Their Shame to Praise

Scripture Lessons: Zephaniah 3: 14-20 and Luke 3: 7-18 Sermon Title: Their Shame into Praise Preached on December 16, 2018 It’s funny how that reading ends: that John the Baptist, “proclaimed the good news,” for it’s not immediately obvious why this news is good. But that’s until you step back and consider Christmas cards. I love Christmas cards. I bet that you love Christmas cards too, and I hope that you receive a lot of them because they’re so nice to get. One of the things that I love the most about Christmas cards is when the card is a picture, I can see how my friends have changed. Some of the Christmas cards that we get in the mail come from people who, when I first met them, weren’t nearly as respectable as they appear to be now. It’s so good to see them looking good and doing well. The kids grow each year. Dad’s hairline recedes more each year. And Mom’s getting better and better at maintaining that smile while saying, “sit still” to her children through gritted teeth. These cards bring a lot of Christmas cheer, don’t they? But sometimes the pressure to get them out gets to us. Every once in a while, I’ll overhear a conversation where one parent says to another: “I’m thinking that this year we’ll just send out a Happy New Year’s Card.” Some people are serious about Christmas cards. They feel good if they got them out early, they feel guilty if they didn’t get them out at all. We felt ashamed one year, because one year we got our first Christmas card the day after Thanksgiving. These friends of ours – they had it so together that they basically sent out a Happy Thanksgiving Card – and if that doesn’t make you feel bad for not getting your Christmas cards out by Christmas, I don’t know what will. Plus, with that over eager Christmas card came an announcement that mom got a promotion at work. Dad’s been running marathons. Youngest son is three, but has learned to read, and oldest son is five but is going off to medical school in the Spring. I remember one Christmas years ago when my grandfather made a point of reading us one of those Christmas letters that came with the card. You know what I’m talking about? Those are usually really nice to receive, because they give an update of what all has been going on, who’s been to camp and who’s playing the piano, all that stuff. But my grandfather took offense to this one, so he took it off the refrigerator to read it to us. He read the sentence about this family’s extravagant vacation, and he said, “Well, this is so full of braggadocio I don’t want to read another word.” At that time, I wasn’t too sure that “braggadocio” was even a word, but you know what he means. The point of the Christmas letter, just like the point of the Christmas card – it’s just to say, “Merry Christmas” and “let me tell you how we’ve been doing.” If you open your mailbox to find a Christmas card in there you can be certain that you are only receiving one because you are loved, but sometimes, sometimes these things, they inspire a little bit of shame or envy. So, the wife puts down the Christmas letter and says to her husband, “Would you look at that; the Johnson family has been to Paris?” and he knows exactly what she’s trying to say. In the same way the husband puts down the Christmas card from the out of town friends that includes a picture of all of them and says to his wife, “Would you look at Sally. Doesn’t she look great? I wonder if she’s been working out or something?” That sounds like an innocent question, but his wife looks into his eyes and wonders what this picture – meant to say nothing more than “Merry Christmas” has inspired in her husband’s mind. Christmas Cards! It might be that one of the Christmas Cards you received brings with it – not Christmas Cheer, but envy, desire, and longing for what you don’t have. And the truth is - it was already pretty hard to keep up with the Joneses before we found out their 5-year-old was going to medical school. So – you know what John the Baptist reminds us to do this time of year? Quit worrying about what they have and be satisfied with what you have. There he was at the river Jordan, and first he calls the whole crowd a “brood of vipers.” Not many pastors would think it wise to begin the sermon that way, but that’s what John does. Then, the crowds asked him, if that’s who we are, “What then should we do?” To the crowds he said, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” To the tax collectors he said, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed to you.” To the soldiers he said, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with you wages.” John the Baptist cuts right to the chase to say, “Be careful about wanting more – it’s dangerous! It can lead you to do questionable things – and – wanting more can keep you from being satisfied with what you have already.” That’s timely advice, right? You know a man who feels enormous pressure to provide for his family their every want and desire. You know a mother who keeps giving herself away so that there’s nothing left. You know the feeling of showing up to a kid’s school Christmas party with a box of cookies you picked up at Kroger, only to find that by the looks of things every other kid’s mom must be Martha Stewart. Life is such a competition – but you know what John the Baptist came to say? He came to say: “Enough.” Don’t ask Santa for another coat – go in your closest and if you’re lucky enough to have two, then give one away. Don’t work so hard for more money – if you have $1,000 in your bank account than you’re better off than the majority of people in this country already. And stop striving for so much; because what you ought to be doing this Christmas season is sitting back in satisfaction with what you have. “Be satisfied,” he said. It’s like a story I heard once that Dr. Fred Craddock told. Dr. Craddock is one of the truly great preachers. He taught at Candler School of Theology on the campus of Emory University, then went to live up in Ellijay, but he used to like to eat at the Waffle House. He said, “The Waffle House is a good place to go get a BLT. You have to take a shower after, but it’s a good place to get a BLT.” Well, once he was at the Waffle House. Waitress came up and he ordered a cup of coffee. Dr. Craddock asked for cream, and she patted down her apron and said, “I can never find anything in this capricious apron.” “Capricious?” Dr. Craddock repeated. Then she threw out six creamers on the table. He took two and pushed the four back toward the waitress, but she pushed them back towards him, saying, “Better to have and not need than need and not have.” Thinking to himself, “first capricious and now this,” he asked, “Well, are you a waitress or a philosopher?” Then he said, “But best is to take what you need and give the rest away.” There’s always been people who have more. There’s always been people who look younger than we do. There’s always been nicer houses than the ones that we live in. There’s always been families that seem to have it all together. There’s always come a time when what you have to do is stop looking at what they have to see what God has already given. And what has God given? A Son. So, slow down for a minute, and listen to God’s promise from Zephaniah one more time: I will save the lame. I will gather the outcast. I will bring you home. And will change your shame into praise – for the work that we’ve all been doing to ensure that ours is the perfect Christmas has already been done. Thanks be to God. Amen.

