A Walk to Remember and a Meal that Changed Everything

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 116: 1-4 and 12-19 and Luke 24: 13-35 Sermon Title: A Walk to Remember and a Meal that Changed Everything Preached on April 23, 2023 The opposite of faith isn’t doubt. The opposite of faith is certainty. You may have heard me say that before. I didn’t come up with it; I just like to repeat it because I think it’s true. Sometimes, we think of doubt as a bad thing. Sometimes, we think of doubt as the opposite of faith, but be more cautious of people who are too certain of their convictions. I feel you must be careful when you are absolutely certain because you may be absolutely wrong. Last Thursday, I was rushing to a 5:00 meeting, certain that the meeting would start at 5:00. When I arrived to an empty room, I wondered where everyone was, certain that I had the time and the location correct. When I finally doubted those convictions, I found that the meeting was scheduled for 5:30. Wouldn’t it have been nice had I doubted myself a little bit? Doubt gets a bad rap, while certainty does more damage. If you’ve read the book or seen the movie that inspired my sermon title: A Walk to Remember, then you might remember a preacher who was certain his daughter was falling for a no-good, lacking-in-aspiration, rich kid with only one thing on his mind. The preacher was certain about this boy. He was sure. There was no doubt in his head, and when a preacher is certain about somebody, certain that he’s no good, all kinds of damage is done. With certainty, that door is closed. There’s no chance of relationship. There’s no chance of redemption, as there was with the disciple Thomas who said, “I might believe if I just could see him.” Therefore, the wise preacher might have said, “I might like him if I had the chance to get to know him,” so there is wisdom in doubt. With certainty, it’s already over because you already know. Hope is lost. The light is out. It’s finished. That’s where the two in our second Scripture lesson were. They were unlike Thomas, who, you may remember from Rev. Cassie Waits’ beautiful sermon last Sunday, was looking for Jesus, still hoping to find Him. Once he did, he took the Gospel all the way to India. These two that we read about in today’s Gospel lesson were leaving Jerusalem because they had given up. They were certain that there was nothing left for them to discover. They tell this stranger who they were traveling along with: “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” “We had hoped.” That’s past tense. Certain that hope was lost, certain that they’d done all they should have done, certain that there was nothing left to see and nothing left to learn, they were headed back home. It was all over, of that they were certain. Therefore, certainty is a problem when it comes to faith. Certainty is a problem when it comes to faith in God or faith in people because certainty rules out new information that might change your mind or your course when you’re moving in the wrong direction. These two in our second Scripture lesson were moving in the wrong direction, certain that Jesus was dead, while Jesus was walking right beside them, for He is risen. They, like us sometimes, didn’t recognize Him because of their certainty, not because of their doubt; therefore, I hope you see that at times it’s foolish to be certain. People who are certain miss out on a lot. There’s a Dr. Seuss book about it. You know the story: A character named Sam asks Daniel: “Do you like green eggs and ham?” Daniel is certain that he doesn’t, and so he says: “I do not like them, Sam I am. I do not like green eggs and ham.” Fortunately for Daniel, Sam keeps walking with him: “You do not like them. So, you say. Try them! Try them! And you may.” Daniel, who was certain that he knew already, takes a bite, and his eyes are opened. That’s what happened in our Gospel lesson. Just when these two men are sure that Christ has died, certain that He’s gone for good, in the breaking of the bread, their eyes were opened, and they see that the Resurrected Lord had been walking with them all along. This is the power of a meal, and I want you to think about the power of a meal because you have access to this same power, but are you taking advantage of it? There’s a story Dr. Eugene Peterson tells of when his wife, Jan, went to speak to a women’s group. They were all struggling with their husbands who worked all the time and their kids who were involved in baseball, dance, art club, Karate, and church choir. “How can we hold our families together?” they wanted to know. “I challenge you to do just one simple thing,” she said. “Eat dinner together at least four times a week.” Why would that be her suggestion? It’s because when we break bread together, our eyes are opened. Jesus ate with people, and He saw them. Many saw tax collectors, prostitutes, sinners, scallywags, doubters, and betrayers, but Jesus ate with them and saw brothers and sisters. He broke bread with them and saw their potential and their beauty. This is the miracle of a meal. Sometimes, that’s exactly the miracle that we all need. Years ago, I was at a meeting where I heard a man named Andre Norman speak. This speaker, Andre Norman, went up to Ferguson, Missouri during the protests and demonstrations that raged after Michael Brown was killed by a police officer. Mr. Norman wanted to help, so he put together a panel of major players in the conflict in the hopes of spurring some dialogue that would build relationships. For this panel, he got together the police chief, the mayor, a gubernatorial candidate, and two leaders in the Black Lives Matter movement. They were all seated behind a long table in front of a big crowd. As we watched the video of this panel, we saw that people were tense and angry. It was obvious that they didn’t trust each other, and before any of them spoke, we could tell that most of these leaders had already lost hope, certain that no headway was going to be made by having this divided of a group speak to a crowd. One of the leaders in Black Lives Matter stands up. He’s a young African American man who goes by Ooops. Ooops walked in front of the panel, told everyone there that Ferguson is filled with racists, that he’s certain all the political leaders present are racists, and how he’s absolutely certain that nothing has really changed in America since the days of slavery. Then, he cussed at the crowd and sat back down. For him, whether he was right about any of that or not, hope was lost, and after he said what he said, hope of a successful panel was lost, too. After the panel meeting ended, this Mr. Norman asked these leaders – the police chief, the mayor, the gubernatorial candidate, Ooops, and Ooops’s friend from Black Lives Matter Movement – to eat lunch with him. They talked so much that lunch turned to dinner. The next day, they ate breakfast together. “These are just meals,” some would say. “What can a meal do?” some would ask, yet these three meals helped all of them realize that despite their differences or disagreements, they had so much in common. Despite the road they wanted to travel, they had the same destination in mind. Over a meal, individuals become family, antagonists become coworkers, and after eating with these politicians and learning about them, Ooops decided to try and become one. In 2016, that young man who went by Ooops was elected to the Missouri Legislature and became Representative Bruce Franks, Jr., serving district 78 in the State of Missouri’s House of Representatives. How do you explain such transformation? That’s the power of a meal, and so Garrison Keillor joked that the Lutherans of Lake Woebegone celebrate three sacraments: baptism, communion, and potluck supper. More than that, we call on people to volunteer in the kitchen, hand out family meal boxes on Tuesdays, and we train and empower men and women to become Stephen Ministers. Today, we are commissioning two who are charged with walking beside people. Walking beside people who are going through divorce, unemployment, or any of the many difficult transitions of life. Their role doesn’t sound obviously miraculous, though I assure you it is. There are few things so beautiful as reminding people who are certain that they are alone that Jesus is walking with them. My friends, faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Do not be certain that you are alone or that hope is lost. Have faith that He is as good as His word, for He assured us that He would neither leave us nor forsake us but would be with us to the end. He is never far, especially when we need Him most. Amen.

