Have You Anything Here to Eat, a sermon based on Luke 24: 36-48 preached on April 14, 2024

Several years ago, there was a trend to wear bracelets with the letters “WWJD” on them. The bracelets were meant to remind the wearer to ask him or herself, “What would Jesus do?” I remember wearing one as a teenager, and so while driving, I’d occasionally glance at the bracelet and would check my speedometer, asking myself, “Would Jesus speed?” or, joking with friends, maybe making fun of someone we knew, I’d glance at the bracelet and would ask myself, “Would Jesus be laughing right now?” That was the intended purpose of the bracelet, yet given the supernatural abilities of Jesus, Dr, David Bartlett, a well-known Bible scholar, once asked the question, “What would Jesus do?” and said, “Jesus would give the blind man his sight. Jesus would make the leper clean. Jesus would multiply the bread and fish to feed thousands. Jesus would face death without fear. Jesus would die and on the third day, would rise again.” In other words, it’s not always good to ask ourselves, “What would Jesus do?” because there are things that Jesus can do that we cannot. Jesus, the son of God, did supernatural things, and yet, Jesus, the risen Christ, also did perfectly human things. The Bible tells us that Jesus wept, just as we do. Jesus laughed, just as we do. When Jesus stormed the Temple and toppled the tables of the money changers, it was because Jesus got angry, just as we do. Now, in our Second Scripture lesson, Jesus, the risen Christ, Who has done the most supernatural thing of all by rising from the dead, follows up this awe-inspiring miracle by asking his disciples, “Have you anything here to eat?” Eating is not supernatural. Jesus got hungry; we get hungry. Being hungry and asking friends for something to eat is an act that everyone here is capable of, so while I don’t doubt the power of God, Who might enable one of us to walk on water or speak in another language, think with me today about Jesus, the divine Miracle Worker, the One who conquers death and is risen to rule the world and what has He to teach us in asking this question, “Have you anything here to eat?” What does it mean that Jesus who wept, who laughed, who got angry, also got hungry, and when He got hungry, He made a request of his disciples, “Have you anything here to eat?” when likely He could have waved His hand and produced a five-course meal or touched His belly and freed Himself from such mortal struggles as being hungry. Have you ever wished you wouldn’t get hungry? I wish I could resist tortilla chips at Mexican restaurants. Why can’t I stop eating them? “What would Jesus do?” the bracelet asks. I say, “Jesus would never give into the temptation of tortilla chips the way I do,” and yet Jesus, the risen Christ, asked His disciples, “Have you anything here to eat?” Why? I believe it is because they were afraid, and Jesus knows that there are a million tiny things that reduce our fear. He knows that there are hundreds of tiny gestures that make us feel safe. One of them is sharing a meal, but another is a simple handshake. Have you ever thought much about the power of a handshake? Imagine with me that you’ve just signed a contract with a new business partner, and when you go to shake her hand, she keeps her hands in her pockets. How are you going to feel? What I’m trying to say is that a handshake is more than a handshake. And a meal is more than food. Jesus knows that. Have you ever experienced it? I have. Just last week, I was on my way to a Presbyterian pastors conference in Moab, Utah. It was for Presbyterian ministers at larger Presbyterian churches. Only 15 were invited from across the country, so I was honored to be invited and proud to be a pastor at a larger Presbyterian church. A wealthy donor put us all up in a beautiful lodge next to a river. The only catch was that to get there I had to fly in a plane that didn’t have TVs. I sat down and there was no built-in TV for me to watch. In fact, there was a sticker where the TV might have been that said, “At this seat, we’re pleased to offer you free personal device entertainment.” Translation: You don’t get a TV to watch movies. You can look at your phone or use your laptop, so I put in my earbuds and took out my computer. Later, the flight attendants came around with snacks. Because they charged me $40 to check my luggage, I thought they were also going to charge me for a snack, yet lo and behold, the flight attendant came to our row with off-brand Chex Mix and full cans of ginger ale. Closing my computer and taking out my ear buds to focus on eating my snack, the woman next to me, who noticed that I had been working on this sermon, asked me if I was Roman Catholic or Presbyterian. “Presbyterian,” I responded, “but how did you guess that?” I asked. She saw the sermon I had been working on and noticed the bulletin draft I had open. Knowing that her nondenominational church doesn’t use the liturgy that we do, she put it together that I must be Roman Catholic or Presbyterian. Then, I introduced myself. I told her my name. She told me hers and that she lives near Peachtree City. I told her that I live in Marietta. The next thing I know, she’s telling me about her son who lives near the Battery, her other son who is doing his residency in Albuquerque, and her youngest son, also named Joe, who died by suicide two years ago. I told her I was sorry. She thanked me for listening. Would she have told me that if no off-brand Chex Mix had been provided? I doubt it because a handshake is not just a handshake. A meal is not just a meal. Knowing that, this morning I draw your attention to a most human request that the resurrected Jesus makes of His disciples: Have you anything here to eat? He’s just done the most supernatural thing that He could possibly do. Rising from the dead is so amazing, so supernatural, so miraculous that the disciples can’t even believe He’s real. Did you notice that in our second Scripture lesson? They were all disbelieving and wondering, so He invited them to touch His hands and His feet, yet that wasn’t enough. As Dr. Bartlett said, “What would Jesus do? Give the blind his sight, heal the leper, multiply the loaves and fishes.” There are all kinds of supernatural things that Jesus does that keep Him outside our grasp and keep us from understanding Who He is, so this morning, think with me about this most human thing that He does, this most basic thing He does, which is also something that from time to time defies our grasp because we get busy doing all kinds of other things so that we don’t eat together either. What keeps us from sitting down and eating