For A Child Has Been Born for Us

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 9: 2-7 and Luke 2: 1-20 Sermon Title: For a child has been born for us Preached on December 24, 2019 Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is today and Christmas Eve is a time for hospitality. We set big dining room tables and make room by the fire. Those guest rooms that most of the time are turned into laundry rooms are made guest rooms again so family or friends have a place to lay their head. This is a time for joining together and carol singing. I’m willing to bet that even those of you who have a designated pew in here where you always sit have made room for those who are joining us for the first time. All of that is good, because being left out hurts. I remember being in Middle School and finding out about this boy/girl party. It was one of the first boy/girl parties I remember, and I think I remember it so well because I wasn’t invited. Do you know that feeling? Whether it’s large or small, that feeling of rejection is one you never forget, but in this world of ours not everyone can be invited to everything, even on Christmas Eve. There’s limited seating, so it always seems, or maybe we could do a better job of making room. I remember so well my grandfather telling me about big meals his mother would cook out in the country where they lived. He grew up in a place called the Caw-Caw Swamp. His father was the game warden, and often men would come around to lend a hand. These men were unrefined, as men in the Caw-Caw Swamp tended to be, but as a son to the game warden, my grandfather enjoyed a level of gentility. His family had a radio, and one Christmas a man who had come to lend a hand heard a fine violinist play over the radio. The violinist was maybe performing at the Carnegie Hall or somewhere. This Caw-Caw swamp native stopped to listen and then declared: “It sounds like he’s got a pretty good fiddle, if only he knew how to play it right.” That’s a good story. A funny one. Another that I remember which isn’t so funny is that my grandfather told me any hired hands who were white took their meals in the kitchen of that house. Those who were African American took their meals on the back steps, because not everyone was invited in. So, it was with Mary. So, it was with Joseph. When it came to them that Christmas Eve so long ago it probably wasn’t because of the color of their skin that they were left out, but just the same, they had no room of their own at the inn. They were left out. They had traveled so far just to be sent out back to the manger. Still, they made the best of it. “She gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger.” Now having a new baby changes things. I can imagine that suddenly these who were left out of the inn are now in the position of deciding who gets to see the baby, and everyone wants to see a baby. I can imagine ladies who worked at the inn gathering around Mary. Maybe the inn keeper’s daughter peeked in to see who was making all the noise. Maybe the inn keeper herself wanted to come down with her husband to see the baby. Had I been Joseph, I would have turned them both around. In fact, when Sara and I were new parents, we turned a lot of people around. And even those who were allowed inside, we subjected to scrutiny. We made them sanitize their hands. Anyone under the weather was subject to a health screening. No one was allowed to touch the baby’s face or hands. We even bought these medical shoe covers that we made people put over their shoes before coming in to keep them from tracking in outside contaminants. That’s just how some new parents are. They act like they’re the first people to have ever done it. And we were guarding the door even to those who came bearing gifts. We subjected them all to scrutiny and put out a genuine spirit of inhospitality, because new parents are in the position of deciding who is allowed in and who is left out. What about Mary? What about Joseph? How did they do it? Who did they leave out? In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. An angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place. So, they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger, But Joseph said to the shepherds, “Wait just a minute. First, I’m going to need you to put these cover things over your shoes, I don’t want you tracking any germs in here.” No, that’s not what happened. You know what happened, only have you ever really thought about it? From the very beginning it’s all right there. Before he could say his first word, already, the one who was left out of the inn welcomes all people to himself. In his moment of rejection, still he turns the other cheek. Rather than return evil for evil, though he is the stone that the builders rejected, he is the chief cornerstone of a new kingdom, where all people, no matter how lowly, have a seat at the table and are welcomed inside. That’s Jesus. That’s the little child lying in a manger. God incarnate. True God from true God, shining the bright light on the truth, that no matter how rejected you have ever felt in your life, the Christ child welcomes you in. Don’t you see? From the very beginning he knew that feeling of being left out, set aside, and looked over. And yet in his very birth he challenges any idea of limited space at the table by inviting the shepherds in. That’s a radical message of hospitality that challenges a core fear that rots the heart of our society. That’s a radical message of inclusion that even challenges some core declarations made by the church. The great sign of the shepherds who were invited to his manger bed is that there is more room, more grace, more love, more forgiveness, and more freedom than we had dared to believe. For we turn our back, while the Christ child calls them closer saying: “I was born for you.” We close our doors, while the Christ child invites them in. We build walls and fences, though he cries out to the entire world just as he calls out to you and me. And that’s not theoretical. That’s literal. You. I’m looking right at you. You. He was born for you. Hear the truth of that. “To you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah the Lord,” and that’s regardless of how unworthy you feel, but what it demands is that you look upon other people the same way that God looks upon you. The whole world would change with just this simple recognition, for while our society is divided between those who have and those who have not, those who live in gated communities and those who live on the south side of fences, those who have papers and those who don’t have them, those who were accepted and those who weren’t accepted, those who went to cotillion and those who use the wrong fork at the dinner table, at the Lord’s table there is no partiality so how can there be any in our hearts? Christmas Eve is a time for hospitality. That’s because He was born for each and every one of you and each and every one of them, so make some room. That’s the change that’s required of all of us who celebrate the birth of this homeless, migrant child. Born of Mary, son of God, unto you and unto me. Alleluia, and Amen.

Emmanuel

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 7: 10-16, Matthew 1: 18-25 Sermon Title: Emmanuel Preached on December 22, 2019 What was going on in Joseph’s mind? Can you imagine? I know it’s hard to imagine. Joseph and Mary are Saints of the Church and heroes of the faith. They are parents of the Christ child! It’s hard to imagine them as having emotions or doubts like all the rest of us, but to fully grasp the magnitude of this Second Scripture Lesson from the book of Matthew it’s important to recognize that Joseph and Mary were people. Sometimes we think of the stories in Scripture as happening to spiritual figures who are somehow different from us. If we think that way then we miss the point completely. So, imagine instead what you would be feeling if you were in Joseph’s shoes. You’re engaged to be married. The wedding plans are in place. There have already been multiple bridal showers. Invitations have been sent. Maybe, because you’re a carpenter, you’ve already put an addition onto the house, or maybe you’ve been working on a bed for your bride to sleep in. I don’t know exactly what it was like. Neither does anyone else, so just imagine what it would have been like for you to find out that after you’ve told everyone and prepared in various ways Mary was “found to be with child.” How would you have felt? What would you have been thinking? Now imagine what your mother would have said. It’s hard enough for the daughter or son-in-law to be. I was once a son-in-law to be. I love my mother and father-in-law very much. I’ve known them now for 19 years. For nearly 20 years they have been as much a part of my life as my own parents. Their home, especially their vacation home on a mountain in North Carolina, feels like home to me. They’ve always welcomed me in and have been kind and loving beyond measure. But I will tell you this. About the time Sara and I were getting serious, her father bought a revolver. He did. He said it was because of the wild boar that had invaded their property up on the mountain. That’s probably true, only by this purchase it was clear to me that he had a gun and he knew how to use it, and as I had been invited into the heart of his beloved daughter, I could imagine him using that gun for more than just protection from wild boar. This is a precarious place; the place of a son or daughter-in-law to be. I don’t know whom my daughters are going to marry or fall in love with, but I already hate him. I do. And considering that hatred I can imagine what was going on in the mind of Joseph’s mother, and what words of hers might have been poisoning her son’s thoughts. “Well, I never liked her anyway,” his mother might have said. “I told you to stay away from her,” she might have added, “And that’s why I invited you to meet my friend Lois’s daughter, Miriam. She’s such a nice girl. Maybe she’s a little homely, but at least she has class unlike this Mary of yours.” This is part of the challenge of getting married: your parents may have been looking for an opening to criticize your fiancé, and as soon as they have it, the flood gates open. That’s not because they don’t want you to be happy. It’s because they love you and don’t want you to get hurt. I can just hear Joseph’s father: “I knew that girl was going to break your heart Joseph. But you weren’t thinking, were you son?” Parents are like that. People are like that. We all are. We jump to conclusions, and it’s not just because we’re prone to suspicion or conspiracy or fear, but because we want to protect the people we love from those who appear to be deceptive, dishonest, or disloyal. The problem is that appearances can be deceiving. And you all know what they say about assumptions. Have you ever thought about how many assumptions inform the opinions of your family members? And have you ever wondered whether or not those family members know how wrong the assumptions they are making are? Such would have been the case with Joseph’s parents, his friends, and even Joseph himself, because Mary was found to be with child, but it’s not what any of them thought. Still, I have to imagine that they were talking and that Joseph was listening, because that’s what people do. And so: Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. In those days he could have had her stoned, humiliated, or cast out from the community. Because he was a kind man, he took all his assumptions and tampered them with compassion. Assuming he knew why she was with child, rather than give voice to his full anger or embarrassment, he was kind. I like that about him, but even his kindness was misinformed for he was operating on the basis of assumption rather than truth. That happens an awful lot. Do you ever think about how much of our lives we spend misinformed? Every morning Thomas Jefferson woke up and placed his feet in a bucket of cold water because his doctors told him it was good for his health. When George Washington was sick, the doctors rushed over and decided that his blood levels were out of whack, so they bled the poor man until he died. Today there are people like me who will rub Ben-Gay on any sore muscle, though it’s healing properties are unverified while its odor has proven to be highly offensive. Likewise, others will prescribe Robitussin for every malady. I’m always giving Becca Yan, a member of the church staff, a hard time for her conviction that essential oils will cure anything. It sounds like witchcraft to me. Only who knows? Who knows? We do. Or so we think. And yet, how often are our assumptions misleading us? How often do our prejudices misinform? How many holiday dinners end with World War Three because Uncle Alfred is sure that his liberal grandchildren are communists and his liberal grandchildren are sure that Uncle Alfred would vote for Atilla the Hun? We don’t really know, yet we think we do. Our assumptions mislead us. We take a few scattered observations and let them fill in the gaps. Our minds run in circles based on misinformation. And I know it’s hard to argue with the reality that this woman was with child but let us all give thanks to God for Joseph who was willing to abandon all of his assumptions in favor of a dream. Now, be honest. You don’t give much credence to dreams. Neither do I. But dreams do affect me. They affect Sara too. Some mornings Sara wakes up already mad at me, and for good reason. But once or twice she woke up mad at me, and I asked her what I had done. She looked at me and said, “Well, nothing I guess, but you won’t believe what you did in my dreams last night!” Has that ever happened to you? Something like that happened to Joseph. It was a dream and it changed his world view. Only consider this: Mary was visited by an angel. All Joseph had to go on was a dream. He could have explained that dream away saying, “It must have been indigestion.” He could have told his mother about it, and it wouldn’t have stood up to all her assumptions. He might have just allowed the dream to fuel his compassion, to affect his emotions but not his actions, and yet Joseph allowed this dream to change the course of his life and the fate of this world. It was a dream of the great promise made by God to humankind summed up in one word: Emmanuel. That’s a name, and it means simply: God with us. Not God looking down on us, trying to figure us out. Not God making assumptions about who we are and what we’re thinking. God with us, knowing us, understanding us, in such a way that leaves no room for misinformation or assumptions. That matters tremendously because in every human relationship assumption are being made. What we don’t know we often make up, and so often what we make up is worse than the truth. Consider the Grinch. I’ve been under the weather, and so I’ve had a lot of time to watch my holiday movies. Maybe you haven’t, so let me remind you. The Grinch lives in a cave on Mt. Crumpet. Mt. Crumpet looms over Whoville, and the Grinch lives in that cave with his dog Max. He thinks a lot about the Who’s in Whoville, but he doesn’t really know any of them well. He thinks he does, however. He assumes their Christmas is materialistic. That they don’t care about people, unless those people are carrying toys. Only then he meets Cindy Lou Who. Cindy Lou Who is different. What does she want from Santa? Well, in the new Grinch movie, Cindy Lou Who only asks Santa that her Mom who works so hard would have a break. And how does she react when she wakes up on Christmas morning to find nothing under the tree? The Grinch assumes that Cindy Lou and every other Who in Whoville will be devastated. That Christmas will be ruined! Instead, Cindy Lou and all the Who’s in Whoville gather in the town square to sing that weird, nonsensical song, because Christmas in Whoville isn’t about the stuff. What happens when the Grinch hears them sing? He comes face to face with the truth. He learns who these Who’s in Whoville really are. And his heart grows three sizes, only do you see what had to happen? His assumptions had to die. The distance between Mt. Crumpet and Whoville was bridged, not by what the Grinch thought he knew, but by the truth. It was like a dream where he finally understood. It was like a miracle when everything changed because he was close enough to really know. That’s what Emmanuel means. God comes to earth to become one of us, rather than rely on assumptions. Can you imagine what would happen if our friends in Washington were so bold as to try and understand each other to such a degree? Can you imagine how dinner at Christmas would change if we were all so bold as to try and understand each other that way? In Christ, God has done it, for this is what love requires. And in listening to each other, in striving to understand rather than assume we already know, we are continuing the work that our God has started in Emmanuel: God with us. Amen.

