What Child is This? A sermon based on Luke 1: 46-55 preached on December 17, 2023

There’s a lot about the season of Christmas that I love. I love Christmas cookies. I love Christmas music. I love Christmas socks and Christmas parties. Last week was the church staff Christmas party. It was hosted by Paul and Janice Phillips, and Joe Jordan, who joined the church staff a few months ago, dressed in a velure track suit, green and red, with a sequined reindeer on the back. I loved it. I love Christmas, but it’s not quite Christmas yet. December 25th is still days away, and here at First Presbyterian Church, we’re in the season of Advent. Advent is a time of preparation for what’s coming, marked by this Advent wreath. Today on that wreath, we lit the Candle of Joy, and so today we anticipate the coming of joy, for with Jesus comes joy. Think with me about joy. How would it be different if we lit the candle of contentment, cheerfulness, or happiness? To me, there’s a difference between joy and happiness. Something about joy seems more resilient, whereas happiness comes and goes. For example, I remember one night where I felt joy although I didn’t have much to be happy about. Let me tell you what I mean. I was on my way to my bachelor party in Charleston, South Carolina. Some college friends had put it together a couple weeks before our wedding. The day of the party, I had to work, so I couldn’t get on the road to Charleston from Atlanta until after my shift at the lawn maintenance company I was working for. Late at night, I was on a lonesome stretch of the interstate between Columbia and Charleston. Along the road, I noticed my car having a little trouble shifting gears, but I had a party to get to, so I pressed on without stopping. Well, at some point along that dark, solitary road I regretted that. Out in the middle of nowhere, I was stepping on the gas while the car was slowing down. Coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road, I cut the engine, then tried to get going again to no avail. The car wouldn’t go into gear. The transmission was shot. Not knowing what else to do in that age before cell phones, I started walking in the cowboy boots that I always wore. Even though I’d never been on a horse at that time, I wore cowboy boots everywhere. Walking down the interstate, a few cars zoomed passed, but it was so late there wasn’t much traffic. I walked two miles, and my feet hurt so badly that I stopped to wrap them in my undershirt. I made it seven miles before I found a pay phone, called a tow truck company, who agreed to pick up the car, only when I asked if they could pick up me, then the car, the woman on the other end said, “It’s a tow truck, not a taxi cab,” so I walked another mile or so to a cheap hotel and decided to try to find a way out of this situation after a good night’s sleep. I didn’t go to bed that night happy, and I’ve rarely worn cowboy boots since. My feet were bleeding. I didn’t really know where I was. I had missed my bachelor party, but I went to bed that night with joy in my heart because regardless of whether or not I made it to my bachelor party, I was getting married to Sara. There’s a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness comes and goes. I feel happy when everything is going my way. When it’s not, happiness evaporates. Therefore, I say, Mary didn’t sing because she was happy, for little if anything in her life was going her way. We’re a well-established, educated church, and so we use a lot of theological words to describe the situation Mary found herself in as our second Scripture lesson takes place. To describe the unique circumstance, we call it the virgin birth. Maybe some here have heard of the immaculate conception (a term which refers to Mary’s birth). This morning, let’s overlook the words the theologians use and use real words to describe her situation, for regardless of how it came to be, Mary was an unwed teenage mother. How do unwed teenage mothers feel? How do people react to unwed teenage mothers? Did Mary plan on being an unwed teenage mother? No, and so I say, while there may have been little cause for her happiness, in her song is joy. My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, she sang. For he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant. Surely, from now on, generations will call me blessed. She sings with joy, which is so much more than happiness, because joy is the gift that God often provides when all the things that we thought would make us happy have fallen away. In the greatest Christmas movies, joy is what rises from the ashes when the plans go up in flames. Think about Home Alone. In the movie Home Alone, Kevin wishes his family to disappear. That next morning, through a series of unusual events, his family flies to Paris and leaves him asleep in the attic. At first, this chain of events that leads to him being home alone leads to exactly what Kevin dreamed of. Home alone, he eats what he wants, and he watches what he wants on TV. Being home alone is an exciting adventure until the pleasure of being home alone wears off because two thieves try to break into his house. So it is with many of our plans. Happiness is fleeting. Pleasure can wear off. Joy is different. Kevin feels joy when his mother walks through the door and she holds him tight. In the same way, think about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. No one hopes to have her tree stolen by a tiny-hearted man covered in green fur, but when the Whos down in Whoville find that everything is gone on Christmas morning, what do they do? They sing. Why? Were they happy? Who would be happy to have his presents stolen? Nobody, yet joy is something that can’t be stolen. Joy endures through hardship. Joy is what the characters in all our favorite movies find in the end, after everything has gone wrong. So it is in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. The turkey is dry, one lady wraps up her cat as a present, Snot the dog gags on a bone from under the table, and Cousin Eddie empties the you-know-what in the storm drain, for despite all our hard work, it appears as though all we’re going to get some years is a subscription to Jelly-of-the-Month Club or worse because everything keeps going wrong. Some would say that everything in Mary’s life had gone wrong. Did she plan to be a single mother? No, and as you look at all your plans that don’t turn out the way you’d hoped, look to Mary. From her comes the reminder that what rises from the ashes when our plans go up in flames are the promises of God. By her song, you can tell that Mary knows. From her shattered plans, the promise of God arises. Mary knows, and so she sings, while oftentimes we forget. My friends, the last time I preached from this Scripture lesson in the Gospel of Luke, Mary’s Magnificat, we call it, it was the year 2020. That’s the way these readings go. They come back around on a three-year cycle, so the last time I preached on this passage was three years ago, December of 2020. I preached the sermon I wrote that year to an empty Great Hall not long before Christmas Eve. I remember how weird it felt. I remember how wrong it felt. We wanted so badly to do something for Christmas Eve, so knowing that we couldn’t gather a crowd in here, we planned a candlelight service for out under the portico. Do you remember that? Maybe you don’t because it never happened. The forecast that Christmas Eve was for the temperature to drop below freezing, and then the meteorologists were predicting rain. I wanted to push through with the plan. Many wanted to push through with the plan, but with a global pandemic, plus freezing temperatures, rain was the final straw. What I wanted to happen, what I planned for, was hitting roadblock after roadblock. It ended up being my only Christmas Eve off in years, only I didn’t enjoy it. I couldn’t enjoy it because my plans were going up in flames. If only I’d had the faith of Mary, who knew that as her plans were going up in flames, the promise of God was arising. I can see that now. Now we know what livestream can do. Back then, we barely knew what livestream even was. Today, this service streams to retirement communities around Marietta, the Cobb County Jail, and into homes in different states. It even goes all the way to Australia. Now, I can see that having a candlelight service out in the freezing cold is nothing compared to reaching the people we are reaching. Now I know how much bigger God’s plans were than ours. I was pushing for an outside service in the freezing rain because I was resisting that which I couldn’t understand. Anyone else ever like that? Or is it just me? It can be hard to recognize God’s plan when God’s plan demands that we abandon our plan, but Mary did it. Mary could see it. That’s what we call faith. I heard an interview with late-night TV host Steven Colbert the other day. He was being interviewed by journalist Anderson Cooper, who, you may know, has a podcast about grief. As the two men talked about loved ones they’ve lost, Colbert quoted J.R.R. Tolkien, who once wrote, “What punishments of God are not gifts?” That may be the most important question of all. Always, God is at work, but can you see His plans? Can you accept God’s plans, or are you holding too tightly to your own? To quote my favorite TV show, Ted Lasso, so much of moving on is believing that what we thought happened to us, in fact, happened for us. Unto us, a Son is given. Unto us, a Child is born. His birth changes everything. His birth turns our world upside down. That doesn’t have to make you happy, but may it bring you joy, for but His birth changes everything that we would be saved. Halleluiah. Amen.

Christ's Gift to Us: Peace of Mind, a sermon based on Mark 1: 1-8, preached on December 10, 2023