together? Maybe one kid has baseball practice three nights a week. The other has dance lessons. Plus, they both have after-school tutoring to get ahead. Parents work. Dogs must be walked. The grass must be cut. All kinds of important meetings and enriching activities have families moving in so many different directions that getting around the dinner table for a shared meal can seem impossible, so when I hear Jesus ask, “Have you anything here to eat?” while I don’t hear anything supernatural in the request, and while I don’t hear anything impossible, I do hear Him teaching us something important and life changing. I hear Jesus, the perfect, sinless, miracle-working, Son of God, revealing once again the incredible gift that we look over, for He is there in the breaking of the bread. That’s what we say so often at the communion table, and yet the kitchen table is an ordinary miracle with healing powers all its own. In my first or second year of ministry, I was invited over for lunch by a mother in the congregation. The invitation came about three weeks after I had been asked by the local newspaper what the Bible really says about homosexuality. In 250 words, I wrote my response. I wrote that while there are passages in the Bible that speak to the issue, Jesus never mentions it, and if Jesus never mentions it, then why do we spend so much time talking about it? That’s all I wrote, but that statement was enough for one member of the congregation to photocopy the article and place it on every pew in the sanctuary while another member of the church held a petition for people to sign if they’d like for me to be fired. It wasn’t the best day of my life, and it was followed by multiple lunches where I was lectured. Multiple cups of coffee where I was interrogated. I would go to visit church members in the hospital, and after I prayed for them, they’d tell me how they felt about what I wrote. Three weeks after I wrote the article, this mother invited me to her home for lunch, and I remember calling Sara from the driveway, “I hope this is the last one. I’m tired of this.” When I walked in, she was visibly nervous. She had prepared too much food for us to eat. I remember there being a bowl of chicken salad and another bowl of tuna salad. We ate in awkward silence for at least 30 minutes before she finally asked, “Can you really tell me that my son isn’t going to hell?” Have you anything here to eat? That’s the question that Jesus asks. Moreover, it’s a question that we all ask because we are all hungry, yet it’s not only a question about food, for a handshake is not just a handshake nor is a meal just a meal. A meal is an invitation to see Jesus as He is, right here, risen and with us, so sit down and eat with people. Eat with your family. Invite your neighbors over. Why? Because we don’t see Jesus clearly even though He is always with us nor do we see each other clearly because we are moving too fast, yet when we sit down to break bread together, we remember that He is with us, and He will be with us forever. Halleluiah. Amen.

Whom Are You Looking For? A sermon based on John 20: 1-18, preached on March 31, 2024

Last Wednesday morning, I was emptying the dishwasher, and as I began putting the clean glasses back in the cupboard, I noticed that several glasses were missing. However, I knew where to find them. I won’t tell you which daughter, but of the two, we have one who loves to take a glass of water up to her room yet is unable to bring the empty glass back to the kitchen. I don’t know why this would be. It’s one of the great mysteries of life. Occasionally, in a fit of frustration, I go upstairs to my daughter’s room. There, on her bedside table last Wednesday morning, were nine glasses. Nine. Her bedside table does not have room enough for all those glasses, so they sat there precariously, stacked one upon the other. You can possibly tell that this habit of hers gets on my nerves. It gets on my nerves because I can’t understand it. I picked up the glasses one by one to take them downstairs to the dishwasher. As I was attempting to hold all nine in two hands so that I might carry them all down in one trip, I noticed that the nine glasses were covering up a valentine’s card. The card wasn’t signed, but I believe it came from her grandmother. Here it is. I stole it, and this is what it says, this valentine to our daughter from her grandmother: The way you are is awesome. The way you are is smart. The way you are is fun and funny, Kind and full of heart. The way you are is magic. The way you are is wow! No wonder you’re so loved for just the way you are right now! That’s what you think, Grandma. You don’t have to pick up her dirty glasses. That’s what I thought to myself for just a second, before I thought about how true those words are. Looking around, I noticed again that there is so much in her bedroom besides an accumulation of dirty glasses. On her wall are multiple awards. One, which she received just the night before, came from her coach who remarked on how mature she is. How respectful. How kind, so slowly but surely, my frustration with one aspect of my daughter retreated so that I might take in the whole of who she is. Has something like this ever happened to you? Do you know what I’m talking about? The Rev. Joe Brice, who served here as an associate pastor for several years (He’s now at the Presbyterian Church in Rockmart.), likes to say, “What you focus on, you get more of.” What does that mean? It means that when I’m pulling weeds, weeds are what I see. It means that when I read the newspaper, the more I focus on typos, the more typos I see. Just last week, I was reading an article on the bridge disaster in Baltimore. The paper I was reading reported that there was an accident on the Francis Key Scott Bridge. That’s not right. It was the Francis Scott Key Bridge, yet the typo is beside the point. Why focus on typos when people have been injured? Why focus on typos when people have died? However, in focusing on tragedy, the same thing happens. When we focus on it, we see more and more. Surely, Mary woke up that Easter morning and said to her family, “Make your own breakfast. I can’t think about it.” Who could think about breakfast amid such a devastating tragedy as what she’d witnessed? I imagine that in the days after His crucifixion, the agony on His face was imprinted on her consciousness. Having watched Him suffer, seen the blood that dripped down His cheeks, heard the crowd who shouted for His death, followed on the slow march to the place where He would be crucified, those images haunted her dreams. I imagine that all the details and all the joy of life fell