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.