This time of year, we all must turn our attention to a bearded man with an important message. I’m not referring to the bearded man dressed in red. This morning, I’m interested in the one who, like the ancient prophets, wore camel’s hair. This morning, the Gospel of Mark turns our attention towards John the Baptist, who was surely more slender than the bearded man with a belly like a bowl full of jelly, for the one we turn our attention to this morning lived on locusts and wild honey out in the Judean wilderness. Kroger, Walgreens, and everywhere else has been displaying Santa Clause, who surely takes his place of prominence this time of year, while this morning, I tell you: Turn your attention towards John the Baptist, who welcomes, not just the good little boys and girls of the world, but anticipating the appearance of Jesus so many years ago, John welcomed all the people of Jerusalem [who] were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. That’s different from what happens with Santa, for the song goes: You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout. I’m telling you why. Santa Clause is coming to town. He’s making a list, And checking it twice. He’s going to find out who’s naughty or nice. Santa Clause is coming to town. He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good. So be good for goodness’ sake. That’s Santa. John is different, for John wasn’t interested in hearing how good anyone was. Instead of asking those who lined up to see him, “Have you been a good little boy?” to be on John’s list, you had better be ready to reveal what you’ve been crying about. What made you pout. Like Santa, John knows who has been bad or good, and let’s face it, no one has been so good that they don’t need a savior this Christmas, so come to him with some good, honest confession. Come to him ready to reveal what’s broken. Don’t send John the Baptist a Christmas card where everyone’s hair is perfect, and all the kids have on khaki bottoms and white tops. He doesn’t care how coordinated your family’s wardrobe is. He’s ready to hear that mom and dad fight too much and need some reconciliation for Christmas. He’s preparing the way for the One who binds up wounds and brings healing to the broken places. John isn’t Santa. Don’t sit on his lap and tell him you’ve been nice all year round. He wants to know what made your blood boil because he’s preparing the way for the One who can do something about it. The Gospel of Mark tells us that John the Baptist was filling a basic human need so compelling that, “All the people of Jerusalem were going out to him and were baptized by him in the river Jordan. Confessing their sins.” Meanwhile, I remember waking up early and going to Rich’s to ride the Pink Pig. I think Macy’s has it now. Back then, it was at Rich’s, so we’d go there, and we’d stand in line to ride the Pink Pig. Then, we’d stand in line to see Santa Clause. That’s what we’d do. People will stand in line to do all kinds of things that they think are important, just as the citizens of Jerusalem stood in line on the banks of the Jordan to be baptized by John. We were in Washington, D.C. a couple weeks ago, and it’s interesting to think of what we had to stand in line to do and what we didn’t. We were able to walk right up to the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. There were people there, but it was no problem seeing what we wanted to see. However, there was this long line outside a donut shop we wanted to go to. That line at the donut shop was so long we couldn’t get to them. Now, I love donuts, but what we line up for these days makes me wonder if what we are willing to stand in line for is worth the wait. The Pink Pig was cute, but it was just a metal can hanging from the ceiling. It was kind of creepy when you think about it. And donuts make me happy. Presents make me happy. However, will the things that we wait in lines for make us satisfied? My friends, I am convinced that here in 21st century America, we know what will bring momentary happiness, and we’re willing to wait in line for it. We know what will entertain. We know what will bring us temporary comfort. We know how to have fun and how to enjoy ourselves. What, though, will get to that greater need within us? Where will we find what might make us truly fulfilled? Is there not a deep desire within us all? To be understood? To have meaning? To be forgiven? Santa can’t handle that kind of stuff. It’s beyond his paygrade. Santa knows what to do with us when all we need is something new and fun, while for the real stuff, the stuff that really matters, we need Jesus. The week before last, several of us attended a funeral for John Schupp at St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church. One member of our church who attended the funeral was raised Roman Catholic, but after marrying a Presbyterian, he hadn’t had communion with a priest or been to confession for some 50 years. After the funeral was over, on his way out, he wanted to thank the priest for a beautiful service, but out of habit or by mistake, he said, “Father, it’s been 50 years since my last confession.” “Why don’t you follow me,” the priest responded. Thinking he was going on a tour of the facility, this member of our church followed the priest, only when they sat down in the Sanctuary, the priest said, “So, it’s been 50 years since your last confession.” Then, the priest encouraged him to get on with it, so this member of our church, since it had been so long, tried to cover the main themes of his sins rather than get into all the specifics as the priest heard his confession. I think this is such a funny story, but as he told me about it, I asked him: How did you feel after? “Well, I thought I was going to have to say about 5,000 Hail Mary’s and do 20 years of community service.” Instead, the priest looked him in the eye and said, “You’re forgiven.” In the words of my sister, Elizabeth, who was asking me about this sermon just yesterday, “It sounds like you’re trying to say that Santa brings presents and John the Baptist brings the gift of relief.” Exactly. Santa asks, “Have you been a good boy or girl?” John says, “I know you haven’t been, so come to the water for some peace.” Is that easier said than done? Not everyone will just admit his fault or confess his sin; however, about 100 years ago, the London Times sent out an invitation to famous authors, asking for their response to the question, “What’s wrong with the world today?” The great Christian theologian GK Chesterton wrote back simply, “I am.” What he meant is that there is a brokenness within us all, yet we often spend more time covering it up, denying it’s there, rather than confessing it before God Almighty and being forgiven. I believe that we spend more time in denial than in confession, as though we’ve been trained to believe that we’ll lose out on Christmas presents if we admit that we’ve been a little naughty and haven’t always played nice, yet the gift our Savior brings is one that surpasses our understanding, so don’t forsake the opportunity for true redemption in favor of preserving the illusion of innocence. That’s what Christmas is. It’s not perfection. It’s grace. That may be especially hard to remember this time of year, when we are all pushing ourselves towards some version of perfect. There’s a great TV show that’s now won a bunch of awards called The Bear. The Bear is a TV show about a young man who inherits his brother’s restaurant in Chicago, but his family life was a struggle, so his life is a struggle that he’s trying to make it through with hard work and dedication. On opening night of his brother’s newly renovated restaurant, something sends the main character back to a Christmas Eve years in the past when his mother was trying her best to prepare the perfect meal for her family. Because her family has Italian roots, it was the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes. Seven fish dishes she was trying to prepare in the kitchen. She wouldn’t let anyone help her. People tried, but she wanted things done just right, which meant things kept going wrong. No one can keep seven dishes going at the same time. It’s impossible, so one dish was getting dry. The other wasn’t finished. Then a son-in-law showed up with tuna casserole, which is the worst thing to bring to a Feast of the Seven Fishes. You can’t have an 8th fish dish at the Feast of the Seven Fishes. As the evening progresses, things move from bad to worse. Rather than ask for help, mom drinks a little more and works a little harder. The evening ends with her driving the car right into the dining room, which is a huge disaster, but it may help me get to my point. Sometimes, I worry that we are working so hard this season preparing for Santa Clause. We want everyone to know that we are good little boys and girls. We want him to see that we haven’t pouted or cried, that we’ve not been naughty but nice. My friends, push Santa to the side for just a moment and recognize that Christmas is not Santa’s birthday. We Christians are preparing for the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ who is coming, not because we’ve been good, but because we need some help. That’s for Whom John is looking. That’s for Whom he’s calling to prepare. As you look out the window and notice that a perfect snow isn’t covering the world, or as you look in the mirror and want to cover up all your flaws, know that He knows already where there is brokenness and heartbreak. He knows that here there is sin and death. That’s why He’s coming. He’s coming to save the world. He’s coming to save you and me. Lay down your pursuit of perfection to receive Christ’s greatest gifts: Grace. Hope. Peace. Peace of mind. Halleluiah. Amen.

The Least of These, a sermon based on Matthew 25: 31-46, preached on November 26, 2023

I once heard a story about a brand-new pastor who wanted to make a big impression during his first sermon at his new church, so that first Sunday, un-showered and unshaven, he dressed in his mangiest outfit and showed up in front of the church early, long before the service started. Pulling a knit cap over his ears, he curled up in a sleeping bag on the steps in front of the main doors of his new church. As the congregation arrived, you can imagine how this went. Not knowing who he was, and assuming he had spent the cold night out on the church steps, some greeted him compassionately. These gentle lambs invited him into the church parlor. They offered him coffee, a snack, and a clean change of clothes; while some others, having no idea that this was their new pastor who might one day visit them in the hospital or officiate their funerals, grumbled under their breath, just loud enough for him to hear those old goats express their concern about the decline of the neighborhood and criticize public transportation for bringing this kind of person to their part of town. During the prelude, imagining that their new pastor would be clean shaven and dressed in a black robe, everyone in the congregation was surprised to see the man who some had greeted with compassion and others with contempt walk down the aisle and up to the pulpit, where he quoted our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Matthew: Jesus said, I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked, and you gave me clothing… Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me. Friends, when I read our Gospel lesson, it occurs to me that Jesus, like this pastor, turns the world on its head and expects us to behave differently than we often do. Today is the Sunday we call Christ the King Sunday. It’s the last Sunday of the church year before Advent begins again. Today, we remember that while there were pharaohs in Egypt who were honored with pyramids and gold, emperors who ruled the Roman Empire with impunity, and while the sun never set on the land governed by Louis XIV of France, we bow our heads before the King of Kings. The Lord of Lords. The Alpha and Omega. The Beginning and the End. Today, we say that He will reign over the nations forever, that His kingdom shall have no end, and so long as we desire to remain in His good graces, we must understand that He had no typical throne room but was born in a manger. If we want to hear Him say at the end of our days, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” we must understand that in His lifetime, He associated with the outcasts of society, and as He died, He was executed as a common criminal with a thief by His side. Given His nature, must we push our neighbors aside to kiss His ring or bow before Him? Should we amass great riches of silver or gold to lay at His feet? Can we impress Jesus the way we impress our neighbors, with the best car in the driveway or greenest lawn on the street? As He considers those who will enter His kingdom, will He examine our resume? At the gates of Heaven, will there be one last check for our good credit score? No. A good credit score will get you a car and a mortgage, but it can’t get you into the Kingdom of Heaven. For entry into the Kingdom of Heaven, what is required, according to the Gospel of Matthew, is a letter of reference from the poor. While we can’t always impress the powers of the world this way, our second Scripture lesson makes clear what the Lord requires, for when we look into the eyes of the thirsty, the downtrodden, the lost, the afflicted, the marginalized, and rejected, we may well be looking into the eyes of Christ himself, for Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” In other words, should you be one who lives by the dictum, “It’s not what you know but who you know,” then recognize this truth with me. Get to know the friendless and you’ll get to know the Lord. Rub shoulders with the imprisoned and make it through the pearly gates. While the hungry may not help us get that promotion, the naked can’t get our kid in the starting lineup, and the thirsty can’t help us skip the line to get a new iPhone, take Jesus at His word when He says, “When you welcome the stranger, you have welcomed me.” This morning, let us take Jesus at His word when He says that the time will come when the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and the only thing that will matter then, the factor that will set one apart from the other, is who has shown kindness to those society rejects. That’s a plain message. It’s a clear message, but it’s a countercultural message, for Jesus is always countercultural. Even here in Marietta, GA, remember that Jesus is countercultural, and the ways we’ve conformed to Marietta, GA may be habits that enable us to advance in this community, while keeping us out of the Kingdom of Heaven, for entry into the Kingdom of Heaven requires us to act differently. The followers of Jesus must learn new ways of being. Future residents of that New Heaven and New Earth can’t settle in, adopting the ways of this fallen world. Right? So, while we have these wonderful schools that will help our kids get ahead in the world, and while we pay so much attention to their grades and their extracurricular activities because we want our kids to get into Georgia, Georgia isn’t everything. Eternal life requires its own work of preparation. Now, don’t let that scare you. Heaven may be easier to get into than the University of Georgia. According to a columnist in the Marietta Daily Journal, years ago, his letter of acceptance to the University of Georgia came addressed to him “or current resident.” It doesn’t work like that these days. Kids need a tutor and a good ACT score, plus letters of recommendation. I say, help your kid get into college, but don’t forget to teach her what she needs to do to get into Heaven. Pay attention to how your kids and grandkids act around poor people. If your kids don’t know how to act around people who don’t look like them, whose parents make less money, or if your kids don’t know how to talk to their classmates who have unwashed hair, threadbare clothes on their backs, or the wrong shoes on their feet, remember what Jesus said, “Just as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.” I’ve been watching too much TV lately, and so I have in my mind these plot lines I’ve seen. Have you been watching The Gilded Age? It’s just like Downton Abby, but it takes place in New York City. In the episode last week, the Duke was coming to town from England. Everyone wanted to be seated next to him, and to sit next to the Duke, you had better know which glass to drink from when and what to do with the tiny fork at the top of your place setting. In high society, knowing how to deal with silverware matters, so I want our kids to know about this kind of thing. Our daughter Lily has even been to The Social Class, which will get her far in life. Table manners will get you far. They’ll help you impress the Duke, but what about the King of Kings? Jesus won’t be checking for good table manners at the Gates of the Kingdom of Heaven. Will he? No. According to our Gospel lesson, He’ll be watching for which hungry people get fed by whom, for when we’ve fed the least of these, we’ve fed Him. Knowing that when we feed hungry people, that what we do for the least of these, we’ve done for Him, how might we better use our Saturdays? A few Saturdays ago, I took our daughter Cece to this place up near Cartersville so she could play in a basketball tournament, which lasted all day. I was glad to drive her up there. I love to watch that kid play, but at the tournament was a crowd of parents all cheering for their kids, wanting to see them do well. With that many parents and that many kids, it was a pressure cooker in there. We were yelling at the refs. Yelling at the other team. One kid’s dad got kicked out and then so did her grandma. Why? Because we want our kids to do well. We want them to make whatever team they try out for. All parents want their kids to do well because only those who can really play make the team. Yet Jesus won’t be asking anyone to make a free throw before he enters the Kingdom of Heaven. That’s not how it works. What, then, should we be teaching our kids? How should we ourselves be living? Rather than a line out the door to get them into the right preschools, there ought to be a line right around the Cobb County Jail so that we can visit the people whom Jesus calls us to visit. There ought to be a line right around the block to volunteer for the Pantry on Church, our food distribution ministry, because Jesus says, “If you’ve fed them, you’ve fed me.” We all ought to have empty closets because we clothe the naked. We all ought to be digging wells in arid regions of our world because those who give a drink to the thirsty are getting in. And those who haven’t? That’s there in verse 46: “And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” What a Gospel lesson this is. It’s easy to understand what Jesus means here, and it’s even easy to do what the King of Kings is expecting of us if we put our minds to it. Yet, our minds aren’t always in the right place. I told you before I’ve been watching a lot of TV. I’ve been watching too much TV, really, so I’ve moved from the good shows to the documentaries. I was watching a documentary last Wednesday morning about the holy relics of Europe. Did you know that when Notre Dame burned, the fire department had to go find the crown of thorns? For generations, believers have traveled far, gone on pilgrimages, to get close to holy relics, be it the crown of thorns or the Shroud of Turin. No doubt these are priceless items, worthy of respect and veneration, but people go miles to visit them so that they might feel close to Jesus, while Jesus says right here in the Gospel of Matthew, “When you have served the least of these, you’ve served me.” We don’t have to travel half-way around the world to be close to Jesus. We can just go next door. Around the corner. To the MUST shelter or our own Pantry on Church. We don’t have to get on a plane to get close to Jesus, for He is all around us all the time. All we must do is open our eyes and our hearts to the people our society has taught us to be indifferent to. Let’s let go of what our society has taught us about getting ahead in this world, for getting ahead in the Kingdom of Heaven comes down to how well we’ve served the least of these, for in serving them, in holding their hands, we’ve held the hands of the King of Kings. Halleluiah. Amen.