A Way Through the Wilderness

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 146: 5-10 and Isaiah 35: 1-10 Sermon Title: A Way Through the Wilderness Preached on December 15, 2019 Last Tuesday was the annual Church Staff Christmas Party. This is an event that all of us look forward to, because it is a rare gift to work in a place where you feel so appreciated. This year we were welcomed into the home of Helen Hines. We sat at her dining room table, used her polished silver, were waited on by members of the Administration Council, and ate like kings. Then we gathered in her living room, where Santa delivered gifts. That took a little while because his slay was blocking the driveway, so he had to movie it first. Eventually we all unwrapped presents, a Christmas bonus, and I was also honored to receive the black tie that I’m now wearing, which celebrates a recent accomplishment. For months I’ve been learning to ride a unicycle, and this tie has a unicycle on it with the words, “Yeah, I can!” And I can. It took a lot of work which started when I bought a unicycle at a yard sale. The first time I tried to get on it I knew it had been an impulsive decision because I couldn’t even sit still on it. Frustrated, I quit for a couple weeks. Then I picked it back up again with greater determination. Last June I finally peddled once or twice without holding on to anything. I was so proud that I called my family out to the driveway for a demonstration. I miraculously repeated the same feat of ridding a unicycle for a distance of nearly one yard. I’ll never forget their response: “Was that it? Is that all you can do?” Fueled by their encouragement I kept going. I can now ride for about twenty feet. My goal is to ride in our next church talent show in October, but the point I want to make is that many times I wished for a short-cut. I wish it had been easier. I wish I hadn’t had to fall so often. I wish I could have learned this new skill a lot faster. If I could have learned faster, I might have started trying to learn much earlier, but that’s the way it is with new things and long journeys. Just as there are falls in the process of learning, so there is a long way between point A and point B, and that long way in-between goes by many different names. You can call it practice, purgatory, or adolescence. In Scripture the point between point A and point B is often called the desert. The wilderness or the desert is an in-between place. The Hebrew people wandered in it for 40 years after leaving slavery in Egypt. 40 years is a long time. Typically, it would take a person just 11 days to walk from Egypt to the Promised land, but the truth is that making it from slavery to freedom takes much longer and there are setbacks along the way, just as the journey between starting and finishing or not knowing and knowing is always harder and always takes longer than we want it to. We fall more often than we want. We look silly. We get frustrated. The road is rocky so often people give up before they make it, or they just stay right where they’ve always been, unchanged. That’s true for some when considering going to the FOX to see the nutcracker or something. One thought of the traffic and we watch it at home, but that’s also true for anyone who is trying to change or learn something new, like a new musical instrument. There’s a magazine that I love called Okra. I love it because it’s a magazine that celebrates the South unapologetically without being redneck about it. That tone was summed up in the letter from the Editor of last month’s issue: We don’t try to preserve our past to live in it. We preserve it to feel a connection to our ancestors, to learn from the lessons left behind, thereby creating a better future. I like that. I also liked an article in that same issue by a guy named Matthew Magee who knows how to play the fiddle. A friend of his asked him to send some instructions, because his brother-in-law, a classically trained violinist, wanted to learn how to play the fiddle, but only if someone could teach him to do it in about ten minutes. Now I expected Matthew Magee to be clear and say, “that’s just not how it works.” Getting from point A to point B takes a lot of time. Who knows how many hours of practice our own Will Myers had to put in before he learned to play as he does? And to ask him how to master another style would probably take years. By the way, at our staff Christmas party Will ended up with a t-shirt that says, “God’s gift to women.” But back to the point, to learn how to play something well takes some time in the desert, yet this Matthew Magee said he would send instructions for learning the fiddle in ten minutes. This is what he wrote: All he needs to do is hold the bow a little further up, lower the violin turned fiddle off the shoulder kind of slumping over out of classically taught position. Never use vibrato with the left hand, ever; move like he’s getting stung by happy bees. Shuffle the fire out of the notes with double stops every now and then holler something random… not quite on pitch, like “tater patch, tater patch” or “had a dog named Rover, when he died, he died all over,” with extreme confidence and wild eyes. Always smile like you know something they don’t. Be in the moment and feel the vortex of music pulling you in. The objective is to make people feel like something musically strange is happening, because it is. And that’s Fiddling 101 by Matthew Jay Magee. Mr. Magee ended the article by saying, “What this basically means is… make a joyful noise… [for] the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best.” Sometimes we never start because the way is hard or we fear failure, but what if the way were easy and filled with song? What if trying were the same as rejoicing and we knew that walking out on a limb were the same as stepping into the fragile space where Christ takes us by the hand? From the Prophet Isaiah we read: The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, The desert shall rejoice and blossom; Like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, And rejoice with joy and singing. What the Prophet means here as he addressed the people Israel is that the land in between where they were, exile in Babylon, and where they longed to be, the Promised Land, was not a desert or barren wasteland. In fact, it was no longer a wilderness at all, but more like a forest full of bird song or like I 75 when you have a Peach pass. The highway is clear, he says to us today, for the Lord is here, and no traveler, “not even fools, shall” miss their turn. The redeemed shall walk, the ransomed shall return, and all will make it to Zion with singing. Everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. This is an important and crucial message for us, for like the people of Israel, there are so many moments in life where point A is not where we want to be, but the getting there to point B keeps our feet planted. The illiterate doesn’t want to look foolish. He imagines admitting his need will met with shame, so he hides the fact that he can’t read rather than start the long journey towards literacy. The addict fears facing the truth, so numbs himself to it again. The soldier longs for home, but even once she lands back on US soil there’s still a long way to go: bills, childcare, learning how to get along with her husband again. Then for others, the journey through the desert is literally that: a desert. My first job out of college was as a lawn maintenance man, where I met some of those who had done it. They were two men from Mexico, who spoke little English, but had literally crossed a desert to cut grass in Buckhead and I cut grass right beside them and drove around with them in a big truck from house to house. One benefit of such a workday was that my Spanish got pretty good, but no matter how good, the jokes were still hard to make. The only time I really made my coworkers laugh was once when I didn’t mean to. They were describing the journey through the desert from Mexico into Texas. They told me that it costs about $5,000 dollars to pay a coyote or guide to lead you across the border, and still, you might get caught and sent back. I asked them if you could get your money back if you didn’t make it over. That’s when they started laughing. Then I said, “But don’t you get a receipt or something.” For the rest of that week my coworkers were retelling my joke to every Mexican lawn maintenance worker they saw, which points to a reality: going from point A to point B is a risk. It’s hard. It costs something. Only let me say this, the Lord is with us as we walk our pilgrim journey and if we have hope in our hearts then a desert crossing or a mountain pass is nothing. Consider the Von Trapp family who illegally crossed the Alps into Switzerland to escape the Nazis, but for them, the hills were alive with the sound of music. That’s what the Prophet is saying. The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, The desert shall rejoice and blossom; For the difference between point A and point B is nothing considering how the Son of God bridges heaven and earth, born in a manger, as the great sign that God is with us. Too often we imagine that he’s waiting for us at the finish line. That he’ll meet us just as soon as we’re good enough or have made it but that’s not it you see. In the Christ child we know that he’s running beside us in the race. And that even when we slow down, he’s close by our side. Back in Tennessee I went to visit a woman named Mrs. Cotham. Mrs. Cotham was in hospice. I went to visit her and asked her if she was afraid. “I’m not afraid of death,” she said. “It’s what happens between now and then that scares me.” I can understand. There’s always fear between point A and point B. So, this Advent may our prayer be like that of the great Episcopal priest Thomas Merton, who was bold to pray: My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. [Yet I do know this,] you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost in the shadow of death. I will not fear for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. “Do not fear, for I am with you,” says the Lord, so let us find joy on our way through the wilderness. Amen.