A Refiner's Fire

Scripture Lessons: Malachi 3: 1-4 and Luke 1: 68-79 Sermon Title: A Refiner’s Fire Preached on 12/9/18 Last Tuesday your Church Staff was honored to be welcomed into the home of Paul and Janice Philips for the annual Church Staff Christmas Party. This was my second staff party over there, and this one was just as extravagant as the first time I was able to go. They served us hot apple cider and cheese straws as we gathered. Sitting at dining tables we had three sauces to adorn our entre: mango salsa, horseradish, or Jezebel Sauce, and our choice of grilled salmon or smoked prime rib. I chose both. Members of our Administration Council served as waiters. Bill Pardue wore a bow tie, it was outstanding and we all couldn’t help but give thanks for the gift that it is to work at and serve a church where we’re so appreciated. It truly was wonderful, and then Santa showed up. I’m not kidding. He delivered some gifts, financial and otherwise, and he let me in on a little secret – he whispered this to me in reference to Rev. Joe Brice’s behavior at the party: “Maybe Rev. Brice thinks he’s in the clear, but I’m still watching. Bad behavior counts, and anyone could lose their place on the Good List – all the way up to Christmas Eve.” I know that by this point in the month of December, all children have already prepared their lists, and in some way or another, prepared their reputation knowing that the old song has some truth: You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry You’d better not pout; I’m telling you why Cause Santa Clause is coming to town You know the rest – sing it with me if you want to: He’s making a list and checking it twice He’s gonna find out who’s naughty and nice Santa Clause is coming to town This time of year – that’s what kids are worried about. Behavior. They’re thinking about what list they’re going to end up on and who’s coming to town. Adults on the other hand... we’re just worried about guests coming to down. So beds get made. Turkeys defrosted. And Egg nogg nogged. Even if it’s Cousin Eddie’s coming over to do you know what in the storm drain, still there are ways that we adults must prepare for Christmas. But when it comes to children – they prepare a different way. They prepare with a time of spiritual purification, you might call it. Moral redirection. Reputation redemption. This time of year, they are mindful of their behavior knowing that good children will receive gifts and bad children coal. For them, the only imminent guest who matters is Santa Clause and because he’s coming to town his arrival must be prepared for. A child prepares for Christmas by getting her life in order and not her house. That almost sounds like the prophet Malachi. Do you know about the Prophet Malachi? Not many people do. Even Bible scholars don’t know much about the author of this book, little about the historical events that prompted this prophet to write, but what is clear is that Malachi knows that someone is coming to town and knows that with his coming preparation is necessary. But it’s not the kind of preparation that we see on the eve of the arrival of guests or relatives – you don’t prepare for his coming by putting up lights or decking the halls – you prepare for his coming by recognizing that we need purifying in our hearts, minds, and souls – for the one who is coming is “like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap.” According to Suzanne Richard, professor of Old Testament at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey, a fuller – or one who used fuller’s soap – was the ancient world’s version of a dry cleaner. Clothes soaking in lye were stomped as you might imagine a group of people would stomp on grapes to make wine. The clothes were then spread out on the ground to be bleached by the sun in what was called a fuller’s field, which was always outside the city or town. If the one who is coming is like “fuller’s soap” then don’t imagine one of those “Dove Soap” commercials where the soap is so gentle as not to irritate the skin or the kind of shampoo that makes washing your hair a pleasurable experience – the sales pitch for fuller’s soap would be that it is so abrasive that it will bleach that skin right off. The book of Malachi is about a messenger whose sole purpose is to say, “He is coming. The Lord is coming. So get ready. Be prepared, for he will be like a refiner’s fire and like fuller’s soap to all who are defiled and impure.” The messenger is John the Baptist of course. He’s the one whose birth is celebrated in the song his father Zechariah sang at his birth which made up our Advent Candle Lighting Liturgy and our Second Scripture Lesson. Zechariah sang: “You, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,” but what should we be preparing for? A dinner party? No – a Savior who will purify our souls – and purification is no pleasant experience according to Malachi. And this fuller’s soap is disturbing enough with its imagery of harsh cleaning agents, feet stomping, and being left to dry out in the sun, but have you ever seen a refiner’s fire? I had the opportunity to tour an aluminum recycling plant because my friend, Brandom Gengelbach worked there. A recycling plant is an incredible place, amazing really. You have to put on these safety glasses, a helmet, and a protective coat before you go in. Then the tour begins with a look at the finished product – a great big slab of refined aluminum, called an ingot, but to make an ingot you have to start with used or unrefined aluminum, so the next part of the tour is looking at these big piles of car parts, old computers, bicycles, soft drink cans, and old wire. All of this junk is placed in a furnace and the furnace building is one of the hottest places I’ve ever been. It’s one of those places where it feels like your eye balls are sweating. It’s so hot in there you can almost see the heat, but you can go up in the control room and watch as the junk is melted until the impurities – the paint from the drink can, the plastic casing on the wire - all those impurities are burnt off to create something new and pure. I think of that when I read, “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver.” It doesn’t sound pleasant, but here’s something interesting. The Bible uses silver and gold and I’ve been telling you about aluminum. Both silver and aluminum are two of the most reflective of all the metals. When aluminum is heated and purified something called a “lighting sheet” is created so that the metal has a mirror like quality. Apparently that’s also true for silver, that when it’s heated the silver smith knows that his metal is pure because he can see his reflection in it. Think about that then. The metal is refined when it reflects the Maker’s image. And we - we were created in God’s image, but easily enough we gathered impurities the way a white sweater gathers stains, the way metal is painted and wrapped and treated. The human condition is one of starting out pure in the Garden of Eden, but because our Creator instilled in us a capacity to choose for ourselves, our decisions, our circumstance, and our world has corrupted and defiled what was once pure. Refining is what we need, and you know it as well as I do. It doesn’t sound like a relaxing process, but when you look out on the world can you really think for a moment that everything is as it should be? Corruption, disease, pollution, and genocide. Oppression, poverty, cancer, and slavery. Greed creeps into our hearts, and so many try to buy their way to happiness that we have to rent units to store all the junk that we went into debt buying. Desire guides our thoughts, keeping us from being satisfied with the gifts that we’ve already been given. Violence walks the streets, as the innocent are killed, and all are inspired to fear and worry. We are confined to our houses and suspicious of our neighbors. We are distracted and stretched. Overworked, yet struggling to make ends meet. Surrounded by people, yet often feeling all alone. We have too much to eat, yet there is an emptiness we can’t fill. All around us is conflict, war, famine, and discord. But the primary focus of this morning’s Scripture Lessons is not a warning to change our ways. It’s not an assessment of who’s to blame nor is the point that we must rush to do something about all that’s wrong in our world. Instead – in these two Scripture Lessons is a promise that the One who is coming will. And he will not tolerate the kind of denial that distracts us from the real issues. He will not accept the half-hearted apology or the lie that masquerades as truth. And “who can endure on the day of his coming?” is one question that Scripture asks, but “will we endure if he doesn’t come” is another. A new day is dawning, and Scripture is clear that getting to that new day is as painful as being washed with fuller’s soap or being refined in the fire, it’s like a mother giving birth to a new child the Apostle Paul said, for indeed, there is moaning before the shouts of joy. There is confession before forgiveness. And purification before redemption. John the Baptist, born of Zechariah the Priest, is the one who was born to tell us to get ready for it, rejoicing in the promise of what’s to come: The dawn from on high will break upon us, To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, To guide our feet into the way of peace. For we have yet to learn the ways of peace. But he is coming, and Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Days Are Surely Coming

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 25: 1-10 and Jeremiah 33: 14-16 Sermon Title: The days are surely coming Preached on December 2, 2018 Neither our first nor our second Scripture Lesson sound particularly Christmassy on first reading, so now that it’s December 2nd let me read you this: ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. That’s a good one, and it accurately describes what I remember feeling all the nights leading up to Christmas morning throughout my childhood. I remember falling asleep thinking about what Santa Clause would leave under the tree, and the anticipation – the hope – just the act of imagining what was to come brought me joy. Is there anything in a lifetime that a person looks forward to as much as they did as a child looking forward to Christmas morning? I hope so. But there are days when you wonder about that. When your Georgia red is replaced with black for mourning last night’s loss to Alabama. Does it seem to you like hope has died? Being hopeful about the future is hard sometimes. I remember days when I couldn’t wait to get older because I felt like you have to be older to have any fun, but that stops. No one has a fake ID so they can get a Senior Citizens Discount early, do they? At some point, rather than looking forward with optimism, we want to turn back time, fearing that the best days are in the past. We push the sugar-plums of Christmas-morning-to-come out of the way to imagine turning back time so that we wake up with a full head of hair again. So, it goes, that as children we rush down the stairs and into the future, only to turn into adults who mourn the passage of days. But one preacher said there’s a reason the windshield is so much bigger than your rearview mirror. It’s because while we must be mindful of what’s behind us, our focus must always be primarily on what’s ahead. And so, the season of Advent comes onto the scene as a reminder to change our perspective. To reframe our reality, by turning our attention towards what’s ahead. This time of year, is all about the future – and what is it that we have to look forward to? If we truly consider what’s ahead than we’ll be filled with more joyful anticipation than a young child who rushes down the stairs on Christmas morning, for during this time of Advent we remember that what is promised us is the fulfillment of hope. The dawn of dreams. The beginning of joy. The rising tide of justice. The reign of love. The end of death. The coming of Christ. And Jesus, whose birth we anticipate during this season of Advent, is symbolized this morning as a “righteous branch to spring up for David.” “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David.” Now – a righteous branch that springs up from a tree stump is a significant symbol. But, its different in powerful ways from so many of the symbols that represent Jesus and his birthday this Christmas season. Think of the Christmas Tree. I love the Christmas tree as much as I love the thanksgiving turkey. In fact – later today we’re planning on doing one of my favorite family rituals of the whole year – going out to pick our family Christmas tree. Perhaps after some negotiation, a little compromise, and a bit of debate, we’ll settled on a tree. And then, after it’s packaged up in plastic mesh, tied to the roof of the car or stuffed in the trunk, a beautiful tree, cut fresh from its roots, will stand prominently in our living room. I’ll bring down the Christmas boxes from the attic and will be in charge of the lights, Sara and the girls will finish it with decorations, some of which have been in the family since Sara and I were little. But as much as I love a Christmas tree, it can’t last forever. In a month or so, I’ll haul it out of the living room. The tree will be so dried out that I’ll leave a trail of pine needles behind me, and at that point, regardless of how much it cost the only thing to do with this symbol of Christmas once it’s dried out is to toss it to the curb, over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, or give it to an old farmer who will use it to fill gullies that the rain has washed out around his farm. When you think about that – the lifespan of a Christmas tree – then really a Christmas tree represents, not the way our faith celebrates Christmas, but the way our culture does. What does our culture suggest we do, but prepare for weeks, maybe months, while for all the hard work those presents get opened in about 30 seconds and then its over. Our culture is all about leading us up to this grand celebration that comes, then goes – and what do we have left on the afternoon of December 25th but a trashcan full of wrapping paper? Our secular culture celebrates Christmas by anticipating – by dreaming of sugar plums - but once it’s over what do we have besides a dried-out tree to be dragged to the curb. So, to truly embody the kind of hope that we should celebrate during Christmas – maybe we need something different. Maybe we need the words of Jeremiah. “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David…” Now Jeremiah tells us about this righteous branch right after Jerusalem was destroyed – right after the Holy City was cut down like a tree by the Babylonian army who invaded in the year 587 BCE. The invasion was so massive, so complete, that the Temple was demolished, the king deposed, and so many of the survivors shipped off to live in exile. According to the prophet, Israel was a tree – a great tree rooted in a place, among a people, nurtured by God – only to be floored by the ax of Babylon. All around him people were looking back to the past while fearing the future for what kind of future is there for a people whose nation has been reduced to rubble like a tree cut down to a stump? It’s like an empty house – that was once full of life but is now emptied of its contents, sold to the highest bidder, because divorce split the family in two. It’s like the cleaned-out desk – all the contents placed in a cardboard box because the economy slowed and brought cutbacks and layoffs and early retirements. It’s like the memories we made with the person we lost, and now the place she’s left in our lives is like a gully washed out by the rain – something’s missing. In the same way Babylon invaded Jerusalem, the siege is said to have lasted for 30 months, and when the armies finally left – what remained? Only a stump. Only a stump was left, a stump and the memory of a tree that they looked back on like old wedding pictures – an account of bygone days – memories of how good things used to be, turned bitter with the fear that now they’re only going to get worse. But as the smoke lifted and the dust settled this great prophet saw a shoot spring forth. Now there’s a symbol of hope. It’s not so unlike the Phoenix who rose from the ashes of Atlanta. While Sherman wanted her destroyed, reduced to dust to be swept away by the wind – the city rose again to become the traffic nightmare that it is today. Joking aside – if you want a symbol of hope – a symbol to represent our Jesus – look not to the tree that’s been cut down but to the stump that was left only to rise again. Because that’s how God works – that what God does when life cuts us down. When everything that was supposed to happen never did, and everything that wasn’t supposed to happen kept on happening until everything we worked for is gone and the life we’ve been building looks like an old worthless stump in the ground. When that’s the case – when that’s what life looks like to you – keep looking at that stump and just wait – for our God is in the business of bringing hope back to the hopeless. That’s Jesus. A new branch growing out from an old stump. A new baby growing inside an unmarried virgin. A hope that grows from nothing at all – but rises to rule the world. This is Christmas. Not the dried out tree drug to the curb. Not the trash can filled with crumpled paper. The righteous branch that springs up for David. And he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” Now, as Christmas approaches, go buy a tree to celebrate, but when it’s all over, once winter is passed and spring comes again, go out to the yard, find that Bradford Pear Tree you cut down last fall and left for dead and look at how death will not have the final word. That’s hope. That’s Christmas. New shoots rising from an old stump. That’s our Lord – persistent life even in the midst of what appears to be death. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Are You a King?

