I'm All In

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 3: 1-15 and Romans 12: 9-21 Sermon Title: I’m All In Preached on October 23, 2022 A seminary classmate of mine, the Rev. Sara Hayden, once told the story of how her family came to join their church. A new Presbyterian church was under construction right outside their neighborhood. When the construction was finished and the opening worship service was scheduled, her father suggested that they go and check it out. They had been like a lot of families: Her parents, raised in the church, fell out of the routine in college or early adulthood. They’d been meaning to get back to it when the kids were born, but raising babies, work, and soccer practice got in the way. This church under construction right outside their neighborhood made them feel like God was trying to tell them something, so the family walked in on the first Sunday the church was open. A man they didn’t recognize approached them by the door into the sanctuary holding a stack of bulletins, which seemed normal enough, until, instead of handing each member of the family a bulletin, this man handed Sara’s father the whole stack, saying, “You must be the one who’s supposed to hand out the bulletins.” “Actually, no, I’m not,” her father said. “We’ve never been here before, and we just wanted to check it out.” “Well,” the man said, “you hand out the bulletins.” That’s how it started. They joined the church not long after. Sara’s now a Presbyterian minister. She’s married to a Presbyterian minister. I think her family is still members of that very church, and that’s what can happen in a place like this one. You wander in here, curious about what this church is all about, and next thing you know, your life goes in a direction you never could have expected. Maybe wandering in here is the first step to take in finding your way home. Maybe you wander in here, curious, and the next thing you know, you’re standing in the presence of God. That’s how it was for Moses. Way out there beyond the wilderness, he got curious, and at the sight of the burning bush, Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight and see why the bush is not burned up.” He was just a curious shepherd. Next thing he knows, he’s answering a call from God. That’s how it happens sometimes. That’s how it was with me. Maybe that’s how it was with you. When I was a kid, we just went to this church. Do you know what I mean by that? We liked it. It was nice. My parents taught Sunday school. On the way here on Sunday mornings, I’d read the funny papers in the back seat of our minivan. When we got here, I’d sing in Sunday school and listen a little bit to my teachers. During the worship service, we’d stand up and turn to the right hymns in the hymnals. I’d bow my head and close my eyes when I was supposed to, and I knew the service was almost over and I’d soon get to go and eat lunch when Dr. Jim Speed stood in front of us with his arms up saying words that remind me of our second Scripture lesson as his benediction: “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good, render to no one evil for evil.” He’d say those words, and one day I realized that he was saying them as though we were actually supposed to do them. Have you ever felt that feeling? Have you ever been going through the motions when suddenly, you feel called to something more, as though what you believe must turn into action? Do you know what it feels like to hear God’s call and realize that He’s talking to you? It might start with such a small thing. Maybe a man turned to your father and insisted that he hand out the bulletins. A preacher stood up and called you to live your faith out in the world. A burning bush got your attention, and the next thing you knew, you were headed back to Egypt to lead your people out of slavery. Do you know what that feels like? It’s a scary feeling. It’s a wonderful feeling. If you’ve felt it, maybe at first, you just wanted to dip your toe in the water, but next thing you knew, you were in. You were all in. I feel like it happened with Ginny Brogan. You might know that she’s our youth director now. She didn’t apply for the job. She didn’t go to seminary. I was just sitting in a room with a group of people thinking through how to respond to the needs of our church’s youth group, and we all said that same thing at exactly the same time: “We need to call Ginny Brogan. She’d be perfect.” Of course, she didn’t know that. At least, she didn’t know that right away. When I called, she had to think about it. When two elders on the session, John Knox and Chris Harrison, called, she had to think about it. Then, she had to talk to her husband, Justis, about it. She had to talk with her kids about it, but something kept tugging at her. Something about it was compelling. Since she started, the youth group has grown by 65%. That’s what happens when we say “Yes,” when we accept God’s call, when we dare to walk into His presence saying, “Here I am. I’ll go if You lead me. I’m scared, but I’m in. I’m all in.” The same thing happened with our church’s food outreach ministry. It was the most random phone call. I’ll never forget it. I offhandedly said to a couple staff members, “Marietta City Schools called me. They’ve been distributing food from the Atlanta Food