Old Dogs and New Tricks

Scripture Lessons: Romans 15: 4-13 and Isaiah 11: 1-10 Sermon title: Old Dogs and New Tricks Preached on December 8, 2019 As I’m sure is the case in your house, Sara and I have a list of banned words that no one is allowed to say. Our girls aren’t allowed to tell anyone to “shut-up” nor can they call each other “stupid.” Sara requires all of us to use proper grammar, so “ain’t” is also banned, and sometimes she gets on to me for telling her what “I’m fixing to do”. Apparently “fixing to” is not an acceptable alternative to “about to” in the Queen’s English. This Advent Season I’ve been thinking about adding another word to the banned list: “never.” I’m also considering the fate of the words “can’t” and “won’t.” These are words that people use, though a lot of the time these are words that they must later take back. Certainly, that’s how it is with kids. When a kid says: “I’m never going finish my homework.” “I’m never talking to her again.” Or “I’ll never make it” as adults you and I may know well enough to say to them something like: “Even though it looks like it’s going to take forever, you can and you will finish your homework.” “Even though you’re angry now, your anger will pass and you’ll want to talk with her again.” Or “Yes, rejection is hard, not making the team hurts, and when you’re standing at the bottom of the hill it may feel like you’re never going to make it to the top but just start walking and see what happens.” Those are all things that adults will say to kids, only what about all the other sayings that are just as defeatist that we adults accept as truth all the time? Consider how negative are the phrases: You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Some men you just can’t reach. A leopard can’t change his spots. That dog won’t hunt. Or my favorite: You can’t fix stupid. These phrases are about things that can never happen. They claim that a dog can reach an age in which it’s outlived it’s adaptability, that some men can never be rehabilitated, that born with certain traits a leopard can never change as though genetics determine fate, which, leads me to: “you can’t fix stupid,” a phrase which people say as though education were but a pipe dream. While it’s true that some things can’t be done and some problems will never be fixed, often these phrases accept hopelessness, spread discouragement, reinforce depression, wallow in sadness, and allow the power of evil to have the final word. Yet who has the final word? You see, just as Genesis tells us that the Creator God spoke all that is into existence, we too must be warry of the power of the words that we use and the worlds which those words create. By our words will we be so bold as to deny that sometimes miracles happen? That sometimes everything changes and even those dogs who have been spreading their fleas and promising they’ll change while never lifting a finger can, in fact, learn. That’s what happened in the Mr. Roger’s move. I hope you’ve seen it. It looks like it’s all about Mr. Rogers. It’s not though. It’s actually about a grumpy young man who writes for Esquire Magazine. It’s 1997 and the journalist, his name is Tom, has gained a reputation for taking down heroes from the pedestals that society has placed them on. He goes looking for the skeletons in Mr. Rogers past, yet the plot of the movie is how Mr. Rogers ends up helping Tom face his. Tom’s father was an alcoholic. He was abusive. And as Tom’s mother was dying in the hospital, young Tom and his sister had to sit with her to help the doctors make the most difficult decisions regarding the person they loved more than anyone. They, though children, were the ones who had to do it because Tom’s father was off with his new girlfriend. Tom couldn’t forgive him for that. He was angry, and the anger that was born of a difficult childhood was poisoning the rest of his life. That’s hard for a man to admit, though it can be a state that he’s willing to accept as permanent, as though anger were not an emotion to be talked through but like spots on a leopard that he can never get rid of. Living with that attitude is dangerous and foolish, not only because his life was off track and he could do something about it, but also because even as his father was dying, now a changed man, Tom couldn’t see it. Why was that? Why couldn’t Tom see something good that was obvious to everyone around him? It’s because Tom had “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” tattooed across his eyeballs. Even when the old dog had changed his ways and gained a heart full of love and remorse, Tom who lived by words like “can’t,” “never,” and “won’t” was blind to the shoots that sprang forth from an old, nearly dead stump. The prophet Isaiah points us towards that image. It’s a small thing, a common thing a stump with shoots springing forth. It’s something that we’ve all seen after cutting down a Bradford pear tree, thinking it gone, only to watch it come back year after year, driving us crazy with its determination to testify to the reality of hope. The Prophet Isiah says, “look at this shoot, a small thing, and know hope springs forth in bigger things, Hope springs forth all around us!” It does, though so cluttered by “can’t,” “won’t,” and “never,” hope can be easy to miss. It’s easy to miss hope. Isn’t that sad? Something like the Presbyterian College Blue Hose is easy to miss. Have you ever heard of them? When there are so many other huge football programs around, an alumnus like me has to point out that Presbyterian College really does have a football program and they really are called the Blue Hose, but they haven’t been very successful. In fact, I read in our alumni magazine that Presbyterian College is leaving the Big South Conference. Why are they leaving? Because they lose most all their games. Now that’s a sad thing, but sports at a small, liberal arts college is often a sad thing. If you play sports at Presbyterian College then most likely, you won’t play professionally, though graduate Justin Bethel of the Patriots does. Still, if you’re on the Presbyterian College Blue Hoes’ than you can’t expect to win a whole lot, and if you’re a graduate of Presbyterian College you just about have to accept that you’ll never get into sports the way a Georgia graduate would. Maybe to those who are mourning the loss to LSU that sounds like a good thing, but back to Presbyterian College. Just last Wednesday, the feature story in the College Sports Journal came with the headline: “Wrestling History About to be Made at Presbyterian College.” This year Presbyterian College is home to the only NCAA Division 1 women’s wrestling team, and they are set to compete at home for the first time in the history of the program. This occasion reminds me of something my Dad said once. My Dad was the South Eastern Champion in three cushion billiards. I once asked him how he did it. He said, “Son, if you want to be the south eastern champion of something, it’s good to pick a sport that hardly anyone plays.” You might say that this is the case when it comes to women’s wrestling, but I say wait, watch, and listen as history is made. A small liberal arts school is making national news. Now, that’s different from a big deal football program, but it’s still something, and if we’re always looking for what’s big, we may look right past what’s there. Sometimes hope starts as a small thing, only don’t ignore it. A shoot grows into a tree. A small light will spread to concur the darkness. And love is a power stronger than hate even if the only place you can feel it is in your own heart. Maybe you know that Senator Johnny Isakson, who holds the distinction of being the only Georgian ever to have been elected to the Georgia House, Georgia Senate, U.S. House, and U.S. Senate, has just stepped down from his office in the U.S. Senate due to ongoing health issues. He is a three-term senator, and because we live in a country of division and partisanship, there’s been conflict between Georgia Governor, Brian Kemp, and President Donald Trump, over who ought to be appointed to fill his Senate Seat until the next election. All that’s now been settled and put to rest. What I don’t want to put to rest is how Mr. Isakson seized the opportunity in his farewell speech, not to celebrate himself or make note of his many accomplishments, but to urge all legislators to “forget their differences and focus on common ground to find solutions” for the good of this country and her people. He went on to highlight his friendship with U.S. Representative John Lewis of Atlanta, pointing to their relationship as an example of the change that bipartisanship can bring if people just let it. Now, in today’s world that seems like a longshot, and many have already given up on it saying it will never happen, but during his speech he said, “Bipartisanship will become a way we accomplish things, a way we live, a state of being. It will be the end of a bad time and the beginning of a new one and I’m going to live long enough to see both.” He also said, “America is changing for lots of reasons” and the solutions to our problems are in people’s hearts. How’s your heart? Is it hard and cold like Pharaoh’s who would not let God’s people leave Egypt? Is it settled in the way things are now and resistant to how they might be? Is it open to what God is doing in the world? Is it prepared to live in a New Heaven and a New Earth where the Wolf shall live with the lamb, The leopard shall lie down with the kid, The calf and the lion and the fatling together? A little child will lead us there, and he is coming, but are you ready to follow? He’s not grown used to the way things are because he knows how they might be. This child can see newness springing forth all around him, so he’s a permanent resident of the Promised Land and he declares that it is coming soon, but are you ready? He’s something like a tombstone that I saw last week. A tombstone, by design is hopeless. It’s the great sign of what will now not happen, what has ended, and what won’t come back, yet this tombstone declared: This memorial is dedicated to the remarkable life of Melvina “Mattie” Shields McGruder. She was born a slave in South Carolina in 1844. At age 6 she was brought to the nearby Shields Farm in what is now Clayton County, Georgia. Her family would endure a five-generation journey that began in oppression and would lead her descendant to become First Lady of the United States of America, Michelle Obama. Theirs is a story of hope. Such hope is so vital in our world today, because too many use words like “can’t” and “won’t” and “never” so often that they’re residents of a fallen world full of broken hearts, resigned to broken ways, and broken habits. If that’s true for you, I call on you to look around this morning. Just last Monday I saw a great big largemouth bass mailbox on our street wearing a Santa hat and it reminded me that I must allow Christmas to surprise me. Then I saw a picture of a shoot coming out of a stump on a counselor’s card last Tuesday and it reminded me that anything can happen, anyone can change, for hope springs forth all around us and we must not grow so used to the ways of a broken world that we are comfortable in it. As Paul said in our First Scripture Reading from the book of Romans, and as I’ve quoted him every Sunday that I’ve given the benediction: May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Old dogs can learn new tricks. Alleluia. Amen.