Let Justice Roll Down, a sermon based on Amos 5: 18-24, preached on November 12, 2023

I’d like to begin this sermon with an announcement to any who haven’t ever been to this church before: I don’t normally dress like this. Our worship services aren’t always like this. Today is a special day, celebrating the Scottish roots of the Presbyterian Church. As this is a Presbyterian Church, one Sunday each year, we take the time to celebrate where our faith tradition came from with this special worship service, called Kirkin’ of the Tartan. You might be thinking to yourself, “If I’m not Scottish, can I still be a Presbyterian?” Hear me say, up until I became the pastor here, the most Scottish thing I’d ever done was watch the movie Braveheart and occasionally have a sip or two of Glenlivet. Every year, I struggle again to put on this kilt. It’s not immediately clear which side of this thing is the front. I also struggle to remember where the decorative dagger goes because it doesn’t go in this special purse around my waist, but in my sock. This special purse that goes around my waist is the best part of the outfit. It’s so nice to have a bag to put my things in; however, my point is that this outfit is not familiar. It’s not technically a part of my heritage. At some point in history, the Evans family left Wales, crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and came to the United States, so Ancesty.com would not substantiate my claim to any of these tartans. Maybe the same is true of you. If it is, let me tell you that those of us whose last names do not appear on a tartan still have something miraculous to celebrate today. Today, we are celebrating the McDonalds and the Macfarlanes. We raise up the names of Anderson, Cummings, Duncan, and Hay. We do raise the tartans to recognize these great families who can trace their roots right back to the Scottish Lowlands and the Highlands, yet the preacher before you, who moved to Marietta from Virginia Highlands, has a place in this worship service as well. Today is a celebration for all God’s people because all God’s people have a heritage worth celebrating, especially if, as is true of the Scots among us, some oppressive power tried to take all your traditions away. This worship service is inspired by an old Scottish liturgy that developed during the English occupation. If you’ve seen the movie Braveheart as I have (I’ve seen it like 50 times, but I realize not everyone has.), then remember how hard it was for those people to remain proud of their heritage while living under the thumb of the British Empire. For generations, bagpipes were played in secret rather than out in the open, and the plaids of each family couldn’t be worn in public. Still, the families snuck in just patches of their tartans. Into the churches, they brought squares, small enough to be smuggled into the church, where they were blessed by God in secret during a worship service. So it has been for oppressed people throughout human history. Think about the long hair of the Native American, cut as Cherokee boys and girls were separated from their tribes and forced into schoolhouses where they’d forget the language of their people. Think about the generations who were enslaved in this country. They were kept from learning to read, they forgot the languages of their homelands, and they gathered to worship God in brush arbors and secret places beyond the prying eyes of their captors. Throughout human history, concurring armies have burned drums and books. Ritual dancing was outlawed. Accents have disappeared. Yet these are no scraps of wool snuck into this place of worship. These pipes are not played under the cover of nightfall. Therefore, this worship service is not just a celebration of Scottish heritage; it is also a celebration of God’s justice, which upon the head of the empire has come rolling down. Today, we remember that while they tried – while they tried to break our bagpipes and our spirits, while they banned our tartans and stole our land - justice still came rolling down. We boldly declare it in this worship service, and every worship service because we know that far greater than the power of the empire is the power of God who made heaven and earth. We know that far stronger than the weapon of our oppressor is the mighty hand of God. If the man has you feeling down, If you ever feel discouraged, If you have a boss who doesn’t respect you and your friends put you down, or if your teachers just don’t understand and bullies walk the hall, and everyone around you has already had their growth spurt and life just isn’t fair, look at these tartans that were held in secret but not destroyed, for justice will come rolling down. That’s the theme of today’s service. If we’re doing anything other than rejoicing in God’s justice, then this is just a pep rally in plaid. The prophet Amos spoke of someone who fled from a lion and was met by a bear, or of someone who went into the house and rested a hand against the wall and was bitten by a snake. Do you ever feel that way? Do the powers of sin and death ever get you down? Sometimes, we go to the doctor’s office and hear that we’ve healed from lung cancer while cancer has sprung up some place else. Then, we watch the news and pray for the victims of one tragedy, even though tomorrow there will be another tragedy with another group of victims to pray for. Yet the day is coming when the power of empire, the power of oppression, the power of cancer, even the power of death will be broken, for justice will come rolling down. That’s what today’s worship service is all about. My wife, Sara, reads a lot more than I do. Next to her side of the bed is a stack of books. She must read three books a week. She puts me to shame. Plus, she reads the New York Times cover to cover every morning and does Wordle. Last Friday, she sent me an article about Matthew Perry, who was a star on the TV series Friends. You may have heard that he recently died. You may also have heard that he struggled with alcoholism. That struggle was a primary theme of his memoir, which recently came out. A good friend of his, another actor, named Hank Azaria, remembered him in a guest essay that Sara sent me, and in that article, Hank Azaria described what it was like to go with Matthew Perry to Azaria’s first AA meeting. We went to this very big gathering in Brentwood, California. We walked in, and I swear it seemed there were a thousand people in there. [Matthew] knew the look on my face – daunted. Beyond daunted: demoralized. It’s very hard to imagine how going into a room like this is somehow going to make you want to stop drinking or make you feel better. And he looked at me and said in his Matthew, half-joking, very loving way: “It’s something, isn’t it? God is a bunch of drunks in a room.” That may be a shocking thing to hear, but let me say it a different way. God is there among those who gather for AA meetings. God was there among those oppressed Scottish people. God was there among those enslaved people who gathered together under the cover of shadow to steal away to the brush arbor, or in the time of Roman persecution, among who confessed their faith in the catacombs proclaiming that there is a power greater than death, greater than oppression, greater than tyranny, greater than addiction, greater than cancer, greater than sin. Do not compromise with empire. Empire’s days are numbered. Watching the debates among politicians, you don’t need to settle for the least bad option. Corruption’s days are already numbered. Lift up your eyes to the hills today. Remember from which our help comes. For justice will come rolling down. There is a power stronger than death. There is a power stronger than tyranny. We lifted the tartans, which years ago were but tiny squares of cloth, smuggled in, but I call you today to lift up your head if you are bearing heavy sorrow. Lift up your eyes and see that the sun also rises. Lift up your heart, as justice comes rolling down. Amen.