Scripture Lessons: Revelation 1: 4-8 and John 18: 33-38a Sermon Title: Are You a King? Preached on November 25, 2018 Sara and I celebrated our 16th wedding anniversary last week and were able to get away for a couple days to North Georgia, up near Helen. Helen is a funny place. But the names of roads up there will make you laugh too – we passed by Scorpion Hollow and Booger Hollow. I wonder if the people who live there are ever self-conscious about reporting their address at the DMV. I knew a lady back in Tennessee who lived on a road called Sheep’s Neck, and when she told someone her address, she answered two questions before they even had a chance to ask: 1. Yes, I am serious. 2. And yes, that is out in the country. The best street name we passed up in North Georgia last week was Nonchalant Lane. Now that was a place that I’d like to live. I can just imagine what life is like up there. I bet on Nonchalant Lane on Thanksgiving, everyone shows up to dinner wearing pants with an elastic waist band and no one feels self-conscious about falling asleep on the couch watching football after dinner, and anyone, who would dare interrupt Thanksgiving by trying to force their family into matching outfits for a Christmas Card Photo gets exiled over to Cares Too Much What Other People think Avenue. That might be where my grandmother would have lived. It’s hard to go through life worried all the time about what other people think, but some people are proud. Conscious of appearances. We all are, but some are more than others. Maybe I’ve told you about my grandmother before. She was a proud woman. Wore hose with her bathing suit kind of proud. And one of the stories that got told about her childhood, was that she’d get off the school bus home from elementary school two stops early, so people would think that she lived in the nicer part of town. She’d get off with all those middle-class kids and would walk the rest of the way, just because she didn’t want anyone to know that she lived on the poor side of town. That her brother stayed on the bus and rode the whole way blowing her cover notwithstanding. Now, my grandmother had some very Christ like attributes, but this was not one of them. Christ was more secure in his identity than most of us would dare be. More willing to take stands than most of us are. From the Scripture Lessons we’ve just read it’s easy to gain a sense that our Lord was so secure in his identity, that he would not deny who he was or back away from what he came to do, even when his life hung in the balance. Reading from the Gospel of John, we remembered when Pilate asked him: “Are you the king of the Jews?” You can tell from this interchange that Pilate didn’t really want to trap Jesus. He wasn’t cross examining him or trying to trick him into incriminating himself. In fact, it’s as though Pilate was trying to do everything he could to set Jesus free. All Pilate needed Jesus to do was get off the bus a couple blocks early – just deny who he was a tiny little bit. Jesus wouldn’t do it, though. He was determined not to hide or deny. That’s a superhuman quality then, for if there’s anything we humans are good at its hiding who we really are. Whether it’s getting off the school bus a few stops early or pretending to be the perfect family for the Christmas card, putting on a toupee or too much makeup, telling white lies or keeping our real opinions to ourselves, for mere mortals it takes a profound level of trust before most of us are willing to just come right out and be who we really are – warts and all, because none of us really live on Nonchalant Lane when you get right down to it. There’s a wonderful story I once heard about a wise old Rabbi giving a sermon based on the story of Adam and Eve. Genesis chapter 3 tells of the first sin and its punishment, the story of the serpent who tempted the man and the woman to eat the forbidden fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. After they ate this forbidden fruit their eyes were opened, but soon after their eyes were opened “they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.” “Where are you?” the Lord asked, which is a funny question for the Lord to ask the old Rabbi noted, considering how God already knows everything. “But you see,” the Rabbi said, “the Lord God knew. He always knew where Adam was. But did Adam know? Adam was not lost to the Lord, but in hiding, was Adam lost to himself?” In what is considered by some to be one of the most important philosophical works of the last quarter of a century, The Sources of the Self it’s called, Dr. Charles Taylor claims that we are always in search of ourselves, always wrestling with the question of identity. “Who am I?” we ask, “but this can’t necessarily be answered by giving name and genealogy. What does answer this question for us,” according to Dr. Taylor, “is an understanding of what is of crucial importance to us.” What was of crucial importance to Adam and Eve – well, the story of Genesis tells us that this shifted under the shade of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil – for while in the beginning all that mattered to the first man and the first woman was enjoying God’s creation within the limits God ordained, when tempted by the serpent something shifted, then as the Lord God walked through the garden calling out to the man, “Where are you?” that same shift happened again, for while once they had the kind of relationship where Adam and Eve walked through the garden together with God, in that moment of falling from grace, Adam and Eve thought it more important to hide. That’s human enough, but there’s something in Christ that wouldn’t let him. In his refusal never to deny his true identity we see not only his integrity, but what is of crucial importance to him – namely, to be who God created him to be, and to do what God created him to do. We mere humans on the other hand, are always tempted to hide. When at the DMV, if we live on Booger Hollow there’s a temptation to hide. When riding home on the school bus, if our home is on the poor side of town, we’re tempted to get off the bus early. When sending out Christmas Cards we want to project a certain image of functionality, as though we always dressed in color coordinated outfits, and our lives were but one long family vacation to Europe. When going on a first date there’s the temptation, not to be who we are, but who we think our love interest wants us to be, but I know a guy who always drives a dirty old pick up truck when he takes a girl on a date. “If she’ll take me like this,” he says. When Pilate summoned Jesus he asked him: “Are you the King of the Jews?” We know how Jesus answered, but what you me? What about you? Who am I? That’s no easy question to answer. It’s not set in stone or fixed in history. Identity is more like a ship pushed by the wind of peer pressure and circumstance – and to maintain a sense of who we are we must stand firm, holding close the commitments that matter most. For some people this is easier than others I’m sure. The country music legend Johnny Cash sings a song about a boy named Sue who had to fight every day of his life for his identity “Some gal would giggle and I’d get red And some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head, I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named Sue.” The same must have been true for a woman remembered by the 1880 census of Maury County, Tennessee. The county historian there once called me over to show me that among all the citizens of that great county, was a 35-year-old widow woman – last name Mcville, first name – Parrollee. Now a boy named Sue and a girl named Parrollee learn the same lesson – you want people to really know who you are, you have to learn to stand up for yourself, for the world asks us day and night, “Who are you?” and we answer through our commitments, our promises, the stands we are willing to take. Not just what we are willing to say – but the character we are willing to embody. Not just the words printed on the wall, but the words that guide our decisions. Not just the sermons we listen to or preach, but the sermons that we live. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these the homeless, the tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” These are the words engraved on our Statue of Liberty, stating one of the ideals that we hold close – but are these ideals that we are willing to stand for? “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” For all the years since these words were first written our nation has been working to embody them. Then there’s the greatest commandment: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” That one’s easy to say but it’s hard to do so remember it’s not what we say that matters, it’s the stands we are willing to take, and unfortunately, when it comes to embodying the ideals of our nation or the ideals of our Christian faith, too many of us get off the bus two stops too early. Our Lord is different isn’t he. He stood trial before Pilate, the governor – the man who held our Lord’s fate in his hands. In our Second Scripture Lesson – an event that ironically occurs just after Peter denied Jesus three times – as our Lord stood trial he refused to deny the truth of his identity. The Lord embodied the truth in his every breath. He lived it in his every action. For he is Jesus Christ, the one that Revelation calls “the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.” And it is by his love for us and his determination not to deny us but to face death on the cross, that we are freed from our sins and made us citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. That’s the Good News – that while Peter denied him three times, and while we are guiltily of the same, the Lord refused to deny us. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” And while we sometimes hide in the woods, relying on the most convenient truths rather than the real truth, rejoice in this: Christ won’t hide from us nor will he deny us, and we don’t need to hide from him when he comes again. Amen.

