As One Having Authority

Scripture Lessons: Deuteronomy 18: 15-20 and Mark 1: 21-28 Sermon Title: As One Having Authority Preached on January 31, 2021 In this Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark Jesus is described twice, “as one having authority.” Wouldn’t you like for people to describe you that way? How could I get our children to describe me that way? At our house, it’s like I’m Rodney Dangerfield, “I don’t get no respect!” So, how do we get it? The answer is there in passage. When a man with an unclean spirit cried out to him, “what have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” Jesus rebuked the spirit saying, “Be silent,” and then commanded the spirit to “come out” and it did. His words had power, because they weren’t empty. He said, “come out” to the unclean spirit and it did, so if he told you, “take out the garbage or your grounded” you knew he was serious and if he said he loved you it was clear he meant it. What then is the difference between him and the rest? Why is it worth mentioning that he spoke as one having authority? What’s the difference between Jesus and all the empty suits, windbags, and braggadocios whose words we hear but know we can’t take to the bank? Here’s the difference: He actually does what everyone else just talked about doing. To him, it’s not just words. It was never just speech. If Jesus were to run for President, you could take all his campaign promises, not with a grain of salt but knowing that he was as good as his word. There haven’t been many presidents like that. In fact, some historians say that there was only one. People in Columbia, Tennessee are glad to tell you who it was. Every citizen of Columbia is happy to tell you all about it, because this great town south of Nashville where we lived before moving back here to Marietta, is especially proud of James K. Polk, the 11th President of the United States, who lived there. President Polk was actually born in North Carolina, but don’t try to tell anyone in Columbia, Tennessee that. They’re not interested in where the man was born. He was from Columbia, and while he was running for president, he lived in a house that’s now right across the street from the presbyterian church. Folks are proud of that, so the Presbyterians in Columbia are quick to tell you that the “K” in James K. Polk stands for Knox, for he was a direct descendant of that great Scottish leader of the Presbyterian Church, John Knox, but the Methodists will be quick to tell you that he had a death bed conversion and became a Methodist. Now, this is true, even though it sounds like it couldn’t be. The first time I was in the First Methodist Church in Columbia I looked closely at the great rose window in their sanctuary. It’s a beautiful stained-glass window, but I did a double take the first time I saw it, because I expected it to be Jesus’ to be in the center. He’s not. It’s the 11th President, James K. Polk, who the Methodists claim as one of their own. Now, what’s the point of me telling you all this? I’ll tell you. A close friend of mine, Tom Price, was one of the historians on staff at the Polk Home, and when Tom was giving his standard speech on President Polk, as he was often called on to do, he would always say that Polk only made four campaign promises: 1. To expand the borders of our country, which he did through the acquisition of the Oregon Territory, California, New Mexico, and settling the Texas border dispute. 2. To lower tariffs, which he did. 3. The establishment of a new federal depository system, done in four years. 4. And the strengthening of the executive office, mission accomplished. Many historians will say that he left office at the end of this first term not seeking reelection, and as the most successful president since George Washington. Anyone is Columbia, Tennessee will tell you that he left office as the most successful president of all time, and I’ll agree with them because he did what he said he would do. It’s amazing. Is that not amazing? And is it not amazing that we think living up to campaign promises is amazing? Why have we grown used to accepting false hope, half-truths, and good tries. I don’t know, but when people heard Jesus they were impressed, and when they saw how he lived they knew that he teaches as “one having authority.” That he’s not like the scribes who just talk about the Scriptures. He’s actually living them. He’s not going for personal glory; he wants to glorify his Father in Heaven. He wasn’t all talk and no action. His words had authority because of his actions. It’s a rare thing to find a president like that, it’s a gift to find a person like that, and unfortunately, the world has seen far too many churches who were just too good at saying one thing while doing another. I’ve been talking about presidents, but this event in the life of Jesus described in our Second Scripture Lesson doesn’t take place in Town Hall or congress. It’s an exorcism that takes place, not in a place where people do political things but in one of those places where people worship, a synagogue. The place where all people are supposed to be welcome, but let’s be honest, not everyone