away so that tragedy was all that she could see. When tragedy walks in, it just takes over, doesn’t it? When injustice appears, it’s hard to think of anything else. And so that Easter morning so long ago, I’m not surprised that Mary didn’t see Him. What we focus on we get more of, and what Mary was focused on was tragedy and injustice, so when she went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb, she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciples and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” My friends, we know that’s not what happened; we know that this is no case of a missing corpse, but think with me about why Mary Magdalene assumed someone had stolen His body. Think with me about why Mary looked up and, in seeing a man, assumed He was the gardener. She couldn’t see Him, in the same way that when I get focused on the part of our daughters that gets on my nerves, I can’t see the whole of who they are. She couldn’t see Him, just as those who read for typos miss the content. Why would Mary Magdalene, consumed by tragedy and injustice, show up at the empty tomb and assume that someone had stolen His body? It’s because what we focus on, we get more of. What we expect to see, we see. If I’ve been watching the news for too long, I go out into the world expecting to be robbed. If I listen to what the talking heads say about illegal immigration, I go out into the world angry and afraid. Just after a funeral, I get so messed up in my head. Tragedy takes over. It takes a minute for me to remember that death will not have the final word. Last week, I sat with my family at the funeral of a 42-year-old mother of four. That funeral was so tragic and so heartbreaking that I fell into a depression. I looked out onto the world preparing myself for the other shoe to drop. In my subconscious mind were questions like: What’s going to happen next? What is God going to take from me next? Where is the next hurt going to come from? When will the next disaster strike? I asked these questions because the tragedy was all that I could see. The tragedy is real, “and yet,” the preacher at that funeral said. “And yet,” is such an important phrase. The preacher at the funeral last week told us that he’d walk with Josh, the widower, and that Josh would say, “I’ve never been through such a hard time, and yet, the church has been there for us every day. I’ve never been so angry with God, and yet, the flowers of spring have never been so beautiful.” That stuck with me because, my friends, there is plenty for us to be upset about. There is plenty of tragedy for us to focus on. If we only focus on the tragedy, though, we will miss the One who is standing right in front of us. “Mary,” Jesus said to her. When He first appeared, she thought He was the gardener, for like me, like us, like our world, she was so practiced in being disappointed that she had no room in her vision for a miracle. What we focus on, we get more of, and I want you to know this morning, that I’m tired of being focused on tragedy. I’m tired of being focused on the bad news. I’m ready to hear the Good News, and I want you to know that the Good News is just as real and as true as anything else, yet we are so practiced in being disappointed that tragedy is clouding our vision, so on this Easter morning, I’m calling on you to see through the lens of faith. I want you to practice your Easter vision. (That’s not exactly what I mean, but it’s close). I’m talking about how I wake up in the morning, look myself I the mirror, and all I see is how the hair that was once on the top of my head is now sprouting from my nostrils. It’s been said that we produce up to 50,000 thoughts per day, and 80% of those are negative. The impact of all those negative thoughts is that we’re dragging through life, preparing ourselves to be disappointed, so remember, thoughts are not the same as reality. The Evil One will use our thoughts against us, and so I ask you this Easter morning the same question that the Risen Lord, Jesus Christ asked Mary Magdalene so long ago, “Whom are you looking for?” Are you looking for death? You will find it. Are you looking for injustice? You will find it. Are you looking to be disappointed? Are you looking for signs that the world is falling apart? Are you looking for a reason to give up hope? You will find it. And yet, if you are looking for the Lord Jesus, you will find Him too, for He is risen. Every morning, I wake up and I write down 10 things that I’m thankful for. Just 10. Every time I get started, I get stuck. It’s slow going because I’m trying to be grateful for what God is doing in my life right after I’ve read the newspaper which has reported on how the world is falling apart. The world has taught me to focus on the flaws, not to be thankful but to complain, and so when I sit down to write down what I’m thankful for, I’ll write down one or two, then I’ll slow down, and I won’t know what to write next, and yet, once I get going, once I reframe my thinking, once the powers of sin and death lose their grip on my consciousness, I can’t stop writing. I can’t stop giving thanks to God who has provided me with a house in which to live, a wife who loves me, two beautiful children, a church to serve, an office with books, the sun that shines, flowers that bloom, springtime all around, for He is risen. Just take a moment to think about it with me. Think about this choir, think about this Great Hall, think about how far we’ve come, and be reminded of the truth: He is risen. Now look around and see these people. Who are they that the Lord has surrounded you with? Criminals? People who will take from you? No. These are your brothers and sisters in Christ, for the message that the world has been pushing into our ears is a false gospel, a lie, meant to manipulate us and push us into despair and isolation. Remember that He is risen and greet your neighbor with joy in your heart. I’ve been moping around too long. You know that? I’ve been moping around too long, focused on what I don’t have. I’ve been moping around too long, afraid that someone is going to take something from me, when the Lord has given me everything. My friends, He is risen. In His wings comes salvation. In His death comes to us the gift of everlasting life. Go out into the world, prepared to see Him, for He is risen. He’s not dead. Hope is not dead. Love is not dead. For He is risen. That’s the message of Easter. The cold earth gives way to the blooms of tulips. Broken relationships are mended by the miracle of forgiveness. And broken people like us, the Lord shows up to us, redefining us. Bringing life to everything. Halleluiah. Amen.

