Saving the Elder Son

Scripture Lessons: 2 Corinthians 5: 16-21 and Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32 Sermon Title: Saving the Elder Son Preached on March 27, 2022 If you were reading with me in your personal or pew Bible, then you noticed that I skipped from verse 3 to verse 11. Chapter 15 of the Gospel of Luke tells three parables right in a row. I skipped the first two, the parable of the lost sheep and the lost coin, to get to the parable of the lost son. That last one, the parable of the lost son, is also known as the parable of the prodigal and his brother. That’s how it’s titled in your pew Bible. While I’ll mostly focus on the parable of the prodigal and his brother this morning, I hope you’ll notice that Jesus tells two parables to set up the third. The first two build up to the last one. The parable of the lost sheep and the lost coin make it easy to understand why the father would be so happy to get back his lost son. He is like all people who lose precious things. Be they sheep or coins, people are just happy to find what they thought they’d lost forever. Imagine God when one of His children finds her way back home as a version of my friend and neighbor Martie Moore when she found her lost car keys. The parable of the lost car keys would have been a good one for Jesus to tell because we all know that feeling of relief and can understand the father’s mind. Of course, the father would have been overjoyed. Even more than the shepherd was overjoyed to find a lost sheep, or the woman having 10 silver coins was overjoyed to find the one she lost after sweeping the house, was the father overjoyed to have his lost son back. That’s the point of telling the three parables together. We see how much more overjoyed than a shepherd who lost a sheep or a woman who lost a coin is God when an angry person finds his way back to joy, an ungrateful person to gratitude, or someone who hasn’t been to church in 20 years walks through the doors of our sanctuary. Of course, there’s a fatted calf BBQ dinner. Of course, the younger son gets a robe and a ring. God rejoices when what was lost is found. From the three parables, we know that, and we know it well. It’s a well-known truth that the God of grace rejoices when one of His children finds his way back home, for having feared he was lost, he is found. But what about us? How do we react when the wayward return home, and we find them in here sitting in our pews? That’s what this parable of the prodigal and his brother is really about, for it is directed, not to the prodigal sons of the world, but to the elder brothers. Notice those first verses we read. Those first verses set the stage for the three parables and especially for the third, which makes up our second Scripture lesson: Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them. That’s the context of this parable, and whom it’s directed towards changes the meaning of it. While the parable of prodigal son is about God providing grace to the younger brother, that’s just part of the story. The rest of the story is that this parable is being told by Jesus to a whole crowd of elder brothers. Do you know what it’s like to be an elder brother? I’m the oldest of three. There are enough years between the three of us that we all had different experiences being raised by George and Cathy Evans. I’ll summarize by saying that they wouldn’t let me do anything, and they would let my little sister and brother do whatever they wanted. Whether it’s true or not, I feel sure that every older sibling feels this way. Talking through this parable with friends over the last week, I’ve heard from older siblings whose parents are still paying a younger sibling’s cell phone bill or car insurance. How old are those younger siblings? They are 25, 30, and 35 years old. I tell you, back in our day, it wasn’t like that. We had to walk to school in the snow, uphill both ways. More than that, I’m sure there’s more than one older sibling in the room this morning who has reason to be resentful because she was home taking care of the farm or the family while little sister was off at college or squandering her inheritance on dissolute living. There’s a hurt part in so many of us that resents those who got what we never had, be it a new car or the freedom to choose. There’s some part that never felt appreciated that lives inside the most responsible of us. Isn’t that right? We must be careful then, for that brokenness within us can grow into something that takes us far from home, too. Notice that the elder son in our parable is so hurt he’s on the outside of the party, so while we call the younger son the prodigal, by the end of the parable, the elder son is the one who’s lost. There’s a great party going on, but he’s on the outside of it looking in. That happens. The old story goes that an Episcopalian died, walked through the Pearly Gates, and ran into an old Presbyterian friend. The Presbyterian said to the Episcopalian, “Number one rule, don’t speak too loudly. We all whisper up here in heaven.” “Why is that?” the Episcopalian asked. “It’s because the Baptists are right over that hill. They think they’re the only ones who made it up here, and we don’t want to spoil it for them.” Wouldn’t the Baptists have more fun if they came into the party? Wouldn’t we all have more fun if we could let go of old hurts and resentments? Sure, we would, but think about what that would take. What does it take for the ones who made sacrifices to accept those who didn’t have to? What does it take for the ones who went without to embrace the ones who always had plenty? What does it take for the ones who stayed home to forgive the ones who left and wasted their inheritance? It takes grace. Do you know about