving Day, my Mom said, “Today made me hopeful for the whole world.” By the end of that day, I was feeling the same way, but my hope last Thursday began small. Last Thursday morning as I started the Gobble Jog, I just hoped that I would survive to the end of the first mile. That was it. All I had was just a glimmer of hope that I would finish the Gobble Job, but that’s OK because hope can start small. When it comes to hope, it only takes a spark, so, on this first Sunday of the season of Advent, as we light the first Advent candle, the candle of hope, together we heard: While the world says, “all is lost,” our God says, “all are loved.” While the darkness says, “the Light is dying,” the Light of the World says, “the fire is catching.” While fear says, “Cover your eyes and your ears,” Hope says, “Wait, watch and listen,” for change is coming into the world. As we all wait for change to come into the world, I want you to know that hope may begin with just a spark, just a flicker, just the whisp of a dream, yet it grows. Today, we remember the words of the Apostle Paul, who wrote, “We are closer now to salvation than when we first began,” for while hope came into the world as just a child, just a spark, hope grows to change the world. That’s the Good News we read from our second Scripture lesson. The Apostle Paul claims that the night is far gone. The day is near, and last Thursday, I could see it. It started while I was breathing heavy, running uphill, and as I climbed a hill, which at the top stands Kennestone Hospital, my only hope was, “I hope I survive.” Yet as I kept going, I realized that although I was breathing hard, I wasn’t just surviving. I was moving. I was even keeping up with my wife. That’s a little unusual for me. It used to be that the only time I would run with her was when she was pushing both our daughters in the stroller. When she was pushing a stroller with two children, then I could keep up with her because she was so weighted down, but last Thursday, recognizing that I wasn’t just surviving, that I was keeping up with Sara, my hope just kept growing. It grew as I ran, step by step, stride by stride, mile by mile. Then a few hours after finishing the Gobble Jog, I was here at the church with about 75 volunteers getting ready to serve a Thanksgiving meal to the community. Think about that number with me. 75 people were in our Great Hall getting ready to serve Thanksgiving dinner last Thursday. In a world where some say that selfishness is growing to epidemic proportions, 75 people showed up to feed strangers. In a world of division, church members who have been in this county for generations sat down to break bread with recent immigrants from Brazil, college and high school students ate with retirees, families were serving together alongside those who would have been alone on Thanksgiving Day. The rich and the poor, the young and the old, the well-connected and the isolated, all came together for one meal. And that effort started small as well. It started with nothing more than an idea voiced by Keri-Lyn Coleman. As a member of our church, she knew that hundreds of people come through our food line before Thanksgiving to get a turkey and produce, but if they’re living in an extended stay hotel, that turkey won’t do them any good because you can’t cook a turkey in a microwave. “Should we have a meal here?” she asked me. That was the spark. Then came the committee work. Presbyterians love committees. I know I do, especially when, instead of slowly strangling an idea with red tape, they help it grow. After Keri-Lyn sparked this idea, I asked a group of our church’s leaders to consider it. After balking slightly, they agreed to try it, then fund it. After that, I asked Chef Tom McEachern to consider cooking for this meal. After initially saying, “I already have plan on Thanksgiving Day,” Chef McEachern said, “We can cook the food Monday through Wednesday, then we can reheat it all on Thanksgiving morning,” so that’s what his crew of people did. They cooked turkey, stuffing, green beans, rolls, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce for 250. A crew led by Jane Pratt and Melissa Ricketts set up the Great Hall. They set the tables with white table clothes and candles. They put out the silverware. They adorned each table with a centerpiece. This room was ready, and people were fed. After cleaning up and taking a nap, my mom and dad took us all to Cirque du Soleil to watch a