What Will Be?, a sermon based on 1 John 3: 1-3, preached on November 5, 2023

Last week, Russell Davis, who is not only a Sunday school teacher at our church but also a Marietta attorney, told me a story of a miracle he was right in the middle of. Russell was representing a woman who had been in a car accident. Many of us have been in car accidents. I’ve been in more than one. The best result of a car accident is that it only ruins your day. The worst result of a car accident is someone loses his life. Russell’s client was in a car accident that resulted in the death of another woman, a grandmother who was a mentor to younger women in her church, who started an international prayer hot-line, and also founded several mission efforts; one, which helped people during the big ups and downs of life, she named the Road to Damascus. You know the Road to Damascus story. It’s told with the most detail in the book of Acts, where Paul, then a persecutor of Christians, is struck blind. This blindness is not a curse, but a step on his spiritual journey where he meets Jesus, Who asks him, “Why do you persecute me?” Blind and helpless, Paul is invited by a disciple named Ananias into his house, where Paul is fed and cared for, which is a great sign of Christian love and hospitality, for Ananias knew Paul to be, not the saint we now know in Scripture, but one who arrested Ananias’s friends, terrorized his community, and helped to stone one of his fellow disciples. But back to the miracle in Russel’s courtroom. He was defending the driver who lived, while the family of the woman who died were on the other side of the courtroom. They were visibly distraught, not only mourning the loss of a saintly woman, but they were angry, and anger needs a place to go, so they were angry with the woman who caused the accident. Russell, being a saintly man himself, could relate. According to him, the key to retaining your humanity in the legal profession is the ability to feel someone else’s pain. Russell felt the pain of this grieving family, but in his client’s defense, he said, “If your mother were still with us, she would be among the first to support and care for my client, to hug her and comfort her and let her know it was all OK because she is in a better place. My client is broken-hearted over this accident that took your mother’s life, but what I want you to recognize is that this accident did not happen on Memorial Drive in Decatur, Georgia, as the police report reads. Considering the character of the deceased and the change in my client, this accident occurred on the Road to Damascus.” Not every closing argument turns into a sermon, but that one did, and truly, that accident occurred on the Road to Damascus, for just as Paul received grace from Ananias, so Russell’s client received grace from that deceased woman’s family. Christ was also there in that courtroom, for, inspired by his closing argument, the mourning family went from thoughts of punishment and revenge to inviting Russell’s client to church. They provided her with a ride to get there. When she arrived in her Uber, they welcomed her in. They embraced her as she arrived, and just as it happened for Paul, Russell’s client was baptized and became a member of that family of faith. As a preacher of the Gospel, I have the honor of being told stories like this often enough. Some call such moments coincidence; I call it God at work in the world, but on this All Saints’ Sunday, think with me, not only about how Jesus walks beside us, but how the memory of one woman’s faithfulness influenced events in a courtroom, even after she died tragically in that car accident. Think with me about those who are robed in white. Who have come out of the great ordeal already. Who will hunger and thirst no more, for they are before the throne of God in that place where God will wipe every tear from their eyes. This morning, I call on you to remember the saints and how they lived. I don’t just mean, “Remember with me Bill Fogarty’s smile, which was warm enough to melt snow, or John Wells and his bowties, which are worth remembering.” What I’m talking about today is how, at his funeral last December, Bill Fogarty’s daughter Jean read from 2nd Timothy: As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. My friends, we have so much to learn from a man who lived in such a way that his daughter would remember him this way. Sometimes, I worry that at my funeral, Lily and Cece will say, “When he came home stressed, we knew it because he would use his preacher voice in the house.” If those who have gone on could speak to us today, how would they tell us to live? Would they tell us we worry too much? That we spend too much money on stuff that’s only going to gather dust? Today, we remember those like Judy Williams, who so looked forward to her granddaughter’s high school graduation that it’s all she talked about, as though her granddaughter’s graduation were the most important thing in the world. Was she wrong? Remember Bill Paden with me this morning. If you walk into the choir room, you’ll see a plaque on the wall listing those members of the choir who sang with our choir for fifty years. There are only three names on there. Bill Paden is one of them, and today, his grandson Karl is in the choir loft following in his footsteps. Think about how they used their time, and if they had the time that we have, how would they use it? How many cards would Flora Speed send if she had more time to tell people how much she loved them? What would Bob and Better Bomar do with a little more time? Would those two, who died within months of each other, not tell us, who are married, to spend our time loving one another well? What would they do with more time? Think with me of Karen Davis, who fed every cat in her neighborhood, or Don Mills, who from his hospital bed at AG Rhodes told his friends how much he loved them, or Skip Zehrung, whose children and grandchildren remembered him so well in their eulogies because he knew where to invest his time, not in front of the TV, but in people. Today, we remember those who have gone on. Faith Adamson, Don Goldberg, Jo Johnson, Doris Kitchens, Bill Majoros, Annel Martin, Anne Ray, Carol Watkins, and Ron Young. How did they live? And how would they have us live? I can just see Bill Majoros driving Wanda Reese to Thursday Bible Study. I can almost hear Jean Reed’s voice, as she told me stories of her days as a code breaker during World War II. I think about my friend Leo. Leo would invite me over for lunch. A couple years ago, I developed a sensitivity to beef and pork. He’d invite me for lunch, and I’d have to tell him that I was on a special diet, so he invited me to his house where he’d prepared a spread of chicken salad, shrimp salad, crab salad, all beef and pork free, for such was the hospitality that he showed me, and such is the hospitality that he has now received. My friends, we do not know what will be. We only know who will be there with us, who will welcome us when we get there. Know that the Great Cloud of Witnesses goes on before us, and they will welcome us there when our time comes. Following their example, let us embody the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ until that time comes. Amen.

Barriers to Love, a sermon based on Matthew 22: 34-46 preached on October 29, 2023

Some people love rules. The Pharisees, featured in our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Matthew, loved rules. They were one of the major religious groups in the time of Jesus. Along with the Sadducees, the Scribes, and the Zealots, they were one of the major groups within the Jewish religious community who competed for influence and converts. They each make their appearance in the Gospels, and we know that these established religious groups were intimidated by Jesus, so they tried to trap Him with their questions. On numerous occasions, the Gospels show that Jesus outsmarted them. Our second Scripture lesson is just one example. It began: When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. I may have told you the best way to remember the difference between the Sadducees and the Pharisees. Just remember that the Sadducees didn’t believe in life after death. They were such adherents to the teachings of Moses, who failed to mention the afterlife, that they didn’t believe in heaven, so they were sad, you see. The Pharisees, on the other hand, loved the law. They wanted to follow, not just the Ten Commandments, but every law that tradition passed down. They loved to follow all those rules because they felt the rules ensured that people would be treated fairly, so they were fair, you see. I learned that in seminary. In today’s Gospel lesson, this lawyer, who was a rule-loving Pharisee, wanted to test Jesus, and so he asked Him a question, “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” To a Pharisee, choosing the greatest law would be like picking your favorite child. He and the other Pharisees just couldn’t do it. “How could you love one commandment more than another?” they wondered, while Jesus has no problem answering the question. He said: ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. That’s what Jesus says. You’ve heard it before. It’s an often-quoted verse that’s not just in the Gospel of Matthew, but also in Mark and Luke, yet the difference here in the Gospel of Matthew is that He follows up this famous answer with a question of His own directed towards the Pharisees: What do you think of the Messiah? He asked them. Whose son is he? They said to him, “the son of David.” He said to them, “How is it then that David, by the Spirit, calls him Lord, saying, ‘The Lord said to my Lord, sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet.’ If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?” In other words, Jesus is trying to help the Pharisees see whom they are talking with. They were waiting for the son of David to appear. They thought that they knew what to look for in the promised Messiah, yet they were looking right over Him, interrogating the Messiah rather than revering Him. You know all this already. While it came as a surprise to them, it comes as no surprise to you to hear that Jesus is Lord, nor does it come as a surprise to hear Him say that the entire law may be simplified to “Love the Lord your God and love your neighbor as yourself,” only think about this with me: If the Messiah is the One who simplifies the rules, who makes it all so complicated? If God’s Messiah is the One who summarizes all the law down to love God and love neighbor, who is clinging so tightly to all the other standards of society? There’s a scene I’ll always remember in the TV show Seinfeld, where the main character, Jerry, goes to visit his parents, who have just moved from Manhattan to a retirement community in Florida called Del Bocca Vista. While Jerry and Elaine are visiting them there, she can’t sleep because they put her on the fold-out couch and that bar is right in her back; plus, they won’t turn on the air conditioning even though it’s Florida. Later, when a Del Bocca Vista neighbor dies, Jerry’s friend Kramer decides to retire down in Florida right next to Jerry’s parents. Jerry’s dad pushes Kramer to run for president of the neighborhood association. The campaign is going great until Kramer gets caught walking through the neighborhood clubhouse without his shoes on. As Kramer tries to understand why such a small thing would cause his campaign to go up in flames, Jerry says, “These people work and wait their whole lives to move down here, sit in the heat, pretend it’s not hot, and enforce these rules.” Some people love rules. The Pharisees loved rules. The residents of Del Boca Vista loved rules. And there’s a little bit of Pharisee in all of us. There are rules and regulations that we all cling to. We all have standards of morality and decency. We have codes of conduct, standards of behavior. There are things that we do, and there are things we wouldn’t dare do. “No shirt, no shoes, no service,” is a rule so basic in our society that it goes without saying everywhere outside the state of Alabama. Then, there are commandments: Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not commit adultery. These are good rules. They are life-giving standards of behavior, yet we must allow the Messiah to help us use these rules. Otherwise, they are confined to our understanding. Take the fourth commandment for example: Honor the Sabbath day and keep it holy and consider with me how we use it. We hear that commandment and say to ourselves, “Got it. Set Sunday apart,” only does the commandment set a limit or a minimum requirement? Would God not also have us honor our Mondays and our Tuesdays? Are we not called to love the Lord our God on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays? Does God not love us every day of the week and each moment of our lives? We hear these divine mandates from Scripture, and we interpret God’s rules through our human understanding, while Jesus, the Messiah, says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.” Sometimes, we use rules to set limits and to draw lines; yet, if the way we use these rules creates a barrier to love, are we worshiping the rules or are we following the Lord? Following the Lord may require more than the laws or human culture stipulate, for the love of God has no limit. Right? OK. Then let’s think together about human culture and how what Jesus says in Matthew challenges some of what we do. Last week, the County Commission was discussing a statement on the conflict in Israel. It turned out to be a divisive conversation that resulted in a follow-up meeting before a big crowd last Wednesday night because the first draft of the statement declared Cobb County’s absolute support of Israel. That makes sense, right? We love Israel. Standing with the Jewish people and the nation of Israel is a part of who our nation is. Defending the cause of one of the most persecuted minority groups in the world is a part of who we are, so when we hear about the attack on Israel, we want to show our support. We want to stand with Israel, supporting them as they mourn the loss of innocent lives, as they call for the release of captives and an end to terrorism. However, some residents of Cobb County had a problem with the statement the County Commission was working on. Presbyterians born in Nazareth and Muslims from Palestine who now live here in Cobb County asked their commissioners: Why would you limit your support to the people of Israel? Do the residents of our county not mourn the loss of Palestinian children? Or does our concern have limits? Sometimes our concern does have limits. Sometimes, with our rules and regulations, we put in place barriers for whom we’ll love and whom we won’t. However, if we look to Scripture, while we clearly see God’s love for the people of Israel, we also see that God’s love does not stop there. That’s what the book of Jonah is all about. Jonah doesn’t understand how God could love the Ninevites. That’s why he doesn’t want to go and preach to them, yet God declares, “Should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left?” You see, it’s human tendency to put a barrier on love. It’s a human tendency to love one group and to hate another, while we must expect that just as God has wept over the innocent Israeli children killed by Palestinian bombs, so also, has God wept over the innocent Palestinian children killed by Israeli bombs because God’s love does not respect the boundaries that we draw. While we may limit our support and our concern, God’s love is for all of Creation. This is simply a truth that we must accept and may loving as God loves be a goal to which we aspire, for when it comes to transforming the world, there is no force more likely to transform society than love. Last Tuesday, my wife, Sara, sent me an article from Fox 5 Atlanta about a crisis dog who helps people. K-9 officer Barney and his handler, Paul Hill, got a call that a woman had locked herself in a bathroom and was threatening to end her life. When Officer Hill and his canine companion, Barney, arrived, the woman had moved from the bathroom and was lying on a bed, visibly distraught. Many of us, when we see a woman acting so strangely, would turn and walk away, yet without a second thought, Barney hopped up next to her and wiggled his way into her arms. He laid there peacefully, helping the woman to snuggle with him and relax. Soon, she was responding to the officers. Then, she was getting the help she needed, but it started not with threats, but with contact. Her healing began as a dog offered her his love on the worst day of her life. My friends, I don’t know the answer to so many of the problems that we face these days. I don’t know the answer to the conflict in Israel/Palestine, but I do know this: Years ago, I was a chaplain intern at the Metro State Women’s Prison, and I met a woman who was terrified she was going to hell. She’d been abused, and, in her dreams, she returned to this dark place with fire and daemons. It was a place she’d been before on the worst night of her life, and she never wanted to return there. I remember holding her hand through the flap in a steel door and saying, “Hell is a place you’ve been before, and I can’t believe that the God I know in Jesus Christ would send you back there again.” I’ll never forget how she cried as I said those words. I’ll always remember watching as the love of God set her free. On the other hand, shame keeps so many locked up and imprisoned. Sometimes, after violating the rules, people punish themselves so severely. I wonder if we punish ourselves more for breaking the rules than God does. If it hasn’t happened for you already, today, may the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord, set you free, and may you be set loose on this broken world to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind, and to love your neighbor as yourself.” Let there be no barrier to your love, for there is no barrier to God’s love for you. Amen.