The Image of the Invisible God, the Firstborn of All Creation

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 23: 1-6 and Colossians 1: 11-20 Sermon Title: The Image of the Invisible God, the Firstborn of All Creation Preached on November 24, 2019 This coming Thursday is Thanksgiving, which makes me think about a lot of things. Especially, Thanksgiving makes me think of something that starts with the letter “t.” That’s right. Traffic. There’s a lot of traffic on Thanksgiving, but there’s always traffic here, in Marietta, GA. People have places to go, and they need to get there quickly, plus they’re usually running late. Not long ago I saw a man brushing his teeth while sitting in traffic. That’s strange, isn’t it? But people do strange things while they’re sitting in traffic. Some people listen to books, others text message, which isn’t safe. Some get uncharacteristically angry. In the heat of traffic, even kind people will honk their horn or employ the use of their middle finger. People have places to go, and they need to get there quickly, plus they’re usually running late. They’re thinking about what they have to get to, not necessarily about how low the covered bridge is that they’re going under. On the front page of the paper last Friday, once again, was coverage of contraptions being installed to prevent people driving under the historic Concord Covered Bridge with their too tall cars or trucks. So often our focus is solely on getting some place fast rather than slowing down to pay attention to the signs telling us to turn around or slow down. Worse last Friday was coverage of a teenage driver who drove too fast and lost control of his car, running head-on into a school bus. Luckily no one was hurt too badly but let us heed this warning: When the clock is ticking and the boss is waiting it seems like getting there on time is a matter of life and death. Should we be too hasty and lives may truly hang in the balance between life and death. When we see the lights of the sheriff or the police officer our priorities shift. Or pulled over on the side of the road so that the hearse can pass, all at once the meeting we were rushing to isn’t so important. Practice is back to just kids playing ball in a field. You realize all at once that you might lose your appointment with the hairdresser or doctor, but for you there will be another day. The hearse is the sign that not everyone will have that. At the sight of it in Marietta, GA everything still stops, and we show our respect to the wife, the mother, the husband, the son, who is looking straight into the reality that the world as they knew it has just ended. Stopping for a funeral procession can be a moment where no matter how important we think the meeting or the errands or the appointment is, when we stop we see clearly again. The priorities shift. And whatever we were rushing to gets back into its proper place in the grand scheme of things, because we’ll have the chance to be on time again tomorrow. For someone there will not be a tomorrow, at least not on this side of mortality. That kind of realization comes when you stop for a funeral procession. Coming to church can, in a sense, do the same kind of thing. What we’re doing now can shift our own priorities if we’re willing. Each week we have six days of being busy. Six days of thinking about ourselves and what we must do and what we need and who all needs us, and then Sunday comes, the clock strikes 11:00 and we stop. We stop to look up from whatever it was that seemed so important to focus on the giver and redeemer of life. Six days of focus on the world and this one hour to focus on the one who created it and the one who will take us from this world into the next. It’s in a moment like this that we are invited to see clearly. The priorities shift back to where they should be: God right here at the top and everything else below, only here’s the problem, while just about everyone in Marietta still stops for funeral processions, not everyone stops at 11:00. Not everyone stops to see the world clearly through the lens of hope that our Lord provides, so they go on looking through the lens of fear and anxiety. Not everyone stops so that their priorities settle back into the order they should, so they go on chasing after momentary contentment. They go on defining themselves by physical beauty or wealth or popularity. They go on dedicating themselves completely to their jobs. They go on rushing through life and wondering why they feel so empty. They go on thinking that the whole world rests on their shoulders, forgetting about the One who holds the whole world in His hands. Every once in a while, we all have to stop to think on such things. If we don’t, we’re like those who race from one thing to the next, busying ourselves with what seems important while neglecting what is essential. We’ll race through life, exhausted, yet failing in our true vocation. The first question in the Shorter Catechism in our book of Confessions is this: What is the chief end of man? The answer: Man’s chief end is to glorify god, and to enjoy him forever. I ask you, is that what you’ve been doing with your time? There’s wisdom on this subject in the book of Proverbs. Proverbs 16: 25: “Sometimes there is a way that seems to be right, but in the end, it is the way to death.” Not everyone stops to think about such things. Few stop to question the rat race because everyone else is doing it. Still, it is good and right to step off the hamster wheel to consider whether or not we’re getting anywhere. It’s good to stop and think, and today we are called to stop and think and consider who is at the top and who is down below. Who is truly King and does he wear his rightful crown in our lives? We all must stop to think about what’s driving us. There’s a moment on the show Mama’s Family when a young man proclaimed: “I get to know God just fine from the comfort of my bed on Sunday morning. I don’t need the church to get through life.” Mama responded: “Well, you don’t need a parachute to jump out of an airplane either.” Today is an important day, and I’m glad that you’re here so that together we can stop, let our priorities shift back into the order that they should always have, and to remember that we have been thinking so much about our president and his fate that we may have forgotten that we already have a King. Today is Christ the King Sunday. It’s a day to stop and think about where we’re going, which is important for we have been walking around like we are the masters of our own lives and kings of our own castles for so long that we may have forgotten that we are his subjects. We have been rushing so quickly through it all that we might think that the future of this world is all up to us, only wait a minute. He is God and we are not, and no matter how important the appointment, ultimately our fate rests in him. Because today is Christ the King Sunday this hour in the great scheme of things has significance, for here comes from Scripture the reminder that among all the failed shepherds who have promised us the world while leading us nowhere, the Creator God raised up for us a righteous branch, the firstborn of all creation, and in him all things in heaven and on earth were created and in him all things hold together. Today is the day for us to pull over to the side of this busy life full of anxiety and false hope to recognize that we have a savior, and in him we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. On the other hand, the world doesn’t stop. Some just keep on driving, and they are like those who drive by the funeral procession unable to recognize that something important is happening. He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords, but while some bow before him, others just keep on driving. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, but while some marvel at him, there are others who don’t have time to stop. And he has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, but some of us just keep on driving as though nothing new has happened. Yet to be rescued is worth stopping the car, for to be rescued by him means something, it declares something about who you are and who I am. According to the author of Colossians, the Lord “has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.” What this would have meant in ancient times is that he has captured us, invaded our territory and taken us to a different place. To be transferred into a different kingdom is something like what happened to the nation of Israel when Babylon invaded and took so many of the people to live in exile, but here it is Christ who has invaded the world, concurred it, and has taken us as his captives into a new kingdom – the Kingdom of Heaven – and here we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. Here we are not subject to the powers of sin and death. Here all things visible: thrones, dominions, rulers, or powers are subject to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, though far too often we bow before them. Sometimes we look to them for legitimacy. Sometimes we rest our trust in their mortal hands, or worse, in our own, which means doing work that is not our to do. There was a quote from a humorist named Robert Benchley in the Marietta Daily Journal last week: Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn’t the work he or she is supposed to be doing. What work is ours, but the work of praise? What work is His? Everything else. Rest then in the security of his powerful love. Rest in the hands of the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For going through life trying to control, manipulate, and do your will on this earth is no way to spend the short time that we have. My friend Jim Goodlet quoted another pastor to me this last week. One of the great pastors, the prince of preachers he was called, Charles Spurgeon, who once said that “good character is the best tombstone, only carve your name on the hearts of those you love, not on a tombstone.” Today let us remember the one who has carved his name on all our hearts. All praise and glory and honor are His, the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. Amen.

The Splendor of this House

Scripture Lessons: 2 Thessalonians 2: 1-5, 13-17 and Haggai 1: 15b – 2: 9 Sermon Title: The Splendor of this House Preached on November 10, 2019 This reading from the book of Haggai, a book we don’t often take the time to read, is about a Temple renovation. You probably know a lot more about renovations than I do. This is about all I know: renovations take imagination. They take vision. And if you get too deep into the reality of the situation you probably won’t ever start, much less finish, so you need people around to protect the dream of what could be. The easier thing than renovating a house is just buying a house that doesn’t need to be renovated. That’s an attractive option for a lot of people, but for many people that’s just not an option. It wasn’t an option for us when we went to buy our first house in Decatur, and so we bought a dump. I’m sure you know about Decatur. Decatur is now a very nice place to live. When Sara and I were looking for our first house many parts of Decatur were very nice, but houses in those parts were out of our price range. A house that was in our price range wasn’t in on of those nice parts and wasn’t in great shape. There was no washer or dryer. There was no dishwasher. There wasn’t even a place to hook such appliances up. There was a vent over the gas range that sucked up smoke from the frying pans, but that vent didn’t take the cooking fumes too far. In fact, I remember trying to figure out why there was grease on the adjoining bathroom wall. Then I removed the mirror and there was the back of the range hood. It just sucked up whatever came off the range and moved it to the bathroom. That wasn’t ideal. I guess if you like to come out of the shower smelling like you slept at the Waffle House, this was the bathroom for you, but for most it wasn’t ideal. Yet here’s the thing. We could afford it, and we were crazy enough to believe that we could make something of it. I had learned to tile floors in a class at Home Depot. Sara can do anything she puts her mind to. My Dad’s cousin was married to an electrician who offered to donate his labor. There were friends around who offered to help us. Plus, the potential was there. Across the street from the house was a creek and greenspace. There was a Chinese chestnut tree in the front yard. Love is all you really need anyway, so we buckled down and gave it a try. That was our first house. Maybe that was something like your first house. What about the Temple? The prophet Haggai gathered the people around what remained of the temple and asked, “Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now?” I like this question. Most people there probably didn’t think there was much to see. The truth is that most likely there were only one or two there that day who could remember what the Temple looked like before the Israelites were taken into exile. Scholars who think about this kind of thing say that only a person in what you might call, “the fourth quarter of life” would have remembered seeing it. The First Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians, and now they stand at the ruins, sixty years later, most in the crowd having only heard about the Temple’s splendor from their grandparents. Now, sixty years later, what did they see? The gold that decorated the place had been taken to adorn the throne rooms of kings in faraway places. The Ark, that held the remains of the 10 Commandments and what remained of the manna was missing. The walls, once painted, were rubble. The Priests, who officiated in the room they called the Holy of Holies had been killed. “Who can remember the former glory?” is one good question. Another is, “who can imagine that such glory will ever return?” The first night we spent in our house in Decatur, I remember how Sara cried. And I wanted to. What were we doing in that place? Would it ever be fit to live in? Would it ever be the kind of place where we’d want to raise a child? Yet, in our minds was an idea of what it could be, and together, relying on each other, and the expertise of friends and real professionals, it became our home. That’s what it takes of course: 1. Enough imagination to see beyond what’s there to what might be 2. The knowledge that you’re not in it alone. So, the prophet Haggai does assure the people of both those things: Take courage, says the Lord; for I am with you. My spirit abides among you; do not fear. For thus says the Lord of hosts: once again, in a little while, I will shake the havens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all the nations, so that the treasure of all nations shall come, and I will fill this house with splendor. You can’t renovate without a dream. Without a dream of what could be you won’t even start. Nor can you renovate if you’re all alone. I had lunch with an old hockey player last week. He was a defenseman. I asked him what his primary responsibility was as a defenseman on the hockey rink, for being born and raised in the south I don’t know anything about hockey other than that it sounds too cold to be much fun. He told me that his job was to protect the little guys who skate fast and score the goals. “They can’t play scared, those little guys. So, my job was to watch out for them.” Does our Father in Heaven not make the same promise? Has our Father in Heaven not done the same for us in this place? Has our Father in Heaven not restored the splendor of this house? Today is the day of the annual meeting. It’s one Sunday a year when we hear about numbers and budgets, reports from the church officers. It’s not typically something that I look forward to, but today it is. I’ve been so excited to look through the annual report that you’ll receive today, because it is the story of what God has done here during our renovation. It is an accounting of splendor restored, lives changed, and smiling faces. It is an accounting of the glory of God. Like the Ancient Israelites, many churches in this country have a memory. Some call it a Camelot memory of full rugs at the children’s sermon, a full choir loft, a full preschool, a full youth program, a full Sanctuary on a Sunday morning. I call you to take inventory of what God has done and is doing here. To take a good long look around this place and to rejoice, for our God has honored His promise to us. He has sustained us by His grace. He is restoring this house to its former glory, and giving us yet an idea, that “The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former.” So then, brothers and sisters, what will you do? How will you respond? What do you say? I say, “If God is for us, who could be against us.” And I will listen as He calls on me, as He calls on us all to continue the work to the glory of His name. Halleluiah! Amen.

