Prophesy to These Bones

Scripture Lessons: Ezekiel 37: 1-14 and Acts 2: 1-21 Sermon title: Prophesy to These Bones Preached on May 20, 2018 On this Pentecost Sunday, I am reminded of my Aunt Beth’s fear of snakes. My Aunt Beth once told me that she’s deathly afraid of all kinds of snakes – live snakes, dead snakes, and sticks that sort of look like snakes. And you could try to tell her that a Rat Snake isn’t venomous, or you could hold up the black piece of hose to show her that it’s just a hose, but it doesn’t matter. That’s because we interpret reality based – not just on what’s actually there, but on what we think we see. Sometimes fear colors our vision, other times it’s anxiety, sometimes love that us from seeing clearly what’s actually there, and that’s why, on that Pentecost Day long ago, the Holy Spirit came to the Disciples, but not everyone saw, not everyone reacted to it the same way. We just read: Divided tongues as of fire appeared among [the Disciples]. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other language as the Spirit gave them ability. If ever there was an obvious miracle, an obvious encounter with the divine, this was it, but listen to how the people who saw it responded: “All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.” You see, we are a people who mistake sticks for snakes and disciples for drunks. Sometimes its fear that colors our vision, other times anxiety blinds us to everything but our worries. Sometimes a kind of pessimism or heartbreak keeps us jaded and far from seeing a miracle that appears right before our eyes. That’s true today, and it’s always been true. Think back to Moses leading the people across the Sea on dry ground. Was there anyone among them who saw the waters part and said, “I’m not walking through there. Leave me with the Egyptians.” Did anyone who watched David defeat the giant Goliath sneer and say, “That’s the luckiest kid I ever saw.” The answer is – of course they did. Miracles happen every day, and people walk right past them. If my Aunt Beth can mistake a stick for a copperhead, then of course, we can mix-up a miracle and a coincidence, scoff at a movement of the Spirit. Miracles happen, but are our hearts attuned to see them? Not always. Back in Tennessee there is a homeless man named Melvin. Columbia, TN is a small town, and everyone there knows Melvin. He would sit out in front of the church, waving to cars that passed by. People would honk and wave. More folks than you’d imagine would stop and give him money or food, and all that was fine with the people of First Presbyterian Church because Melvin was outside. The problem came when Melvin started coming into the church. Now these are good Christian people, and they welcomed him with open arms, but you get too close to a homeless man who hasn’t had a bath in weeks or months and hospitality gets demanding. At some point in the summer, when sweat compounded body odor, someone said to me, “Joe, either he takes a bath, or I have to stop coming to church. I just can’t take it.” That sounds like a simple enough request – to ask a man to bathe before he enters the Lord’s House, but there were legends about Melvin. That he was scared of water because his parents drowned. That no one could get him to bathe because smelling bad protected him from thieves who would steal his money. There were all kinds of stories, so when I went over to ask him about taking a bath, I thought I knew already what he was going to say. Still, I said, “Melvin, you know I love you coming to our church, but I need you to do me one big favor. I need you to take a bath.” So sure was I that he would say no, that when he said “yes,” I didn’t know what to do. I had just spit the words out and expected that that would be that – my plan went no farther. When he said, “Sure Joe, I’ll take a bath,” came the problem of what next – and despite my surprise at his willingness, I was smart enough to want to strike while the iron was hot. I suddenly remembered that the Methodist Church across the street had a shower, so I ran over there, asked Valarie at the front desk for access to the shower, not knowing what she’d think, but fully expecting her to say no. Instead, she handed me a key to the church, and out from under her desk she just happened to have a bag with clothes, a bar of soap, and shampoo, as though she had been preparing for this exact moment. How do you explain that? Coincidence? Dumb luck? If among the crowd that Pentecost long ago were those who sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine,” then today we are wise to remember that our entire culture is poised to reinforce the cynical assumption that nothing is getting any better in this world and that to believe differently is foolish superstition, but listen to this. There’s a little girl in Club 3:30. Club 3:30 is the after-school program that meets here at the church, and this little kindergartner came to our afterschool program from a region in Central America so remote that she had never before sat in a chair. Not only that, this region she was from was so remote that she didn’t speak English nor Spanish, but an indigenous dialect. That was the beginning of the year. Last month the Kiwanis Club of Marietta gave medals to the teachers of our city schools, charging them to recognize students for whatever accomplishment might not typically be recognized, so this little kindergartner came to Wednesday Night Supper wearing a medal that she told me was for “most improved English speaker” in her kindergarten class. Now there’s a miracle. One that happened right here, in this room, but it won’t tell itself. In our world today – this fear filled, prejudice prone, fake-new kind of world – where everyone, it seems, is tailoring facts to