It Was Already Late, a sermon based on Isaiah 50: 4-9 and Mark 11: 1-11 preached on March 24, 2024

I’ve been listening to the most interesting podcast lately. It’s called The Rest Is History, and recently the two hosts, both English historians with great British accents, have been engaged in a six-part series focused on the sinking of the Titanic. It’s amazing how interested I’ve been, considering how I know the end of the story. I know that the ship is going to sink. Still, I held my breath as the two historians talked about the way the iceberg sounded as it scraped the great ship’s side. I felt the passengers’ panic as water spewed into cabins and stairwells. Knowing what was going to happen to those 1,500 people who drowned, as the great ship approached the iceberg, I so badly wanted the captain to steer around it. Likewise, here we are on Palm Sunday, and tragedy looms on the horizon. Today’s service may feel like a celebration. Today’s hymns have elements of joy and triumph. Hosanna, loud hosanna, the little children sang. But knowing the whole story, those hymns sound to me a little like the music the band played on the deck to keep Titanic’s passengers from panicking. Today, we wave our palm branches. We celebrate as He rides into the city. Only, we already know that the cheering of the crowd will change tune. Soon enough, He’ll be betrayed by Judas. Arrested by soldiers, He’ll be led to a cold cell in chains. Peter will deny Him. Pilate will lead a sham trial. Then, the crown of thorns will be pushed into His brow. His back will be whipped. Nails will pierce His wrists. Upon the Cross, soon enough He’ll die. We read this morning from Mark’s Gospel that it was already late as He rode into Jerusalem. It was too late. Too late to turn around. Too late to chart another course. The iceberg lies ahead and Jesus rides straight for it. As the Prophet said in our first Scripture lesson: He was not rebellious. He did not turn backward. Instead, he gave his back to those who struck him, He offered his cheeks to those who pulled out his beard. Rather than hide his face from insult and spitting, he set his face like flint determined to face what lies ahead. Consider with me on this Palm Sunday the character of our Savior, Jesus, knowing that any mortal ship captain would have tried to avoid it all. On the night the ship sank, the Titanic had two lookouts in the crow’s nest, Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee. Their job was to help the ship’s captain avoid disaster, which is what I like to do. I like to avoid disaster, and I think about how I might have avoided it even after my ship has sunk, so I think about divorce and how, when I hear that a couple is getting a divorce, I speculate on who did what. I want there to be something that someone did to cause it. I’m looking for the iceberg that they should have steered around. Likewise, I think of terminal illness. When my grandmother suffered a stroke, I remember how my father walked through the weeks prior analyzing each moment for clues and thinking of ways he might have stopped it from happening. “How could I have missed the iceberg?” he asked himself. “Whose fault was it?” he wanted to know. “Was it mine?” This is a human reaction to tragedy. We double up our lookouts in the crow’s nest. We are always looking to the horizon for things that might happen. That’s what keeps me up at night: thinking about how I might I avoid disaster. Late at night, I’m looking out onto the next day, asking myself: Where are the icebergs and how can I steer around them? However, Jesus rides right into the city. He faces the cross, head-on. Why doesn’t He try to avoid it? Why doesn’t He steer around Jerusalem if He knows what’s ahead? It’s because His death is not a mistake. His death is not a disaster. The cross that He faces willingly will bring us our salvation. What that means for us is that He redefines all our tragedies and mistakes by His death on that cross. He saves us from those bad decisions, even the ones that we are afraid will stick to us forever. Back to the Titanic: Bruce Ismay, I learned from my history podcast, was the chairman of the White Star Line, who owned the Titanic. He didn’t die when the ship sank. Instead, he gained a place on a lifeboat and lived to became one of the most hated men in America and Europe. You can imagine why. People needed someone to blame, and so they blamed him. They blamed him for not building the ship strong enough to withstand the iceberg. The blamed him for claiming that the ship was unsinkable when it obviously was not. These accusations stuck to him. They never left his mind, and even in death, his tombstone bears this inscription: “Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whither so ever the governor listeth.” That’s a verse from the book of James in the King James Version. In those words, you hear the guilt that kept him up at night. Over and over again, sleep evaded him as he asked himself, “Why did my ship sink?” Consider the inscription on his tombstone and know that even in his death, he regretted that one bad decision. The worst day of his life seems to have defined him forever. This is my fear as well. Maybe it’s yours. I hold on to some of the most embarrassing memories of my life. I still think about the pop-fly that came to me in right field that I dropped. In 9th grade, I got in a fistfight and lost, and I still think about it all these years later. Likewise, I don’t know how many sermons I’ve preached, but the ones I remember most are my worst, and so sometimes I imagine that my tombstone will bear the inscription: Dropped that pop-fly. Never won a fight. At least his sermons were short because they sure weren’t any good. Yet, that won’t be the case. My friends, we will not be defined by the tragedies. We will not spend all eternity living down our mistakes. Whatever we did on our worst days will not be chiseled into our tombstones. Instead, the inscription will be the mark of the cross, for Jesus’ redeeming death washes over us until all our sins are forgiven. The death He died redefines us. The suffering He endured, the sacrifice He made, the tragedy that His road leads to provides us a grace greater than all our sin. My friends, it was already late when He rode into Jerusalem. It was already done. He had set His face like flint for He rode on to save us all, that we be defined not by our worst days, but by His redeeming. Don’t you go around carrying those heavy burdens. Lay them down before the Savior Who bore the cross. Don’t you go through life with regrets any longer. He died that you and I might live. I worry about us, for so often we remember what has already been washed away. We are still carrying that which He has taken from us. Why? Why carry the debt when He has paid the price? Why worry about the icebergs that we hit when His death changes everything? It was already late. It was already done. Halleluiah. Amen.

We Wish to See Jesus, a sermon based on John 12: 20-33 preached on March 17, 2024