grace? There’s a wonderful story about Karl Barth. Karl Barth was one of the two greatest theologians of the 20th century. He studied the Scriptures, read everything and everyone from Paul to Augustine to Clement to Calvin. If there was something to know about Christianity, he knew it, and he wrote wonderful books that were enlightening if you worked hard to understand what he was saying. Well, the story goes that when Barth died, he tried to take a wheelbarrow of his favorite books into Heaven with him. He thought he would need them, only St. Peter stopped him at the gate and said, “Dr. Barth, haven’t you learned by now that it all comes down to grace?” Dr. Barth left his wheelbarrow of books outside the Pearly Gates and went into the party. If only the elder son could do the same. If only he could have remembered that in Heaven there will only be One person there who deserves to be there. The rest of us get into the party having rode in on the Savior’s coattails, so who are we to say to the Father: For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him! Jesus knows it’s hard for us to accept how full of grace He is, so He spends this time talking with us about it. He takes the time to tell us what the father said to the elder son, now lost in his own hurt and resentment: Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found. He’s so much more than a lost coin or a lost sheep, and so he deserves even more rejoicing. Please come into the party; there’s plenty of room for him and for you. There’s plenty of room. There’s plenty of grace. There’s plenty of love. Can’t you see it? Our Director of Family Ministry, Natalie Foster, has been teaching the children of this church new spiritual disciplines during the season of Lent. First was fasting, then prayer. Last week was listening; this week is embracing simplicity. How do you embrace simplicity? You embrace simplicity when you recognize what you have, and so often, what we have is plenty. There is plenty of grace, so why not share it? Why not share it, even with the ones whom we resent? Why not let it wash the resentment and old hurts out of our hearts? For if there is a place set at the table for the prodigal, the sinner, or the tax collector, that just means that there is always a place set at the table for us. I believe that’s what the religious authorities of the day couldn’t understand because that’s what religious people never seem to understand. There were three groups of them in Jesus’ day that we hear about: the scribes, the Sadducees, and the Pharisees. The scribes are easy to remember. They’re just scribes. The Sadducees and Pharisees are harder to remember, but this is true, and this will help. The Sadducees didn’t believe in an afterlife, so they were sad, you see. The pharisees loved the law, so they were fair you see. Only God isn’t fair. God is grace. Remember that. Let it pour into your heart, and then pass it on. Amen.

Bear Good Fruit

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 55: 1-9 and Luke 13: 1-9 Sermon title: Bear Good Fruit Preached on March 20, 2022 Jesus uses all kinds of metaphors, but when He talks about trees, I really have to think about what He means. What does it mean that He compares us to trees? When a sheep gets lost or when a prodigal son wanders from home, that sounds more like us. We have some agency. We know that we can wander from the fold. Unlike a tree, we have legs. I don’t imagine that I’m providing you new information when I say that trees don’t have legs, but here’s why it matters: It matters because you can’t really blame a tree for not bearing any fruit. You can’t blame a tree for not bearing fruit any more than you can blame Freddie Freeman for getting traded from the Braves. In fact, you should blame a tree for not bearing fruit even less than you should blame Freddie Freeman for getting traded because Freddie could have spoken up. He has a voice. He could have stomped his feet. He has feet. Maybe you can tell I’m a little upset about Freddie Freeman leaving the Braves. I am, and as I struggle to accept a new first baseman from Gwinnett County on the Atlanta Braves, I’m also struggling to accept the truth that when a tree bears no fruit, it often has more to do with the gardener than it does the tree. Have you ever been a gardener? Through high school and college, I cut grass at the Winnwood Retirement Community. My old friend Mike Waters is still in charge of the grounds over there. It’s a beautiful place, and I took pride in my work. One summer, I was asked to plant lantana in one corner of the grounds away from the road. This plot was tucked in a corner, and because of the way the sun hit it, this corner was perfect for lantana. That summer the plants grew and bloomed. The residents who lived in that corner of Winnwood would tell me how much they loved looking out their windows to see the flowers I had planted, and that made me happy. On another occasion, I was directed towards bags of fertilizer. When I asked how much I should put out on the plants, my boss told me we had plenty. Well, do you know what happens when you put too much fertilizer on a plant? I literally killed every flower on Winnwood’s property, and I couldn’t blame the pansies. Imagine if I had blamed the pansies for dying. No, when a plant doesn’t bear fruit, whom do you blame? You can no more blame a plant for dying than you could blame those Galileans for being killed by Pilate. You can no more blame a plant for dying than you could blame those 18 who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them. Whom, then, do you blame? You might blame the gardener and hope and pray for a new one. This parable from the Gospel of Luke proclaims the truth that a new Gardener has come. If