protect their agenda – we Christians must be prepared to stand and speak with feet planted firmly in the truth. On that Pentecost long ago it was Peter, standing with the eleven. [He] raised his voice and addressed [the crowd], “these are not drunk as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken by the prophet Joel: In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.” That’s what Peter did, and if we don’t get in the habit of doing the same, so many will just walk right by, focused on the next worry that comes along. For everywhere there are people looking out on the world, taking in what they see through a lens of fear. People who hide from the world, drowning under the weight of headlines. The defeated who allow death to have the final world; treating hope like a fairy tale. Then, in desperation so many put faith in the makers of empty promises, forgetting the power of God who breathes life, into to dry bones. In our 1st Scripture Lesson we read: The Lord said to the Prophet [Ezekiel], “Mortal, can these bones live?” He answered, “O Lord God, you know.” Then the Lord said to the Prophet, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.” Christians – we are called to see the world through the lens of faith – remembering the power of God that gave dry bones new life. The power of God that turned Moses’ staff into a snake, divided the waters, and who still sets slaves free. The power of God that gave the boy David a strength greater than the giant, who granted the king victory, and gave his son wisdom. The power incarnate in Christ who walked out of the grave conquering sin and death, defying the authority of empire, entrusting fishermen with the most important news ever heard. Whenever we read the paper or watch the news, too often it is a different message, an empty message, that causes us to retreat in fear and react in apathy, but God is still at work in our world, and Satan, that liar, cannot change this reality. He can only shape our perception of it, causing us to see drunks rather than the mighty prophets of God, coincidence rather than his mighty hand, decline and defeat rather than triumph and victory. Prophesy to the bones then. In a world in conflict over issues of race – point to the gospel choir who sang for a prince’s wedding and remember that regardless of those who fight it, change still comes. In our world of violence, prophesy words of hope, reminding teachers and students, parents and grandparents, that no matter how many shootings there are, death will not have the final word, for born within each graduating class is hope for a better future – and those who stand against it might as well get out of the way. We, the church, we must prophesy to the world – for our world is quick to forget that the Holy Spirit who was alive on Pentecost so long ago is at work still, is alive and awake still. So as we go out into the world, armed with pizza boxes, let us be bold to see it and celebrate it. Amen.

Lifting Up His Hands, He Blessed Them

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 93 and Luke 24: 44-53 Sermon Title: Lifting Up His Hands, He Blessed Them Preached on May 13, 2018 Today is a significant day on the Church Calendar as well as the family calendar. I hope you remembered that today is Mother’s Day, but in addition to today being Mother’s Day, today is also Ascension Sunday, and what we just read from the New Testament book of Luke, is how Jesus said “goodbye” to his disciples as he ascended into heaven. We read: “Jesus led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.” It sounds as though no one remembered exactly how he blessed them – what kind of blessing it was – just that as he said goodbye, as he was carried up into heaven, he wasn’t leaving them with one last instruction, one last piece of advice, but with one last blessing. I’ve known people who left me with a blessing. One is a man named Jim Hodges. He was the chair of the Associate Pastor Nominating Committee who interviewed me for my first position as a pastor. It was Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church out in Lilburn, and after the committee that Jim chaired interviewed me and picked me out of the bunch, I was honored to serve that church by preaching about once a month and trying my best to be a pastor while making a whole lot of mistakes. And there were plenty of mistakes. One Sunday, moving through the liturgy, I skipped right over the children’s sermon. On occasion I’d ask everyone to stand when they were supposed to sit down. Regardless, every Sunday I preached I’d give the benediction, would walk out of the sanctuary by the center aisle, and as I walked, to my left there was Jim Hodges giving me a “thumbs up” as though I had done a great job. I had served that church for about two years when Jim was diagnosed with lung cancer. I went to visit him – and those visits were like many where I was the one being comforted rather than providing the comfort. For a long time, I watched him fight, but finally, the doctor told him he was near the end. He called and told me. The next day I walked into his hospital room. His wife Carol left to give us privacy, and I asked Jim if he was scared. His answer: “I’m not sure Carol has a good understanding of the heating and air maintenance contract. Other than that, I just don’t quite know what I’ll do when I see him.” “See who Jim?” I asked. He kind of stared off and said, “Will I laugh? Will I cry? When I see Jesus, I don’t know quite what I’ll do.” In the next day or two, stuck in his hospital bed, he took a picture of his thumb, had Carol get it developed, and gave it to me. It’s framed and on my desk. Jim telling me that, regardless of how I’m actually doing, he thinks I’m doing just fine. Now, that’s a