Hannah's Song

Scripture Lessons: 1 Samuel 1: 4-20 and 1 Samuel 2: 1-10 Sermon Title: Hannah’s Song Preached on November 18, 2018 Both of these passages that I’ve just read are about Samuel. Samuel is the prophet who made David and others King over Israel, and Samuel is one of my favorite people in the Bible. The Bible tells us a lot about him. We just read about the circumstances surrounding his birth, so now we know so much of his backstory that we even know what his mother was thinking before he was born. And if Samuel knew what we do now, that kind of insight surely gave Samuel a clear advantage over many children, because knowing that you’re loved and wanted by your parents can shape your self-understanding for your entire life. The child whose mother was disappointed about her pregnancy, who’s been told that she ruined her mother’s life of independence turns out differently from the other who always knew that she was the apple of her daddy’s eye. Knowing what your parents felt about you changes how you see yourself – and knowing that you were loved changes everything. Sara and I are hoping we’ve communicated something of our love to our daughters – something like what Hannah shares with us in Scripture. When she was pregnant, Sara and I got conned into a photography session at her cousin’s house. We love this cousin of hers and her husband, and we still do even after what they did to us. What happened is they got free family photos if they could conn enough of their friends to come over to their house to pay to have their picture taken, and we were among the suckers. So, we went over there, and I already hate this kind of thing. We got dressed up and I had to force a smile, which is hard because I know how weird I look when forced to smile for a picture, but then the photographer wanted us to stage all these poses – and the worst was this – the photographer, she asked me to touch my wife’s pregnant belly with my nose. That’s right. I couldn’t believe the photographer asked me to do it, and Sara couldn’t believe that I actually would. But I did – and doing so made Sara laugh so hard that joy erupted on her face, and right then the photographer took our picture. Today, that picture hangs right over our bed. It’s there for our girls to see. We want them to see it because when we had it framed Sara said, “now they’ll know how happy we were thinking about their birth. Every time they see this picture, they’ll see that we couldn’t wait to meet them. Now they’ll know that before they were even born, we loved them.” Samuel – if Samuel also knew what we just read, these Scripture lessons must have done the same thing for him. If he could remember what his mother Hannah was thinking before he was born, then when he was tempted to believe the voices of self-doubt that he heard inside his head, all he had to do was think back on this account of his mother who cherished him as a gift from God. If he couldn’t sleep for all his frustration with this crazy world of ours, maybe all he had to do was hum to himself the song that she sang him which made up our Second Scripture Lesson, and suddenly reality was reframed. If he started to believe what the bullies said, and if he ever wondered whether the dark cloud would ever lift, or the sadness would ever end, if there was the promise in his mind of a mother’s love and her conviction in the Lord’s provision, then these stories from before he was born was surely like a warm blanket on a cold dark night, holding him tight until the sun rose again. I hope Samuel knew all that backstory that our two Scripture lessons offer because Samuel was up against so much. He was a virtual orphan living in the Temple; the priest’s sons mistreated him, and he only got to see his family once a year. If you read the Harry Potter books you have an idea of what it must have been like to be Samuel. If you didn’t read those books it’s OK – they’re just about an orphan who has no real idea how loved he is. All the time was beaten down because he’s born in a house where his aunt and uncle mistreat him. He’s basically their live-in maid, but then one day he discovers that by his mother he was loved and knowing that changes everything, because love always changes everything. However, the world would have us forget it or would rather us not ever hear about it. That’s why it’s easy for me to imagine Hannah’s fear as she left her son at the Temple. You leave a boy at the Temple and how is he supposed to feel but hurt and abandoned. It’s worse than forgetting your child at the funeral home. Even though he was hardly abandoned it would have been hard to convince him otherwise, for not knowing the whole story that’s exactly what it looks like, and the world would gladly have Samuel or any of us believe the worst explanation that our imaginations might cook up. I’ve heard Rev. Joan Gray say that we must always be upfront and transparent, because what people make up is always worse than the truth – so imagine how important it was for Hannah to do anything she could to make sure that her son knew the whole story of her love for him. The whole story is just as we read it in our first scripture lesson – Hannah longed for a child but pregnancy, which can seem like it comes so easy to everyone else, remained out of her grasp. Unable to conceive she did what many of us do in times of extreme desperation – she made a deal with God. “Oh Lord of hosts,” she pleaded, “if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazerite until the day of his death.” Surprisingly – or un-surprisingly – the Lord accepted this bargain and that meant Hannah had to honor her end of the deal – which would be hard if not practically impossible. Think of her happy times with that child – the first time she felt the baby Samuel kick still in the womb, the time some artist tried to make her husband put his nose on her pregnant belly, the first time she held him in her arms, the first time this mother Hannah heard baby Samuel coo or saw him smile – but all the while, in the back of her mind, shrouding all these good things surely was the promise that she had made. She knew that once he was weaned, she would take him to the Temple and would return home without him, leaving him to wonder as he grew up a servant in the household of God – who am I am I and what does this mean? She wouldn’t be there to answer and to help him understand if he asked, “What did I do to deserve being left at the Temple without a family?” She wouldn’t be there to tell him about her deal with God and should Samuel would grow up wondering, “how could a mother be so cruel as to turn and walk away from her own flesh and blood.” The mind of a young boy is fertile ground for misunderstanding – the mind of anyone is fertile ground for misunderstanding – so Hannah, knowing that she would not be there to wipe away all his tears sings a song that she hopes will speak for her to tell her son that he was loved. She wanted him to know the truth. And by this song which makes up our second scripture lesson we know that she was not being selfish – she was being faithful. He had done nothing wrong – in fact, his mother knew that he would be about the work of setting the world right. And she hadn’t left him alone, for we are never alone; even when we feel the most abandoned our Lord is by our side if we only have the eyes to see. But we don’t always see as we struggle to understand and most of the time in this crazy world we are left to despair. No mother is always there to take us in her lap and to tell us that there might be another way to look at our situation – so being a teenager is hard – being anyone at any age is hard. Every time we read the paper – the reality of our world and our place in it is hard to grasp because we’re always having to wonder what all this means. Like Samul growing up in the Temple, we’re always tempted to ask: Is the world falling apart, or being put back together? Is the President about to be impeached or is he about to make America Great Again? Is that caravan walking north through Mexico a band of women and children who need our help or are they a horde that we must defend ourselves against? In each circumstance we’re all looking at the same data but we’re all seeing different things, because misunderstanding runs rampant in our minds, just as it does in the mind of every child, just as it did with Samuel, and to make any sense out of our world we can’t just turn to Fox or CNN, to one side of the aisle or the other, for it’s love that reframes everything – and it’s the love of God that so truly offers us the only way to truly understand what’s really going on. Just as young Samuel, to understand, needed to remember his mother’s song, so today I call you to listen to Hannah’s song as well. For what everyone is saying today is doom and gloom. Either way you look at it, no matter which side of the aisle you’re on, they’ll tell you that chaos is on the horizon and if you don’t give them the reigns then the foundations of civilization are going to shake – but is there not more in heaven and earth than human philosophy? Is there not more at work in our world than the will of partisan men and women? Is there not something else going on all around us? These days that we find ourselves living in – are not nearly so pivotal as the self-important wish you to believe, for as it was true ages ago, so it is true today – the future rests, not in the hands of mortals who manipulate us or bullies who push us around, but in the hands of our God who is full of love for His children. We have to reframe the world around us, by hearing Hannah’s song. For: The Holy One of Israel – he is a Rock and there is none like him. And the proud – let them not talk so very proudly, and let arrogance not come from their mouth, for the Lord is a God of knowledge and by him actions are weighed. The bows of the mighty are broken – but the feeble girt on strength. The Lord makes poor and make rich; he brings low, he also exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap – and we had better stop our hand wringing and our worrying, for the future is not so uncertain, because the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s and on them he has set the world. We must be bold enough to think again, trusting in the love of God that changes everything that we might sing: “My heart exults in the Lord; My strength is exalted in my God. My mouth derides my enemies, Because I rejoice in my victory.” Amen.