we are trees, then that’s good news, but are we like trees? A tree can’t very well pull herself out of the ground to walk over to a sunnier spot. Is that true of you? A tree can’t fertilize herself. Is that true of you? A tree can’t pollinate her own flowers. A tree can’t help it if a storm comes and takes off her limbs. Life just happens to trees. Are we like trees? In some ways we are, so in some cases, being yelled at makes as much sense as yelling at a tree. I was a chaplain intern at the Metro State Women’s Prison. That was the hardest summer of my life. Every day I’d go through those gates and hear the locks clang behind me. It sucked the joy out of me, and I got to go home at the end of every day. Not everyone was that lucky. During the days, I’d go from building to building meeting with different inmates. At the far end of the complex was one place I was warned never to go. It was the intake, where county jails would drop off women so that they could be assimilated into prison life. They were given new prison clothes, they received a medical examination and an orientation to prison life. The intake officers would yell at them to make sure they all understood who was in charge at Metro State Women’s Prison and what would happen should they step out of line. Now, maybe that was necessary, but it broke my heart when a group of at-risk teenage girls came to visit the Metro State Women’s Prison, and they were addressed by those same intake officers. It seemed wise to someone somewhere to address these young girls, just 12 or 13, the same way grown and convicted criminals were addressed. Statistically, they were mostly from broken homes. Likely, they had been abused. Certainly, they had suffered trauma, yet they stood in front of the prison and were addressed by the prison’s intake officers, and it looked to me about the same as a gardener yelling at his trees for not bearing more fruit. Are we like trees? In so many ways, we are, for so much of what happened to us wasn’t our fault. People who understand that are better able to forgive. Let me give you an example. Have you been watching Ted Lasso? It’s the best show I’ve ever seen. The plot is of a college football coach from the Midwest who’s been recruited to coach soccer at the highest level in Richmond, England. This move from the Midwest to England was a bad move. American football and English soccer don’t have very much in common, but that Coach Ted Lasso would fail is according to the owner’s plan. The owner of the Richmond soccer club that just hired Coach Ted Lasso is hoping he’ll run the soccer club into the ground to get revenge on her ex-husband, who only really loved one thing: this Richmond soccer club. It's the same plot as Major League, if you’ve seen that movie, only it’s better because the owner of this Richmond soccer club, her name is Rebecca, feels remorse for having recruited Ted Lasso from the Midwest, given him a job she hoped he would fail at, sabotaged him every step of the way, and made him a pawn in her plot to cause her ex-husband pain. Feeling remorse and regret, even having come to love Coach Ted Lasso, she goes down to his office and apologizes to him. What does he do? He says, “Divorce is awful. It makes people do crazy things. I forgive you.” Divorce is awful. COVID has been awful. War is awful. Death is awful. Stress is awful. Unemployment is awful. Retirement, middle school, cancer, even some days of parenthood, are all awful. Going through those dark times, we are like trees in the shade who aren’t getting enough sun. We are like trees whose branches have been broken off by the wind. At some time or another, we are all under-fertilized, sunlight-deprived, and unpollinated, which makes us do crazy things. For those things, by God’s grace, you are forgiven. Jesus says: If you are alive today, you have today to change, but let me be very specific about the kind of change Jesus is talking about in this parable. Jesus here is telling us simply: “I am the Gardener; just receive what I am providing.” As a tree receives nourishment through her roots, just allow the Good News of the Gospel to permeate your soul. Let in the words of Scripture. Hear His Holy Word. As was true for the last two weeks, again this week our Children’s Ministry Director, Natalie Foster, is equipping our kids and our congregation to develop a new spiritual discipline. Two weeks ago, it was fasting. Last week was prayer. This week is listening, but listen to what? Today, listen for fertilizer: Mark 1:11: “You are mine, my beloved, with you I am well pleased.” John 1: 5: “The Light sines in the darkness and the darkness shall not overcome it.” Jeremiah 29: 11: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.’” Psalm 85: 8: “I will listen to what the Lord says; he promises peace to his people.” Best of all, Psalm 23: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” Do you hear those words? Do you know those words? Have you memorized those words? Let them sink in, for you’ll never bear fruit if you haven’t let yourself internalize the Good News of the Gospel. This morning, you heard it again: The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. As far as the East is from the West, so has he taken our sins away. One of my closest friends once told me that out of all the things he hears in the worship service, that assurance of forgiveness is the hardest for him to believe. You have the chance to believe it today. Unlike so many, you woke up this morning because the gardener bought us a little more time. Don’t waste it by resisting the Good News He provides. Don’t waste it by only listening to the critics and suggestion givers. Hear and believe the Good News. Then and only then will you bear good fruit. Amen.