blessing, isn’t it? But not everyone says goodbye with a blessing. Today is Mother’s Day, and ideally, what we celebrate today are our mothers who loved us and blessed us, but not everybody’s mother was like that. Some mothers are abusive. Others neglectful. At the very least, I think most of us have felt at one time or another as though our mother’s love language were “criticism” rather than praise. Do you know what I mean? Maybe it was your wedding day. You were about to walk down the aisle, and your mama came to see you. “You look beautiful honey, but I can’t help thinking, if you just would have lost 5 more pounds.” On the day of graduation, maybe you remember, that there were plenty of mothers who just cried. Out of joy or pride, they couldn’t even speak, but maybe yours could: “Congratulations,” she said, “But I can’t help but wish you had graduated with honors like your friend Peter. Isn’t he a smart one.” Last week I heard from a little league baseball coach. A good friend of mine named Davis. And Davis told me that at the coach’s training they were presented with an interesting finding. That when polled a majority of major league baseball players, when asked the question, “What is your worst memory of sports from your childhood,” a majority of players say, “The ride home from the game.” Most parents want their children to succeed. Most mothers want their children to be successful, but too many of us believe that for our children, the road to success and independence is paved by criticism and advice rather than blessing. As a preacher I’ve received my fair share of critique. It hasn’t all been thumbs ups, that’s for sure. In my third year of seminary, the development office sent a group of us to Jacksonville, Florida to promote the school. I was proud to have been asked to go and rode down with the group. Stayed with my mother’s cousin who lives down there. I preached at this Presbyterian Church and as the congregation left I received many handshakes and encouraging words, but the last man in the line. I remember he was wearing a three-piece suit. “What year are you in the seminary?” he asked. “I’m in my third-year sir.” I answered. “Nearly three years?” he said, “Well, they should have taught you something better than that by now.” And he was on to something. But men in three piece suits, mothers and all the rest of us; we need to remember, that as Jesus ascended into heaven he didn’t say to his disciples: You’ve been a Christian for how long now? You sure ought to be doing it better by now. That’s not how it ends. Those aren’t the last words – the last words are a blessing. A blessing from God to you, because regardless of what your mother said or failed to say – the words you heard in your baptism are trustworthy and true: “You are mine,” says the Lord, “My beloved, and with you I am well pleased.” Too often we Christians walk around like we’ve just been to the dentist: I should be better, I should do better. I should floss more, but today we remember the truth – that as the Lord ascended into heaven, he left giving an imperfect group of disciples his blessing – and today it’s no different for me or you. Consider how the service ends. This service today and every service here ends with a reminder of the main thing: The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you. We leave this place as those disciples left Bethany – knowing that the Lord Ascended into heaven giving us his blessing and that matter because you can’t change until you know you’re worth it. You can’t be redeemed until you believe that you’re worthy of redemption. You can’t be saved until you know it in your heart – that you are worth saving. No mother is perfect. None of us had the mother that said everything we need to hear. And those of us who are mothers today will take comfort in this truth as well: we all have to allow Christ to fill in what others left empty, to heal what others broke or left broken. So, these are good words to end on and these are good words to remember: May the Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and give you peace, and give you peace. Amen.

His Commandments Are Not Burdensome

Scripture Lessons: Deuteronomy 5: 1-21 and 1st John 5: 1-6 Sermon Title: His Commandments Are Not Burdensome Preached on May 6, 2018 There are some places in this world where I don’t feel 100% comfortable. Where I feel out of place; like I don’t belong. One of those places is Michael’s. I used the restroom in Michael’s and I’ll be it is among the least used men’s rooms in Cobb County. But that wasn’t the first place where I ever felt like I didn’t belong. Right outside Montreat, North Carolina is a place called The Town Pump. Right away you can tell it’s not for everybody. Sit at the bar, and it takes a while before someone takes your order. I was in The Town Pump with a pastor friend from Columbia, South Carolina. Amos Disasa is his name, and he was born in Ethiopia. I said to him, “Amos, I feel like I don’t belong in this place.” He looked around, “Joe, do you see anybody else from Ethiopia in here?” This place, on the other hand. I’ve always felt at home in this place. And that’s the idea. This church isn’t for some and not others. It’s not for some genders and not others. This church isn’t just for locals; it’s a place for everybody because that’s how the grace of God that this place stands on works. No one can earn welcome into God’s house. None of us deserve it, therefore all are welcome. That’s how it’s supposed to be, and that’s how I know so many in the Confirmation Class feel. Many of you were raised here. Maybe you never felt new here because your parents have been bringing you here since before you can remember. And here, you were taught as I was, that God welcomes us with open arms and