always is. Verse 23 makes it plain who belonged there and who didn’t: “Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit,” as though the synagogue belonged to those who had it all together and not those who needed a little help. Their synagogue. Who’s synagogue? Is it not always God’s synagogue, where sinners like us are always welcome? Was this place and so many others like it not created to be a place of prayer for all people? The Pope was clear a few years ago: “the church is a field hospital for the sick,” but how often is it more like a place for the upright to gather together away from the rest of the world? How often have you invited someone to church to hear them say, “I’m not sure I belong there?” Who does belong here and who doesn’t? I don’t know, but something we try to make clear Sunday after Sunday is that sinners are welcome. The broken are embraced. Those who hold their head too high or think they have it all together really have no need for what we have to offer, for what good is grace to the perfect and who needs forgiveness but those who have made a mistake? Every Sunday we pray a prayer of confession. That’s a counter cultural thing to do. Sometimes I can’t believe that we do it, but we do. Sunday after Sunday we pray it all together. Today it went like this: Most merciful God, I sing, “May Jesus Christ be praised!” but I confess that through my words and actions Jesus Christ is not always praised. Forgive me Lord, for while I worship you in the company of the upright, too often I stoop down to the level of the self-centered and self-righteous. We say words like that in here, and we know they’re true, but we also have to live them. What good does it do us or anyone else if we come to worship God and confess our imperfection, then live our whole week according to a standard of perfection rather than a standard of grace? What good does it do us or anyone else if we make plain our faults before God than hide our faults away as soon as we get back to living? What good does it do the world if we aren’t constantly proclaiming a gospel of forgiveness in a culture of “three strikes and you’re out”? What good is this faith of ours if it doesn’t change the way we live, if it doesn’t change the way we see ourselves, if it doesn’t change the way we treat each other? There was a man in the synagogue with an unclean spirit and he cried out, “What have you to do with us Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” That’s how it feels to a whole lot of people. What have you to do with me church lady, have you come to judge me? What are you doing here preacher? Have you come to make me feel guilty? What are you doing here Jesus, have you come to destroy us? You know the answer. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those are good words. A lot of people have them memorized. But they don’t matter unless we live them. We are too often those without any authority, because too often we don’t live the faith that we profess. We fight over who gets to put the presidents name on church’s membership roll, and don’t know what to do when less prestigious members of society walk through our doors. I’ve seen it. I’ve been a part of it. And often, it’s the least of these who reveal who we truly are. Do you remember the last time it happened here? Rev. Cassie Waits was giving the benediction. This was a long time ago when a whole bunch of people were able to come and sit in this room. Along with everyone else was a man who was about to be evicted. He interrupted Cassie while she was giving the benediction and announced to this whole church, “I need some help” in a loud voice. For a long few seconds no one knew what to do. Presbyterians don’t even clap, much less shout in the middle of a worship service, so I walked up to him and was walking him out of our church, but as I walked up that aisle you started slipping money into my hands. By the time we were out the door there was enough to pay three months’ rent, which was nothing short of a miracle, but I’m telling you this story today because it was in that moment that I knew fully who we are. It was the man with an unclean spirit who saw Jesus for who he was, and it was the man who shouted out his need in the middle of a worship service who revealed the heart of this congregation. He knew us. He revealed our identity. He reminded us of who we are and what we were created to be. For that reason and many others, I am daily so proud to serve this church. It is a constant gift to walk through these doors and when people ask me who I am and what I do I tell them, “My name is Joe Evans and I am proud to serve First Presbyterian Church as one of her pastors.” And then they’ll say, as they did at the school board about a year ago: “yours is the church who has made a difference to so many children through Club 3:30,” or “I’ve seen the wall of pictures of all the Habitat Houses ya’ll built,” or more recently, “thank you for feeding so many families by giving them food in your parking lot.” You see, the world around us knows us not by what we say. We only have authority when our words and our actions match up. May it always be so. Amen.