The Fox and the Hen

Scripture Lessons: Philippians 3: 17 – 4: 1 and Luke 13: 31-35 Sermon title: “The Fox and the Hen” Preached on March 13, 2022 In this second Scripture lesson, Jesus uses two animals as metaphors. We might call this passage from the Gospel of Luke “the Parable of the Fox and the Hen.” Wise teachers are known for using animals this way. Think of Aesop’s fables with the Tortoise and the Hare, or the Scorpion and the Frog. Do you know that one? The Scorpion and the Frog is an animal fable that is said to have emerged in Russia in the early 20th century. In those days, powerful leaders made grand promises to common people. They tried to forge a new partnership between the government and the working class, but like a scorpion riding on the back of a frog across a pond, eventually those powerful politicians who stood on the backs of working people stung them in the back. I find myself frequently thinking about Russia these days, don’t you? More precisely, I find myself frequently thinking about Ukrainians as another scorpion stings them in the back. When Chick Freund, dedicated member of our church choir, comes across something interesting on the internet, he often emails it to his friends. I was honored to receive a message last week. I don’t think it was original to Chick but is likely a message being sent all over the place. It’s just a simple message: If you went to church this morning, maybe you felt uncomfortable because the pastor picked a hymn you don’t know the words to… again. Or maybe you went to Sunday school and your teacher said something you don’t agree with. Or maybe they changed the bulletin again, or maybe the sermon was boring. Whatever it was, just remember that today a congregation of Ukrainian Christians gathered underground and praised God together. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately: The orphans, evacuated on a 24-hour-long train ride, and how their caretakers reported that none of them complained. The children undergoing chemotherapy, whose parents were terrified enough, but then they had to take shelter in a hospital basement until their doctors led a desperate run for the Polish border. And did you hear about how when some parents reached the Polish border, they were greeted by rows and rows of strollers left by Polish parents? There’s still so much love in the world, and so much resilience. Have you heard about the sunflower seeds? When I hear stories like these, these stories about suffering children, compassionate adults, resilient and fearless women passing out seeds to Russian soldiers, I feel for these far away people so much more deeply. The news becomes personal. Maybe it’s like being a mother hen, for compassion grows with proximity. It’s easy to disregard people you don’t know, but the closer they get, the more we care. Jesus described Himself this way while looking over the city of Jerusalem: Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! That’s how Jesus describes Himself: as a hen. What do you know about hens? I don’t have much experience with chickens. Most of the chickens I come into close contact with are already boneless, skinless, and wrapped in plastic, except for when we lived in Decatur. We lived there when it was first popular to raise chickens in the back yard. Have you heard about people in cities raising chickens? They’re doing it even here in Marietta. Our next-door neighbor in Decatur had chickens, and occasionally they would jump his fence where they’d be introduced to our dogs. Two of our three dogs would make short work of them, but the third would just ruffle their feathers or maybe break a wing, so I found one that our dog Ramona had injured huddled under the car. I decided to try and put it out of its misery. In an attempt to ring its neck, I grabbed it by the head and swung it around my head. Laying it back down, I realized I had just made it really dizzy. Needless to say, to prepare for this sermon, I had to research hens to understand why Jesus would compare Himself to one. Here’s what I learned: Sitting on her nest, a mother hen carefully turns each of her eggs as often as thirty times a day. She uses her body, her feet, and her beak to move each one precisely to maintain the proper temperature during the three-week incubation period. Even before they’re hatched, the embryonic chicks respond to soothing sounds the mother makes. Two or three days before the chicks are ready to hatch, they notify their mother with peeps from inside the egg. Once they are hatched, the hen will protect them under her wings. While she might run from a dog or a fox on her own, if she’s protecting her chicks, she’ll stand her ground, sacrificing her life if need be. Jesus says that He longs to be like a hen to Jerusalem. Can you understand what He means? It’s as though Jesus is saying: I am like a mother who gathers her children to the dinner table to hear how they’re doing. I am like a grandmother who knits each grandchild a sweater and makes each stitch a kiss. I am like the father who prays over his children as they sleep in their beds. I am like the grandfather who delights in his granddaughter as she plays volleyball. I long to hold them. I want to smell the top of their heads. I just want to hear their voices on the phone. If they’d make me a card for Valentine’s Day, I’d treasure it more than all the chocolate in Belgium, and I’ll peck the eyes out of anyone who would dare hurt them, yet they are not willing to be gathered by me. That’s what Jesus says about Jerusalem. He’d love to gather the whole city up under His wings to protect them and keep them warm, but they are not willing. Why? Is it because Jerusalem is full of teenagers? No. It’s because we can’t always tell the difference between hens and foxes. In our second Scripture lesson, we read: At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to [Jesus], “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” [Jesus] said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.’” What does He mean here? Why call Herod a fox? For one thing, He means to remind those pharisees and anyone listening that Herod eats chicks. Herod already killed John the Baptist and served his head on a platter. Herod kills all kinds of people, yet some believe that they can avoid his wrath by telling him what he wants to hear. Have you heard that about Putin? Have you heard that those who cross him meet their end sooner or later? He has so insulated himself that he’s surrounded by what we call “yes men.” The great Old Testament scholar, Dr. Walter Brueggemann calls this “the royal consciousness,” for once one has been royal for too long, he’s so insulated from real people and real life that he gradually loses touch with reality. When that happens, rulers say things like, “Let them eat cake if they’re starving”. Even still, notice that these Pharisees believe they have found a way to live with the fox. Notice that they encourage Jesus to keep His distance, as though a fox could be mollified. That’s no way to live, for once the fox is in the henhouse, every chick will be eaten sooner or later. That’s the nature of a fox. Rest then under the wings of the Savior. You’ve heard about those Ukrainian Christians singing hymns and praying in Kyiv just days before their country was invaded. Their song was a prayer for their homeland, asking for salvation, mercy, forgiveness, and protection. This week I call on you to join them in prayer. Each week of Lent this year, our kids are being asked to learn about a different spiritual discipline. Last week was fasting; this week is prayer. How is your prayer life? Do you know how to pray? Prayer is a discipline in the sense that we must practice it. Not that there’s a right and a wrong way to do it, but the feeling you get when you are called on to pray at the end of a meeting or before Thanksgiving dinner is different from the feeling of finding a quiet place to rest under His wings and let the noise and anxiety of this world slip away for just a moment. A story I love to tell is how I once broke out in hives and went to see my doctor. He said, “I could give you medicine, but what you really need to do is relax. Yes, you must find a way to relax. You’re a preacher, aren’t you? Have you ever heard of prayer?” What is prayer but resting for a moment to remember that there is a Force in this world stronger than the power of the fox? While evil rears its head in the course of human history, evil will never overcome what is good. While the sound of bombs blasting and buildings crumbling terrorizes the face of the earth again and again, there is a Voice calling out to us reminding us that we are precious. We are beloved. The light still shines in the darkness. Hope shines forth like the morning sun. My friends, anxious and afraid is how the fox wants us, for that makes us so much easier to eat. Rest again under His wings in prayer and be renewed by the power of His love. Amen.

Repairers of the Breach

Scripture Lessons: 2nd Corinthians 5: 20b – 6: 10 and Isaiah 58: 1-12 Sermon Title: Repairers of the Breach Preached on Ash Wednesday, March 2, 2022 Repairers of the breach. Repairers of the breach. That’s the image that sticks out to me on this Ash Wednesday because while the Prophet Isaiah says that we will be called repairers of the breach, that’s not often how we call ourselves or how we think of ourselves. As Christians, we call ourselves church members, disciples, saints, Christ followers, or if we’re Presbyterian, the frozen chosen, but here, the Prophet Isaiah speaks of the day when we will be called “repairers of the breach.” That title invokes a beautiful image, doesn’t it? It’s so much more beautiful than how we humans live, for there is division in our world, and it often seems as though there are more people pushing us apart than pulling us together. In our world today, how many more creators of the breach are there than repairers of it? Do you know anyone practiced in creating the breach? I saw a Saturday Night Live skit this week. The skit was a simple dinner party. Everyone was having a good time. Four couples were all eating together at the common table. Conversation flowed freely until somebody said, “I can understand why someone wouldn’t get vaccinated.” Have you been in that kind of conversation? A dinner party these days is a minefield, and if there is much that friends can disagree over, it should come as no surprise that the breach between strangers simply grows wider and wider, for our world is full of division, and some people keep making it worse. Maybe you’ve heard that Howard University’s women’s lacrosse team showed up at Presbyterian College for their first game at Bailey Memorial Stadium in Clinton, South Carolina two weeks ago. There, on taking the field, they faced a group of students who yelled threats and slurs at them. Now, this is Presbyterian College. It has our name right on it. This is a school where I and so many others who worship here found welcome and affirmation, yet Presbyterian College students tried to bring this Howard team low with their words. This behavior is the embodiment of hypocrisy, for all students at this school are pushed to study Scripture. All students at this school are taught that the way of Jesus is one of love and not hatred. Every one of them has been told that: God shows no partiality. All are His children. And the Kingdom of Heaven is like a mansion with many rooms, which Christ invites us into. Who, then, would dare say, “You are not welcome”? The Prophet Isaiah calls us to be repairers of the breach. There are Christians among us who use their words to further divide our society. That’s true of people who say racist things and also true of people