you don’t have to do anything to earn it. You just have to accept it. But then one day, at the beginning of this school year, you showed up for Confirmation Class and we told you that in order to be a member of this church you had to do a whole bunch of stuff. Bates Clarke asked his Mom about that. “Why is it that you’ve all been telling me that God accepts me as I am, and then all of a sudden, I have to memorize the books of the Bible, write a statement of faith, and go to all these Confirmation classes?” That’s a good question. And I’m glad Bates asked it months ago, so I’d have time to come up with a decent answer by today. He’s right, when you look at it that way I can see how Confirmation would seem like a sudden change. An abrupt shift from free welcome to fine print. It's like when new members join the church and first thing we do is hand them a pledge card. That can feel like an abrupt change of pace – like we’ve invited you for dinner, then handed you the bill. That’s not the intent of course, but it can feel that way. In my mind this shift from “free welcome” to “now come pitch in” is something like the difference between celebrating the 4th of July and Cinco de Mayo. You might not know much about Cinco de Mayo. In this country it is a holiday celebrated mostly by margarita enthusiasts, a majority of whom I have a feeling have no idea what Cinco de Mayo even means. Cinco de Mayo is a Mexican holiday that celebrates not Mexican independence from Spain - that’s celebrated on September 16th. What Cinco de Mayo celebrates is what happened after Spain was kicked out and Mexico gained independence. Mexican Independence was defended on May 5th, 1862, when the French who sent a massive army attempting to take over and the fledging nation of Mexico were defeated. I looked all that up on the internet. Now most people aren’t real big on Cinco de Mayo - the 5th of May, but there is beauty, not just in celebrating the gift of independence given by our forbearers. What also matters is celebrating our role in defending it. The Apostle Paul says it well in his letter to the Galatians: “For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery,” but we do. Sometimes we take for granted our freedom and forget that even today we have to fight to defend it. We are called – not just to accept this Presbyterian Faith, but to become a part of it. Our scripture lessons makes such a concept plain. From 1st John: “For the love of God is this, that we obey his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome.” That might sound strange, because so often we think of being able to do whatever you want as freedom, but that’s not really freedom, for those who lie are strangers even unto themselves. There’s a Mark Twain quote on the wall of Mary-Mac’s on Ponce de Leon, “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.” Telling the truth – it’s no burden when compared to the alternative. And in the same way, what could be so heavy a burden as hate? You want to see misery – think of the grimaced faces of the cold hearted. Think of the way withholding forgiveness destroys families. What is required of all of us who follow the Savior who called us to love even our enemies could hardly be called a requirement, for our path is the road to joy. Therefore, while on the one hand, we Presbyterians preach a message of grace. A salvation that comes free, and the love of God that you can’t earn, it is hard to understand a pledge card or the requirements of a Confirmation Class, but like the 10 Commandments, the commandments written down by Moses are intended for us – not as a means to earn anything but as guidance for how to live a joy filled life. “Honor the Sabbath day and keep it holy,” and here is a commandment that is more defiled than any other. We defile it because we don’t believe that our salvation is contingent on our obedience to it, and indeed it is not – instead what is at stake is the condition of our hearts - literally. Think about it - No – God will not strike us down for going into the office on a Sunday; God will not need to, for the 80-hour work week brings with it its own punishment. “His commandments are not burdensome,” especially compared to the weight of sin. And as God did our ancestors, so the Lord calls us now, to live the Christian life and to participate in the work God is doing. In Deuteronomy we read: “The Lord our God made a covenant with us at Horeb. Not with our ancestors. But with us who are all of us alive today.” God gives the gift to us, it’s ours, but we can’t just accept the gift – we have to defend what we’ve been given and make it our own. We, who feel at home here, are invited to make others feel welcome so that this church never feels like Michael’s nor the Town Pump, but like the Master’s Table where all are treated like honored guests. For while we all are honored guests at the Master’s Table, too often we are only mindful of our own comfort or discomfort, forgetting what it’s like for the friend sitting next to us. He invites us, but remember, we are also disciples, called to serve, making this faith our own. The knitting you saw out in the Gathering Area – it will go out into the world, because we don’t just receive God’s warmth and welcome, we can give it. Called, equipped, as friends, as Stephen's Ministers - is to be the listening ear after we, ourselves, have been heard. Think of that and know that on the one hand is free grace, on the other is joyful obedience. Neither are burdens. Both are gifts. So, Bates Clarke, Confirmation Class, congregation, Joe Evans, remember that we are not only defined by the gifts we received freely. We are defined also by our response – how we live – what we fight for. And this faith, this church, this is worth fighting for. Amen.