Samuel Anointed David, a sermon based on 1 Samuel 16: 1-12, preached on October 22, 2023

On Monday mornings, I often wish for a redo of the previous day’s sermon. More often than not, I wake up wishing that I could change or rephrase something that I’d said the day before. No doubt, the same thing will happen tomorrow. Surely between now and tomorrow morning, something will happen. Maybe one of you will say the perfect thing that I wish I would have said, or will ask me the perfect question on your way out of here, a question that I hadn’t even thought to address. Maybe this afternoon, you’ll email me, and I’ll think to myself, “Had she asked me that question on Saturday, I might have written a much better sermon for Sunday morning.” So it happened after the last sermon that I preached on the boy Samuel. I preached that sermon two weeks ago. In today’s second Scripture lesson, he has grown into a man, but in the passage that we read together two weeks ago, he was only a boy sleeping on the floor of the Holy of Holies when the voice of God woke him up. You likely know about the Holy of Holies. It was the most sacred place in the Temple where the Ark of God was kept. The Ark, as the Rev. Cassie Waits told us last Sunday, held holy relics from the time of Moses. In it were the pieces of the Ten Commandments, the priest Aaron’s staff, as well as a golden jar containing manna from the wilderness. The Ark was also God’s throne. The people believed that God would come and sit on the Ark as a king in the throne room. Why, then, would the boy Samuel have been using that space as his bedroom? That’s the question Harriette Majoros asked me the Monday after I preached my last sermon. It’s a wonderful question, and I want to take a moment today to try and answer it because this question will help us to better understand the prophet Samuel and the impact he made on the nation of Israel. Here’s what we must all understand about the prophet Samuel: Samuel left Israel better than he found it. Like a boy scout who came upon a mess that he didn’t make, he cleaned things up and made things better. Even though the mess wasn’t his making in the first place, he left things in Israel better than he found them. When it came to the Temple when Samuel was a boy, the Temple was not the revered and respected space it should have been. Temple practice had devolved. The priesthood was corrupt. That the Holy of Holies had turned into a boy’s bedroom is a good indication of how far standards had fallen in the Temple and among the priesthood, so imagine with me what the religious life of that nation had become. In those days before Samuel, things were bad when it came to the maintenance of divine worship. The spiritual life of the people lacked integrity. The priest Eli was in charge, and he was known to be pious and kind; however, both his sons were known to be scoundrels. Whenever anyone offered a sacrifice, Eli’s sons would grab a fork. That’s literally what the Bible says: 1st Samuel 2: 12: Now the sons of Eli were scoundrels; they had no regard for the Lord or for the duties of the priests. When anyone offered sacrifice, [they] would come while the meat was boiling, with a three-pronged fork in [their] hand, and [they] would thrust it into the pan, or kettle, or caldron, or pot; all that the fork brought up [they] would take for [themselves]. Furthermore, when women came to the Temple, they faced harassment from these sons who abused their power, used their office for personal gain, and when the nation went to war with the Philistines, Eli’s sons thought that bringing the Ark out to the battle front might turn the tide, giving Israel an advantage. Instead, the army retreated, Eli’s sons were killed, and the Ark was captured by the heathen Philistines. I tell you this today because I want you to understand how things were in Israel before the time of Samuel. I want you to know that Samuel left Israel better than he found it. Before Samuel, things were bad. Why did he sleep in the Holy of Holies as a boy? It’s because things at the Temple were a mess. There was corruption in the priesthood. Things in the government weren’t much better. We hear in the book of Judges about the government of Israel before the time of Samuel. If you know anything about the book of Judges, it’s likely the very last verse: In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes. How does that sound? Some might say, “That sounds familiar.” You could say that, but I also want you to hear that it was nearly chaos, and what you need to know about Samuel is that he is the bridge between that time of the Judges, those days of near chaos and occasional heroism, and the reign of King David. What you need to know about Samuel is that he reformed the Temple and the nation, leaving things in Israel far better than he found them, thanks be to God, but hear this account of Samuel and know that we are not the first nation to experience good times and bad times. The 21st Century is not the first chapter in human history when good people wanted to throw up their hands in disgust and disappointment. Now is not the first age in need of religious renewal. Samuel stepped onto the stage and things got better. Thanks be to God. Yet to truly get his beloved nation on the right course, there was something else that he needed to do. He did something that we all should do after dedicating ourselves and our days to service. After improving things in his nation and at the Temple, he listened to the voice of God again as God called him to consider who would lead after he was gone. Having run his race in faith, God asked him, “To whom will you pass the baton?” Having served the Lord faithfully, “What will you do to prevent things from going backward once you’ve died?” Samuel lived a life worthy of our remembrance, but look with me today to our second Scripture lesson and notice the greatest thing he did: Answering God’s call again, Samuel anointed David. This is a beautiful thing, to pass the work on to the next generation. My friend Mike Velardi remembers the Rev. Dr. Joan Gray asking him repeatedly, “Mike, who’s behind you? Who will keep things going?” Samuel anointed David. Obeying God’s call, the work that God began in Samuel continued with David so that Israel’s greatest days were not in the past but in the future. Think of these things with me today and remember how important it is, not just for us to do our best, but for us to have some faith in the next generation. Today, I remember the words of billionaire Warren Buffett: The perfect inheritance is enough money so that children feel they can do anything, but not so much that they could do nothing. Think about that with me. How can we help our children to believe that they can do anything? How can we help them to answer the call of God on their lives? How can we show them that just as God called us to live for a higher purpose and to find deeper meaning, so also does God call them to do more than entertain themselves on their phones? Speaking of inheritance and money, I remember not ever knowing how much my parents gave to this church. Money wasn’t something that anyone in my family ever talked about. Was it the same in your family? I once asked about my father’s salary, and my mom acted as though I’d just asked to investigate his underwear drawer. Money was not something that we talked about, ever. Yet more recently, my dad told me that he once received a call from the session, where an elder thanked him for being a substantial financial contributor to the church. To hear that his was one of the larger gifts came as a great surprise, and it also embarrassed him because in my house we didn’t talk about money. However, it was good for me to hear that. Hearing what my father gave this church provided enough information for me to understand that being a part of a church requires a certain level of financial commitment. Keeping this place going doesn’t just happen, and you don’t have to be a millionaire to make a difference. Likewise, I remember hearing as a kid that Dr. James O. Speed, then the Senior Pastor, tithed a full 10% of his income, and if the church needed it and his household could afford it, he would give even more. My friends, I want you to know that I do the same thing. 10% of what you pay me goes right back into this church. I learned that from my father. I learned that from Jim Speed. I learned that it is possible to do something powerful with what God has given me, and I want my children to learn the same thing because it’s not enough for me to leave this place better than I found it. We must pass the tradition of generosity to the next generation. Having answered God’s call ourselves, we must teach others to hear His voice and to follow, that they might know the joy of giving to something that is worth believing in. First Presbyterian Church of Marietta will soon be 200 years old. The Gospel will be no less necessary in 200 more years than it was 200 years ago. May our example now shape that future, and may the future be brighter than our yesterdays. Let us show our children and our grandchildren how it’s done. Let us set an example for them to follow. While I was writing this sermon, Denise Lobodinski texted me a quote: “The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.” That’s a good one, isn’t it? I’m thankful she sent it to me on Thursday rather than Monday. Consider with me how important your example is, and what a powerful moment it was for me as a kid to line up with this entire congregation and to walk down that aisle to make a pledge following the example of my Sunday school teachers, pastors, youth advisors, and parents. This morning, the children will be watching us. They’ll see us as we invest in this church. As we invest in her future. As we give a portion of what God has given us to make ministry possible for another year, may they see in us the kind of generosity that not only ensures this place will make it another year, but may they hear us encourage them to believe that through them God will do more than we ever dreamed. It’s true that Samuel left Israel better than he found it, but David was that nation’s greatest king. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the children who will grow up to reform this nation and revitalize the Church are sitting right in here with us. What they need from us today is our example and our blessing. Friends, let us show them how to follow the Lord, that they might also hear His voice and answer His call. Amen.