A little girl named Braelyn, she’s the daughter of one of our church staff members and is the granddaughter of Joe and Sandra Brice, wrote me this note that says: Dear Pastor Joe. Sorry I missed you. I’ll stop by again. I hope you have an amazing day. Signed, Braelyn. PS: Don’t forget to wear pink tomorrow. That postscript about wearing pink reflects one of Braelyn’s core convictions. She thinks that every Wednesday we should all wear pink. In fact, she told me that once she gets elected President, her first order of business will be putting that practice of wearing pink on Wednesdays into law, so I’ve started early. Maybe you should, too. Get into the habit before you get into trouble with Madam President herself and wear pink on Wednesdays. Her note prompted me to go through my children’s art collection. I’ve saved all kinds of kid’s art. This morning, I have my note from Braelyn. I have a storm trooper by Aiden Bush. I have our daughters’ artwork. Lily brought this home from her first day of preschool. And one Father’s Day, Cece drew this trophy for me. It says “#1 Dad.” I’m proud of this. Then I have a “Best Pastor of the Month” award from Margaret Ann Breed. I have a whole stack of notes and drawings that former preschool student Kate Callahan gave me. This is one of my favorites. When she graduated from our preschool, we rang the bell in the sanctuary to celebrate. Then, I have a stack of portraits that kids have drawn of me. Here, when Gabriel was little, he drew this picture. It’s mostly dots, but there are some glasses at the bottom, so you can tell who it is. Then this one; the young man who drew this one of me is joining the church today. I’m there preaching in the pulpit on Ash Wednesday. Here’s one that Jacob Duda drew. I don’t have a lot of hair on the top of my head. He could have put a little more hair up on top, but the artist chose not to, which reflects reality. I am getting older. There’s less hair on my head than there used to be. Also, I now use this special lotion that is supposed to reduce the size of the bags under my eyes. That’s not a fun product to buy, so sometimes getting older gets me down. Achy muscles and joints that pop can get me down. Getting older isn’t easy. If you add on top of those physical maladies the realities of inflation, social division, and the looming specter of this next presidential election, grown-ups like us will go looking for something to brighten our day. That’s why it doesn’t surprise me that these Greeks in our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of John want to see Jesus. The Gospel of John tells us their national origin. When the Gospel of John gives us a detail like that, it’s important to pay attention. Why Greece? Why is this detail important? Greece in the time of Jesus is sort of like England during World War II. England in the 20th Century is coming to a new understanding of herself because some of her colonies are now stronger than she is. England in World War II needs the help of America because England is on its way out as far as being the world power. By the time World War II comes around, you might have said that England was in decline as our star was rising. Today, some might say that we are in decline as China’s star is rising. Regardless, in the time Jesus, Rome was the global power, which meant Greece no longer was. The Greeks go to Phillip and say, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” What do they want from Jesus? Likely, they wanted the same thing that I needed when I found that note from little Braelyn hanging on my office door. They needed something to brighten their day, yet instead of finding a note from a child, they hear from Jesus some words that surely changed their whole perspective. Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” What does that mean? Let me try to tell you. One night last week, I was looking for a printer cartridge so I could print my homework for class. I’m back in class at Columbia Theological Seminary trying to finish up my doctorate, and I was digging through all our junk draws looking for printer ink when I came across a picture that I had taken of my wife, Sara, when we were in college. She looks exactly the same now as she did then. I don’t. Back then, I had long, flowing hair. A mane of auburn hair. And at 19 I noticed Sara, but she wouldn’t go out with me right away. I just pined for her for a while until I had to get my hair cut for a week-long school trip to Honduras. A friend on my hall named Danny Nelson had his brother’s barber’s license hanging on his wall. It wasn’t Danny’s license, but it was close enough, so he cut my hair, and when Sara saw me with my clean-cut hair, suddenly, she saw someone she might take seriously. What I’m trying to say is that I keep getting older. We all keep getting older. We are like the Apostle Paul, who said: When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I reasoned like a child, when I became a man I put an end to childish ways. We must put aside some childish ways, and then we must keep on putting things aside. We must put aside some freedom to raise a family. We must put aside some spending money to send kids to college, and then for retirement. At some point, we must put aside our car keys and maybe even our independence and self-sufficiency to get the help we need. Yet we need not put aside happiness, for our best days are not behind us. Whether you’re 8 or 98, we all have a future to look forward to. Even if your hair is thinning out, rejoice because what falls to the ground like my auburn locks becomes the seed of new life. Jesus said, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit,” so if you are feeling like a citizen of the once-great Greek Republic now fallen into decline and disrepair, don’t be afraid. Don’t give up hope. Don’t give up joy, for when we go down to the dust, we go down singing bold halleluiahs. We fall only to rise. We go down only to come up stronger. We must go down to the dust before we can rise again. Do not be afraid. Do not fear getting older. Do not even fear death. The Prayer of Saint Francis goes like this: For it is in giving that we receive- it is in pardoning that we are pardoned. And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

In Order That the World Might Be Saved, a sermon based on Numbers 21: 4-9 and John 3: 1-21, preached on March 10, 2024

Some Sundays each year focus on a particular person in the Bible. Every Sunday, our focus is on Jesus, but Mary has a Sunday a few weeks before Christmas. John the Baptist has a Sunday. The Sunday after Easter, the disciple Thomas always takes center stage, and this Sunday, most years, here in the middle of the season of Lent, the spotlight goes to Nicodemus, a leader of the Jewish people who had been persecuting Jesus but now sneaks off under the cover of darkness to find out more about this radical Rabbi who has captured so much attention. Nicodemus doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s gone to see Jesus; that’s why he goes at night, and when I think about Nicodemus, I think about all the people, including myself, who have struggled to step out into the light. There’s a great Jerry Clower story called “The Chauffeur and the Professor.” The story goes that a genius-level professor has been going around the nation making an incredible speech with the same chauffeur listening the whole time. The chauffeur tells him that he’s memorized the professor’s speech and can probably make that speech better than the Great PhD ever could. Even though he hasn’t graduated from the great school of minds, he’s an unlettered chauffeur, but he’s sure he can make that speech. The Professor, wanting to put this too-big-for-his-britches chauffeur back in his place, agrees to let him try. They swap clothes on the way to the next venue, so before this huge university audience is the chauffeur wearing the professor’s clothes, and the professor is in the back wearing the chauffeur’s clothes. Up before the audience of educated students, the chauffeur made that speech. In fact, in Jerry Clower’s words, “He forever shelled down the corn. He shelled the corn all the way to the cobb.” Translation: He made the speech really well. The crowd, so amazed, stood and clapped a standing ovation, then began throwing their books into the air, shouting in jubilation over the most enlightening speech they’d ever heard. Once they had been calmed down, the university president invited the crowd, if they would like, to ask their speaker any questions. Now, that meant trouble. The chauffeur had the speech memorized, but hadn’t thought about the Q and A. A very intelligent young man lifted his hand and asked the most detailed question you’ve ever heard. Something about carbon dating, stratospheres, and the layers of the earth’s crust. The chauffeur dressed up like a professor listened to the question. You would imagine that he was sweating, but he kept his cool, took off his glasses like this and said, “Young man, as long as I’ve been giving this speech throughout North America’s most prestigious universities, that’s about the simplest question I’ve ever heard. I’m surprised this university let in someone who would ask