An Inheritance

Scripture Lessons: Job 1: 1-5 and Job 42: 1-6 and 10-17 Sermon Title: An Inheritance Preached on October 28, 2018 John Michael just read the beginning of Job, and I just read the very end, and I wanted to read the beginning and the end together because a couple weeks ago I heard an Old Testament Professor, Dr. Bill Brown, explain that the book of Job ends almost exactly where it began. After all the suffering in the middle, his fortunes are restored, the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before, but the way Job acts in the end is pretty different from how he acted in the beginning. Did you notice that? I never had before, but Dr. Brown points out this significant difference – in the end of the book we read that “Job gave his daughters an inheritance along with their brothers,” but in the first chapter of Job, Job is described as a man so “blameless and upright,” so consumed with “fearing God and turning away from evil” that when his seven sons would “hold feasts in one another’s houses” inviting their three sisters “to eat and drink with them,” afterwards “Job would send and sanctify them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all; for Job said, “It may be that my children have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.” That was what Job always did.”” That’s a nice idea, but there’s a problem with that. There’s a problem with sacrificing one animal for each of your kids, because there are some things that you just can’t do for them. You can’t be a Christian for your kids, you know? There’re all kinds of things parents are tempted to do for their children, but the line between helping and enabling is thin but crucial. Imagine that your 6th grade son leaves for school but left his homework on the kitchen table. You know that he needs to turn it in that day, that he’s worked hard on it and will be penalized when he can’t turn it in, so you’re tempted to bring it to him at the school, but you don’t want to get in the habit of doing things like that, because if he’s 35, living in the basement, and you’re still bringing him his brief case at the office when he forgets it on the kitchen table that’s embarrassing for everybody involved. Last Wednesday night our District Attorney, Vic Reynolds was here at the church. He was in a panel moderated by the always Honorable but recently retired Chief Justice Harris Hines, and on this panel that was discussing the opium epidemic facing our community Mr. Reynolds said, “There’s nothing that will give a human more dignity than a job.” Everyone on the panel was talking about drugs, and why people use drugs, and Mr. Reynolds said that if people don’t have anything to do with their lives, if there’s nothing there to fill their days; if they’re not just lonely but also disempowered, a good way to build them up is to get them a decent job so they’ll see what they’re capable of, but Job got in the bad habit of doing too much for his children. That’s not good – but it happens. There’s a quote on our plaque honoring all the boys who earned the rank of Eagle Scout through our Troop 252. My brother’s name is on there. If you look at all the names you’ll recognize a bunch of them, and on there is a quote at the top from Teddy Roosevelt: “Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.” But I know some of those Eagle Scouts rendered that quote ironic, because the work done to earn the rank was done by their daddy. We parents can’t do too much for our kids. Especially, we can’t be Christian for them. An old preacher used to say, “God has children, but no grandchildren.” Just because his mama was a prayer warrior and his daddy was an elder and they both sat on the front row every Sunday, that doesn’t mean that their son’s relationship with God is taken care of because God has children, but no grandchildren, and all of us must be washed in the blood of the Lamb for ourselves. We all must walk that lonesome valley, and nobody else can walk it for us, you’ve got to walk it by yourself. But parents try to walk it for their children. I try to for our kids – but even if their daddy’s a preacher they’re the ones who are responsible for their relationship with God. We can help – and God’s always reaching out to them, but nobody else can do it for them. On the other hand, Job offered those sacrifices just in case his kids might have sinned. You know, we can encourage our children, but we can’t do everything for them or they’ll get all messed up. A son who got a small loan from his father when he was a young man that he turned into a fortune is one thing. The father who made his son a millionaire by the time he turned three is something entirely different. There are some things that everyone has to do on their own – and if too much is given to them they’ll take all the credit without doing any of the work. “Some people are born on third base and think it’s because they hit a triple,” is what a preacher I know likes to say – and that’s true. I do it all the time. I walked into a Bible study last Tuesday. I was supposed to start the class right at 12, and there I was. I walked into that room right at 12 to start the class and as I did all the ladies in there clapped. I thought they were clapping for me, and when I got home I told Sara, “You can’t believe how much those ladies love the way I teach Revelation. They clapped when I entered the room.” Turns out they only clapped because I finally showed up on time. You see – people take credit for too much. And when we do everything for our kids they don’t grow up grateful. They grow up entitled. So, the way Job ends is different from how it begins. In the end – Job doesn’t offer sacrifices for them, he gives all of them, even his daughters, something to inherit. The trick that the book of Job teaches then, is giving them enough help that they can do it themselves. Enough money so they can go out and make something of themselves. Enough opportunities for education that they can get educated. Enough guidance that they can meet God on their own – because we can’t do it for them. You know what happens – we drag them here, and then they finally get confirmed in 7th grade and we treat it like they’re graduating from church. A youth minister told me that one time. Be careful about honoring High School Graduates in a worship service, because some of them will think that now they’re done with religion just like they’re done with High School. That’s what will happen unless we can find a way to make this house of worship their house too. So, we’ve asked John Michael to read Scripture this morning. That’s an important job, and we didn’t ask him because he looks sharp up here behind the pulpit – we asked him because he has something to teach us – because he has something to give this church too. Everyone deserves the chance to give. I gave blood in-between services today. Sara asked me if I thought that was such a good idea. I said, “No, it’s not.” If I pass out John Michael’s taking over – but the thing about it is – is it’s easy not to give blood if there are plenty of people who will do it if I don’t – but this time, if we didn’t make 32 pints the Red Cross was going to quit having blood drives at our church – so I rolled up my sleeves and did it. I’m glad I did – because I’m 0 negative and they give baby’s my blood. It makes me proud to give, but I have a million excuses why I can’t – then when I know I’m needed it feels so good to make my contribution. That’s what Job gave to his children in the end – the joy of doing work worth doing. And that’s what Stewardship is about – and I know there are a million reasons not to give to the church this year – but don’t let the reason that you don’t give be that plenty of people around here will do it if you don’t, because this church is yours too. I say that to you if you’re 98 and if you’re 8 months – you have something to give this church. You have something to contribute, and you can’t let anyone else do it for you. When I was 17, the Youth Group of this church elected me to be their president. Now before that time I hadn’t really been that big a part of things. My parents taught Sunday School, and because my grandmother pinched my mother during the sermons when she was a child, we didn’t make it to worship when I was a kid a whole lot. She didn’t want to have to pinch us. Somebody said, the best thing about being a preacher is you don’t have to sit next to your kids in church. Staying out of here during worship when I was a kid was nice – but you know what was better? When the youth group elected me to be their president. That was a big deal – and I don’t even really know what my official role of youth group president was, but I can tell you what I thought it was. I thought I needed to be at everything, and so, when I was Senior in High School and my parents were all set to take us all to London for my cousin’s wedding, but it was the same week that the youth group was going to Montreat for the Youth Conference and I said, “Sorry mom and dad, but I can’t go. I have presidential responsibilities.” I might not have said it exactly like that – but what I’m trying to say is that instead of this church doing everything for me, all at once I was put to work – and that work, being asked to contribute made all the difference in the world to me. We wonder why young people have this problem with commitment – but why should they if in the end we’ll just do it for them? That’s what changed with Job. Bill Paden has an even better story than mine. He had tickets to Super Bowl I. He was already in Los Angeles on business, and he had tickets, but you know what he did, he flew back here and missed the game, because on that Sunday he was to be ordained as a Deacon of First Presbyterian Church. Two of his grandsons have just been asked to be deacons for the first time as well, and Bill’s passing something on to them – this church is passing something on to them – it’s an inheritance like the one that Job gave his children in the end of the book. It’s not the kind that’s so big they’ll never have to work again. This inheritance puts them to work; this inheritance enables them to contribute to make this church their own. That’s the big difference between what Job does at the beginning of the book compared to what he does at the end. After all he suffered, at the end of the book he’s given up making sacrifices on behalf of all his children and decided instead to give his daughters an inheritance along with his sons. Now that’s a revolutionary thing to do. But think about what it would have meant to them – instead of trying to protect them from the world, now Job’s given them a chance to make their own way in it. Instead of doing everything for them, now Job’s given even his daughters the means to do for themselves. Instead of making sacrifices on their behalf, now they can make their sacrifices, live their lives, and worship their God. It’s a major difference – and you can’t help but think that this difference is the result of all that’s happened to him, for when we are faced with the chaos of the world, the devastation, the hardship and injustice, the choice we often face is whether we’ll hide the world as it is from our children or give them the tools to deal with it. This week, as a church we face just how hard the reality of our world is. David Blake, a child of our church, was finally found near Little Kennesaw Mountain – and we all must wonder how to talk with our kids about it, because the reality of depression can’t be hidden, or it will take even more. Job tried to do it all for his kids. He tried to protect them, but far better is to pass on an inheritance – so that all our children and our grandchildren might make this faith their own and say of their own volition despite all the storms of life, still: “I know that my redeemer lives.” Amen.