Is It I, Lord? A sermon based on 1 Samuel 3: 1-10, preached on October 8, 2023

The first time I really paid attention to our second Scripture lesson, this story of the boy Samuel sleeping on the Temple floor, I was a camper at Camp Cherokee. No doubt, many of you remember Camp Cherokee. It was a Presbyterian camp on Lake Allatoona. A few here today were campers there. Many others in this church remember their kids going. I was first a camper, then a counselor, and as a 9- or 10-year-old camper, I had the chance to act out this story for an evening vespers service. I was chosen for the starring role of the boy Samuel, so I know this story well. I embodied it. Is that like saying, “I’m not a doctor, but I played one on TV?” I’m not an Old Testament scholar like Dr. Brennan Breed, but during the chapel service at camp Cherokee, I pretended to be Samuel asleep on the Temple floor, and ever since then, I’ve loved this Scripture lesson. While I played Samuel, one friend played old Eli, another was the voice of God. What I remember most was waking up Old Eli. I thought it would add some punch to the story if, the third time I heard the voice, I ad-libbed a little bit. I said something like, “Enough of this, you old fogey. I’m trying to sleep in here. Quit calling me.” I’ve remembered that. Then, in the youth group here, we’d sing the song that this second Scripture lesson inspired. We’ll sing it again at the end of the service: “Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night.” As a young person who dreamed of being a preacher, singing that hymn with the youth group, I was always hoping that it might be true: that God would call me by name and want me to do something. It’s one thing, though, to hear a voice, and it’s another thing to know that it’s God calling. That’s why I love this second Scripture lesson because here I see that even Samuel who was sleeping on the Temple floor, the very place he had been raised to know that God lived, didn’t believe that God would ever call him to do anything. Four times God had to call him. The first three times, Samuel assumed it was Eli, even though he was sleeping on the Temple floor where God was known to live, even though he was sleeping right beside the Ark of the Covenant that was known to be God’s throne. Think about that. We imagine that the heroes of the Bible were all like Charlton Heston, playing the role of Moses. In that old movie, Charlton Heston looked on that sea with confidence. He just dared that water not to divide, sure that the people would survive and positive that God was at work maybe because he already knew the end of the story, yet the Bible tells us that Moses led the people through the sea like a flock of sheep. Have you ever led a flock of sheep through what was once a body of water? Sheep are scared. So are we. So was Moses. So was Samuel. Hear then, in our second Scripture lesson, a lesson about faith and how faith is actually passed down from one generation to the next. Hear the account in the Bible and forget about how Hollywood tells it, for as faith is passed down, it’s not always pretty. It’s often terrifying. God’s people doubt and question. When God speaks, even Samuel had to learn how to listen. Let us give thanks for Eli today, for Eli taught Samuel how to do it. Our second Scripture lesson began: “Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out.” The lamp of God had not yet gone out. The lamp of God had not yet gone out. “Not yet” is one of those great phrases. Our second Scripture lesson repeats it three times. Eli had not yet lost his eyesight, but it had begun to grow dim. He wasn’t blind, not yet. The lamp of God had not yet gone out. It was flickering, but the light was not out. Not yet. Of course, as Eli aged and considered what would happen to the Temple when he was gone, he wondered who would maintain the worship life of his nation, and he looked to his sons. They were still alive. They hadn’t proved themselves to be completely useless. Not yet., but the light was flickering, so surely as Eli lay waiting for sleep or death to take him, he worried about what would happen after he was gone. Who would take over? Who would carry on the tradition? Who would remind the people of God’s mighty hand that acts to change the course of history? In those days of Eli, visons were not widespread. The word of the Lord was rare in those days, Scripture tells us. The light was flickering. Would it go out? Who would carry on? Much of what our ancestors cherished has been lost, hasn’t it? I mentioned Camp Cherokee. I loved that place. My sister really loved that place. There’s no place on this earth where I’ve seen her ever happier. After going to camp there for summers in elementary school, we both became counselors. The summer we were counselors together was probably the summer we were the closest. That whole summer we were together, but now that camp has closed. It’s gone. The light has gone out, so also has the light gone out on all kinds of things to which we might say “Good riddance.” The light has gone out on rotary phones. The light has gone out on fax machines. The light has gone out on segregation, poll taxes, and pantyhose, but let us recognize today where the light is still burning brightly. Where has faith been passed successfully down from one generation to the next? What has God, by His mercy, by His providence, by His divine plan, nurtured, preserved, and sustained? This church. I heard two weeks ago that only three members of our church are left who can trace their roots to those 12 families who started First Presbyterian Church back in 1835. 12 families started this church; their descendants have moved away or moved on. Only 3 members are left who can trace their family trees back to the original 12 families, while every person here today is blessed by their legacy. Like Samuel, who was adopted, taken in by Eli, every person here today has claimed her inheritance for her own, for while Eli’s sight was growing dim, God still has a vision for the future. While Eli’s sight was growing dim and while the light may have flickered from time to time, consider with me how brightly the light burns here today. For 60 years, our preschool has been educating kids. Today, there are more students than ever before, and even while our preschool director, Betsy Sherwood, has created space for all these students in rooms that have never been used as classrooms before, there’s still a waiting list of 100. Only how did it start? It started with a dream. It started with a prayer. It started with a nudge from God, yet now the light shines brightly. Likewise, for more than 30 years, our afterschool program, born amid a Sunday school class whose members dared to believe they could do something to nurture underserved kids, has made a difference to generations of children. I saw a picture on Facebook of one, a child who came to our church for afterschool care who just started her senior year at Notre Dame University. Last week, I went to Hickory Hills Elementary School with Buck Buchanan to deliver dictionaries on behalf of the Rotary Club, and kids in those classes recognized me as Pastor Joe. “It’s me, Jordie,” one said. “Pastor Joe, Pastor Joe, I go to Club 3:30 at your church,” they said. One in 10 students at that school has been coming here for more than 30 years, but how did it start? It started with a dream in a Sunday school class. It started with a prayer. It started with a nudge from God as the light began to flicker, yet now it burns so brightly that every member of the school board knows about it, so consider with me this morning that hearing and responding to God’s voice is not always easy. It’s not always the way Charlton Heston made it look in the movies. It’s more like the boy Samuel who needs help believing that God would call him by name. For him to believe that God would call him by name required Eli, one who remembered what it looks like when God is at work. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” During the pandemic, I received a phone call from a member of the Marietta City Schools staff asking if we’d like to distribute food from the Atlanta Food Bank. Had Charlton Heston been the one to receive the call, it would have been a confident and clear “yes,” but Charlton Heston didn’t receive the call. I did, and when I heard about this opportunity, the first thing I did was doubt that it was a good idea, yet my friends, I’m the pastor of a church where a group of mothers felt the nudge to start a preschool and a Sunday school class worried about latchkey kids and dared to believe that God might be calling them to do something about it, and so while I was doubtful, while I wasn’t certain, I asked a couple members of the staff to look into it. One of them was Cassie Waits, who dared to believe that we might pull it off. Next thing you know, millions of meals have been distributed, and thousands of families have been fed. Each Tuesday morning, so many churches members sort through the produce. Each Tuesday afternoon, they distribute the food to the hundreds of cars who line up through our parking lots. I remember in the early days of the program, a neighboring church member called me. I was worried he called to complain about the cars who were blocking traffic on his way home. Instead, he asked, “How far would $2,000 go?” Here me say to you today, God is at work in this place. God is at work here. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always easy to see. That’s because God doesn’t always speak in thunderstorms and earthquakes. Sometimes, the voice of God is heard in that still, small voice, which might be His or might just be the old fogey sleeping in the next room over. We don’t always know. It’s not always clear. Still, I want you to dare to believe something with me this morning. I want you to dare to believe that God is calling you to do something with your life, with your resources, with your time, for Christianity is no spectator sport, and we are not called to sleep through the night quietly when we hear about the brokenness of our world. Our only recourse is not despair, but to wake up and hear His voice, to listen, to do something, to respond to the call, to walk out on the water though we might sink, to reach out to our neighbor though she might tell us to keep on walking, for God is at work here. God is still speaking, but you and I must learn to listen and to say, “Here I am. Send me.” “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.” My friends, we’re right here in October, and soon, if you haven’t already, you’ll end up with a pledge card in your hand. As you look at it, I want you to ask yourself, “What might God do through me if I were willing?” “What might God do in this church if I were more willing to give of myself?” I’ve been trying to listen. I’ve been trying to follow. I’ve been singing that song for so long, “Here I am, Lord, Is it I, Lord,” just hoping that it might be me God was calling because I wanted to be like Samuel. I wanted God to use me for a higher purpose. If you’re the same way, then dare to respond with your whole heart this stewardship season, for when we are willing, God will work through us to do miraculous things. The light has not gone out. Visions may not be widespread these days, but this church has one. Answer the call. Step out in faith. God is still speaking, and God is at work here in those who are willing. Halleluiah. Amen.

Perfectionism in Relationships, a sermon based in Philippians 1: 21-30, preached on September 24, 2023