Dropping the Nets

Scripture Lessons: Jonah 3: 1-5, 10 and Mark 1: 14-20 Sermon Title: Dropping the Nets Preached on January 24, 2021 There are two aspects of this Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark that have become clearer to me in the last week: the first is that these disciples aren’t completely unique in their willingness to drop everything; people we know are doing some version of that often enough that we ought to recognize it. All of us, have likely, at times done some version of the same thing, for letting go is a requirement of every disciple of Jesus Christ, not just the disciples of 2,000 years ago. And the second realization I’ve had in the last week, thinking about his Gospel Lesson is that this account is just the beginning of their letting go. In fact, following Jesus towards the kingdom of God requires that all disciples keep on dropping important things. It may be that we have to keep on dropping nets the whole way there. Let me try to tell you what I’m really getting at. Back in Columbia, Tennessee where we lived before moving back here to Marietta, I heard stories about young men who would hear the call of God as they worked in the tobacco fields. They’d drop what they were doing to become ministers of the Gospel, however, the county historian there once told me, “If you find that story awe inspiring, then you don’t know what working in a tobacco field is like. Anyone would answer a call from God out there. A young man would say just about anything to get himself out from those endless rows of tobacco on a hot summer day. Don’t be so impressed.” Of course, I am impressed. I’m impressed every time I see people doing this kind of thing. Even if maybe they’re not doing it for purely spiritual reasons. But consider this too: sometimes letting go of the first thing is easy, and then you keep having to do it. Which makes me think of this first-hand account of a young white woman, right here in Cobb County, who said that when her brother heard that Lincoln had been elected president, he rushed off to South Carolina to enlist. She was caught up in how he nearly dropped his how in the field to rush off to the fight, however, how was it once the war began? How was it once winter came? How was it for him coming home, questioning the cause or refusing to let it go? Sometimes adventure calls us to let go of our nets and we’d be fools not to listen, but we’re also fools to think that’s where letting go ends. Every soldier knows that letting go of the comforts of home is just the first step in a long journey. On that journey, some let go of their very humanity. The path of discipleship is the same in the sense that we have to keep letting go, day after day, again and again, but the path of discipleship is one of stepping closer to the Kingdom: dying to self, dying to ego, dying to comfort, to take up a cross. For disciples who are letting go to follow Christ it’s worth it, because every time we let go of something like our nets, every time we suffer for the sake of him, we’re stepping out of darkness and towards the light. I heard about it in an audio book I was listening to with the woman who runs First Presbyterian Church, Melissa Ricketts. Her official title here is Director of Administration, and you may know that Melissa Ricketts and I rode down to South Georgia last Saturday. Representing all of you, representing this church we were there at the graveside with Rev. Joe and Sandra as they buried their son. It was hard to be there, but we wouldn’t have been anywhere else, only we had to get there first and the getting there took a long time. It was about five hours down and five hours back. It was one of those drives where you come off the interstate and think you’re getting close, but you’re not. And the day before when I was just getting ready to go our daughters were worried about me being a passenger in Melissa’s car. They were very concerned that I might not be an engaging enough passenger in the car of one of their favorite people, they feel as though I can be a boring person to ride in the car with, so they suggested I bring a book to listen to on the way, and we did. My wife Sara made the recommendation having read it already. This book, it’s called The Love Story of Missy Carmichael, is the story of a woman who lost her husband, and never changed a thing in their house. You can imagine. The story starts moving when she meets a friend who comes over and describing the place as a mausoleum, offers to help her sort through it all. Sorting through the stuff was an emotional experience for Missy Carmichael, because letting go of all that stuff was like letting go of her husband all over again, but once she started letting go of what was there, she noticed the light coming through the windows. I tell you about this book because it makes this clear. It makes it clear how hard it is to let go, but also how pure the light is. That’s what discipleship is like. We let go of our nets, but from letting go, something happens. Real life starts again. Joy comes. We’re not trapped in a perpetual cycle of the way things are. It’s the opposite of the TV show, Hoarders. Do you know that show? Sometimes that show can hit a little too close to home. I haven’t watched the show in a while. I don’t know if it’s still even on, but what I remember is how often, for the people on that show, the physical stuff wasn’t just stuff, and letting it go was so painful they