bunch of acrobats fly around in a tent. Have you heard of that show? It’s an experience. It’s like Ringling Brothers but more pretentious, but my parents love it. They bought us great tickets, and the tent was full of different kinds of people, speaking different languages, all spell bound by these performers. One performer, a contortionist, could bend so far backwards that he made me queasy, but between the meal here and the people of every nation gathered under the big top at Cirque du Soleil, my mother said, “Today made me hopeful for the whole world,” because she could see the light burning so brightly, yet I tell you all fires begin with just a spark. On this first Sunday of the season of Advent, we light the candle of hope. Hope is the theme of this sermon despite the sermon title printed in your bulletin. Hope is the theme of today, and I’m talking to you about hope, but the Apostle Paul in the book of Romans is talking to us about licentiousness. What is licentiousness? It sounds sinful, doesn’t it? It is. Don’t google it. Let me just summarize. There is a commonality between all the sins the Apostle Paul lists in our second Scripture lesson for today. What do reveling, drunkenness, illicit sex, licentiousness, quarrelling, and jealousy all have in common? They all reduce human beings into objects or enemies. They leave no room for reconciliation. You can’t love your neighbor as yourself if you treat her like an object. When you replace love with momentary pleasure. When you quarrel to win rather than to reconcile. When you look at your neighbor in jealousy, you can’t love him as yourself. And not only that. All that momentary pleasure leads to chains that hold you captive, for seeking solace in jealousy keeps you so focused on other people that you’re distracted from making a change in your own life. Drunkenness is like a pet boa constrictor that grows until it squeezes the life from your bones. Quarrelling says, “I’d rather win this argument than have peace,” and Paul warns us to lay aside our addiction to these sins of the flesh because while they may gratify us for a little while, while they may all make for good TV, they’ll also all bind us in chains. They hold us captive in the darkness and slowly but surely they all become a trap, so remember hope today and know that one day without a drink can become two. One day without jealousy can become a year. One day without licentiousness can be the start of something, for step by step, hope grows. Step by step, change comes. Step by step, the light spread, the darkness is pushed back. The power of God may start small, yet it becomes magnified. That’s what they remember in AA. A couple weeks ago, I attended a meeting to celebrate with a member of our church who received his two-year chip, but it began with just one day. One day without a drink. That’s how it starts. Step by step leads to a mile. Step by step, change comes. Step by step, hope grows. Hope springs forth in just a spark of light, yet if we nurture that light, if we fan its flame, the fire pushes back the shadow. That’s a spiritual practice I encourage you to take on this Advent season: the spiritual practice of daring to take one small step. My friends, if we believe the Light is coming into the world. If we believe the Savior is on His way. If we believe that we are closer to salvation now than when we first began, then stop being intimidated by the power of evil in the world. Look at the powers that hold you captive and take one small step towards freedom. Throw off the work of darkness for just one day and watch the darkness fade. Watch the hope grow. Notice the change that comes. This Advent season, think about the challenges you face, the bullies who have been running over you, and stop giving into them. Stop wishing that your dreams would become a reality, and take one small step, voice one defiant word, just start the journey knowing that we’re going to get there, and find that the power of darkness has a little less control over your life. For the days are surely coming when they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks, but we don’t need to wait to hope for peace. We know that the days are surely coming when Light will dawn and the power of darkness will be overcome, but we don’t need to twiddle our thumbs until that day. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh to gratify its desires. Take one step towards freedom. Take one step towards hope. Amen.