a question that simple. In fact, it’s so simple, I’ll just ask my chauffeur to stand up here and answer it.” Now why didn’t the chauffeur in professor’s clothes come clean? Why continue the charade? This morning, as we turn our attention to Nicodemus, consider with me the incredible appeal of the light. Consider with me this Jesus, who was the Truth incarnate. He was the One who gave the blind man his sight. Who saved the woman caught in adultery. Who preached the Gospel to the masses. Who was all the time seeking the lost and the lame, going around forgiving the sins of shame-ridden people and setting them free. That Light must have been so awe inspiring that even among those who persecuted Him were some who were compelled by His words, yet not all of them stepped out into the Light to follow Him in public. In fact, here we have Nicodemus who will only go to visit Him under the cover of darkness. Why? It’s the same reason that the chauffeur didn’t come clean. It’s the same reason that we will not hear any presidential contender say this campaign season: Well, I was wrong about that. It’s the same reason it’s so hard for some men to stop and ask for directions. It’s the same reason it’s so hard for any one of us to say the words “I’m sorry” to the people we’ve hurt. Considering Nicodemus, his whole life was built around his identity as a leader in his community, and because all the other leaders were busy persecuting Jesus, when he thought about following Him, he had to consider the cost of stepping out into the light. It’s not always easy to step out into the light. Jesus says, “the truth will set you free,” which is true, but first it will sting a little. First, the truth will cost you something. I’ve heard of a man who knew something was wrong. He felt bad enough to make an appointment with the doctor, yet on the day of his appointment, he drove to the doctor’s office parking lot, parked his car, but never went inside. I’ve heard of a parent who suspected his daughter was suffering. He knew something was wrong but didn’t dig deep enough to find out. Not knowing was more appealing than finding out the truth. There is always something dangerously appealing about the darkness of denial. Hiding from the truth in the shadows feels kind of comforting. And stepping out into the light is dangerous. Consider what Nicodemus might have lost should one of his colleagues seen him talking with Jesus? Nicodemus was a leader in his community. He was wealthy. He had standing. What would his friends say if they heard he had gone off to learn from Jesus? What would the other children say to his sons and daughters at school if word got out? Don’t be fooled. Stepping out into the light always costs us something. The darkness has an appeal all its own, but if you’re tired of living a lie, If you’re ready for true healing, If the charade has lost its appeal then step out into the light. Whether you are in the midst of a difficult season of your marriage and you’re scared to ask for help, or you’ve been nursing an addiction and are worried about what will happen if you let someone know; Whether the debt is piling up or the brokenness is about to get the best of you, I call on you to step out into the light to reveal your wounds to the Great Physician. We all fear that condemnation or rejection will come with revealing our wounds. And revealing our wounds will cost us something. The truth will always cost us something, yet remember that first Scripture lesson, how the Israelites were bitten by the vipers, and in revealing their wounds, they were healed. Likewise, the Son came into the world not to condemn the world, but that all might be saved through Him. Leave the darkness behind. Step out into the light and be saved. Amen.

He Rebuked Peter, a sermon based on Genesis 17: 1-7, 15-16, and Mark 8: 31-38, preached on February 25, 2024

A legendary preacher named William Sloane Coffin once said: While Abraham lived through “summer’s parching heat,” Jesus died young; but didn’t both show us that it is by its content rather than by its duration that a lifetime is measured? Deserted by his disciples, in agony on the cross, barely thirty years old, Christ said, “It is finished.” And thus ended the most complete life ever lived. I love that quote. That word “complete” used to describe the life that Jesus lived is different from the word ideal. Saying that He lived a complete life is different from saying that He lived a superlative or sensational life. Living a complete life is different from living an efficient life, yet sometimes I want to live efficiently. I think about how to spend the limited amount of time that I have, and so when I go into Kroger, I’m thinking about how to get in and out as quickly as possible. However, living an efficient life and living a complete life are not the same thing. I was at Kroger years ago when those self-check-out lines were first being introduced. I had some place to be, but I wasn’t in too much of a hurry. I only thought about the self-checkout line because it was empty, but it wasn’t necessary, so I went to the line with an actual cashier, even though in that line there were a couple customers there in front of me. I remember that the man right in front of me bought cigarettes, cat food, and a newspaper. I remember that because I’m nosy. I was surprised that he started talking to the woman at the register about a book he’s reading. “It’s a work of science fiction,” he said. “It will probably take me six weeks to read it. You must have a physics background to understand it. I sit and think awhile after I’ve only read five pages. And could you also give me change for a ten? Two fives, please,” the man said. She handed him the two fives, and he explained: “I’m taking my mother to get her hair done, and if I only have a $10 bill, she’ll want to tip the stylist the whole $10.” “It looks like you got a haircut, too,” the woman at the register said to the man. “You look nice,” she added. “Not too nice, though,” he replied. “I lost another tooth, so I’m scared to smile because when I do, I look like I’m from Appalachia.” That was a mean thing to say about people from Appalachia, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I just kept eavesdropping. “I’m getting a new tooth though,” he said. The woman at the register looked pleased. “Come in here smiling once you do,” the woman said. He covered his mouth, “I’m smiling now, but don’t look. If there are any banjos around, this smile might inspire them to stary playing the theme song for the movie Deliverance.” Then he left. The cashier looked to me and said, “I love seeing that man. He makes me smile every time I see him.” I wasn’t sure what to say in response, but I knew to be thankful for having witnessed the whole interchange, which never would have happened in a self-checkout line. The self-checkout line would have been faster, but there are things more important than efficiency. Self-checkout lines don’t get jokes. They can’t smile. You can’t touch them. They can’t hold your hand. People can do those things. Jesus did these things. God incarnate came down to make covenant with us, to have a relationship with us, so today as we consider our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus rebuked Peter for setting his mind, “not on divine things but on human things,” I ask you: How should we be living? How should we be spending our time? A few summers ago, I was checking out at the Kroger on a Friday. It was a hot day, so when I was at the Kroger at about 5:00 PM, the woman in front of me had taken off her wig while shopping and put it with the produce in her basket. The reason I know that she took her wig off in the produce section is because the cashier bagged all this woman’s produce, and nearly bagged the wig along with them. “Ma’am, you forget your hair,” the cashier said, handing the woman back her wig. Today, as I remember the cashier handing this woman back her wig, once again, I think about the difference between divine things and human things. When I think about Kroger, I think about getting in and out as efficiently as