In the Company of the Faithful

Scripture Lessons: Luke 6: 20-31 and Ephesians 1: 11-23 Preached on November 3, 2019 Sermon Title: In the Company of the Faithful All Saint’s Sunday is today, and soon I will read from the list of names printed there in your bulletin. This is the list of all church members who died in the last year, yet, to you and to me it is much more than a list of names and we will do more than read them. Because these are our people, we cannot read their names without acknowledging their significance. They are husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and fellow church members, and by saying their names we see their faces, we hear their voices, and remember who they were. More than that, today we even go so far as to confess that they are saints. Knowing that while their earthly life is over, today we boldly proclaim that they are not gone. They are not here as they once were but they have not disappeared. They have passed away but they are not lost. They have breathed their last but we will meet them again. Today is a chance to see and know that Steinbeck, in The Grapes of Wrath, pointed to the truth when he wrote that great Tom Joad speech. This is the speech where Tom, rather than say goodbye to his mother tells her to keep watch for him: I’ll be around in the dark – I’ll be everywhere. Wherever you can look – I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry and they know supper’s ready, and when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too. We’re doing more than remembering today, you see. We’re acknowledging that they’re still here if in a different way. That’s more than legacy, what we’re talking about this morning. Of course, legacy is important and meaningful. Every time I cross the Harris Hines Bridge, I think about his legacy etched across this state. There’s a mark left on this place by AD Little that will last forever, just as every name of this list that we’ll read has left a legacy that will be felt for years to come, but we’re not just remembering today. We’ll name them all, and with their names spoken we acknowledge that they are not here where we can see them but neither are they gone. On days like today we remember that the great cloud of witnesses draws near and we are in the company of the faithful. That’s what inspires the cover on your bulletin. Those aren’t aliens landing. They’re saints drawing near. Last week I read a story about a young English clergyman who served a small congregation. It was his custom at evening services to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to any parishioners who remained at the conclusion of the service. One night so few stayed that he questioned whether the sacrament should be observed, but he did. In the midst of the liturgy, he read part of the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving, a prayer that we will pray this morning too, though ours is a different version: “Therefore, with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious name.” He paused and read that line again, “With angels and archangels and all the company of heaven…” Then he prayed, “God forgive me. I did not realize I was in such company.” Most of the time we don’t. We forget who is with us, and we ignore what they call us to do. It’s so easy to ignore or to look beyond, not just the Saints who draw near to us, but the entire company of the faithful. Today I think of Helen Jones, who died just last Saturday. She should be here with her cute red car, parked illegally right outside our doors. It’s because of her that we’re now looking into valet parking. If you think that would be good for us to have, there’s a survey to take on the church website. This effort really did start because of her. When we told her she couldn’t park her car in front of the bike rack, she said, “Fine!” and handing her keys to the nearest Deacon, “If I can’t park here, you do it!” We’d now like to maybe formalize that process a little bit. Helen Jones was something. If we could hear her speak today I wonder what she would have us do. If today we remember how the Saints draw close, that we are in the company of the faithful, what do they want us to know? Do you remember that moment from the Thorton Wilder play, Our Town? When Emily, who so recently died, is in her home as a spirit. Having drawn close to her family she wishes they would “really look at one another.” It all goes so fast [she says]. We don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. So, all that was going on and we never noticed… Wait! One more look. Good-bye, good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover’s Corners… Mama and Papa. Good-bye clock’s ticking… and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths… and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it… every, every minute? In the company of the faithful I realize that we spend too much time worrying and fail to enjoy. We spend too much time working and forget to love. We spend too much time thinking that we’ll have tomorrow but then tomorrow doesn’t always come. A close friend of mine was in a car accident last week. It was bad, but he walked away without a scratch, as did everyone else involved, but this friend who was recently named the President of the Fort Worth, Texas Chamber of Commerce took his time getting to his office the Friday after this accident. We often talk, but usually about what meetings he’s going to or what meetings I’m going to. Lately there have been many meetings regarding the Fort Worth police officer who shot an unarmed African American woman in her home. Yet, on that Friday after this accident I was telling him how cold it was. Maybe it was 32 degrees, only in response I heard my friend say, “It’s 14. 14.” “No, it’s cold, but not that cold, and what do you know about the weather in Georgia when you’re in Texas,” I responded. He said, “Sorry Joe. I wasn’t talking to you. My son just asked me what two times 7 is, and after this car accident I’m all about that. That’s what I want to be doing. Stopping everything to tell my son that two times seven is 14.” Isn’t that what they’d be telling us all to do today? Isn’t that what they all would want us to do? To enjoy the smell of coffee, and new ironed dresses, and hot baths? To stop to answer multiplication questions? To rejoice in these moments that we have, trusting that they who have gained their crown do not need our tears, but only wish us happiness? Today I wish that we had figured out how to valet cars a little sooner. We’ve been focused on many things, but how important it is to really see each other the way one police officer in Fort Worth failed to. Today, remember that we still have the chance to see each other a little more clearly. Encouraged by the Saints around us this day, we might spend a little more time doing, not what is urgent, but what matters. Not what seems important, but what Christ and all the company of the faithful would have us do. Amen.