Bank using their school buses. They’re about to break for summer, and they want to know if we would accept the donation and give out the food in our parking lot.” This is a strange request. Will we become a food bank - without any knowledge of how to do it or where to even store the food? The staff and some incredible church members agreed to give it a try. Next thing you know, we’ve distributed 1.5 million meals. How did that happen? I’ll tell you: When we accept God’s call, when we dare to walk into His presence saying, “Here I am. I’ll go if You lead me. I’m scared, but I’m in. I’m all in,” anything can happen. Anything. It’s just like the story of Club 3:30. It’s just like the story of how a Georgia Tech engineer came to be our Associate Pastor. It’s just like the story of you and me and 12 Presbyterians who dared to believe that Marietta, Georgia needed a Presbyterian Church back in 1835. Now, here we are today, and I’m looking at you. Are you in? That’s what this pledge card is to me. That’s what it means. It’s the chance for us to respond to God, to say “Yes” and answer His call. To say, “Yes, I’m scared because I’m busy, and I’m stretched already, and I’ve never done this before, but if You need me, if You can use me, I’m in. I’m all in.” I’m going to fill this form out, tithing ten percent of my salary. Ten percent. That’s where we are in answering this call, but I want you to know that there was once a man in a small church in rural Tennessee who didn’t give ten percent of his salary. Instead, he tithed to the church one pig. Have I told you this story? Some of you know it. The Presbyterian Church in Lynnville, Tennessee was like a lot of Presbyterian Churches. They were small - too small to hire a full-time pastor. A Nashville banker had just retired, though, and felt the call to preach. He took some classes and got certified as what we call a “commissioned ruling elder.” The two of us became friends. He’d sometimes ask me for advice, but when it came to finances, as a banker, he felt like he really knew what he was doing, so he was overly excited to kick-off his first stewardship campaign at about this time of year. For the first time, they had pledge cards at that church in Lynnville. Some people knew what to do with them, but a new member who had been riding his bike up to that small church from his farm wasn’t exactly sure, so he pledged to the church one pig. He wrote that right on his pledge card. The next day, this Nashville banker-turned-pastor called me asking for advice. I told him that had never happened to me before; however, there was a man in my church who raised pigs. Maybe he’d like to buy it. Well, the Nashville banker had already sold the pig for $2,000 to a friend of his, only this friend didn’t want it. “Could you come get this pig?” the Nashville banker asked me. I called the pig farmer I knew. I put on my overalls and my boots. We drove down to Lynnville with the animal trailer on his truck. We eventually got that pig into the trailer, which was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life because that pig knew where he was going and didn’t want to go. Despite his objection, once he was big enough, we had a church BBQ and invited the young man from Lynnville and his pastor. In that moment, I realized that he had given his church $2,000 and had given my church a church-wide BBQ, all because he answered God’s call. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He just knew he had to do something. He said, “Yes.” He said, “I’m in.” “I’m scared, but I’m in.” “I’m nervous, but I want to know what You might do through me if I’m all in.” My friends, this is the time for you to be all in. For the first time in my experience as a pastor, thanks in large part to the leadership of Rev. Cassie Waits and the committees she works with, adult Sunday school attendance has increased. Moreover, it’s increased by 40%. That’s just one number. I’ve seen all of them. In every area of our church, attendance is increasing by large margins. The impact we are making on this community is increasing every day. While many churches are still struggling after the pandemic (Some studies say that 1 in 4 churches have closed or will close.), our church is growing, having gained more than 200 new members in the last five years, and having increased worship attendance every year since 2017. Today, our average in-person attendance has increased over last year, but our virtual attendance each Sunday basically doubles our congregation. Everything is growing. Our church is growing. God is at work among us, so I’m asking: Are you in? Are you all in? Now, I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want to guilt you into doing something you’re not comfortable doing. When the NPR annual campaign comes on the radio, I just turn the dial. I don’t want to have that effect on you this morning. Instead, I want to invite you to answer God’s call that leads to abundant life. Moses could have lived out his days tending the flocks of his father-in-law, Jethro. Instead, he answered the call of God and changed the world. Will you answer the call? Will you say, “Here I am; send me”? Are you in? Are you all in? Then take this form. Fill it out. Be ready to make your commitment to the God who is always committed to you. Amen.