possible, and yet there are divine things happening all around us. God is at work all around us. There are great acts of compassion for us to witness; however, our focus is so often on the human, on the temporal, on the business, or on the hardship, all of which is temporary. There’s a C.S. Lewis quote that I love: “The devil’s greatest trick is making us believe that our temporary pain is not in fact temporary, but permanent.” We get wrapped up in worries that come and go. I have no idea what I was on my way to either of those times I was tempted to go through the self-checkout line, yet the first story I told happened 15 years ago and the second back in 2019. I don’t know what I was rushing to get to, yet when I slowed down, I saw a glimpse of the divine. Jesus rebuked Peter saying, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Last Tuesday morning, I witnessed the divine. Last Tuesday morning, I walked into the church to find that the power was out. Our Director of Administration, Melissa Ricketts, had already talked with the crew working out on the corner replacing the power line. They didn’t know how long the power would be out, so she was on the phone, cancelling the Tuesday morning Bible studies and meetings. The rest of us waited there with her, not wanting to go to dark offices. We just stood by the glass doors waiting and hoping the lights would come on so that we could get on with our day and do something productive. There are so many things that must happen on a Tuesday. I was thinking about emails I needed to respond to. I was thinking about the bulletin that needed to be prepared. I had a sermon to write and phone calls to make. Would I be able to get anything done in the dark? Should I just go work from home? And what about all the food in the refrigerators? Or all the clocks we’d need to reset? Those were the kinds of things I was worrying about while waiting for the lights to come back on. Maybe everyone else was thinking about the same kinds of things. I don’t know for sure what anyone else was thinking because I was looking down at my phone, trying to make efficient use of my time. Then, our Tuesday front desk volunteer, Amy Sherwood, walked in. With her, we had a big enough crowd standing there in the gathering area for Melissa to suggest that I lead a morning devotion while we wait. I knew already that Fran Sommerville had written one for me. Having begun my day with the Lenten Devotional our Stephen Ministers prepared for us all, I grabbed a copy and read what she had prepared. This is what she wrote for last Tuesday: Anxiety and worry. Who among us has experienced these? Probably most of us at one time or another. In Matthew, Jesus teaches us that worry is unproductive. He implores us not to worry about tomorrow but to live in the present moment. Attend to his words: “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Remember that God is in complete control of everything. As I read those last words, the lights came back on. I’m not kidding. Ask Melissa or Amy. They were there when it happened, and I tell you this true story now to say that God is in control, but sometimes I think I have more important things to do than to sit and wait. Christ goes to the Cross to ensure our salvation, but some days, I’m still working so hard to make something of myself that I forget I don’t need to do anything to earn His love. My friends, Peter took Jesus aside and began to rebuke Him, but Jesus rebuked Peter, saying, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Let us focus on divine things, for we read in our Call to Worship, which used the 22nd Psalm: Future generations will be told about the Lord, Saying that he has done it. In his death on the Cross, he has giving us everything, so stop acting like everything depends on how you use your next five minutes. It will be OK if you’re late. Next week, will you even remember what you were rushing to get to? It will even be OK if you leave your wig in with your produce. If you do that, you might help some preacher write his sermon. Let us focus on divine things. Like the people around us. I was struck by a podcast my wife, Sara, encouraged me to listen to. In it, a man was interviewed who said that for his 50th birthday, he invited his 11 closest friends to dinner, and over dinner he told them each how much they mattered to him. One by one he did it. Can you imagine such a dinner? This man enjoyed doing this so much, telling his friends how much he appreciated them, that when he turned 70, he traveled to them, and thanked them all for making a difference in his life. As he described the experience, I could hear it in his voice, how it brought tears to his eyes. And I get it, for what matters most in the end is not how efficiently we’ve lived, but how completely. How complete are your relationships? How completely have you enjoyed your time? How completely aware have you been that God is alive in our world, working His purpose out? My friends, we will overcome the hardship that we face. Future generations will be told about the Lord. All the nations shall worship before Him. Not because we have done it, but because He has. The God of our salvation will come in glory to set all things right, and when He does, let us not be so rushed that we fail to see Him. Amen.

The Water that Almost Drowned Us, a sermon based on Genesis 9: 8-17 and Mark 1: 9-15, preached on February 18, 2024

In 2007, I became the Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach at Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church in Lilburn, Georgia. That job description didn’t last, however, because after I began my ministry as Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach, the Director of Christian Education left, and I suddenly became the Associate Pastor for Christian Education. Then, a few months into my second year, the Senior Pastor left, and I became the Senior Pastor. Three different job descriptions in two years was a lot of transition, which I would not have asked for. I wouldn’t have asked for all that change, not only because out of the three roles (I was barely qualified to fulfill one of them.), but because that much instability made me anxious, and that much change didn’t just challenge me; it overwhelmed me. During those years, I experienced so much stress that I broke out in hives. I started to see a counselor. I was pushed beyond my limit, and I needed help. All that change wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t enjoy it, and I wouldn’t have asked for it, so, in 2007, as I was considering this opportunity to go to Good Shepherd as their Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach, had I been able to forecast the future and see that if I agreed to go, my job description would change three times in two years, I never would have gone there in the first place. However, today, as I look back on those challenging years, I can easily see how those years prepared me. I know now that the rapid change strengthened me, and so today I give thanks to God for the water that nearly drowned me. The title for this sermon is “The Water That Almost Drowned Us,” and I’m wondering if that title resonates with you. Were there events in your life that nearly took you out? Were there hard years that made you feel like you were drowning? Sinking? Struggling? Fighting to come up for air? Was there a season in your life that tested you, challenged you, pushed you beyond your limits so that you nearly drowned, yet instead of drowning, the hard time made you who you are today? When I think about such challenges, the challenges that nearly drown us but instead make us more than who we were, my mind goes back to my first hours as a parent. The night our daughter Lily was born, her mother had labored for hours. As the contractions were coming in rapid succession, Lily’s heartbeat slowed, Sara was rushed into surgery, and by an emergency c-section, our daughter came into the world. As they were stitching Sara back up, I was in the nursery with our newborn daughter. She couldn’t be held right away, but I stood right by her side, and