Poured Out

Scripture Lessons: Acts 7: 54-58 and 2nd Timothy 4: 6-18 Sermon Title: Poured Out Preached on October 27, 2019 As you may have read on your bulletin cover or noticed based on who wrote our first two hymns, today is Reformation Sunday. This is an annual event when we are invited to remember that moment in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Thesis to a church door in Whittenburg, Germany. These 95 Thesis were his 95 complaints or issues with the Roman Catholic Church. He judged many priests in the hierarchy, all the way up to the Pope in Rome to be to be self-serving, manipulative, and corrupt. He believed that a tradition of buying indulgences, or tickets into heaven (while maybe good for the Annual Stewardship Campaign) made a mockery of the Gospel. And he was tiered of worship services that used too much Latin rather than the language that people actually spoke and could understand. Of course, the choir sang that beautiful anthem in Latin today, which was incredible! But can you imagine if everything we did in here was in Latin? The result of Martin Luther nailing such complaints on a piece of paper to a church door, was no small thing. It resulted in the formation of the Lutheran and Presbyterian Churches, then the Baptist, Episcopal, Methodist, and all the other protestants and nondenominationals. It inspired new forms of worship, widespread democracy, the first Bibles written in languages that most people actually spoke, and nearly cost Martin Luther his life as he was persecuted for heresy. Because Martin Luther changed the course of his life, stepping out in faith in an act of protest and defiance, risking his reputation and veering from the course he thought his life would take, the whole world changed and is still changing. The author Eric Metaxas recently wrote a biography of Martin Luther, titled, “The Man who rediscovered God and changed the world,” which begins with this introduction: In 1934, an African American pastor from Georgia made the trip of a lifetime, sailing across the Atlantic Ocean, through the gates of Gibraltar, and across the Mediterranean Sea to the Holy Land. After this pilgrimage, he traveled to Berlin, attending an international conference of Baptist pastors. While in Germany, this man became so impressed with what he learned about the reformer Martin Luther that he decided to do something dramatic. He offered the ultimate tribute to the man’s memory by changing his own name… not long after the boy’s father changed his own name, he decided to change his [young] son’s name too, and Michael King Jr. became known to the world as Martin Luther King Jr. Reformation Sunday is today. As we remember what is called the Great Reformation, know that what we celebrate is not just an important event in the past, for just this word, “reformation,” inspires us to remember today the reality that change must happen, and sometimes change can even be good. That our lives and our society must be reformed, and also always reforming. That’s an important message, because oftentimes we want everything to go according to plan. We get an idea in our head, that life will move steadily from one milestone to the next, and that if we stay the course we’ll be rewarded. That’s not always true, so today let us remember that faithfulness is well exhibited the disruptions. Not in Pharisees who upheld time tested traditions with reverence and discipline, but in Christ who toppled the tables set in the Temple. Not in the Priests who recited their Latin Masses to the people though they didn’t understand, but in Martin Luther who returned the Gospel to the hands of the people. Not in those protestors and police officers who fought to maintain segregation, but in Luther’s namesake, Martin Luther King Jr., who preached and preached until segregation ended. These are examples to be remembered as all of us step into the future, that we be, not confined to routine but led by the Spirit. From the New Testament book, 2nd Timothy, we find encouragement to do just that in the example of the Apostle Paul. We’ve read in our Second Scripture Lesson a letter to a young man from a more experienced one who knows a thing or two about changing course. As Paul, the author, nears the end of his life on earth he writes: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. These claims he makes about his life are the same claims we all want to make. We all want to run our race well, but at some point, it feels good to stop running or at least, it becomes a little less exiting to take the next step. I remember being a teenager and every next step was so exciting. It seemed like everyone wanted to know: “Do you have your learner’s permit?” “Where are you going to college?” “How is your resume looking?” Ours is a society that asks about these things, excited about the beginning phases of life. Unfortunately, then we often get fearful about what comes after that. Just consider, when’s the last time you heard someone ask an older person with that same level of excitement: “Are you looking forward to giving up your driver’s license?” “Have you decided on a retirement home?” “Have you worked on your will?” While it is commonplace to be excited about steps towards adulthood, in this letter Paul shines a light on the truth, that with faith we might also be joyful in taking steps beyond it: As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day. Sometimes we read these words at the funeral, when it’s too late for the departed to reap the full benefit of Paul’s example. He shows us by his example, that we can’t just be thinking about change in the first half of our lives. With faith, Paul shows us that we can look forward to every step. His example shows that reformation and change is a continual process, that does not come to full fruition until we breathe our last and receive the crown. So, while it’s so good to consider how we’ll fill our days up, how can we also pour ourselves out? What will we do once we’ve filled up our lives with events, choices, careers, relationships, and furniture? Some downsize and try to give their stuff to their children. Problem is, their kids don’t want it. Recognizing that, my grandmother threatened my mother once: “Cathy, when I die, don’t you dare have a yard sale. Don’t you dare bring my stuff out of the house and into the front yard for strangers to pick over. If you do, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life!” Isn’t a terrifying thing to imagine your life spread out on a front lawn for strangers to pick through. Still, that’s what happens sometimes. We welcome change and newness for several years, but then the expectation becomes that we settle in. Stay the same. Maintain life as it is, but that is not faith, for God is always leading us beyond where we are to where we might be should we be brave enough to keep running the race. Many do, others just put everything off until it’s too late. That’s a sad way to go. Old and bitter in an empty house full of regrets. I know people like that. Paul’s not immune to bitterness either. The strangest details are left for us in the section that an editor of your Bible may have titled, “Personal Instructions.” In verses 9-18, the Apostle Paul says a lot. At the end of his life he lists his grievances: Demas deserted me. Crescens and Titus are gone too. I hope Alexander the Coppersmith gets what’s coming to him. Only Luke is with me, but Paul doesn’t have anything good to say about him. Mark might be useful, so Paul asks Timothy to bring him when he comes to visit, as well as the cloak that he left with Carpus at Troas. This detail about the cloak reminded me of the first time Paul is mentioned in Scripture. He was called Saul then, and he was different. In our First Scripture Lesson from the book of Acts, we read of one of the lowest points in this account of the history of the Early Church. A Disciple named Stephen was stoned. He was the first martyr, and when they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him, the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While tragic, there’s something wonderful about remembering this memory when considering the end of Paul’s life. There’s something wonderful here, in this simple reminder. That in light of all his glory we might also look back and see Paul the Apostle when he was young and stupid. When we’re tempted to venerate him, we can see again that even the Apostle Paul, who has more churches named for him than even Martin Luther, was once an accomplice in something horrible. That even he had to be changed by Christ and then, had to keep on changing. Life is this great process of reformation, and the best stories we can hear are of those who are still growing up, still making mistakes and learning from them. For don’t you remember what it was like in 5th Grade when it seemed like no one would ever forget that you got caught picking your nose in Ms. Cook’s Class? (I’m not speaking from personal experience or anything.) Regardless of your phase of life, can’t you see that it’s only just the beginning. We must keep growing and changing until we have poured out what we’ve filled our lives with and breathe our last to receive the crown. That’s what Paul was able to tell Timothy. That’s what Paul is telling us. Keep the faith, through every phase of life. Don’t stop changing or growing, for every step in life requires that we walk alongside the Lord who leads us through life and beyond it. Yesterday our own Larissa Dukes quoted a passage read in some Jewish circles in a time of morning: When I die give what’s left of me away. Love doesn’t die, people do. So, when all that’s left of me is love, Give me away. That’s how Paul did. I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come, he said. And while surely, he was afraid, having following Christ all his days, he’s ready to follow him down the path just a little bit further. Are you?

Do Not Wander Away to Myths

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 31: 27-37 and 2 Timothy 3: 14 – 4: 5 Sermon Title: Do Not Wander Away to Myths Preached on 10/20/19 Always, but especially today, we give thanks to God for Scripture. Scripture holds a central place in our Presbyterian tradition. Many Presbyterian churches are designed like ours, with the pulpit in the center. That illustrates, not that the preacher is of central importance, but that the Word of God is. That’s why I stand here, front and center. It’s not so that everyone can see or hear me, but so that you and I know the place that God’s Word must have in our lives. It must be the focal point and the foundation, bringing light to shadow and clarity to all our confusion. To stand in this pulpit or to touch that old pulpit Bible that I’ve just read from is really something wonderful, then. It reminds me that for generations and generations, the words of Scripture have been cherished and passed down, translated and debated. When I touched the worn pages of that newly restored Bible that rested in the pulpit of our Sanctuary so that generations of believers would hear the Word of God, it’s as though I’m touching something sacred. In that old pulpit Bible, a symbol of our faith has been preserved, so I’m exceedingly grateful to the family who supported the effort to have it restored and the History Committee who sent it off, as well as the woman who knit together again it’s binding by hand. However, it’s not enough for us as Christians to preserve the book. It’s not enough to put it under a glass case where it will be kept safe, well maintained for future generations to admire. All of that is wonderful of course, but Scripture is not meant for a museum. Under a glass case or up on a bookcase is not where we are commanded to keep the Word of God, for as we read from the Old Testament book of Jeremiah in the King James Version: I will put my law in their inward parts And write it in their hearts; Have you ever thought about what that means? A wonderful author named Richard Rohr retells a story about Joan of Arc. After defending her home country of France from English domination, she had to stand trial for defying her culture’s harsh standards of gender. Representatives of the Church tried her for heresy, for in addition to her unladylike behavior of commanding an army, she said that it was God himself who called her to do it. That didn’t sit well with the Religious Authorities of the time. The Gospel rarely does, and so they couldn’t believe that God would ever command a young woman to do anything besides cook or sew. “What makes you that it was God speaking to you?” they asked. “I heard Him speak in my mind and felt Him lead me in my heart,” she said. Giving little credence to her emotions or the voices inside her head, they accused her of falling victim to the power of her own imagination. Yet, Joan of Arc brilliantly responded, “How else would God speak to me?” Maybe you’ve had that same feeling of being led by an inner voice, a sense that the divine was leading you somewhere. Only how do you determine which voice is God’s and which isn’t? That’s why Scripture must reside in our hearts. That’s why His Commandments must fill our inward parts. All the time we are asked to make choices. All the time decisions must be made, and some trust the feeling in their gut, others the little voice inside their head; still others rely on numbers, metrics, data, but why not use the account of the Great Heroes of our faith, why not listen again to the old stories of God at work in the world to gain an understanding of how God is still at work in our lives today. 2nd Timothy warns us against turning away from the truth and wandering away to myths. We can only begin to grasp what is truth and what is myth by knowing the words of Scripture so well that we know the sound of God’s voice and the quality of His character. Otherwise, we’re set at sea like a ship without a rudder or an anchor, victims to the whims of the most constant and manipulative advertisements the world has ever seen. Has it happened to you yet, that you ordered something online, and magically, you find yourself presented with similar products? I recently ordered some fancy, $8.00 shoelaces. Yes, I know that you can buy two pairs of shoelaces at Walmart for $2.00, but they don’t make those in colors that will match all my outfits. I ordered two pairs of these shoelaces from a website called whiskers.com. Ever since then I’ve seen their advertisements everywhere. They’re on my phone and on my computer. It’s like someone’s been watching me and knows what I’ll be tempted to buy. That’s because someone is. Of course, the news is even worse. We know now that once you read an article on-line, you’ll be presented with other articles that you might like. This is convenient and good so long as you’re happy and settled with the world view that you currently have and don’t want to be disturbed with a different opinion. Constantly today the salesmen of products and propaganda are knocking down our door, infiltrating our life, trying to tell us what to buy and even how to think. Considering the aggressive cacophony of myths in our daily lives, how can we know who to listen to? How can we decide whose advice to take? Which version of the truth is really the truth? Sorting through the confusion is easy when we remember the words of Scripture: Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. We have to know the Word, you see. Consider our Call to Worship that was from the Psalms, that God’s law makes us wiser than our enemies, or again, Jeremiah, where the Lord looks forward to the day when: I will put my law in their inward parts And write it in their hearts; To have Scripture in our hearts is crucial, because all around us are myths. All around us and even in our own heads are voices that will lead us towards death and destruction. An author once wrote that “We accept the love we think we deserve.” He’s right. And we also listen to the voices we think have it right, we take the advice of those who speak with confidence, even though they often speak without wisdom. Therefore, we must be careful, because myths can ring true, even when they are empty. There may be a voice that you hear, like that of Orson Welles: We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone. Illusion? That’s a myth. Let me tell you why. I was standing in line at the Starbucks at the hospital last week with our Music Director, Dr. Jeffrey Meeks. A Journey song came on: He’s tearin’ you apart Every, every day And Jeffrey started singing Cause he’s lovin; touchin’ another. And when it got to the next part, all the na, na, nu, na, na’s, another guy right behind us jumps right in and starts singing with him. He was with his teenage daughter, and while they were crooning in harmony, she and I had the same embarrassed looks on our faces. Regardless, remember these strangers in line singing together and know that while it’s easy to go into the hospital and to think that no one cares that you’re there, you’re not alone. Don’t believe that you are for a second. Hear the Word of the Lord: and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age. Do you know those words? Are they written on your heart? You’ll be scattered by the wind if they’re not. For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths. Don’t you know it’s already happening? So many mistake the words inside their head that tear them apart, for the Word of the Lord. So many mistake the bullies in the hall or on the internet for sound doctrine. So many listen to what people say and think that they must speak for God but listen to what God has to say: You are mine, my beloved, and with you I am well pleased. Too often we imagine Scripture as full of the harsh words that tell us what not to do. We assume that within those pages we will hear that we’re all wrong or undeserving. If that’s what you think, then take it down from the shelf to read it, that you might come to know the God who called a woman named Joan to lean an army and was incarnate in a man named Jesus, who gave His life out of love for you. If we don’t know, with some certainty, that we have God’s approval, then we will spend our entire lives trying to earn the world’s, which we will never get. Do not wander away to myths. Do not believe what they say. Instead, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, that “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” Amen.