I'm Not Mad; I'm Just Disappointed, a sermon based on Colossians 1: 11-20, preached on November 23, 2025

Last Sunday marked our 23rd wedding anniversary. For 23 years, I’ve had the pleasure of being Sara’s husband, and she’s suffered the burden of being my wife. I’m so thankful for her, and I’m thankful that she bears with me because after 23 years, some of the shine begins to wear off. When you live together for 23 years, you notice each other’s unique attributes. I won’t go into mine with you, but I want you to know that one of Sara’s unique attributes that I’ve come to love is that when she reads a book - and she reads about two a week - if she’s reading a book that’s particularly suspenseful and she’s started to worry about the fate of one of the characters, rather than anxiously wait page-by-page to find out how everything will turn out in the end, she’ll just skip to the last page. I didn’t even know you could do that. But Sara does. When she begins to feel anxious about how things are going to turn out in the end of a book, she’ll skip to the last page so that she can enjoy reading the story without the preoccupation, without the worry, without the fear, and I ask you to consider with me how in today’s second Scripture lesson, we’ve just done the same thing. We’ve read the last page. If you’re anxious about tomorrow, know that our God has already determined how our story ends. If you’ve been doom scrolling late at night, and you’re worried about what’s going to happen next, here is the assurance that our God holds the whole world in His hands. While we may ask: Are we going to be OK? Is AI going to take over everything? Are we on the brink of a recession? Is the sky going to fall? Skip with me to the last page of the Book to remember again that Christ is King, and everything is going to be alright. Let me highlight a few verses that we just read: May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power. May you be prepared to endure everything with patience, for he has rescued us from the power of darkness. He has transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son. In him we have redemption. In him we have the forgiveness of sins. In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, by making peace through the blood of the cross. Hear these words so you don’t suffer through the night without the promise of the rising sun. Don’t get tossed around like those who don’t know who they are. Instead, skip to the last page with me today, so you know how our story ends. If you don’t, the Apostle Paul will be disappointed. Tradition tells us that Paul wrote this letter that makes up our second Scripture lesson. The purpose of the letter was to tell those Christians: “You’ve fallen for their lies, you’re giving into fear, you’re wavering in your faith, but I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.” Did your mom or dad ever say that to you? After they caught you smoking cigarettes or skipping school, did they ever say, “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed?” When I heard that phrase, I’d sometimes counter with: “But everyone else was doing it.” Everyone else is scared. Shouldn’t I be scared? Everyone else is anxious. Shouldn’t I be anxious? Everyone else is worried. Shouldn’t I be worried? That’s the culture we’re living in today: a culture where everyone is scared, even scared of their neighbors; where everyone is worried, as though God were not at work in our midst. Today, let me remind you what your parents said, “If everyone else jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?” My friends, all we like sheep have gone astray. We all fall into fear. We all fall into sin. We all accept the teachings and the patterns of this world. Sometimes, we Christians end up looking and acting like everyone else. Why? It’s because we want to be liked and accepted. Speaking of being accepted, this is the week that all the seniors in high school find out whether or not they got into the University of Georgia. I know some parents feel the pressure because they want that in-state tuition, but I also know that some seniors feel an increased pressure because it can feel like more than college acceptance is at stake. To all those who can’t sleep over worrying about acceptance into UGA, let me remind you that 25 years ago, the acceptance letters to Georgia used to come in the mail, and because everyone got into Georgia back then, the letters used to read, “Dear Joe Evans, or current resident, congratulations, you’ve been accepted to the University of Georgia.” That’s not a true story. I didn’t get into the University of Georgia. I applied and was rejected. The only other school I applied to was Presbyterian College, but had I been accepted to UGA and gone there, I never would have met Sara Hernandez, who is now my wife of 23 years. I never would have studied religion with Dr. Peter Hobbie who encouraged me to be a Presbyterian minister. I never would have become the person that I am today, so listen to me and remember that rejection from the world does not mean rejection from God’s plan for your life. Don’t you remember that He called you by name? Don’t you remember that you are precious in His sight? Don’t you remember the water in which you were baptized? I’ve been thinking about baptism lately getting ready for this baptism at the 11:00 service. I remember the first time I ever had the honor of baptizing a baby and walking her around the sanctuary, telling her what it is that we believe. I walked her around the sanctuary of Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church nearly 20 years ago, and I was fighting tears the whole way because the good news of the Gospel is just so good. The good news that even when we fall, He picks us back up again is such good news. That even when disappointment strikes, the promise of salvation still holds. That even should it take us 40 years to get there, the Promised Land is where we are headed. Whenever you get discouraged, skip to the last page and remember. For when we allow despair to creep into our bones, When we run around like the future of the world depends on us, When we seek out pleasure in all the wrong places, When we step on the scale and let the number define how we feel about ourselves, When we watch our team lose and mope around for two days, we are giving too much importance to issues that will not matter in the end. I’m not saying these things don’t matter. They do matter, but they don’t ultimately matter, so don’t give them your ultimate attention. The Apostle Paul rotted away in an old Roman prison cell and still rejoiced in the promise of salvation because he skipped to the end of the book to remember again how his story would end. Next time you fall into despair over the ups and downs of this human life, I hope you hear the Apostle Paul’s voice in your ear saying, “I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed,” for in Christ we are more than conquerors no matter the outcome of today’s battle. In Him, all things will be made new not matter how old the car we drive. In Him, there is no reason to fear when the storms come, for the storms won’t last. There is no reason to be anxious for tomorrow. Consider the lilies of the field who neither toil nor do they spin, yet even kings in all their glory were not clothed like one of them. What is it that you’re working so hard for? What is it that you’re striving for day in and day out? Trust in the Lord, and He will put you under His wings and fly you home. Halleluia. Amen.