almost couldn’t do it. It’s like Mrs. Havisham in the book Great Expectations. We, who watch, want to say, “Get out of that old wedding dress!” Only she can’t take it off, and neither can she get on with living. Likewise, down in our basement are my old baseball cards. Up in the attic are year books from High School. Our girls were rummaging around in my sock drawer and they wanted to know why I had a Ziplock bag filled with little teeth. I’ll tell you why. It’s because it’s hard to let go. It’s hard to let kids grow up. It’s hard to say goodbye to who they were and what we had. It’s hard to move on. Sometimes it’s hard to get on with living, because living requires letting go. Letting go, over and over. Letting something go. At the beginning of this sermon, I said that people like us do it all the time, and they do, and so often it’s worth it. Have you ever seen a woman who let go of everything to become a mother? The disciples letting go of their nets must have been something like that. Some of you have been that woman who let go of everything to pick up a tiny bundle of life and made that bundle the center of everything. You let go to let the light in. You can’t imagine doing anything else. But did you know that you were going to have to keep letting go? Did you know that you were going to have to let go of her hands so she could walk? Did you know that you were going to have to let go of her so she could go off to college? Fathers are bad at all of this. It takes us too long at the beginning and then we almost can’t bear to do it in the end. I remember how Sara became a mother the first second she held Lily in her arms. It happened right before my eyes. She just let go of self-centeredness and made her daughter the center of her whole world, while I was still the same self-centered guy that I was the day before. I was ready to leave the hospital because I was kind of ready to get back home so I could watch TV and take a nap as though my whole life hadn’t been transformed. Now I watch as fathers walk their daughters down the aisle to let them go and I have an idea of how long it will take me to recover from doing that, only I also know that this is what I signed up for. This is what life requires, and discipleship isn’t any different. We have to keep letting go so that more light can come in. You know what happens from the TV show Hoarders what happens to people who can’t, but there’s an even worse warning for those who hold on and don’t let the light in. It’s there in the book of Jonah. We don’t always get really deep into the full story of Jonah and the whale. We simplify it, because this is a story, we tell children. So, kids grow up thinking that the hard to believe part of the story is that a man could get swallowed by a whale then spit up on a beach three days later. That’s not the hardest part to believe. The hardest part for Jonah to believe is that God would want to save the Assyrians. That sounds silly if you don’t know how awful the Assyrians were. They were demonic. Had they been the ones to march on Capitol Hill, they’d make what we saw two weeks ago look like a yard sale or a lemonade stand. When they invaded a nation, they would skin their enemies alive. They’d burn children, destroy cities, enslave survivors, and God wanted Jonah to go preach to them. That’s a terrifying proposition, but it got worse. When Jonah finally did, they listened. Those Assyrians were like so many disciples. They let go of who they were and became someone new, which surely brought an awful lot of light into their lives. However, Jonah wasn’t ready for it to happen, because he couldn’t let go of the hatred he was holding on to. You know how disappointed Jonah was. He pouted under that broom tree. Then God sent a worm and killed the tree. On first reading it sounds like he just being a big baby, only we can’t simplify his disappointment or we’ll miss the point. He was disappointed because his whole life he’d been dreaming of the moment God would wipe these enemies of his from the face of the earth, then God wants him to let go of that dream to face a new reality. Do you know how hard that is? This is something that some people are never able to do. They can’t see what’s right in front of them as good, because it’s not the good that they wanted to see. They can’t tell that it’s a blessing, because it’s not the blessing that they had asked for. Disappointment breaks their heart. It happens all the time. Again, and again, we must let go of what we wanted to happen, what we thought would bring the light in, to trust that God might know better than we do. The persistent call of Christ is, “drop what you’re holding onto,” and follow me. Don’t let that call sound too easy, or you’re fooling yourself. It’s not easy. But don’t let that call sound impossible either. People do it all the time, and they can tell you that doing so let’s more light in. CS Lewis said it was something like a child, happily making mud pies in an ally way, receiving an invitation to the beach. She’s never been to the beach. She can’t imagine the beach. But when we let go of what we know, we stand to gain what might be. When we let go of bitterness, we stand to gain joy. When we let go of hatred, we stand to gain love. When we let go of our nets, we stand to be a part of the transformation of this whole planet. Let go of your nets. Let go of what was. Follow Christ towards the light. Amen.

Here I Am, But Who Called Me?