Even Moses Was a Basket Case

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 1: 8 – 2: 10 and Romans 12: 1-8 Sermon title: Even Moses Was a Basket Case Preached on October 16, 2022 One of my favorite pictures of my dad with our two daughters is one of all three of them in the kitchen rolling out yeast rolls, my grandmother’s recipe. In the picture, my dad is smiling, Lily and Cece are wearing aprons. Too little to reach the countertop, the girls are standing on chairs to roll, cut, and fold the dough. Flour is in the air and on their faces. My dad, who mastered the art of his mother’s yeast rolls, is passing the technique down to them. That’s a special thing to do. It makes those rolls more special to me than they were already. My grandmother made them for me when I was little, so I remember eating them. She liked to make them for me because I hummed while I ate them. I enjoyed them that much, and I remember her making them in her kitchen. There was something about the flour in the air that dried out her nose, so she’d stick Kleenex up each nostril. Even though she’s been gone for nearly 30 years now, I can see her in the kitchen with Kleenex up her nose making me her famous yeast rolls, and now my dad teaches our daughters how to make them. Isn’t that wonderful? It is to me. To me, it’s wonderful to remember the people who fed me, raised me, made me who I am, who loved me into existence, and to feel connected to them even though I can’t call them on the phone or hold their hands any longer. More than that, it feels wonderful to me to connect our girls to someone they never even met. My grandmother’s name, the one who first made the yeast rolls, is Lilly. Lilly Sibley Evans. Whose names would you remember no matter how many years it’s been? What still connects you to them? Is there a recipe that lives on in your kitchen, or a sweater that you can’t let go of even though it’s full of holes? None of us was born complete. We were all knit together by loving hands. We were all born helpless, and even now, all of us are falling and trying and stammering and failing. Who picked you up, brushed you off, and offered you grace? Who wiped your tears, fed you a yeast roll, and helped you get back up again? What was her name? Whose name would you remember no matter how many years it’s been, and what is it that still connects you to him? For Moses, there were five women. We remember them all in the first chapters of the book of Exodus. This book was written in the time of pharaohs and pyramids, yet the names of those who loved Moses into existence have not been forgotten. No matter how many years it’s been, when we read the book of Exodus, we remember that even Moses was a basket case, fed, loved, raised, defended, and loved into existence. Even Moses was a basket case. I saw that on a bumper sticker, and I’ve never forgotten it because it’s true. Moses didn’t get anywhere on his own. We think of him as a hero of the faith, but the Bible remembers five women who made him who he was. No doubt, the names of many women who should be included in the Bible have been lost but consider this miracle: The book of Exodus in our first Scripture lesson refuses to tell us Pharaoh’s name. Still, to this day, we’re not sure which pharaoh the book of Exodus is referring to. In The 10 Commandments with Charlton Heston, it’s Ramses, but that’s Hollywood and not the Bible. The Bible doesn’t remember Pharaoh’s name; however, we know exactly who was there as Moses was born. We remember their names: Shiphrah and Puah. They’re right there in the Bible. When the king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live,” the midwives did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them. They saved Moses when he was helpless. He couldn’t save himself. No one can. Shiphrah and Puah saved him. More than that, once he’s grown too big or gotten too loud for his mother to hide safely, she put him in a basket, and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. Even Moses was a basket case, but he was loved into existence by two midwives and his mother. Then, as he floated in the water, his sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him. Pharaoh’s daughter came down to the river to bathe. She saw the basket among the reeds, saw the child, and wanted to keep him. Moses’s sister suggested to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” and so, Moses and his mother were reunited. Because of this story, I imagine that every time he saw a basket, Moses said to whoever was around, “My mother saved me by putting me in one of those. I was a basket case, but five women saved me.” Who saved you? Whose names would