who only watch only one cable news network. On the subject of Ukraine, when it comes to sympathizing with the people who are under attack, we are all on the same page. When it comes to rage at Prime Minister Putin who would so abuse his power, we are unified. However, when it comes to whom you blame for how we got to this point, that depends on which cable news outlet you watch. Now, this kind of thinking is dangerous, for if you believe that the people on the other side of the aisle are all idiots or traitors, you’re growing the breach that divides our country. So what can we do about it? What should I do about it? What should you do about it? A good place to start is trying to rise to this high office that the Prophet Isaiah calls us to: repairers of the breach. To do that, some of us here need to give up cable news for Lent. I’m not kidding. Some of us need to give up Facebook. I’ve been asking people what they’ll be giving up. Today, one said, “nothing.” Another said, “soup.” One person I asked said he’s giving up church. I don’t like that idea. What I like this year is the idea that we can give up something that stands in the way of good relationships, so I’m giving up social media. Why? Because like every other human creation, it can be used for good, or it can be used for evil. It can be used to build bridges or create division. It can be used to heal the breach by wishing someone happy birthday or reuniting with an old friend. On the other hand, a comedian said, “I have an app on my phone that can tell me which of my family members are racist. It’s called Facebook.” My resentment towards a couple of my neighbors keeps growing because I’m so jealous of the vacations they go on, so I need to limit my access to their vacation pictures. I find myself upset at people because of what they post. I think differently about them, and it makes friendship harder. What makes friendships harder for you? On this Ash Wednesday, we are invited to think about that. We are called to hear ourselves speak and consider the weight of the words that we use. We are called to look at our actions. For tonight, the Apostle Paul calls out to us from 2nd Corinthians, saying, “Be reconciled to God.” Likewise, the Prophet Isaiah calls from our 2nd Scripture Lesson: Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, And bring the homeless poor into your house; When you see the naked, to cover them, And not to hide yourself from your own kin? The Prophet shouts out these instructions to the people because they had been fasting and wearing sackcloth and ashes. They had been walking around with their heads down like a bullrush. Yet, that wasn’t what God wanted from them. What God wanted from them was for them to change their behavior so that they were healing their communities rather than tearing their neighborhoods apart. That’s the call: To let love shine. To become repairers of the breach. To make more friends and fewer enemies. To be more hospitable and less isolated. To be a part of healing this world rather than adding fuel to the fire of division. Just think about all the divisions in our world today. There are racial divisions and political divisions. Families are divided. Friendships are put under stress. The question we must ask ourselves tonight is: What are we doing about it? Are we pushing people away with our words? Are we on our way to being absolutely right and entirely alone? We must examine the information that we’re letting into our minds. Is the truth filling our ears or is the news causing unnecessary stress on our marriages? On this Ash Wednesday, I want you to think about that and to consider giving up something for 40 days that might help heal the breach. I can’t tell you how much I wish that for 40 days, my grandfather would have given up the news he constantly watched. He would have been so much easier for us all to be around had he just taken a break. I can’t tell you how much more I would like some of my friends if I didn’t know what they had for dinner last night or what they really think about public school, so I am going to give up social media for these 40 days. What might make you easier to be around? What could you give up that might help you build a relationship rather than highlight a difference? I hope you’ll think about it, and I hope you’ll be inspired by this: While the behavior of Presbyterian College students towards those Howard University students has been roundly condemned by the Presbyterian College President, and while alumni, staff, faculty, and students have all unified in condemning the actions of that one small group, the Rev. David Kennedy, President of the Lauren’s County National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, called for accountability, but not expulsion, saying that a lack of education is at the root of such racism, and that the way forward is for all people to have access to ideas that will free their minds. Now think about that. It’s this attitude that repairs the breach. That brokenness out in the world is there in all our souls. We’re all making mistakes, and we are making them all the time. If we can’t forgive our enemies then how will we ever be deserving of forgiveness? Lent is about fasting and repentance, but it is about the kind of fasting and going without that leads to reconciliation. Rehabilitation. Mending broken fences. Being made new. Repairing the breach. Tonight, ashes will mark all our foreheads, for every one of us is broken. Not a one of us possesses the truth. Not a one of us can see the whole world clearly. “For we know only in part, but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.” Do you know these words from the Apostle Paul? Next, he says, “I put an end to childish ways.” For 40 days, let’s give up some of our childish ways that faith, hope, and love might abide in us a little more fully. Amen.