Scripture Lessons: 1 Samuel 3: 1-10 and John 1: 43-51 Preached on January 17, 2021 Sermon Title: Here I Am, But Who Called Me? Getting to know people for the first time can be a tricky business. We are not like Jesus in that Jesus meets Nathaniel for the first time and gets him right. We meet people for the first time and time we know them, not because we’re divine but because we’re judgmental. Maybe it’s some more than others, but we all probably have a few disqualifying issues, observable traits or bad habits, that we don’t want anyone else to see us do for fear of what they might think of us or maybe, when we see it in another person just one thing can send them down the ladder in our estimation. For example: when I eat French Fries, I eat them the right way. I make a little well of ketchup and I dip my French fries, which is the right way to do it. And I just don’t know about people who just squirt ketchup all over their fries. Likewise, my grandmother didn’t think much of people who bought anything other than Duke’s mayonnaise. She couldn’t even understand why anyone would want to use anything else. But, there’s more. Dental hygiene, hair style, names that are hard to say or spell. We notice things and make judgments about people based on them. Additionally, we look ourselves in the mirror and make disqualifying judgements about ourselves. One thing that our two Scripture Lessons for this morning have in common is that they both point out how our assumptions can lead us to miss God’s invitation to new life. Let me tell you what I mean. A friend of mine went to school in New York State. His roommate asked him where he was from and after Will said Tennessee the new roommate asked him if he owned a pair of shoes. Now that’s a small thing, but it happens all the time. These two became friends but they almost didn’t because we think we know too much about people based on where they come from. So, the North looks down their nose at the South a little bit. But the South’s not innocent. I’ve been making jokes about people from Alabama my entire life, and as long as Snuffy Smith runs in the local paper, we know that there are some people it’s still socially acceptable to make fun of, only what can you really tell about a person based on where he comes from? We can get stuck in these assumptions and start thinking that nothing good can come out of certain places or from certain people, and so we say things like: Nazareth? Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Is that not the most incredible question you’ve ever heard? It sums up all these assumptions and proves them wrong in one fail swoop: “Yes, in fact the most good the world has ever seen comes out of Nazareth” so there. But what do we do with that? Well, I’ve heard some people call the desecration of our nation’s capital the Duck Dynasty Revolution but putting down a group of people because of how they look, or feel is not going to help put this nation back together. What’s become clear to me amidst all that broken glass is that we’ve now seen a very tangible sign that our nation is bitterly divided, and, regardless of which side you are standing on, do not forget to love the person on the other side. Why? Because Jesus always shows up where we least expect him to, and if we’re not ready to be surprised, we are likely to miss out all-together. What’s true about humankind is that when we are sure we’re right; we’re usually wrong. When we think we know; we’re announcing our ignorance. When we are completely certain, we leave no room for faith. Therefore, the posture of Christians must be one of persistent humility. Why? Because we must be prepared for God to defy our expectations. What did Nathanial expect? “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” is what Nathanial asked. Well, Nathanial, with that attitude, can anything good come out of you? That was Samuel’s struggle. He didn’t think anything good could come out of him. Samuel didn’t expect to be called by God. He just assumed it was old Eli calling. Why would he think that? Well, do you think he saw himself as someone who God might need to do the next big thing? Had he not taken in all the messages from the judgmental world? So often, those who sleep on the ground as Samuel did on the floor of the Temple, never expect to rise above it. Having been left there by his mother, he may have come to think of himself like so much else that we leave behind and don’t ever think about again. You surely know his story well enough. It’s a story like so many others. It’s like Harry Potter who can’t believe that he’s a wizard. It’s like James, who climbs into a Giant Peach. There are so many adventures which must begin with a child of God first believing that something wonderful could ever happen to the likes of them. We all must be ready for this kind of surprise or we might miss it, and Samuel nearly did. “Samuel, Samuel,” the Lord called, but the audacity here is that no one important ever called this boy by name. No one called him, not for dinner, but to clean up after dinner. No one called him because they wanted to see him, but because they wanted something done. Hardly anyone even took the time to know his name. Do you know what that’s like? I don’t know my garbage man’s name, but God does. Who is calling this boy? He can’t imagine, because it’s just too much. And that’s the point. How will those who have been pushed around by society ever believe that God would call them by name? Should the garbage man start to think that he’s garbage because the world treats him that way, God will break into his life to show him the truth, only he must have enough hope to imagine he’s worthy. “Samuel, Samuel,” the Lord called. He almost missed it for doubting, certain that nothing like this could happen to someone like him. Don’t be so certain. Like Nathaniel we ask, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” And will we be so defined by the events of this week and the one before that we give up on ourselves? Will we stop holding close the virtues which our nation was founded on? Will we be so shaken by this nightmare that we give up on the dream? Will we be convinced by the