A Love that Never Ceases

Scripture Lessons: Lamentations 1: 1-12 and 2 Timothy 1: 1-14 Sermon Title: A Love that Never Ceases Preached on October 6, 2019 Last week I was glad to attend a meeting of the Board of Zoning Appeals. I say I was glad to attend. That was how I felt when I first arrived and not how I felt when I left. You may have read in the paper about a new MUST homeless shelter. In the past, single men were face of homelessness. Today, most of those being turned away from the existing MUST shelter when it hits capacity are single mothers with children. The new shelter is designed to meet their needs. It will have more rooms where mothers and their children can stay together, but before MUST can break ground, first they must gain approval for their new building, hence the request to the Board of Zoning Appeals. This meeting with them was public. Many people showed up, MUST supporters, including former Governor Roy Barnes, as well as residents who live in the area around the current shelter who oppose its construction. These residents were there to voice their opposition to the new shelter, for they fear that should the Board of Zoning Appeals grant MUST’s request, the problems they encounter already with homeless men and women camping out in the woods near their houses will only grow worse by attracting more homeless people. To persuade the Board, each side gave impassioned speeches. All those speeches took a long time, because this board grants a full 20 minutes to each side. That’s a long time to listen, I realized, and made a mental note to keep my sermons shorter. Then the Board took a vote. They sided with the residents. Then I left disappointed, but not entirely because my side lost. The residents made fine points. What disappointed me is that their points were made based on the assumption that even a new shelter will not make our community’s problem with homelessness any better. That’s a demoralizing thought. That’s a sad state of affairs. Thinking that way will make you nearly as depressed as reading our First Scripture Lesson will. That passage from Lamentations is a very sad one, but I didn’t ask Joe Brice to read it to make you sad. I asked him to read it because feeling demoralized is nothing new. Throughout history, some have been brought low by circumstance. What’s inspiring is to remember the faith of those who persevered. This past week in Columbia, TN, a man died who I knew well. He was a member of the church I served there. He was a World War II veteran who, following a mission attempting to destroy Japanese submarines, once spent a long night floating in the Atlantic Ocean when the landing gear of his airplane failed to come down. That happened when he was 19 years old. Do you know what I was doing when I was 19 years old? Some of you do, and so you know it wasn’t that. Considering his strength, it occurs to me how progress has afforded each successive generation just a little bit more safety, maybe a lot more luxury, which is nice, but it’s also dangerous. That’s because as less and less is required of us in this modern era, we may also fall into the illusion that less and less is possible. In our Second Scripture Lesson from the book of 2nd Timothy, Paul the Apostle calls young Timothy, to remember the faith “that lived first in [his] grandmother Lois and [his] mother Eunice and now, [he] is sure, lives” on in him. Calling young Timothy to look back this way was surely inspiring, for there’s a tremendous stock of resilience that awaits us in our history. Paul calls Timothy to remember the faith of his grandmother and mother. That’s helpful, because if we remember what they made it through, what they endured, what they accomplished, surely, we’ll find strength enough in ourselves to continue the race that they started. That’s why Paul writes to Timothy: “their faith, I am sure, live in you. For this reason, I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you.” When Timothy hit a hard time, he needed that reminder. We all do. We all need to remember the resilient heroes of the past to gain the strength we need for today. Certainly, that’s true for me. My least favorite chore is making our girls their school lunches. Sara never asks me to help her with it, because I hate making their lunches so much. I especially deplore the most tedious step in the school lunch making process: finding the lids to the Tupperware that their lunches must be packaged in. I ask you: “What could be worse than making our children lunches?” Thinking back on the lives of my fore parents I’ll tell you: looking in the cupboard and finding it bare. Just two generations ago was the Great Depression, and among us still are those who survived it. Consider them, and don’t tell me we can’t make it through whatever challenges we face today. There is strength enough within us to make it through anything, even to endure the toxic political climate we find ourselves in. Some people will tell you that the partisan divide is worse than it’s ever been. That’s just not true. Look back just 150 years ago when the South declared war on the North. How’s that for a partisan divide? All we have today are some arguing grown-ups, and if you don’t like any of them, then do something about it. At least, take the time to vote. Not everyone does that even. Why? Because the evil one has convinced some of us that they may as well stay at home. That hope is lost. That we’re weak. That nothing can ever change but remember your grandmothers for a minute and rekindle the gift of God that is within you. Do you know what I wish would have happened at the Board of Zoning Appeals last week? I wish someone had said, “If we all work together, there won’t be homeless people in anyone’s’ back yard,” for based on Scripture and the strength of generations, I know we can put all of this city’s men and women and children under a roof, if we’d just try. In the midst of hardship and trial, we must remember that our God’s love is a love that never ceases. He is with us at in our darkest hour, and like the sun, he rises up each morning to lead us to a brighter day. Halleluiah. Amen.

Who Gave Himself a Ransom for All

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 8: 18 – 9: 1 and 1 Timothy 2: 1-7 Sermon Title: Who Gave Himself a Ransom for All Preached on September 22, 2019 Just before the Prayers of the People we sang “There is a Balm in Gilead.” This great hymn is based on our First Scripture Lesson from the book of Jeremiah, where in desperation the Prophet mourns on behalf of God for the people saying: My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick. Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored? We emphasize such themes this Sunday morning on behalf of our brothers and sisters who are still cheering for the University of Tennessee. Not really. This is Scripture. It’s not about College football, but I have been struck this season by the Vols. We don’t watch much college football in our house, however, back when we lived in Tennessee, we were all UT fans. When you live in Tennessee you have to be. Since moving here, we haven’t been overt about it, for obvious reasons. This has been a difficult season. The first game this season was a loss against Georgia State, who’s only even had a football team since 2010. You might have heard, that on the day of that game a boat outside the stadium caught fire and sank in the Tennessee River. It’s been said that UT’s game plan for the game was on that boat. Then the Vols were defeated by Bingham Young University, a historically Mormon school, not considered a football powerhouse, from Salt Lake City. After that game a friend of mine sent me a picture of a Mormon missionary in white shirt and dark pants, narrowly outrunning a Tennessee defenseman, which was a good illustration for the second defeat of the season. Then last week, even though Tennessee was victorious against Chattanooga, still a friend sent me a picture of a man at the Georgia game dressed in a Vols jersey with a bag over his head, embarrassed to show his face. You can imagine that after yesterday’s loss to Florida, there were many in Knoxville, not singing “Rocky Top,” but asking, “Is there no balm in Gilead?” Will we ever win again? When will we be out of our misery? Those are all good and important questions, and I’m sure that these are the questions the players on the Marietta High School football team who have been recruited by the University of Tennessee are asking, but such questions bring me to a point that I believe Scripture makes, a lesson so counter cultural as to be radically surprising, namely, that winning isn’t everything. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. Certainly, I have, because I’ve lost at a lot of things, and my Mother especially, tried to comfort me by telling me that it’s not whether you win or lose but how you play the game. I never believed her. Sometimes I still don’t. However, I hope you’ll hear me out, especially giving the state of youth sports today. For as sports become a more and more important part of the lives of our children and grandchildren and as more and more parents sacrifice their free time, driving hours in the car for travel baseball, travel soccer, or travel volleyball, it becomes important to consider what our kids are learning about the importance of victory. When some parents take their kids out of school for competitions, what are we teaching them? When their schedules are so packed, what are they learning from us about the importance of rest? As Sunday becomes a day for tournaments, what place has religion in the hierarchy of importance? While I know that the lessons of teamwork, practice, physical fitness, and hard work are lessons that all parents need to teach their kids, I’m worried that we are also teaching them that winning is all that truly matters, when we serve a Lord who taught that the path to salvation is not through victory, but surrender. We read in 1st Timothy: There is one God; There is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, Who gave himself a ransom for all. This section of 1st Timothy, our Second Scripture Lesson goes a long way, using just a few phrases, to describe who this Christ whom we follow is and what he has done for us. Scripture testifies to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, who sat not on a throne, but died on a Cross to save us from our sins. Rather than rubbing shoulders with princes, he ate with sinners and still welcomes, even the likes of us. While he could have avoided suffering, he embraced it, and he teaches that the only way to conquer all is to give everything you have to those whom you love. According to the Apostle Paul, in the eyes of Christ, all our earthly winning is losing. He was bold to say, “Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ.” We protestants know, by emphasizing such words, that you can’t earn God’s love or God’s salvation, you just must accept God’s grace. Why then do we spend so much time helping our kids become winners? I worry that we are saying one thing, while doing another, when the truth is so much better than the lie that they may be picking up, because I don’t love our children because of what they’ve won. I love them because they’re mine. I might like it, but I don’t need them to win. I just want them to be fully who God created them to be, however in our world of constant competition, that’s easier said than done. I was enjoying some Palmetto Cheese the other day, and I remembered the story of the people who started making it. Maybe you’ve had Palmetto Cheese. It’s the best store-bought pimento cheese you can buy, made by a small business out of Pawley’s Island started by a couple who runs a small inn on the beach. When they bought the inn, they focused on the dining room right away. I read all this in an interview, that they bought the inn and noticed that the dining room was stuck in some strange patterns. Once a week they had Thai night. Maybe like me, you like Thai food, but I don’t think anyone goes to Pawley’s Island looking for it. The women who cooked in the dining room certainly hadn’t been trained in Thai cooking, and so this couple who bought the inn encouraged the cooks in the kitchen to prepare the food they knew. Soon enough, good low country fare was coming out of the kitchen, including the best pimento cheese money can buy, but first this couple had to accept the reality that an inn on Pawley’s Island is just fine being who they were meant to be. That’s a hard lesson to learn, because we live our lives in a competition where we’re judged according to someone else’s rules. There are competitions on TV where they decide who’s the best chef but remember: you don’t have to win one on one of those shows to make food worth eating. There are people who make the cover of the magazine, but you don’t have to look like one of them to be beautiful. There are all kinds of different churches in this world, but we don’t have to be like any of them, we can just be us. As a church we get caught in the same cycle of winning; thinking we have to compete with great big churches in Atlanta who have guitars and drums and lights and sound, but does anyone really drive up to our antebellum sanctuary expecting us to be like one of them? No! God created us and God loves us, and we don’t have to win every competition to be a great church or to gain God’s love. All we have to do is accept God’s grace. This is such a difficult truth to accept, however, because we’ve been taught to believe that second place is the first looser. Now that might be true in sports, but sports are different than real life, and the Kingdom of God has plenty of room on the medal platform. 1st Timothy urges us to pray for everyone. “Everyone” might sound like too many to us, in this culture of winning. If everyone gets a trophy then what does a trophy really even mean? I get it. But Scripture calls on us to pray “For kings and all who are in high positions,” not only pray for the politicians we voted for because they’re all God’s children, too. According to 1st Timothy, God our Savior, “desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” “Everyone” sounds like a lot of people, but maybe that’s only because we’ve gotten so used to this idea that only a small number of people are worthy of acceptance and praise, only a set number of people ever get to make the team or get in the game, when in the Kingdom of God everyone is somebody and all have a seat at the table with the King. Back to the University of Tennessee Volunteers: did you see the shirts that the marching band wore last Saturday? It was college colors day at Altamonte Elementary School in Altamonte Springs, Florida. One 4th grade student didn’t have a college shirt to wear, so he wore an orange shirt, drew UT on a piece of paper and safety pinned it to his shirt. Some kids in the cafeteria noticed and made fun of him, of course. That’s what kids do. It’s wrong, but they do it. If you don’t have the right shirt or the right shoes you take your place on the outside the bounds of popularity. Having been rejected, this child was devastated of course. When his teacher saw the look on his face, she tried to affirm him and lift him up, and gradually, word got out about the child and this shirt he’d made. Somehow or another, eventually, word made it all the way to the University of Tennessee and their Pride of the Southland Marching Band, who took his design and mass produced it. Every one of them wearing an orange shirt just like the one that this kid made for himself. Our kids need to hear that story too. They need to hear about the balm our God provides in the moment of rejection. And of the Shepherd who walks beside us even when we walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Of the arms of the Almighty who is the wind beneath the wings of eagles. Because so often it is when we have surely been defeated that we finally reach out to the One who has gained the victory, by giving himself as a ransom for all. Let’s stop teaching our children to go after glory, that they might give the glory to God. Amen.