Dealing Gently with the Ignorant and Wayward

Scripture Lessons: Hebrews 5: 1-10 and Job 38: 1-11 and 38: 34 – 39: 4 Sermon Title: Dealing Gently with the Ignorant and Wayward Preached on October 21, 2018 I titled this sermon, “Dealing Gently with the Ignorant and Wayward.” That’s a line from the 1st Scripture Lesson from Hebrews, where the author claims that Christ, our Great High Priest, deals gently with the ignorant and wayward, which is good news to me, because I am often both of those things. This is the third sermon on the book of Job. For the third Sunday in a row we turn to this book that’s hard to understand; a book that I’ve been wrestling with and trying to preach a good word from. I could have called an expert on Job for help, but I didn’t. That may be the very definition of ignorance – having the opportunity to gain knowledge but choosing instead to dwell in ignorance. I could have asked our resident Job expert for help but I didn’t. Dr. Brennan Breed is our new Theologian in Residence. He’s an Old Testament Professor at the seminary and he’s teaching a great Sunday School Class in the Sanctuary. You knew that already, but what you maybe didn’t know is that so much of his work as a scholar is dealing with how we should understand Job. He’s by all definitions a Job Scholar, but I was slow to ask him for help. Why? I realized that I wanted to write these sermons all by myself. Sure, I read some books, but I could have called one of the guys who wrote the books. I realized that last Sunday. Here I’ve been wrestling with Job, trying to understand it, and I could have just asked for help, but I was slow to do so, because I am often ignorant and wayward. And I’ve been this way for most of my life. My mother’s in town. She can tell you about other times I’ve chosen ignorance. Since she’s in town this weekend, so I’d like to tell you two stories about my mother that might embarrass her. The first takes place at a fancy restaurant, maybe the first fancy restaurant I’d ever been to. I was six or seven and my order came with a piece of parsley on it as a garnish. I’d never seen something so fancy before. I asked my mom what it was for and she said it was just to make my plate look pretty. I asked her if it was edible, and she said, “Try it and find out.” Not all of her parenting techniques are what you’d call typical. Then once, when I threw a temper tantrum, frustrated with something that she’d asked me to do, something really unfair like asked me to clean my room, she said something equally surprising. I was probably 6, and I told her I’d be running away. She said, “well, let me help you pack.” That was not what I was expecting her to say, but then it got stranger. “What are you going to eat out in the world all by yourself?” she asked. I didn’t have a plan for eating, so we made some crackers and peanut butter. She wrapped them in a handkerchief and tied the bundle to the end of a stick, just like the hobo’s used to do. Then I barged out of there to start a life on my own, living by my own rules without my mother interfering all the time. I walked up the sidewalk about 100 yards, but all that walking made me hungry, so I sat down and took out my crackers. Once I finished eating them, because I had depleted my store of food, I swallowed my pride and went back home, realizing I didn’t want to do things all by myself, and my mother welcomed me back in because she also deals gently with the ignorant and wayward. On a grander scale I believe God does the same for Job in our 2nd Scripture Lesson. It seems to me as though God is saying to our friend Job: “You don’t like this world I’ve created? Well, let me help you pack.” God shows up and says to Job (Job, this man who’s had all these complaints): “Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you… where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Surely you know!” And “what would you eat if I didn’t make it rain?” “Can you lift up your voice to the clouds, so that a flood of waters may cover you?” “You don’t even know where the mountain goats give birth, but you’re ready to take issue with how I’m running this place?” It’s an incredible and beautiful speech – and surely it shook Job to his core, which is OK because sometimes we all get too big for our britches. We say: I don’t want to ask for help, I’d rather do it myself. Mom asks us to clean up our room, and we want to hit the road, but once we’re out on our own we realize how big the great wide world really is, so it can be comforting to be put back in our place. Embarrassing, but comforting. I think that’s what happened to Job. I remember something similar happening in an assembly at Hickory Hills Elementary School when I was a student there. The speaker was an inventor and she wanted to know if any of us kids had ever invented anything. She called up all the little inventors and one by one they went down the line, reporting on their inventions. One kid had invented a basket that went on the back of his bicycle and held his lunchbox. Another made pants with Velcro around the knee, so he could take the bottom part of his pants legs off and they could quickly turn into shorts (I hope that kid made some money by now, because now you can buy those things). But what I remember best was this little kindergartner who got up there and told us all that one time she and her grandma got a pitcher of water and a packet of mix and they invented Kool aide. We all laughed at that of course, but how arrogant all of us can be. While we didn’t create this world, so often we walk around like we own the place. God invited Adam to name the animals, so what do we do? We shoot them and mount them on our walls like we’re the King of the Jungle. The Lord spoke and created continents, but just because we draw borers upon them, that doesn’t mean that they’re ours. Stewardship Season is here again. And I know you don’t like Stewardship Season all that much. Believe it or not, I don’t like asking you for money very much either – but with Stewardship Season comes this very important reminder that’s so much like God’s reminder to Job. Stewardship Season is the time where we look at our pledge card and decide how much of our money we’ll so generously give to the church, but God is asking, “You think any of that money’s yours?” CS Lewis says it’s like our father gave us $10.00 and sent us to the store to buy him a Father’s Day Present. But we spend nine dollars on our self and one on the gift. We might as well be claiming we invented Kool Aid. God asks us: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? “Or who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out through the womb?” “And I know that you have that nice office and a fancy paycheck, but just who do you think you are and where would you be had I not given you the means to make that money in the first place?” In our Second Scripture Lesson for this morning, the Lord answers Job, but it’s the kind of answer that turns our lives upside down but right-side up, because all of a sudden, we realize that we’ve eaten all our crackers on the sidewalk 100 yards from our house. We can see how ignorant and wayward we really are. Trying to control. Fearing the truth. Have you seen the things that people do today to hold on to power? It’s time to go back home, isn’t it? To submit to the higher authority. It’s time to let him hold the whole world in his hands, because we can’t hold it ourselves. It’s a good thing “He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward,” because that can be us – and when God puts us back in our place we are free from all the anxiety that comes from trying to play God ourselves. There’s this great quote from GK Chesterton: “How much happier you would be, how much more of you there would be, if the hammer of a higher God could smash your small cosmos”. That’s what God did to Job – and I’m thankful, for when God does the same for me, I see that the world He has created is so much greater than the little fiefdom I’ve tried to control. It’s a gift to realize how little we know – for in confessing our ignorance the world of knowledge opens up. Once we stop trying to control what the truth is – the truth will set us free. It’s also a gift to return to God, for when we remember that there is a God in heaven, we realize we don’t have to be Him. A grandfather told me about it last week. I was asking Andy Tatnall what it’s like to see his daughters hold his grandchildren, and he said, “I wish I could have seen that moment when they were younger. Had I had this picture of them being such wonderful parents in my mind while they were young, I would have been a more relaxed father, because when they were young, and I was their father I spent so much time worrying about how they would turn out. Now that I’ve seen them be these incredible parents I realize I worried over them when I could have been enjoying them.” May the Lord deal gently with us, the ignorant and wayward, and ease us all back from our desire to control what we cannot, that we might enjoy this world He has created. Amen.

To Vanish in Darkness

Scripture Lessons: Hebrews 4: 12-16 and Job 23: 1-9 and 16-17 Sermon Title: To Vanish in Darkness Preached on October 14, 2018 I once spent a summer in a maximum-security women’s prison. I wasn’t incarcerated there, I was learning about being a chaplain by shadowing the one who served that prison, though I probably learned the most that summer from the women who were incarcerated there than the chaplain I was shadowing. There was one woman in particular. From her I learned a most profound lesson about resilience when I went to hear her sing on the second floor of the building where those inmates who, like her, suffered from mental illness lived. I was sent up there because all the women there liked to sing hymns, and somehow or another I was invited to hear them. They gathered in one room with me, they were all in their brown prison jumpsuits, and one of the women, she must have been seven feet tall. I heard later she was locked up because she had attacked a man with a rake. She sat down next to me. I introduced myself. We exchanged pleasantries, and then it was time to sing. One by one they got up to sing. I don’t remember who was first but there’s this one in particular that I remember. She wore thick glasses. She was probably 20, and she stood before us all and sang a song that defied the hopelessness and sadness of that whole prison. She sang: “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.” It’s a simple song, but it was a picture of defiance – because the hope that she embodied when she sang and those words that she brought to life challenged everything about those gray prison walls. I tell you this story because that woman showed me something that I’m still learning about. I’m still learning about what it means to be faithful regardless of where life takes me, and I want to learn how to be as faithful as that young woman, because for me, life is full of ups and downs and sometimes the way I feel about my place in the world goes up and down right with it. Take this last Monday. Last Monday started off great. I’m back in school working for my doctorate, and when I got to class on Monday our professor returned our first two papers and I got an A on them both. But the other thing that happened last Monday was I sat down on Cece’s bed to read her a bedtime story and heard a loud crack as her footboard broke and I ended up in the floor. Cece laughed at me. Sara and Lily came down the stairs to laugh at me too, and so a day of alchemic accomplishments ended in humiliation, but that’s how life is. And because that’s life – we can’t put too much emphasis on accomplishments – because accomplishments can be followed with failures. We can’t put too much emphasis on wealth or property – because what we have might be here one day and gone the next. That’s what happened with Job. The book of Job with this man who loses everything illustrates this important truth of life – that we can’t put too much emphasis on fame or fortune, youth or beauty, wealth or property – because we might be getting straight A’s one minute only to break the bed the next – but we can’t let a broken bed break us. The alternative is embodied by this woman who sang in the prison. Every day she woke up, saw the sunshine through bars on her window. Put on the brown jumpsuit of an incarcerated criminal. If you need help feeling like a looser, those two things alone will do it nearly every time. Put on top of that the stigma attached to mental illness and for most people – they’re scraping themselves up off the floor – but not her. No – despite everything that had gone wrong and every accomplishment that came to nothing, still she knew something that sometimes I forget, “That his eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.” That’s a powerful declaration of faith in a place like a prison. And it’s a declaration like that – a faithful conviction like that which will get you through a prison sentence or any of the other ups and downs of life – because while Christ watches over us always, we can’t always count on anybody else. Another thing about prisons is how easy it is for some people on the outside to forget about the people inside. It’s the same with hospitals and nursing homes. These are places where too many people are suffering all alone. No one by their side and no one really understanding. It’s just the opposite of when you have a new baby. Some major events we are surrounded – others we’re not. It’s a strange thing that when you have a new baby in the house everybody wants to come visit. Even when parents are weird about who touches the baby, still everyone wants to come over. It’s not always that way when people are suffering. You know, when Lily was a baby we bought these shoe cover things. These blue disposable things that we asked everyone to slip on over their shoes, so they wouldn’t track into the house any contaminates from the outside world. Getting in to our house when we had a new baby – it was like we expected everyone to suit up as though they were entering a sterile laboratory. We made everyone sanitize their hands, put those things over their shoes. We’d put you out if you sneezed. Visitors who had a runny nose could just leave their gifts and casseroles at the door. We made it hard, but people wanted to come see the baby any way. It’s not always like that when someone’s suffering. It’s hard to go visit people in the prison, in the hospital, or the funeral parlor but some people do it, and Job’s friends went to visit him too in the midst of his suffering. Scripture tells us that “when they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air above their heads. [Then] they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.” I remember a professor in seminary telling us that this is one of the great examples of real friendship. They go and just sit with their friend in his time of need – this is just what we all long for when we’re suffering ourselves – “but then,” my professor said, “then, they opened their mouths.” Job dares to speak to his friends from the depth of his despair, but you know what his friends did? By their replies they made him feel even more alone. Job curses the day he was born, and Eliphaz tells him he suffers because he has sinned. Job says, “my suffering is without end,” and Bildad tells him he should repent. Job declares, “I loathe my life,” and Zophar tells him he deserves his punishment. It goes along like this from chapter 3 all the way to chapter 31 – for 28 chapters Job’s suffering is compounded because in his suffering he finds that he’s all alone. That’s why he says what he did in our 2nd Scripture Lesson for today: “If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face.” He says that because there is a place lower than the ash heap – that place where you suffer in silence – in looking for understanding from your friends, they instead try to explain your suffering away – that’s not just a place of sadness, that’s a place of disappearing into nothingness. Plus, he’s looking for God in the midst of all of this – and his friends tell him to straighten up. Get it together. You know what it is that’s just happened to him? He became the one everyone was praying for – but no one wanted to be seen with. And in chapter 32 they leave him all alone. You know what that’s like? Sure, you do. In class this week I heard from a friend who’s an associate pastor for this great big youth group. He watched as 30 middle school girls walked out of their cabin one Saturday morning at their youth retreat. 29 of them had on the same black yoga pants and a long sleeve t-shirt. One poor girl didn’t get the memo. You know what that’s like? We parents say that it’s what’s on the inside that counts, and we mean it. But how we contradict ourselves when we pay $400 on a homecoming dress that emphasizes more than our daughter’s personality. Why do we do that? Because no one wants their kid to be left out of the group. No one wants their kid to be the one that everyone turns their back on because she doesn’t have the right clothes or the right hair or the right car. We live in this world where we are always working to fit in. Always working to be accepted. But acceptance is just like so much else in this life – it can be here one day and gone the next. Consider Job. He’s not in the ash heap this morning. No – he’s actually some place worse. “God has made my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me; If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness cover me face!” because in addition to losing all that he had he also lost his friends. Now here’s a place where many people go, but not all of them return. It’s the place where we’re stripped of everything. Everything that made us feel secure. Everything and everyone who gave us identity and worth. There, all alone we begin to vanish into the thick darkness. That’s what happens when the bed breaks and we break with it. We step on the scale, and that number determines how we’ll feel about ourselves for the rest of that day. We try to understand our place in this world and we use numbers – how many people liked my photo. How many friends do I have. What’s my score? And it gets worse. I remember once, when my grandparents wanted to take Sara and me out to dinner. We met at their house and right before we left he said, “Let me run upstairs and check my stocks so I can see how nice of a restaurant I can take us out to.” As he said that my grandmother was rolling her eyes, because she knew that some things go up and then they come down and should we be so foolish to place too much importance on such numbers than our worth will always be held captive by forces outside our control. But that’s what we do. Economic depressions inspire emotional depressions. Hard days make for hard looks in the mirror where we question ourselves. Suicide rates rise because this thick darkness covers too many faces and not enough of us know how to sing: “His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me.” But it’s not just that he watches – it’s that he’s right beside us. From Hebrews we read: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are.” We “approach” his throne of grace with boldness, because he’s walked a mile in our shoes and understands what others fail to comprehend. And his presence must be the solid rock that we build on our lives upon, because he gives us freely what this world tells us we must work hard to gain. The world tells us that to be somebody we have to make a great name for ourselves – but he’s already made us somebody. The world tells us that to be accepted we have to dress right and do what’s expected of us whether we want to or not – but he’s already accepted us. That’s what this woman in the prison knew so well – that even when she lost her freedom and was confined to a cell. Even after she was stripped of her clothes and given a brown jump suit. Even after her friends and family turned their back and left her alone – she knew something that too few of us remember – that his eye is one the sparrow, and I know he watches me. That’s what baptism means you see – all that we work for he gives so freely. Remember that – and be at peace.