evidence around us that we are broken, divided, out of luck and up a creek, or will we listen now to this call from God, “You’re looking in all the wrong places and your listening to all the wrong voices. Listen to me as I call you to be fully who you were created to be!” Let us not be so narrow minded as to judge ourselves based on what’s broken. Let us never be so foolish as to think that the only power at work in our world is humanity’s vast capacity for evil. Our eyes have been open to a level or fragility and depravity. We’re pushing closer to the edge of incivility, and to make matters worse, this week I’ve had homework to keep up with too. That’s a small thing to mention, but I mention it for this reason. As I work on my doctorate, my professor has had me reading about the lives of black women like Ella Baker and Fanny Lou Hamer, who called this nation to her higher ideals, having never experienced much other than oppression, discrimination, and hunger. Fanny Lou Hamer was a sharecropper in Mississippi. She worked for most of her life in fields, then went home to rest in shacks without enough coal for the fire, clothes for the children, or food for the table, yet she preached and preached about a freedom that she’d never had herself but somehow knew was within reach. The Lord called out to Samuel, and do you know what the Lord did for him? Made him the great prophet who would bring order to a kingdom in chaos. I can imagine the boy hearing all this on that cold temple floor, and wanting to say, “That sounds fine, but I’d really just like a blanket and a warm meal. What about a new tunic?” The Lord provided him more than he ever could have dreamed of, and this is the requirement: he never would have done it had he been sure that he was unworthy. No one ever gets anywhere if they give up on themselves. And we will never get beyond this point we find ourselves in now if we stop fighting for a more perfect union, a city on a hill, the land of the free and the home of the brave, one nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all. Can anything good come out of Nazareth? More good than this world has ever seen before. Can anything good come out of Washington? Can anything good come out of me? We cannot allow one of the worst days in our nation’s history to determine our nation’s future, any more than we can allow one of our worst mistakes to determine our salvation. Only by the Grace of God go I. Only by the power of God did I walk into today with confidence. Only because of His magnificence can this ordinary me stand in this pulpit. It’s only because of forgiveness, grace, love, hope, and faith that we are here today. So, listen to the call of God my friends, and together, let us find out what will happen next. For I’m ready to follow this Jesus who has called me by name. He saw me under the fig tree and called me to follow. I believe he love me, and I believe he loves you, and I am absolutely convinced that he has not had it with this world that we are living in. In fact, I believe he holds this whole world in his hands. Amen.

Home By Another Road

Scripture Lessons: Matthew 2: 1-12 Sermon Title: Home By Another Road Preached on January 3, 2021 A couple weeks ago, Keli Gambrill, who is a member of our church and one of our county commissioners, called to ask me if I’d be willing to put together a short article for her weekly newsletter. She’s launching a new section of her newsletter dedicated to asking members of different churches and other organizations in our county the same question, in the hopes that our answers will reveal that we have more in common than we realized. So, Commissioner Gambrill and I decided to ask several members of our church: how has 2020 made you a better person? Members of our congregation answered this way: - Wow, I can think of a lot to say about 2020 but, can I say it has made me a better person... I'm not sure. Maybe a stronger person? Together, we have all endured a devastating pandemic and a very divisive election. It has been hard not to fall into depression! - As our social activities narrowed, we spent more time with family. - We now have closer relationships with our grandchildren. That time was exhausting but precious. It forced me to slow down and relearn patience. - This spring was especially beautiful, so we spent more time outdoors. - With so many neighbors working/learning from home, everyone was out walking and biking. I met many neighbors and participated in events to assist local restaurants/food trucks etc. Relearning the importance of community was a definite positive. - I can't say for sure I am a better person, but I think I have become a better friend and family member this year. We lost my dad and a friend battled cancer (successfully so far!) and, even though those are difficult walks, I feel relationships got stronger. I worked on not worrying about what I can't change and letting it go to God. Despite this year's losses and disappointments, as it comes to a close, I am hopeful. - 2020 has made me a better person as I have found myself really taking time to learn about myself because I am now alone sometimes not seeing anyone in person for days. As an extrovert I have spent time with friends and family on the phone really talking about our lives. - I am more compassionate than ever before. My heart aches as I try to relate to the suffering that is all around us this year. I have been more giving than before. I also have grown to cherish the importance of family and will never again take the time spent together for granted. What I hear in those responses is that something big has happened to all of us. Something has disrupted our routines and changed the way we live and see the world. It’s been bad, but it hasn’t been all bad, so now, as some of our friends and family are receiving the vaccine and we can all start thinking about getting back to normal, I hope you’ll first take some time to think about the parts of normal you hope to never get back to. That’s important to think about, because experience tells me that unless I make a point of not, I’ll just go back to being the same person I was, living my life the same way I