God of the Living, a sermon based on Luke 20: 27-38, preached on November 9, 2025

Do you know any annoying people? People who really get on your nerves because they can’t stop moving their legs up and down? Or who chew too loudly? When I’m hiking on Kennesaw Mountain, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet, I get annoyed by the people who play music on their speakers. Do you know who I’m talking about? Why do they do that? Maybe, though, they get annoyed by people who walk around in kilts pretending to be from Scotland. What annoys you? What do people do that gets on your nerves? One of the things that most annoys me is when someone asks me a question that’s actually a test. Do you know what I mean by that? For example, when someone asks you, “Who’d you vote for?” it’s not because they’re curious. It’s because they want to know whose side you’re on. The Sadducees were asking Jesus this question in our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Luke for the same reason. “Whose wife will the woman be?” they ask, only they don’t want to know what Jesus thinks about this ridiculous scenario. They’re not interested in His opinion. They just want to know whose side He’s on, so they ask Him “In heaven, whose wife will this woman who was married to seven different brothers be?” That’s the question that they ask, although we know that they’re not curious about what Jesus thinks about the details of the scenario because they don’t believe in Heaven at all. Did you know that about the Sadducees? They were one of the big religious groups in ancient Israel. In the days of Jesus, there were no Democrats or Republicans, but there were Pharisees and Sadducees. Two different parties, always vying for control. The Sadducees and the Pharisees were different in ways that seemed very important to them at the time, but not everyone remembers the differences between them today, so let me refresh your memory. The Pharisees worked so hard to follow all the laws in the Old Testament from Leviticus to Deuteronomy. They took those rules seriously, and so, when we read about them in the Gospels, they were often the ones giving Jesus a hard time about eating with unclean people or not resting on the Sabbath. They heard that Jesus and His disciples were bad about not resting on the Sabbath, and Jesus said, “The Sabbath was created for man, not man for the Sabbath,” but that didn’t make much sense to them because the Pharisees loved the law, so they were fair, you see. That’s a good way to remember what the Pharisees cared about. The Pharisees loved the law, so they were fair, you see. What made them different from the Sadducees? The Sadducees didn’t believe in Heaven, so they were sad, you see. I learned that in seminary. But seriously, the Sadducees didn’t believe in Heaven, so why did they ask Jesus this question about the woman who was married to a man who died so she married his brother then that brother died so she married his other brother, on and on until she’d been married to seven different brothers? “In heaven, whose wife will that woman be?” that’s what they asked, yet they asked Jesus this question not because it was a realistic scenario that they needed His help with, not because they wanted to provide support to a woman who was about to be remarried to her husband’s brother, but because they wanted to know, “Are you with us or are you with them?” Do you know anyone who asks you that kind of question? An “Are you with me or with the idiots?” kind of question? It’s these kinds of questions that make Thanksgiving dinner so uncomfortable. Imagine you’re at Thanksgiving dinner, and your uncle asks you to pass the gravy, and then he says: Can you believe whom New York City elected for their mayor? Don’t answer that question. If your granddaughter who went to college up north interrupts the conversation at the table to ask, “Is this turkey organic?” Don’t answer. Instead, just say, “I feel sure it lived a happy life because he didn’t have to live through this awkward Thanksgiving dinner conversation.” My friends, there are questions that come up at Thanksgiving dinner that are not actually questions, and they should not be answered because they’re traps. Stay away from such topics if you want the meal to remain civil, and if you want to avoid the divisive conversations altogether, you can come volunteer at the church on Thanksgiving day. We’re hosting Thanksgiving for about 200 people. More than 50 have volunteered to help. One guy says to me, “Are you telling me that I can be away from my mother-in-law from 8:00 in the morning to 4:00 in the afternoon? Where do I sign up?” But that’s not the point of the meal. We’re trying to feed people, not help you avoid your family. Only consider with me why you may want to avoid some of your family at Thanksgiving. Consider with me why it is so hard to live in a community. The word that we use for relationships when the relationships