It’s been a sad week in Marietta, Georgia. On Monday, after her cross-country practice, a high school student named Liv Teverino died in a single-car accident on Burnt Hickory. You may have read about it in the paper. Our whole town has been in shock. Many students at Marietta High School have been feeling this loss profoundly. Prayers for her parents and her brothers have been lifted from every place of worship in our town. It seems like everyone has been talking about the accident, and everyone has been talking about her. In the wake of her death, what have people been saying about Liv Teverino? She was an outstanding student, but no one has really mentioned her grades in detail. She ran cross country, but I don’t know how fast she ran a mile. No one is talking about the kind of car she drove, the brand of shoes on her feet, or who she was going with to the homecoming dance. When you read about Liv, it’s almost all about the way she made people feel. It’s almost all about relationships, and when tragedy strikes, it’s often this way because death reframes things. When tragedy breaks into our lives, it changes our focus to what matters most, and what matters most in the end is love. When we realize how fragile our lives are, so much of what we spend time obsessing over suddenly feels trivial, so, while I have known many students who cared deeply about their grades, I have yet to see anyone’s ACT, SAT, or grade point average in an obituary. Never have I heard anyone’s dress size or body weight mentioned in a eulogy, and yet we spend so much time thinking about the way we look. When our time comes, what is vanity will be forgotten. What will remain is the way we made people feel. Knowing that, how will you live? Jesus told a parable about a man who was walking down the road when he was attacked, robbed, and left for dead. There he was, naked and dying on the side of the road, but up walked a priest. Surely, the priest would stop and help, but he didn’t; he kept on walking. Maybe he had a meeting to get to. After the priest came a well-born man from the tribe of Levi. He was born and raised to perform the work of holiness at the Temple, only it must have been his day to burn the incense because he walked right by the wounded man and went on his way. Finally, up came a Samaritan man. The Samaritan man, the lowest type of person on the societal totem pole. He’s the janitor, the garbage collector, the illegal immigrant, the convicted felon; just fill in “kind of person it is socially acceptable to make jokes about,” and you’ve got it, yet he’s the one who stops. He’s the one who put the wounded man on his own horse and takes him to get the help he needs. Knowing that, how will you live? Knowing that tragedy has a way of showing us that what matters most is not our ability to show up to meetings on time or how well thought of we are, how will you live? Knowing that what matters the most to Jesus is our willingness to stop and help when someone needs us, how will you live? It’s the way we treat each other that matters. It’s our relationships that matter. Still, relationships are hard. My favorite proverb in the Bible is Proverbs 21: 9: It’s better to live on a corner of the roof than inside the house with a quarrelsome spouse. That’s right there in the Bible. Look it up. It’s really in there, and it’s in there because it’s true. Our relationships matter most, but our relationships also require work, so, while some spend all kinds of time working for perfection in academics or athletics, and some spend all their time thinking about money or how well-decorated their home is, and while I understand wrapped up in all kinds of senseless pursuits, if we’re going to work for perfection in something, let it be in our relationships. Does that make sense? Of course, that’s easy to say while it’s harder to do, especially when we spend little time thinking about how to do it. I recently read an opinion column by David Brooks, where he said that talking with young adults has recently made him concerned. He noticed how animatedly young adults talk about their career prospects, having spent considerable time thinking about what they’ll do and how they’ll meet their vocational goals, yet they haven’t spent much of any time thinking about with whom they will spend their future. Relationships matter most in the end, and so the Apostle Paul, who in our second Scripture lesson writes from the perspective of his own death, has his relationship with the church in Philippi on his mind. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see the people he is writing to, yet he clearly loves them, and so he says, Whether I ever see you again or not, “whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.” What he means by worthy of the gospel of Christ is to “strive together as one for the faith of the gospel without being frightened.” Fear and isolation go hand in hand, don’t they? The more afraid of rejection we are, the less we work for relationships. The less we work for relationships, the more isolated we become. The more isolated, the more frightened of the world we are. What are we to do about these twin scourges in our modern society: fear and isolation? A new member of our church staff, Jauana Eidelwein, works with the kids in Club 3:30, our afterschool program. She’s also in seminary. She’s been doing a wonderful job, and she’s been promoting our church so well. Last week, she invited her manicurist to church. She came, along with all her family, just last Sunday, but to my point, a couple weeks ago, she gave me this quote, and I’ve been repeating it ever since: Safety is not the absence of threat. Safety is the presence of community. Write that one down. It’s worth repeating. Safety is not the absence of threat. Safety is the presence of community. If all that matters in the end are not our professional accomplishments but our relationships, and if Jesus is more interested in seeing us care for each other than He is in us making it to the temple on time, and if the thing that truly makes us feel safe is the presence of community, why aren’t we working harder at building healthy relationships? Honestly, why would anyone say, “I can’t make it to dinner tonight because I have to work late” when dinner is what’s going to make him feel safe and loved? Why would anyone slander her friend to beat her out of the promotion, when the promotion will be forgotten while the relationship will be remembered? If what makes us the happiest, makes us feel the safest, and pleases the One we claim to follow is the way we treat each other, why do people pay more for wedding photographers than for premarital counseling? I don’t know. If that last statement sounded a little resentful, forgive me. I have so much trouble posing for pictures that I get a little self-conscious around wedding photographers. My wife, Sara, once wondered how many wedding photographers have captured me with my eyes closed. She can just imagine some couple whose wedding I officiated looking at their old wedding pictures on down the road with their grandchildren, and some bright-eyed granddaughter wants to know why the preacher looks like he just woke up from a nap. Perfection in photographs won’t matter in the end, right? I hope that’s right. After all, you don’t have to be perfect to be in a perfect relationship. In fact, accepting each other’s imperfection is most of what makes relationships work. Reading Paul, notice how much he talks about his struggles. This morning, we hear him talk again about his suffering, which makes me think that admitting that we need help because we aren’t perfect and asking for help is so much of what makes relationships perfect. Meanwhile, we hide our imperfections. We try to get everything just right. We judge our waiters based on how well they take our order and deliver it correctly, as though the perfect meal, the most nourishing meal, was the meal where everything went perfectly. Last Wednesday morning, I was listening to a podcast that Catherine Breed, our Director of Children & Youth Faith Formation, sent me. It was about a restaurant in Japan where the service is notoriously awful. Normally, that’s a bad thing. Good service matters, and at this restaurant, customers rarely get what they ordered. At this restaurant, if you order sushi, you might end up with dumplings. If you order steak, you end up with miso soup. A glass of water might make it to your table having been drunk already by your waiter, who might or might not bring your order to the table next to you because every member of the waitstaff at this restaurant suffers from dementia. That’s not the kind of restaurant we usually look for, but what if we’ve been looking for the wrong thing? What if we have it all wrong? What if our culture of high achievement is only pushing us apart? My friends, perfection in academics, athletics, beauty, or vocation is unattainable. It’s also boring. Emily Adams left the 8:30 service and told me I was right about that. Perfect is boring, she said, having gone to a baseball game where the pitcher pitched a perfect game, which is an accomplishment that’s worth celebrating, though it’s not very fun to watch. Nothing happens. When we reveal our imperfect, broken hearts, miracles happen. Last Tuesday morning, the morning after Liv Teverino’s death, I went to Marietta High School and saw crowds of broken-hearted kids. Not a one of them was alone in her grief. Not a one. In the end, relationships are what matter most, so build better relationships, and build them with the people you love by being bold enough to reveal your imperfection and by tolerating theirs. Amen.

Forgive, But Don't Forget, a sermon based on Matthew 18: 21-35, preached on September 17, 2023

Forgiveness is a common theme for sermons. You’ve all heard sermons on forgiveness and know already how important forgiveness is. Today, I want to separate forgiveness from forgetfulness because “forgive and forget” is one of those phrases we hear so often that it’s just about programed into our brains. However, while forgiveness is in the Bible, forgetfulness is not. In fact, the Bible advocates for remembering. Five times in the book of Deuteronomy, Moses says some version of: Remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and the Lord your God redeemed you from there. The Bible deals with memory of salvation the same way we deal with the Holocaust or September 11th. Never forget, we say. Remember. But why? Why is it good to remember? When is it bad to forget? Yesterday, I heard a great sermon illustration on the importance of forgiveness. A man was strolling for exercise around a beautiful lake when he was bit by a copperhead. He said to himself, “I’ve got to get to the hospital, but not before I kill that snake!” For twenty minutes, he hunted down the snake, each step taking him further and further from his car. Later, when the paramedics found him dead, they couldn’t understand why he hadn’t survived. He was five minutes from the car, just a 15-minute drive from the hospital, but like Captain Ahab in Moby Dick, he couldn’t forgive the snake and chose vengeance over getting the help he needed. That’s foolish. It’s wise to let go of that desire for vengeance. Forgiveness is good. Forgiveness can save your life, but forgetfulness? Forgive the snake and get to the hospital, but don’t forget that copperheads bite or that white whales sink ships. Let go and forgive, for some have said that holding a grudge is like drinking poison and hoping that the person we’re angry with will die. One prisoner of war asked another, “Have you forgiven your captors yet?” “I’ll never do that,” the second one answered. “Then they still have you in prison, don’t they?” the first one replied. Forgiveness is good, and it doesn’t necessarily require forgetting. Rabbi Harold Kushner tells another good one: A woman in my congregation comes to see me. She is a single mother, divorced, working to support herself and three young children. She says to me, “Since my husband walked out on us, every month is a struggle to pay our bills. I have to tell my kids we have no money to go to the movies, while he’s living it up with his new wife in another state. How can you tell me to forgive him?” I answer her, “I’m not asking you to forgive him because what he did was acceptable. It wasn’t; it was mean and selfish. I’m asking you to forgive him because he doesn’t deserve the power to live in your head and turn you into a bitter, angry woman. I’d like to see him out of your life emotionally as completely as he is out of it physically, but you keep holding on to him. You’re not hurting him by holding on to that resentment, but you’re hurting yourself. Forgive. Let it go to save yourself from more harm. Forgive, but don’t forget and let him move back in to hurt you all over again. Forgive and remember. Remember that snakes are snakes. Forgive him for what he did and let him go. Don’t forget and go through it all a second time. You can forgive and remember. Don’t mistake forgiveness and forgetfulness. Most important of all to remember, though, is that moment when we received forgiveness. Remember when you received forgiveness. Look at what happened to the slave who forgot that he had been forgiven. Our second Scripture lesson is a parable. A parable is a short story that Jesus often tells in response to a complex question. In our second Scripture lesson, the parable is in response to Peter, who came to Jesus and asked Him: Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times? Jesus responds first with a simple answer, “not seven times, but I tell you, seventy-seven times.” Then, He gets to the story or parable, which includes a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. One slave was deep in debt, more deeply in debt than anyone else, and probably more than anyone else could even imagine. He owed the king ten thousand talents, which is meant to be a number beyond counting. It’s like a kid saying, “a million billion dollars,” so this one slave owed the king a million billion dollars. Still, brought into the presence of the king, the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, “Just give me a little more time. Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything I owe.” Maybe knowing that would never happen, maybe just because he was feeling merciful, maybe because he was more full of grace than anyone had ever imagined, the king released the slave and forgave him the debt. Now, that was a wonderful gift. Can you imagine the feeling of such a burden lifted off your shoulders? A friend in Texas sent me a picture of this mass baptism that took place last week at Auburn University. Maybe you’ve heard about it. After a worship service, students were baptized by the 10s and 20s. Some say as many as 200 students were baptized in a pond on campus as a crowd of hundreds more cheered them on. Burdens of sin and guilt were washed away by the water of baptism. It sounds like John the Baptist at the Jordan River, and I give thanks to God for this movement of the Spirit. However, Presbyterians have a way of being suspicious of these things. Did you know that? They call us the “Frozen Chosen” because we’re suspicious of emotional displays. Our tradition has often said, “Be careful about how you feel in the moment because what you feel at a revival on Thursday has to carry over into how you behave on Saturday night,” so Presbyterians have never been big on revivals. In fact, back in Columbia, Tennessee, the Presbyterian Church is right next to the house where President James K. Polk grew up. That “K” in James K. Polk stands for Knox, which you might know is one of the big names of Presbyterian history. James K. Polk’s mother was a Presbyterian. His grandmother was a Presbyterian, all the way back to somebody who was related to that great Scottish preacher whose prayers were said to have terrified the Queen of England more than all the ships of the Spanish Armada, yet if you go to the Methodist Church across the street from the Presbyterian Church in Columbia, Tennessee, just on the corner from James K. Polk’s house, you’ll see that at the center of their rose window is the profile of our 11th President because the Methodists had a tent revival and James K. Polk felt the movement of the Spirit and was saved. Now, I’m not against revivals. I’ve been saved four or five times, but you can’t get saved on Sunday night then steal Texas from Mexico on Monday morning. What happens in here must carry over into how we behave in the world out there. Be forgiven, but don’t forget. Be saved, then act like it. Accept God’s grace, then give it away. The slave in Jesus’ parable didn’t do that. “As he went out, he came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’” Notice how quickly it happened. As he went out from the place where he had just received forgiveness for a debt of a million billion dollars, he seized by the throat a fellow slave who owed him a pocketful of change. When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Did you hear that? When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, that this slave who had been forgiven a debt of a million billion dollars demands repayment for a debt of a handful of coins, they can’t stomach the hypocrisy. The king can’t believe it, and according to the parable, this is how God feels every time we withhold from our neighbor the forgiveness that we’ve been given. Remember now that Jesus says all this to Peter, who will deny the Lord three times. It’s as though He’s saying, “Peter, I’m about to forgive you for something horrible, so don’t you dare think you’ll ever be able to hold a grudge against anyone again without being a hypocrite.” That’s the way of forgiveness. It’s rooted in the memory of God forgiving us, and that memory is enough to transform the world in small and big ways. Think about what happens when the forgiveness that we talk about in here spreads out into the world. The grace that Joseph offered his brothers is a story that’s still being told thousands of years after it happened. In our first Scripture lesson, Joseph’s brothers, who had sold him into slavery, ask themselves, “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back in full for all the wrong that we did to him?” After they sold him into slavery, now, he has all the power. After they did him so much harm, now he can make them pay. That’s what they expect from him. They expect him to pay them back, evil for evil. What he says instead is, “Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.” Joseph remembered. He remembered not only the pain of being sold by his brothers, not only the confusion of being falsely accused in Potiphar’s house, not only the cold nights in that Egyptian jail cell, but the hand of God working in his life, setting him free, and placing him in a position where he can save his family from famine. My friends, remember the ways that God has been at work in your life. Remember who you were before He got ahold of you. Remember the grace He provided. Remember the blessings He’s laid at your feet. Remember that moment of joy, or of freedom, or of forgiveness, and live, out in the world, as one who has been redeemed. Remember how much good you can do, when you choose to love your neighbor as yourself, when you reconcile with your neighbor, rather than demand back a handful of coins. Remember that the debt He paid to save you is far greater than the debt your neighbor owes you. You don’t have to pay the Lord back for His grace. He asks only that you remember and pay it forward. Amen.