you remember no matter how many years it’s been, and what connects you to them still today? Last Sunday, I saw it happen when I gave blood in the Red Cross Blood Drive in Holland Hall. Joanne and Jim MacDonald always joke about this. In-between services, time is short, so they let me skip the line. They give me so much special treatment so I can donate before the 11:00 service starts. Then, after I donate, they make me sit and drink water and eat Cheez-Its, always saying, “We can’t have the pastor passing out in the pulpit.” I always say the same thing: “If I do, one of you has to preach.” We said all that last Sunday like we always do. Then, one of them pointed out Julia Rutledge. She was standing by, ready to donate, though she hadn’t given blood since her girls were born. Her father, Tim Hammond, donated blood at every blood drive we ever had. Last Sunday, Tim wasn’t here to donate. Julia was. Whose names would you remember no matter how many years it’s been, and what do you do that reminds you of how you will always be connected to them? The Apostle Paul was right. As he wrote in our second Scripture lesson, we are “one body. Not all the members of the body have the same function,” and not all the members who were here when we first began can we still see so clearly, but we are still connected. What do you do to remember that connection? Do you bake yeast rolls? Do you donate blood? What do you do that reminds you of how connected we all are? This week, our connection became so obvious because I heard this story. I lived part of it, but I had to hear the rest. It started when I was sitting in Kat Cherches’ barber chair, talking to the man who was waiting. He was a pilot during the Vietnam War, he told us. He’s been going to Kat’s shop for years, but this was the first time I’d met him. Kat told him that I was her preacher and that he should come to our church sometime soon. He said he hadn’t been to church in years, but he’d think about it. Then, I got up from the chair to pay, only the Internet was down, so the credit card reader wasn’t working. I didn’t have any cash. This man I had just met paid for my haircut. I told him I was grateful. He told me he’d think about coming to church sometime so he could collect on the loan. The next Saturday, this same man was in Home Depot, but he forgot his reading glasses, so he was holding a jug of pesticide right up to his face, trying to read the label. An important member of our church, Clyde Grant, saw him and asked him if he needed any help. Clyde read the label and helped him find the right pesticide. The man asked Clyde if he’d been in the service. He told Clyde he seemed like a service-oriented man. Clyde has been in the service. He’s a navy veteran. They swapped stories and talked about memories that are hard to forget. The man said it felt good to talk about these things. Not everyone understands. Clyde said he sometimes talks with his pastor about it and said his pastor’s name is Joe Evans. The man said, “I just paid for his haircut,” and “It looks like God is trying to tell me something.” God is trying to tell us something. God is trying to tell us all something. We are connected, to the living and to the dead. “We, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another,” but what do we do, in a world of division, discord, isolation, and individualism to remind us of how connected we all are? The Israelites, every year, long after Moses was gone, took the first fruits of the year at harvest time and went to the temple priest, declaring to him: A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me. What’s more, do you know what they put their first fruits in? A basket. Moses was a basket case. We are all basket cases, but we will make it if we stay connected. What do you do to remind you of that? Next Sunday, I’ll take this pledge card, and I’ll fill it out, making a commitment to God, giving back a portion of what He provided, just as my foremothers and forefathers in the faith have done. When I do, I’ll remember that when my ancestors were afflicted by hard labor and harsh treatment, we called out to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil and our oppression. And He raised up a basket case named Moses, who led us out of Egypt, following God’s mighty hand and outstretched arm. Years later, God appointed a woman named Lilly Sibley Evans to make me yeast rolls. They were so good I hummed when I ate them, and she is still with me. When we moved to Marietta, here was this church, formed by 12 members in 1835. They are my ancestors. God has been faithful to us, so I will be faithful to Him. What about you? Are you in? Are you all in?