did before. Unless I try, I’ll fall into the routines of traffic and rushing. I’ll just go back to being over committed even though being less committed has been so good for me. I’ll forget, because that’s what people do. And so, I ask you: How has this strange time changed you for the better? And what will you do to keep yourself from reverting back to the way you were before? While I don’t imagine that any of us will ever look back on this year nostalgically, what’s true is that some events call us, not to the same road we’re used to, but to journey by a different road. That’s what the Magi did. Our Second Scripture Lesson ended with the verse: And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. Considering everything we’ve been through and still are going through, what new road might we be called to? That’s my question for you today, on this Sunday we call Epiphany. Today we remember when these wise visitors gave gifts to the Christ Child. I’m deliberately not saying there were three of them, because we know, not their number, just the number of their gifts. I’m also not saying that they were all wise men, because there must have been some wise women among them, considering how they stopped in Jerusalem to ask for directions. Our Gospel lesson begins: “In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, they came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” We know that part. Listen closely to this too: “When King Herod heard this, he was frightened.” We know about what happened next. We know what he did. It’s hard to even say out loud. He said he also wanted to pay the child homage, though really, he wanted him destroyed. And I ask you to consider both reactions, the reaction of the Wise and the reaction of the King, because while some encounter the miraculous and allow it to change them forever, we can all be too stubborn to change, fighting to keep things the way that they are or once were. While some manage to open themselves up to change, others fight to put life’s genies back into their bottles. While some see something that makes them stop, take stock of their lives, and adapt, others live unexamined lives that lead to death and destruction. While the wise offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, then left for their own country by another road, Herod would sooner kill ever male child in the region than lose a grip on his power. These are two options, and as things open back up over the next few months, we’ll also have to choose whose example we’ll follow. Our world has forever been changed by, not just the COVID-19 Virus, but more especially, the birth of the Messiah, only how will we allow these changes to change us? The wise found him, gave him precious gifts, and then went home by another road. On the other hand, is King Herod, who sought him out, and coming to terms with the truth of the Messiah’s birth, was renewed in his determination not to change anything. It’s the same, common, event, but their reactions were so different. It reminds me of two men, both who suffer a heart attack, but one gives thanks to God and changes his diet, the other stops for a Big Mac on the way home from the hospital. The Messiah was born, and they all knew it as we do, but the reality of his birth brought the wise men joy and made Herod afraid. Having seen him, they left for their own country by another road, but Herod doubled down on the road he was on. If you are listening to me this morning, then I bet that you’ve seen him just as they had. This Christmas, maybe you saw him in an act of kindness. Maybe you saw him in the embodiment of joy. Or maybe you saw him in some experience of the holy, a healing, a miracle, a change of heart. Regardless, I’m sure that you’ve seen the Messiah somewhere, but now what? Our Gospel Lesson offers us two choices. Which will it be for you? In the last year we’ve all suffered under the same fear and we’ve all been frustrated by the same virus. Will this common virus enable you to see our common humanity? Will you acknowledge that just as this virus affects us all, it proves that we’re not nearly so different or as divided as we’ve been told? Right now our eyes are open to the same hardships, and we’ve all seen such tremendous acts of kindness and sympathy which have the potential to bridge all our division, but watch for some will try to push us back into the same kind of partisanship we’re not yet rid of, denying the reality that we so truly all care about the same things. What’s true is that this virus and this season has the potential to call all of us to greater unity, and the vaccine, developed in record time, reveals just what we can really do, but that well-worn road of division and indifference feels to some as comfortable as going home. My friends, is where we were really our home? Is a new earth not calling us? A new realization? A new way of being? A new kingdom, without borders? A new life, without old hatred? A new realization, that we are all of us, brothers and sisters? The world has changed, over the past nine months, but we don’t have to change with it. We must choose to change. Now, in this season of New Year’s Resolutions, will you, who, after giving the Christ Child gifts, be like those wise who “left for their own county by another road.” Will you take some time now to think about what your Saturdays have been like, and will you fight to keep some time set aside for Sabbath rest? Will you consider how good it has been to talk more with your brother or your sister or your mom, and will you make it a priority to keep calling them every week? Will you remember how nice it was to have groceries delivered? Will you rejoice in how nice life is without an hour of traffic every morning, and will you fight to keep it that way? Will you hold close the image of a line of cars in our church parking lot, waiting to receive meals, and will you remember that our church can always make a difference to those who are in need so long as we work together? Will you be changed, though being changed means leaving an old life behind? Let us never go back to what was normal. Instead, let us journey with the wise by another road. Amen.