From the Ash Heap

Scripture Lessons: Hebrews 1: 1-4, 2: 5-12; and Job 1: 1, 2: 1-10 Sermon Title: From the Ash Heap Preached on 10.7.18 The whole month of September, Sunday after Sunday, I preached from the book of James, and I felt like after all the time we spent with James challenging us to be better Christians, we needed something a little uplifting – some encouragement, but now, here we are in Job. Job is another challenging book, but I’m thankful to be reading it, because if we find ourselves in the ash heap with Job this morning, we find ourselves in a place that we’ve all been before; a place that we all need Job’s help to understand. You know about the ash heap. The ash heap is a place where everything has unraveled, and we’re tempted to give up. To quit. If we find ourselves there, then things haven’t gone how they were supposed to go, and, what’s worse, not only are we broken down and discouraged, if not our spouse, then someone else is always there nearby the ash heap urging us “to curse God and die” as Job’s wife did. You know what I’m talking about, because everyone does. Consider our friend Dansby Swanson. Since the Braves are in the postseason, last Wednesday at all the Marietta City Elementary Schools, students were encouraged to wear their Atlanta Braves hats and t-shirts. Our daughter Lily wore her Dansby Swanson jersey, and all the kids in the school, who like her, chose to wear number 7, they were called out to the front steps of West Side school for a picture. Lily said there must have been 50 of them in all, all wearing their Dansby Swanson shirts. And Dansby’s mother, who works at the West Side school, she came out and when she saw them all she cried, because her son who’s worked so hard to make it to National League playoffs, has injured his left hand and doesn’t get to play. He might be sitting in the dugout later today for the game, but it’s really the ash heap. He doesn’t want to be in the dugout. He wants to be out in the field. It’s surely a big disappointment that he’s going through. I dare say, he’s going to be alright however, because some people – some people like Dansby Swanson - when they find themselves in the ash heap – despite the temptation to allow the injustice to consume them – they persevere. That’s why, as they interview candidates to be our next Associate Pastor, I asked the search committee to ask every candidate as the chair, Hal McClain once asked me, to tell the committee about the worst year of their life. You can tell everything you need to know about a person by hearing how they respond when they find themselves in the ash heap. When you’re in the ash heap, what will you do? And I say that Dansby Swasons is going to be OK, because he’s made it out of the ash heap before. His first season – he was a candidate to win the Rookie of the Year Award, and the Braves moved their stadium here to Marietta, to his hometown and made him the poster boy of their whole advertising campaign, but Swanson ended the season statistically as the worst defensive shortstop in baseball. Can you imagine what that was like? Sure, you can – because you’ve been there too. Everything was supposed to go one way, but the winds shifted, the tide went out, and all at once your boat runs aground and the clear skies became foreboding. To many such a change is interpreted as a tremendous injustice – an unfairness that they never get over, because they weren’t prepared for life to deliver lemons and they don’t know how to make lemonade. I’m reading a book about a mother, who in an attempt to encourage her son to pray, finds out that among his first prayers to God he voiced his greatest prayer request: to receive a bag full of apple flavored lollypops coated in caramel. So, she snuck the lollypops under his pillow that night – which on the one hand seems like a good idea. We want our kids to pray, so why not encourage them by finagling a way for a prayer here and there to be answered? But the problem is that sometimes we pray for lollypops and we end up in the ash heap, because God isn’t like Santa Clause, and we can’t “receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad.” The bad has a lesson for us to learn as well. A life that’s all roses only prepares us to live in the rose garden and not the real world – and it’s important that we all know what to do when it rains on our parade, because at some point we might be driving a trailer full of cows down I 75 South that topples over just before rush hour. What we do in such a situation matters, because the measure of a man is not determined when he’s relaxing on the beach. A woman’s life won’t be defined by what she does at a picnic in the park on a Sunday afternoon but when her world falls apart. What will she do then? That’s when we come to really know what faith is really all about – we don’t know what prayer is until we’ve stood at the door knocking week after week to no answer. Then Lot’s wife comes to our side saying, “Do you still persist in your integrity? Curse God, and die” that’s when we learn something. Job hits rock bottom and he still won’t sin with his lips – that’s what the book is all about. Job facing the true unfairness of human life with faith – but plenty have faced such hardship only to learn that they’ll do anything to get by. That’s what George Will wrote about this week. I’ve been reading George Will a long time. My grandfather used to cut out his columns and send them to me. It started when I was 11 or 12, a thick manila envelope would come in the mail, addressed to me from my grandfather. I’d open it up so excited thinking he was sending me baseball cards or something else that I’d actually want, but instead it’d be packed full of George Will articles. Last Thursday he reminded us readers about Robert Penn Warren’s book, “All the King’s Men.” In this legendary book, the main character says: “Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the [diaper] to the stench of the shroud,” Then, when an aide tells Stark that a particular act of securing dirt on a fellow politician is beneath the dignity of a governor, Stark replies that “there ain’t anything worth doing a man can do and keep his dignity.” George Will followed with this: “We should hope, against much current evidence, that this is not true.” We look then to Job – because there is more than one way to deal with desperate times, though this narrow path may not be modeled for us readily. We look then to Job, asking: “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” or give up abandoning our morals? You don’t need to answer that question – by your actions over the past three years, you already have. I’m a witness to your Job like faithfulness in times of unjust tragedy. Today is the first Sunday of October. Three years ago this week, Dr. Dave Mayo preached his last sermon from this pulpit as the Senior Pastor of this church. Three years ago, this very week, he left his position here to lead about 300 members of our church in a schism, dividing our congregation in two. Three years ago, this very week – the choice you faced was like every other group of people who ever found themselves in the ash heap – would we curse God and die, giving up and closing our doors? That was a real possibility. But instead - you accepted the truth – that the road to the Promised Land is not a simple walk through the desert, but a journey that might lead you to an oasis one day and an ash heap the next – and the only way you won’t make it there is if you quit walking. You lived it out - that if we receive good from God, we must also dare to believe that God also works through the bad – and as I look around this church now – as I see your faces today - I give thanks to God for everything that He has done, for today while so much has fallen away, what remains is life. What’s still here, is joy. What we have is hope – so we move into the future not with malice, but with forgiveness. For today, despite the past - we have an eye to the future and faith in our hearts, believing that while God may sometimes give us more than we think we can handle, the Lord is with us in the ash heap just as the Lord is with us on the mountain top. With such faithful vision as that, we see as Christ saw. For had Christ been without faith, his last words would have been: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” But those aren’t his last words. You remember what he said to the one hanging on the cross right next to him? “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” Christ, the innocent one who suffered– Hebrews tells us that he is the “pioneer” of “salvation” made “perfect through sufferings” – even in our suffering, let us follow him to Paradise. Amen.