For the Glory of God Alone

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 56: 1, 6-8 and Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32 Sermon title: For the Glory of God Alone Preached on October 9, 2022 I grew up here: not just in Marietta, but in this church, which means that the verse quoted to me often enough is Luke 4: 24: “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.” Truly, it can be a scary thing coming home as a pastor to the community that remembers me as a teenager. A couple weeks ago, I attended a meeting of local pastors and the Marietta City Mayor, Thunder Tumlin, at the Marietta Housing Authority. The director of the housing authority is Pete Waldrep. I grew up with his son and daughter, so he remembered me and included in his opening remarks, “I know that Joe Evans is a leader in this group. I’ve known him a long time, so let me just say, he’s come a long way.” This kind of thing happens about once a week. This week, I had a lunch meeting with Doc Harvin. Doc is an elder on the session. I grew up with his son Glenn. When we were in high school, Glenn asked me to drive his car home from a concert in Atlanta. I wrecked the car at an intersection in Buckhead. Therefore, I ask you: Why would I try to come back here? Why would I return to this place where I cannot escape my checkered history? I’ll tell you. It’s because I thought it might make a difference. Do you know how good it feels to make a difference? John Kueven invited me to lunch the week before last. You may have heard that John, Maggie, and their son, Chance, will be moving to Gainesville at the end of the school year. John has been asked to run several hospitals there in Northeast Georgia, and in telling me how he made his decision to pick up and move, he said, “Healthcare in this country needs reform. Hospitals need help. Patients deserve better care than they’re getting, and I want to be in a position where I can improve things for as many people as possible, so I’m taking a job where I have greater influence and can help more people.” That’s how he made the hard decision to move. He framed the decision considering his span of influence: whether or not he might make a greater difference. Do you know how good it feels to make a difference? Those who live for a higher purpose know that there is no greater joy than living for the glory of God alone. “For the glory of God alone” is the fifth of the five solas or “alones” of the Reformed Tradition, and so this is the fifth sermon of the series. You’ve now heard sermons on grace alone, faith alone, Christ alone, and Scripture alone. Today, it’s “for the glory of God alone,” and I believe it’s this one that pulls it all together because by His grace we have been saved. By faith, we’ve been shown the way to live. In Christ, we know the Savior. Through Scripture, we see the example. Now, we put it all into action. How will we live? What will we do? I’ll be talking about it today, as well as next Sunday and the Sunday after that because it matters. It matters how we live and how we spend our days and our hours. It matters not only to the world, but to us, to our souls. Do you know how it feels to live for the glory of God alone, or are you wondering “What does that even mean?” When I was interviewing for this position here in Marietta, we weren’t sure if we were ready to sell our house and leave our friends and community in Columbia, Tennessee. We didn’t know if we were ready to uproot our two girls and move here. Yet, we came to interview and toured what would be my office upstairs, which has a private bathroom. My wife, Sara, will still say, “That’s when I knew we were moving, when Joe found out he’d get his own bathroom if we moved to Marietta.” However, a life lived for bathrooms alone isn’t much of a life. A life lived for money alone isn’t either. A life lived for convenience, entertainment, any of that has been tried and tried again. He who lives without a worthy goal or a higher purpose often finds that his life feels empty. He is like a ship without rudders, for no one lies on his deathbed thinking, “I sure would like to watch one more episode of House of the Dragon on HBO,” or, “If only I had splurged on a nicer car.” All of us, when we lay on our deathbeds, will ask ourselves: “Who will remember me when I’m gone?” “Have I made a difference?” “Did my life matter?” Of course, money matters. Even bathrooms matter, but those who choose careers thinking only of money and convenience are missing out on the feeling that comes from making a difference. Are you making a difference? As you may know, I ride my bike to the church when I can. The car that I drive, I never wash or clean it out. It’s gross. Our girls hate to ride in it. My wife hates to drive it. When I’m in a funeral procession, I always ask to ride with the funeral director because I don’t want my car to be seen in a procession out to the cemetery. Because of this habit, I get to know the funeral directors, and one back in Tennessee, his name is Matt, and he was only about 25 years old. His father, Tony, ran the place, but I wondered why such a young man would be interested in running a funeral home, so I asked him about it. Matt told me that when he was in high school one, of his friends died, tragically. His friends’ parents were distraught, yet there was a funeral to plan. There were details to consider. Matt watched his father sit with his friends’ parents, gently walking them through all the steps, and in that moment, Matt knew that in a time of death, people can be taken advantage of. Were it not for his father meeting with his friends’ parents, they might be dumping money into a casket they didn’t need and services that weren’t necessary. In that moment, Matt knew that he could make a difference