Lay Down Your Opinions, a sermon based on Romans 14: 1-12 preached on September 10, 2023

This morning, our first hymn was one we sing often: “How Great Thou Art.” It’s a beautiful hymn. I love to sing it. I love to hear it sung. It’s one that has been sung in this church so often that many know the words without having to look down at their hymnals (or up at the screens). They know it by heart. The line I want to emphasize this morning is in the third stanza: And when I think That God, his Son not sparing, Sent him to die, I scarce can take it in, That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing, He bled and died, to take a way my sin. That’s good news worth singing about. And this good news, that we are not condemned nor are we destined to carry our burdens around for all eternity, is at the very foundation of our faith. We sing of how He takes our heavy burdens upon Himself because this quality of Jesus Christ is at the heart of the Gospel, and so the church where I preached in Columbia, Tennessee has a brass plaque on the front steps, declaring, “Come unto me, all ye that labor, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” That verse is from the Gospel of Matthew, and it points to whom we know Jesus to be. He is One who not only helps us to bear our heavy burdens, but who takes them away. That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing, He bled and died, to take a way my sin. The Apostle Paul believed all that. In fact, he experienced it personally. This morning, we turn our attention, again, to his letter to the church in Rome. Paul, I remind you, met Jesus on the road to Damascus. Jesus called him by name, changed his life, and made him one of His disciples. The heavy burden of guilt that Paul carried after being complicit in Stephen’s death, Jesus lifts. The heavy burden of perfectionism that he inherited and was enslaved by, he laid down before the God of grace. This morning, remembering the burden that we are invited to lay down, the burden Christ lifted from us, Paul reminds us that for you and me to live in community, we must not only lay down our heavy burdens before the Lord, but sometimes, our opinions as well. In our second Scripture lesson, we read: Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarreling over opinions. In our world of division, this is a crucial point that Paul is making. He writes to the church in Rome, which, like the church in the United States of America, was full of conflict. In that ancient Roman church, some wanted to eat meat, others were sure that the righteous were vegetarian. It reminds me of Thanksgiving dinner. Years ago, I remember sitting around the table with the entire family, only Elizabeth had been off to college and had heard about the chicken processing plant. After learning how those hens were treated, she’d sworn off meat, which her grandfather thought was ridiculous. “Did you know that during the Great Depressio, we were lucky to have meat once a week,” he said, as though her choice not to eat meat was downright unpatriotic. Unfortunately, she felt just as offended by his opinion as he was of hers, so this argument became more reason to stay on campus for Christmas rather than return to the battleground that the holiday dinner table or any other assembly of strong, opinioned Christians can turn into. Paul’s point to us this morning is that community sometimes requires us to lay down our opinions. He doesn’t care if you’re right and she’s wrong. If Jesus were as worried as we can be about who’s right and who’s wrong, we’d all be in trouble. At the heart of this religion of ours is the conviction that Jesus must save us. We cannot save ourselves. We are not capable of getting it all right on our own. Why, then, do we get self-righteous about our opinions and convinced that it’s our job to straighten out everyone around us whom we think has it wrong? This morning, I hear the Apostle Paul calling us to lay down not just our burdens. I hear him calling us also to lay down our opinions. One of the greatest speeches I’ve ever heard was delivered in April of 1952 by a young Mississippi legislator named Noah S. “Soggy” Sweat, Jr. The state house had been debating prohibition, and the state’s representatives were divided. Any one person could have changed the majority, so when Representative Soggy Sweat stepped to the lectern, everyone was listening as he expressed his opinion. There in April of 1952, he delivered his famous Whiskey Speech, which goes like this: My friends, I had not intended to discuss this controversial subject at this particular time. However, I want you to know that I do not shun controversy. On the contrary, I will take a stand on any issue at any time, regardless of how fraught with controversy it might be. You have asked me how I feel about whiskey. All right, here is how I feel about whiskey. If when you say "whiskey" you mean the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation and despair and shame and helplessness and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it. But if when you say "whiskey" you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman's step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life's great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our pitiful aged and infirm, to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it. This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise. Now why would a Presbyterian minister in Marietta, Georgia quote this speech to you? It’s because whether the issue is abortion, evolution, creationism, ordination of women, universalism, authority of Scripture, divorce, homosexuality, who gets invited to communion, or what color the poinsettias should be at Christmas time, our world is divided. Sometimes, we are not even of one mind inside our own mind. Therefore, at times, we must lay down our opinions to welcome all. If we cling so tightly to our opinions that our opinions jeopardize our relationships, we may be missing the point of the Gospel. That’s the message I have for you this morning. That’s the message I hear from the Scripture lessons for today. When Almighty God, through the prophet Ezekiel, says: Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the people. Say to the Israelites: “I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live,” I recognize that as a preacher, it’s my job to tell the wicked to turn from their ways. It’s my duty to read this Bible and to speak the truth from it, so hear me say that a great wickedness in our world today is a growing inability to show hospitality to people who think differently. It's as though we think division is OK. Let me tell you something – the Bible says otherwise. Scripture lifts up the theme of showing hospitality again and again and again. More than any other issue that has divided the church and our country, the Bible emphasizes showing hospitality to people we don’t even know, so hear me calling you and me and this entire world to let go of division that you might love your neighbor as yourself. One of the most beautiful stories I’ve ever heard was told in an article about Bishop Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal Church. In this article, Bishop Robinson talked about a fellow priest named Ron Prinn, who had a serious issue with his denomination naming a gay man as bishop. The two priests worked for several months on a committee, yet Robinson and Prinn were always on opposing sides of every debate. Once the committee’s work came to an end, Bishop Robinson invited the committee to his home for dinner. Prinn answered the invitation with silence. Life continued for the two of them. They interacted at various conferences. Prinn continued to struggle with Bishop Robinson’s identity, yet every chance he got, Bishop Robinson kept inviting Prinn to his home, yet Prinn never accepted the invitation. By the time Prinn finally accepted one of the Bishop’s lunch invitations, Parkinson’s disease had ravaged Prinn’s body. He could no longer walk. Another of the guests ushered Prinn and his wife, Barbara, through the garage, where the Bishop and his husband, Mark, had installed a handicap lift years before. When Prinn rolled his walker into the kitchen, Prinn beheld the Bishop with a bewildered look. Ron Prinn wanted to know who in Bishop Robinson’s family is handicapped. “No one,” the Bishop responded. “Whom did you build that lift for?” Prinn asked. “We built it for you,” the Bishop responded. Friends, we can’t allow division to distract us from love. When you read the paper and see coverage and commentary on all these issues that divide us, when you read about the school board taking sides on which books should be in the school library, and then you read about how at one local elementary school, last year only 37% of 3rd graders were reading at grade level, ask yourself, “How can I love my neighbor better?” By adding fuel to the division? That’s a temptation, but if the kids can’t read, the books in the library don’t matter. Remember that the issues that divide us may be distracting us from the main thing, which Jesus and the Apostle Paul were both clear about. Jesus says it then Paul repeats it in the second Scripture lesson I was supposed to preach on: The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,” and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” That’s the main thing. The main thing is love. Remember that when the burden to get things right gets so heavy. At the end of my days, I want to hear the Lord say, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” and I know you want to hear the same thing. The day is coming. The Apostle Paul is clear about that, saying: We will stand before the judgment seat of God. In preparation for that day, the Apostle asks: Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or why do you despise your brother or sister? For the whole law is summed up in this one thing: Have you loved your neighbor as yourself? There are many ways to be a Christian, so don’t get so tied up in your opinions that you fail to be a Christian. I’ve told you before that I love to sing. I love hymns. I really do. I love the obscure ones, and I love the hymns we sing all the time. I really love the ones Mrs. Vivian Stephens taught us in Sunday school years ago. Way back, when I was 8 or 9 years old, we’d always sing this one hymn that has forever informed my faith. It was written in the 1960’s by a Romans Catholic priest who served on the South Side of Chicago. We’re going to sing it at the end of the service, but I want to quote just a portion of it for you now. It goes like this: We are one in the Spirit; we are one in the Lord. And we pray that all unity may one day be restored. And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love, Yes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love. Do you know that one? It’s easy to sing, but in our world of division, where one side makes the other out to be a little more evil every news cycle, it’s a hard song to live. In humility, lay down your opinions that you might bear one another’s burdens, and so live the faith of the One who bore our burdens, who bled and died to take away our sin. Amen.