so long as my hand was on her stomach, she wouldn’t cry, so I stood there, looking at this new person who had merely been a kick inside Sara’s stomach a few hours before. Now, she was here, and I was her father. Do you know the feeling? I learned how to swaddle her in class, so once I was allowed, I wrapped her up and rocked her in a rocking chair. Rocking her for the very first time, I felt both overjoyed and overwhelmed. Once the adrenalin left my body, I also felt tired, only when we were back with Sara in a new room in the hospital, the nurse walked us down there, then she left, so Sara and I were on our own with a brand-new baby girl who had needs all her own. When baby Lily cried, it was up to us. When she was hungry, it was our job to do something about it. It seemed like I only slept in five-minute increments, so slowly but surely, the overjoyed part melted away, and I was simply exhausted and overwhelmed. Do you know the feeling? If you’ve read the book or watched the TV series “Lessons in Chemistry,” then maybe you remember the mother who, during a season when her infant daughter cried incessantly, confessed to her neighbor: “I’m a terrible mother. I’m not having any of those special moments that you’re supposed to have with your baby. Those blissful moments that I’ve read about in the women’s magazines. I’m ashamed to say I’ve been ready to give her away at least twice now.” That last comment made her neighbor stop in her tracks. Turning around, she asked, “You’ve wanted to give her away… twice?” Then the neighbor shook her head and laughed. “Twenty times would still make you an amateur.” I love her neighbor for saying that. New parents need to hear things like that, and after sympathizing so effectively, later she said to this new mother, “Soon enough, you’ll expand.” These days of early motherhood may not be easy, yet because they are hard, they are stretching you in such a way that you’re becoming someone new, for sometimes, from the water that nearly drowns us, we rise to new life. In a universal sense, this is the story of Noah and the ark. I’m thankful that this is a story that every child learns from a young age because we all need to know that there are moments in life when the world we knew dies, that a new world may be born. There are moments so challenging that we’d never choose to go through them again, yet in the process, our old selves die that our new selves may be born. This is the way it always is, and so repeatedly, we hear this story. More than that, repeatedly, we live this story. A great author and scholar is Joseph Campbell. I hope you’ve heard of him. His most famous book is called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In this book, he explores common elements found in myths and stories from around the world. After studying thousands of stories about heroes like Osiris, Prometheus, as well as the Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, and Jesus, Campbell identifies universal themes and proposes that many of the stories we tell about our heroes follow a similar pattern: that of separation from the known world, then a crisis or series of catastrophes and tests, which, should the hero endure them, enable him or her to return home enlightened and changed. This pattern is easy to see in classics like The Iliad and The Odyssey, in which the hero, Odysseus, leaves home. When he finally returns home after a war, multiple shipwrecks, and temptations, he is not the same man who left. He comes home a new person, for from the water that nearly drowned him came a new life. The new man is mature in ways he wasn’t before, enlightened in ways that only a process of harsh refinement can explain. So it has been with us. The challenges of life change us, and while what we’d all ask for would be peaceful days filled with crossword puzzles and ice cream sandwiches, it’s our greatest challenges that have made us who we are. My favorite line from Joseph Campbell is that the hero and the villain must swim in the same water. What drowns one baptizes the other. In our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus is baptized by John. What happens immediately after His baptism still surprises me. Our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark begins with His baptism, which is as picturesque as a baptism could possibly be. Just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him. And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” How special is that? It’s the most beautiful baptism account of all time. Only then, the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan, and he was with the wild beasts. Now, that part doesn’t sound so good. After most baptisms, the family has a nice lunch at the house. Sometimes there are cupcakes. That didn’t happen with Jesus, for while His hair was still wet from His baptism, His temptation began. Yet this is often the case: From the water that nearly drowns us, we rise to new life. I believe that. I believe it because I’ve lived it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have lived it, too. In our lives are many struggles, and the ones that don’t break us sometimes make us stronger. Sometimes, from the struggles we gain strength we never thought we had. Other times, it’s through the hardship that we see God most clearly. This week, I read through our church’s publication. We used to call it a newsletter. Now, it’s too fancy to be a newsletter. We used to use this publication to advertise events that were coming up. Now, we do so many of the announcements through the bulletin, emails, and the church website, so we use this publication to celebrate ways that God is at work among us. If you’ve read the Lent issue, then you’ve heard already about Dr. Bob Smith, who, in his 35 years as a member of First Presbyterian Church, has been through some difficult times, and yet during the hard times, he learned how to listen to the heart and what it means to be chosen for a purpose – not a destination but a journey. Clyde Grant’s story is published in this issue as well, and if you read about this man who’s been on the battlefields of Afghanistan, providing medical care to the men and women injured on the front line, then you’ll hear that he has been through that deep water as well, yet through the struggle, he’s learned to breathe. He’s learned how to be present. He’s learned to take a walk in his backyard to find peace. Katharine Wesselink wrote an article as well. You may know the story she tells, how she was diagnosed with stage III bile duct/pancreatic cancer in 2022 and learned during her treatment that great lesson from the Apostle Paul to put on the whole armor of God. During her hardship, she discovered the kind of faith that only comes from adversity. Now, I don’t like adversity. I would never ask for adversity. If I had some knowledge to offer to help us all avoid adversity, I would preach about that. However, the Bible doesn’t teach us to avoid hard times. Instead, Scripture teaches us that even Jesus was in the wilderness 40 days tested by Satan, yet the Bible also tells us that the angels waited on Him as well. If you’ve been reading the devotional the Stephen Ministers of our church prepared for this season of Lent, then you’ll know that the devotional for this morning was written by Bennett Frye. Bennet’s doctor ordered a test out of an abundance of caution. Unfortunately, the test found something serious. On the way home from the hospital, having just heard the news, he stopped off at the grocery store to buy some bananas. “The cashier handed me my change” Bennett wrote, “a quarter, two pennies and a nickel. Funny how I remember that. On the way to the car, I looked at the quarter and to my surprise saw it was not a quarter, but a rather crude silver coin with the impression of a flying angel stamped upon it. I suddenly felt the presence of an angel and the assurance of God; not assured that I would survive but assured that He was present.” Bennett still carries that coin, and may you continually be reminded that by the water that almost drowned us, we may see the power of God. Amen.