Onesimus

Scripture Lesson: Jeremiah 18: 1-11 and Philemon Sermon Title: Onesimus Preached on September 8, 2019 Truthfully, this is just an incredible day. I look forward to this day all year. I love hearing the bagpipes and the drums. I even love wearing this kilt and especially I love seeing the tartans come in. The Tartans are the centerpiece of this annual worship service. By all these tartans you can see that this service is a symbol that names matter and that all families are blessed by God. This Kirkin or “Blessing” of the Tartans tradition emerged at a time when only those families who had pledged themselves to British rule had the right to wear their plaid publicly. Only those who had kneeled to the crown were allowed to wear their kilts or to hear their clan’s name acknowledged. So, when the Church invites every family to come and be recognized in a worship service, it’s a radically defiant thing to do, for the tartans, publicly displayed, loudly proclaim that we all matter, we all stand as equals, and even if the Buchanan’s haven’t paid their taxes to the crown or the Macintoshes have been organizing a rebellion, they still matter to God. Even if some have been rendered invisible to the Monarchy, God sees them. God calls them by name. They are his. The statement made by this service, all the tartans that processed in and the clans they represent, proclaim the truth that all families matter, all people matter to God. And that word “all” applies even those who don’t have a tartan to hold up. There’s no Evans tartan. Not an official one anyway. That’s OK. I’m not upset about it. I don’t feel ignored. As the Senior Pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Marietta, GA, I don’t feel ignored basically ever. I was at dinner with two leaders of our church. We ordered drinks, and I ordered something fancy from the bar. I didn’t know how fancy it was, until the waiter brought it out on a tray, with a glass dome over it filled with hickory smoke. As the waiter made his way over to our table, grandly removing the dome, everyone in the restaurant was looking at me, and that’s when Jessi Allers, our youth ministry consultant says to Tom Clarke, “Like he doesn’t get enough attention already!” That’s true. Last Thursday I walked our daughter Lily across the street to drop her off at school. On my way back to the car there was a fair amount of traffic. A lot of parents were dropping off their kids, then rushing to work or to run errands. I was just standing there waiting when one woman stopped her car and waved her hand toward me and bowed her head like I was the King. I smiled and waved, but what came to me in this moment was a memory from my commute to the church last Monday morning. I was crossing the Harris Hines Bridge and I heard a whistle blow. The woman in the cross walk, right over there on Kennesaw Avenue is so used to cars ignoring her as she crosses the road that she’s taken to wearing a whistle around her neck that she blows at people who don’t stop for her. This is something that she has to do for her own safety, even in the cross walk. Indeed, I heard her blow it and saw a car narrowly pass her by. This morning, while so many families have been named and recognized by their tartans, we can’t forget that in this world, some are still fighting to be seen. Take Onesimus for example. Our Second Scripture Lesson for today was an entire book of the Bible. It’s just one chapter, a short letter written by Paul the Apostle to Philemon, a slave owner who hosted a church in his home, regarding his slave Onesimus, who, according to the law of the land was Philemon’s property, but Paul calls Philemon to remember that by the new order established by Jesus Christ, Onesimus is also his brother. Paul names Onesimus and defends him in this letter but consider the ways of the world. Imagine those many dinner parties when the guests treated him like a fixture of the dining room. How many people walked by him without greeting him as a fellow human being? To what extent did his owner treat him like a piece of his property, and when he ran away, was Philemon more concerned with the wellbeing of his brother or the investment he’d just lost? By calling him brother Paul calls all of us to a level of equality still needed in this world, but by simply naming him in this letter, the Apostle Paul has already done something radical, for how many names have been forgotten? Last Sunday I read an article by the great Judy Elliott who remembered a man named Antoine who discovered and propagated what became known as the “Centennial” pecan. Celebrated at the Centennial Exposition of 1876, held in Philadelphia. This new variety was praised for size and sweetness, yet horticultural tomes never mention the one who discovered it by name. Why? Because racism has rendered some invisible. The same story is retold when it comes to the greatest of hymns, “Amazing Grace,” which we’ll sing to end this worship service. We know John Newton wrote the words, but today historians speculate that the tune was one he heard slaves sing for comfort in the belly of the slave ships which he captained. We’ve forgotten their names and so many others. Our nation’s history is not always unlike the section of the cemetery where generations of men and women are only represented by one marker, not granted a stone bearing their name. Meanwhile, Paul remembers the name Onesimus. “Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me” he wrote to Philemon and urges that he might welcome him “back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother.” Here we are, so close to the 400th anniversary of the date when the first slaves were brought to this country, and yet some figures are still hidden. Nearly 300 years after the words were written, “All men are created equal” in the Declaration of Independence, we have yet to live up to our ideals. And we must continue to rise to them, that like clay in the potter’s hand, rooted in who we have been, we might be continually “reworked into another vessel;” a more perfect vessel. Today, as we celebrate tradition, history, heritage, roots, looking back on the past let us celebrate what is good: the tartans, the bag pipes, the kilts, but can we leave the haggis behind? Considering history, we don’t need to be confined to all of what once was, for reshaped by the Gospel we can become who Christ intends us to be. We must leave behind blindness to our brother, for still in our world, some are called doctor and others patient. A good friend of mine, Dr. Jim Goodlet, told me that “patient” is the perfect word, because that’s what’s required, profound patience as you wait in the waiting room, wait for test results, wait to hear if the cancer’s really gone. Maybe you saw the comic strip last Thursday. The doctor asked, “How are you sleeping?” Crankshaft responded, “I’m sleeping great Doc. I just dozed off for about two hours in your waiting room.” That may just be the way that it is, but have you ever had a doctor who saw you as a person? Isn’t that just as healing as whatever medicine she prescribed? See your brother then. That’s what Paul writes to Philemon. He’s calling on him to see Onesimus as his brother, and he’s calling on us to see each other with that same clarity of vision. This past week a Marietta man faced felony charges after police say he purposely struck the driver of a garbage truck with his car after spitting in his face. Are we not all worth stopping for? Are we not all deserving of respect? That’s what this worship service I all about. These Tartans are not unlike those great placards carried by the striking Memphis sanitation workers. They said so simply: “I am a man.” That’s what this worship service is about. Yes, you are. All of you are. And God sees you, we see you. In this place you can hold your head up high with your humanity intact. You matter here, and that’s regardless of what you do for a living or the color of your skin. That’s regardless of the amount of money in your pocket book and the birthdate on your driver’s license. That’s regardless of who you love. That’s regardless of how you sing. That’s regardless of the test results or the labels the world puts on you. Raise your head up high as we’ve raised up the Tartans, because you matter. You matter to God. The road to a better future may be potholed with the indifference of the past but it can be repaved by our empathy. Like clay in the hands of the potter, be reshaped by the Gospel today. Recognize your worthy and the worth of your brother, your sister, your own flesh, there before you. And let us all look forward to the moment when we will arise at the sound of God calling our name. He knows it too, for we all matter to Him. Thanks be to God. Amen.