Speak with Boldness

Scripture Lessons: Esther 7: 1-6 and James 5: 13-20 Sermon Title: Speak with Boldness Preached on September 30, 2018 During seminary, as I trained to become a pastor, my first internship was at the old Georgia Baptist Hospital where I was to learn from their chaplains about visiting people in the hospital. By the time I was in seminary it had been renamed the Atlanta Medical Center, and once a week I was charged with visiting patients on the ICU floor, so I went from room to room, introducing myself to strangers and asking them about their personal struggles. It was a role I felt completely unqualified to fill. I couldn’t believe they just let me do that. I’d walk right in and meet people in the middle of whatever medical crisis they were facing. I’m sure it was the worst day of many of their lives. Then here I come. Sometimes they seemed to tolerate my efforts, other times they were glad to see me go. For me, all of it was terrifying, because I had in my mind an idea that these poor people might want to talk with me about the great theological issues of life. That one might ask me: “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Or, “Why, young chaplain intern, is there suffering in the world?” Of course, it got worse after my friend Fred told me about his experience. He was called into a hospital room where a man had just died. He asked the man’s wife if he might pray with her and her sister, which Fred did. He asked God to comfort them in their time of grief, and gave thanks for this man’s life, but at the end of the prayer the man’s wife looked like she was expecting something more out of Fred, so she said, “Well, aren’t you going to try to raise him from the dead?” This story basically confirmed all my worst fears about visiting people in the hospital as a chaplain intern. However, in reality, the most I was ever asked to do beyond say a simple prayer, was to give someone a backrub, so thinking of Fred’s story on the one hand and the reality of what I was ever actually asked to do, I realize that my fears built up so much that I was nearly afraid to do anything at all. Do you remember as a child, being nervous about talking to your friend after he’d lost his grandmother? Were you nervous, wondering: What will I say? What if he cries? And were you so nervous that maybe you waited until the time had passed to say anything at all? I remember the pastor who preached my great uncle Jim’s funeral. He told the story of being a 9 or 10-year-old boy. His father had just died, and his house was full of people. So full that he couldn’t really make out much of it. His memory of the day was of a bunch of men and women wanting to say some words that would make this young boy feel better. The only vivid memory this preacher had of that sad day was climbing the steps, and as he did, someone took his hand and squeezed it. That was all – but that was all my Great Uncle Jim needed to do, for despite all the years that had passed between the day of his father’s funeral when he was a child and the day of my Great Uncle Jim’s death, that preacher, now retired, remembered that simple gesture which told him he wasn’t alone on one of the worst days of his life. You see – it is a scary thing to do what James is calling us to do. From this book of the Bible that we’ve been dealing with all month, I just read another passage with plain and clear instruction that pushes many of us beyond our comfort zones: Are there any among you suffering? Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.” Doing such a thing as that sounds scary, but it’s only scary because our imagination can convince us that in the presence of our suffering or sick friend, we’re going to be asked to do some huge thing, and maybe we will – but more likely, they’ll never even remember what we said, they’ll only remember whether or not we were there. I remember going to visit Roy. He was on oxygen and rarely left the house, except to go and eat at the Red Lobster. His wife Dodie asked me to come over to bring him communion, but when I got there I walked in the house and realized I had forgotten the home communion set. Years later when I left that church to go to Tennessee, you know what Dodie gave me as a going away present? A home communion set. And when Roy died I called Dodie, even though by then I was serving a different church in a different state. I called just to tell her I was sorry. And she cried. Not because I knew the perfect thing to say but because I took the time to call. Think about that. Have you ever waited and waited to call a friend who is going through a time of chaos for fear of saying the wrong thing? That happens. People do say the wrong thing. We had a friend in Tennessee who didn’t know what to say to a mother who’d just lost her son. But she knew her son had played football for Alabama, so to fill in the silence she said to this grieving mother: “Roll Tide.” And that’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever said at a funeral. Worse to say are those empty platitudes like: “God must have needed another angel in the choir.” We say those kinds of things because we don’t know what else to say, but we have to remember how much power to heal there is in just showing up in an authentic and honest way. There is plenty of strength in standing before the power of death fortified with the truth of the Gospel and the truth of ourselves. We don’t have to know what to say. And we don’t have to know what to do – but we do have to show up. I remember when Joanne was dying. Hospice arranged for a nice hospital bed to be put in her dining room, so she wouldn’t have to go up and down the stairs. Her husband slept on the coach in the next room, and even though it was Christmas time they hadn’t bothered with a tree, hadn’t really bothered with much of anything other than soaking up ever second that she had left. Her friends in the choir – they all wanted to do something, but Joanne and her husband didn’t want visitors, so one of them called and asked her husband just to open the windows in the dining room, and right outside those windows the choir, they sang Christmas carols. That’s an incredible thing, isn’t it? It really is. That’s what her church did for her. And a church is an incredible thing. Churches are just full of people, but life changing things happen here most every day when people have the courage to step out in faith as James implores. If you read your newsletter, and if you haven’t you should – there’s an article in there about a couple who’s moving to France to be closer to their daughter. The only problem is that their dog is too old to make the flight. Their daughter, a former church member, sent us a message, wondering if there was any way we could help place this dog in a home. The dog’s name is Charlie and Martie Moore adopted him, and the daughter who contacted us initially, she wrote me a note saying “Thank you so much for helping us find a home for Charlie. He is so happy with Martie. It was meant to be It has also meant a lot to my parents who have had a tough time with ALS and this gesture has given them some peace along the journey.” Consider that! The difference that can be made with such a simple act of kindness! Something else. There’s someone who’s been sliding a candy bar into my mailbox every Sunday. This morning it was a whole bag of York Peppermint Patties. I don’t know who it is that’s doing it, but it means so much to be thought of I don’t even know what to say. I suppose it’s a simple thing, but it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like somebody loves me, and that’s never small. Even in the face of evil – a simple act of authentic kindness is enough to defy the power of sin and death. Listen to this – we were in Boston this week. Flights on Southwest were just $50, so we decided to make the trip since the girls were out of school, and we like to show them parts of the world that expand their horizons. Boston is a city in a way that Marietta’s not. It’s big – so big that while Dr. Ken Farrah taught us to pray every time we hear the sirens of an ambulance back when he was our Sunday School teacher, in Boston you hear sirens so often you’re pretty much praying all the time, wondering what good a little prayer’s going to do. We walked the Freedom Trail, which was wonderful, and right next to the Freedom Trail is a noteworthy Holocaust memorial. One simple glass tower dedicated to each of the concentration camps, numbers on the outsides etched in the glass of all the people murdered at each one. The numbers reach to the sky, but on the inside of the tower, where you walk through, there are quotes from survivors. This one was especially profound: Ilse, a childhood friend of mine, once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf. Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry and you give it to your friend. The world might make us feel small. Like our actions have no meaning. That there’s nothing really to be done. “Who am I to make a difference,” we’ve learned to ask. Surely that’s how it was with Esther. Who was she, but the Jewish girl who had somehow lucked out and made it into the palace. No one there knew she was a Jew, and they didn’t need to know, for if she hid her true identity she’d be spared from all the hardship her people faced living as an oppressed minority under the Persian Empire. This is how it is sometimes. Some people can pass, and they learn to get by. That was Esther. She was beautiful and so she was given a pass. The only price you have to pay when you get such a pass is always living with the fear of getting caught and accepting the reality that you can never really be yourself. Such a life teaches you to keep silent, pretend you’re not who you are, and look pretty doing it. Many women living in a man’s world know what this is like. Esther’s life was given value by the Emperor, not because of her mind or her talent, but because of the way she looked, so she knew to wake up every morning, put on her makeup, laugh at the Emperor’s jokes, and keep her authentic self covered up. None of this feels very good, but people do it all the time. However, the only father she had ever known needed her. Her people needed her, so she spoke out against the evil Haman to prevent a genocide. She took a risk and voiced her convictions. She risked her life and was honest about her identity – and look what happened? She saved her people. Of course, it must have been hard. Nearly impossible. To no longer hide, but to really show up with your truth. It’s not easy but doing so changes things, so while there will always be powerful men who benefit from the silence of women, the message from Scripture is clear – show up and “speak with boldness,” from the truth of your heart because within us all is the power to topple tyrants and change the world. We may not have the power to raise the dead – but within us is the power to testify to the God who can. Within us is the power to comfort a friend in grief, just by reaching out and squeezing his hand. To bring the promise of Christmas to a home in the valley of the Shadow of death. Within us is the power to bring peace along a difficult journey. The world may always be the kind of place where it feels prudent to keep silent. But Scripture is clear – Speak Up! Not with empty platitudes – but with the truth of your heart, for while it’s so easy just to keep quiet and to hope that trouble will pass like a storm cloud in the sky, better yet is to remember this: My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. With that James ends his letter – and with that he challenges us to begin living our lives with faith, hope, and love. Amen.