are driving us crazy is “politics.” Have you heard that before? When relationships are complicated and stressful, we call them politics, so when I hear someone say, “I loved my job, but I couldn’t stand the office politics,” I know what the real problem is. Likewise, when someone says, “I love the club, but the politics are getting to me,” I know that they’re not talking about the rising fees or the quality of greens on the golf course, but unnecessary stress between the board members. No one likes it when relationships become political. No one likes it when religion turns political, so folks back out of church when they have to choose between one side or the other. How many people have loved a church until some issue came along and the peaceful sanctuary felt just like everywhere else: a den of divisive issues in a world where it’s already so difficult to get along? It’s a tale as old as time. In the time of Jesus, there were the Pharisees and the Sadducees, and the Sadducees asked Jesus a question about Heaven because whether Heaven existed or not was the hot topic of the day, and Jesus responds, “What makes you think this issue has any eternal significance?” What He’s leading us to see is the way that we do permanent damage to relationships over issues that will not matter in Heaven. If you want to make it there, don’t invest all your time and energy into the divisive issues of today. Jesus says to the Sadducees: Stop fighting and listen. In Heaven, there are bigger issues than who is married to whom. Listen to this: Years ago, I went to visit a woman named Wanda Turner in the hospital. I walked into her hospital room, and the air was a little too still. I had gotten there too late. She had already died. A few days later was her funeral, and this all happened in a small town in Tennessee where Wanda knew the funeral home director and the man who managed the cemetery, so when I arrived at the cemetery for the graveside service, there were two graves dug, but I didn’t know why. I asked the funeral home director why there were two open graves. He told me that Wanda was Mr. Turner’s second wife. She paid extra to have the grave digger dig up his first wife and to move her one spot over so that Wanda could be buried next to Mr. Turner. I promise that’s a true story, and I bring it up today just to remind you that it can seem like this kind of thing really matters. It can seem like all kinds of issues have real and lasting significance. Who will be buried next to whom? Who will this woman be married to in the Kingdom of Heaven? Imagine that the issues that divide us today will take a back seat to what matters most in the Kingdom of Heaven. Don’t imagine that what we are arguing over right now has any eternal significance. Don’t jeopardize your place there by getting locked into a debate here on earth, for in Heaven, Christ is King and He will not tell the Republicans and the Democrats whose side He’s on. Instead, He will ask them why they thought fighting over issues was worthy of denying hungry children their food. Will any excuse be good enough when Jesus asks them why they stopped feeding hungry children? When it comes to this government shut down and the suspension of SNAP benefits on the eve of Thanksgiving, the suspension of pay to members of our armed forces on the eve of Veteran’s Day, I don’t know which side you think is worse than the other, but I do know that I want to be on Jesus’ side far more than anyone else’s. Don’t get trapped by the Sadducees. Don’t fall into thinking that the debates of today have eternal significance. In Heaven, what will matter most? My 7th grade Sunday school teacher, Ken Farrar, told a joke the other day about Heaven. A young Presbyterian died, and one of the first people he saw in Heaven was his father. When this son saw his father, he shouted out with joy. “Dad!” but his dad said, “Son, I’m so happy to see you, too, but please keep your voice down. The Baptists are right over that hill. They think they’re the only ones who made it up here. We don’t want to spoil it for them.” Jokes like that are funny because churches used to fight just like the Pharisees and the Sadducees, but this last week, the Baptist Church, the Episcopal Church, MacLand Presbyterian Church, and Highlands Church have all sent money and volunteers to this church to help with our Tuesday food distribution. In the wake of SNAP benefits denied, churches are helping our community remember what ultimately matters, and there is hope for our community. There is hope for Thanksgiving dinner. There is hope for our world, our nation, our republic, if we would give up our infighting to kneel before the cross. It’s not about who is worse and who is better, whose fault it is and who has done wrong. Salvation comes not through comparison but through confession. Bow before Jesus to confess. Come to Jesus. Listen to Jesus. Follow Jesus, who is the God of the living. Amen.