Unable to Do and Afraid to Ask for Help

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 34: 29-35 and Luke 9: 28-45 Sermon Title: Unable to Do and Afraid to Ask for Help Preached on February 27, 2022 Our daughter Cece is newly interested in football cards, which gave me a reason to dig all my old baseball and football cards out of our basement. Going through them with Cece has helped me remember those days when a piece of cardboard with a picture of an athlete on it really mattered to me. I remember sneaking them to school and trading them during recess, or spending Saturday mornings in Blue and Gray Sports Cards on Roswell Road. That place is still in business somehow. By the time I was 12 or 13, I was into cards enough that my dad would drive me to these big baseball card conventions, where I could walk around and spend my whole allowance. Those conventions were big rooms full of tables and sports card dealers with their most valuable cards in plastic cases. Sometimes, the dealers there would put together grab bags: a bin full of envelopes, with each envelope containing two or three cards. You could pay a couple dollars to reach in, grab an envelope, and that envelope might have a valuable card in it, but it might not. One Saturday afternoon, after having cut the grass for my parents and a few neighbors, I accumulated $40, all of which I spent on these envelopes. I reached in, grabbed 10, opened them, one after another, and was disappointed to find that I hadn’t gotten anything good. Basically, I had wasted all the money I’d worked hard for on 10 envelopes of worthless cards. I was so disappointed that I let it ruin my mood. Worse, that day my grandfather went with us to the card show, and while I was off wasting money on grab bags, he bought me a pen shaped like a baseball bat. When he gave it to me, I was too grouchy to be grateful. I’m not sure that I really even said, “Thank you,” and so my lasting regret from that day is not wasting $40 but acting ungrateful to my grandfather, who bought me something thoughtful. Can you relate to any of that? I was so disappointed about what had just happened that I couldn’t appropriately respond to the person right in front of me. Something like that, but in a much more profound and shocking way, happened to the disciples in our second Scripture lesson. We call today “Transfiguration Sunday,” and we remember today this moment where Jesus was up on top of the mountain so close to God. It’s a moment that brings back memories from our first Scripture lesson from the book of Exodus when Moses spoke with God, received the Ten Commandments, and was so physically changed by his proximity to divinity that his face shone; only the transfiguration in Luke speaks of a more profound transformation than there was in Exodus, for Moses’ face shone, but Jesus was dazzling white. Notice in the first Scripture lesson that Moses’ appearance was shocking enough that Aaron and the Israelites were afraid to come near him. How must the disciples have felt? Having heard the Savior speaking of His departure, then seen Him so transfigured alongside Moses and Elijah, then heard the voice of God speak directly to them, they came down from the mountain, surely with their knees shaking. It should come as no surprise that while they came down, their heads were still up in the clouds; yet a crowd was waiting for them. Among the crowd was a desperate father whose son would be seized by a spirit. When he had the chance, this desperate father said to Jesus, who came down later, “I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Why not? Well, isn’t it true that from time to time, we all become so preoccupied that we come home already overwhelmed with thoughts spinning in our heads? We’re down from the mountain though our heads are still in the clouds. We aren’t really listening when people talk to us. We aren’t fully present. Our minds are spinning, and we’re unable to fully function. Maybe you’re at the dinner table, and someone keeps asking you to pass the salt, but your mind is still in an afternoon meeting; or maybe you’re in a meeting but can’t stop thinking about a child sick at home. This phenomenon is a part of being human. As humans, we can’t be in two places at once. When we try, it causes stress. Have you heard about stress? Some people don’t like to talk about how they’re feeling. It’s hard to talk about emotions, so people like Brené Brown, five-time best-selling author, try to help us out. In Brown’s newest book, she attempts to define those feelings we feel, like fear and anxiety. In her definition of anxiety, she quotes a song Willy Wonka sings while his boatload of children and their parents careen through that dark tunnel, taking them all deeper into his chocolate factory. The song goes like this, and it does make me a little anxious just hearing it: There’s no earthly way of knowing Which direction we are going. There’s no knowing where we’re rowing Or which way the river’s flowing. Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is a hurricane a-blowing? Not a speck of light is showing So the danger must be growing. Are the fires of hell a-glowing? Is the grisly reaper mowing? Yes! The danger must be growing For the rowers keep on rowing. And they’re certainly not showing Any signs that they are slowing! Does any of that sound familiar? Have you ever ridden on Willy Wonka’s boat of anxiety? Maybe you’re on it now, for these days, there’s plenty to be anxious about. Denise Lobodinski sent me a picture of a kindergartener holding back tears as she draws a picture on her desk. The caption reads, “I am tired of witnessing historical events. Enough is enough!” and so maybe we sing: Is it hot? Or is it snowing? Are the winds of war a-blowing? Should we wear a mask? Or stay at home? Get out and live? Or bar the doors? Is any light a-showing? Then the danger must be growing. Is the ICU still full? What’s the stock market doing? Is the church thriving or will everyone worship at home in their PJs from now on? Just what is going on? I don’t know, but when I don’t know, it often feels like it must be bad. Think about it from the disciples’ perspective: Now Jesus is leaving, and God is speaking. What are Moses and Elijah doing there? Haven’t they been dead for like 1,000 years? We’re up on a mountain. Can we stay here? If we must come down, what will happen to Jesus? He thinks He must die, but we want Him with us. As we come down, there’s a man who needs help with his son, but we can’t even tell which way is up and which way is down. Yes! The danger must be growing For the rowers keep on rowing. And they’re certainly not showing Any signs that they are slowing! If that was what was going on in their heads, you can’t blame them for not being able to heal the child. They were overwhelmed! Yet, despite what they were feeling, Jesus has no patience for them and their anxiety. He says, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?” Then He healed the boy Himself, and while everyone was amazed at all that He was doing, He said to His disciples, “Let these words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands,” only they did not understand this saying, and they were afraid to ask Him about it. Isn’t that the way it is with us sometimes? They were unable to understand, and so they were unable to do. Jesus calls them perverse, which means wrong but determinedly so. They couldn’t heal the boy.; Jesus had do it. They didn’t understand what He meant when He said He would be betrayed. They were afraid to ask Him any more about it. This is the way it is with anxiety or preoccupation, worry or profound disappointment: Our minds spin with trying to solve problems we have no power to solve, while the problems we could solve, we’re too distracted to deal with. A prayer then comes to mind: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; The courage to change the things I can; And the wisdom to know the difference. My friends, this prayer is the way off Willy Wonka’s boat of anxiety and the way towards making a difference in this world. What we must do is accept the things we cannot change. We cannot change the past, so we must let it go before we miss the chance to change the future. We must not become so exhausted worrying over things that are none of our business. There’s an expression for this condition among Christians: “He’s so heavenly-minded that he’s no earthly good.” Likewise, there are those among us who are so fixated on what’s happening in Washington, D.C. that they’re no good in Marietta, Georgia. It’s been something like that for me. The pandemic, the variants, the weather, the invasion of Ukraine, and my mind keeps spinning. Miraculously, last week I had the chance to get away and go skiing with our two girls in North Carolina. Going down a mountain, trying to keep up with our daughter Cece, who was going down a black diamond run, my ski got caught and I fell head over heels. It was one of those falls where my stuff was all over the place: a ski pole over there and a ski down below me. It was bad enough that a man asked me if I was alright. I said I was. Then he asked me, “Were you trying to keep up with her?” Of course, I was. How hard it is to accept our limitations. How hard it is to come to terms with what we can’t control. Yet, when we are consumed with what we can’t change, we forfeit the chance to change the things we can. If there is a clear lesson for us today on this Transfiguration Sunday, I believe it is that Christ is now walking towards Jerusalem, to His death, to save the world. That’s His destiny, so we must watch Him as He goes, give thanks to God that He’s going, but most of all in watching, we must accept that, along with so much else, we cannot change His course. Can we accept that? Can we accept what we cannot change? We must, for there are those nearby whose hands will not be held unless we hold them. There are those nearby whose words will not be heard unless we hear them. There are those nearby who will not be healed unless we heal them. Today, now, what is in your power to do? Go and do it, trusting God with the rest. Amen.