just by being an honest and compassionate funeral director, and so he chose his career. He knew his purpose. Now I’m sure he makes plenty of money. I’ve ridden in his car, and it’s nice. But Matt lives for the glory of God alone. Do you know what it is to live for the glory of God alone? The Apostle Paul said it like this: “Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy…, so they have now been disobedient in order that…they may now receive mercy” from you. Now that’s big. It’s a big deal for us to share mercy. To change lives. To live, not for self alone but for the glory of God alone. Paul nudges us to live this way, and we need to be nudged for too many of us receive God’s mercy and keep it to ourselves or treat the Gospel like the best kept secret in Marietta. That’s why my favorite Presbyterian joke will always be: What do you get when you mix a Jehovah’s Witness with a Presbyterian? You get someone who knocks on your door but doesn’t know what to say. When I’ve told that one too often, please let me know, or once we change, I’ll stop making the joke, for every one of us forgets that we are called to share the love and mercy of God that we have received. We can all do that, and none of us needs to change her career to do it because opportunities to share God’s mercy, to live for the glory of God alone, open up all around us all the time. You don’t have to become a pastor to do it. You just must remember that your job is just your job, but your calling is to glorify God. I witnessed it once in a grocery store in Decatur, Georgia. You know those lines where you can check yourself out without the help of a cashier? I was at Kroger years ago when those things were first introduced. That morning, I was in a hurry but not too much of a hurry, so I thought about the self-checkout line because it was empty. In the line with an actual cashier, a couple people were already there, but, like I said, I wasn’t in too much of a hurry, so I went to the line with an actual Kroger employee. I remember that the man in front of me bought cigarettes, cat food, and a newspaper. How did I know that? I’m a nosy person. Not only was I nosy enough to notice what the man was buying. I also eavesdropped on his conversation with the cahier. He was telling her about a book he was reading. “It’s a work of science fiction,” he said, “It will probably take me six weeks to read it. You must have a physics background to understand it. I sit and think awhile after I’ve only read five pages.” The cashier nodded. Then, the man said, “Could you also give me change for a ten? Two fives, please. I’m taking my mother to get her hair done, and if I only have a $10 bill, she’ll want to tip the stylist the whole $10.” “It looks like you got a haircut, too,” the woman at the register said. “You look nice.” “Not too nice though,” he replied. “I lost another tooth, so I’m scared to smile because when I do, I look like I’m from Appalachia.” That was a mean thing to say about people from Appalachia, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I just kept eavesdropping. “I’m getting a new tooth though,” he said. The woman at the register looked pleased. “Come in here smiling once you do,” the woman said. He covered his mouth, “I’m smiling now, but don’t look. You may hear the theme song from Deliverance.” Then he left. The cashier looked to me. “I love seeing that man. He makes me smile every time I see him,” the woman at the register said, and I want you to know that God was smiling, too. That’s what happens when we live for the glory of God alone, for we give Him glory when we pay attention, show mercy, and spread kindness. It’s not hard, and it can be done anywhere, in any job, in any place, at any hour. Those who live for the glory of God alone do so anywhere and everywhere. Therefore, I invite you to do it. Now, maybe you don’t know about that. Maybe you don’t have time to do one more thing. I get that. Like all of you, sometimes I wish my life were less busy and less stressful, yet what I really wish for is for my life to have more meaning. A busy life is not the same as a meaningful life, so Christian theologian Miroslav Volf, a professor of theology at Yale, said in an interview recently, “It is possible that we are suffering under burdens that are too light.” When our lives lack meaning, we suffer even more than when we run ourselves ragged. That’s why we all must ask ourselves: What am I living for? Who am I living for? To live full, satisfying lives, we must live for the glory of God alone. Of course, I have this amazing privilege of having that as my job description. Still, it’s not always easy. I often get confused and distracted. I intended to visit Van Pearlberg in the hospital last Tuesday morning. I walked into his room, spoke to his roommate and his roommate’s wife, and saw that I had missed him. He’d already been taken to surgery. Disappointed, I went to visit a couple other members of our church, then came back by Van’s room. His roommate’s wife asked me if I was Van’s son. I told her I was his pastor. “Where is your church?” she asked. That’s when I started to understand what I was doing there. I told her that I’m proud to be the pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Marietta, right on the Square. She told me she’d driven by it. I asked her to come in next time she drives by. Then I asked her husband’s name. It was Stanley. “May I pray for him?” I asked. We prayed. After I said “Amen,” I opened my eyes to see that she was crying. Do you know what that feels like? Do you know what it feels like to have made a difference? Do you know how good it feels to live for the glory of God alone? I tell you there is no greater feeling, so I urge you to go and do likewise. What do you think? Are you in? Are you all in?