He Is Risen!

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 31: 1-16 and John 20: 1-18 Sermon Title: He Is Risen! Preached on April 9, 2023 I’ve just read a Scripture lesson that I’ve read a lot, pretty much every year. Every year on Easter Sunday, we read an account of Jesus, risen from the grave, but this year something new has my attention. What jumps out to me this year is how surprised everyone is. Why would anyone be surprised that Jesus did exactly what He told them He would do? He told them He would four different times. Four different times in the Gospel of John, Jesus told His disciples that He would die and rise from the dead. He said it in chapter 12, 13, and twice in 14. In chapter 11, He basically spelled it out by raising Lazarus from the dead, even rolling away the stone from the tomb’s entrance and saying, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Still, here we are in chapter 20: They go into an empty tomb and can’t believe that He is risen. The stone was rolled away from the mouth of the tomb, and they assumed someone stole His body. The cloth that had been on Jesus’ head is rolled up by itself. He rolled that cloth up the way I roll up my PJs after getting out of bed, and rather than trust that He’s up and moving, they saw all this and (reading in verse 9), “did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” Now, it’s bad enough that they didn’t understand after He tried to tell them. We’re supposed to listen to Jesus when He says something to us. We ought to listen and believe, only it gets even worse. After they saw these things, “the disciples returned to their homes.” They go where? What? Why? How could they possibly just go on back home, as though nothing life-changing had happened? How could they go on home to make breakfast or fold laundry after the Lord of Lords had done exactly what He told them He would do? A miracle took place, and they went back to reading their newspapers. I can hear them walking through the door, sitting down to a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. They take a sip and pick up The Jerusalem Gazette, “Different day, same bad news.” Sound familiar? I tell you, when we get used to reading the bad news, the good news gets harder to believe. This kind of thing happens all the time. Think of what happens to us. We watch the news constantly, so we think we know what’s going on. We see that another bank has closed, and we expect economic disaster. Another school shooting, and we’re no longer disgusted that the politicians won’t do anything about it. We are used to the bad news, so it’s more than just not listening. The disciples being surprised that Jesus did what He said He would do is caused by more than not paying attention. This is more than the classic Far Side cartoon with the boy pushing on the door to get into his school for the gifted even though the sign says, “Pull.” It’s not obstinance. It’s not ignorance. It’s not stubborn bullheadedness. It’s called getting used to disappointment and letting go of hope. Now that’s an important message that I hope you’ll hear today. It’s a relevant message. Are you used to hearing relevant messages from preachers in black robes reading out of the ancient Scripture? Did you come here today to hear an important message, or are you just here so people can see you in your new Easter suit? If you haven’t been to church in a while, or if you’ve never heard a sermon from this pulpit, I want you to know something about the Easter service in which you are sitting. This service isn’t about peeps or Easter egg hunts. This is not about bowties and Easter bonnets. I am not here to drone on about what you should or shouldn’t do. I didn’t get up this morning to wag my finger at you while you fall asleep, biding time before Easter lunch at the club. Friends, sometimes we feel as though the Bible was written so long ago that it can’t have anything relevant to say to us today, or maybe you’re used to having a preacher who just tells a couple jokes and then says, “He is risen.” That’s not what I’m about today because the Gospel is so much more than that. This resurrection message speaks to a culture where the politicians argue with each other while the people suffer. This resurrection message speaks to a culture grown used to disappointment. This resurrection message speaks to a culture that has stopped expecting solutions. This Jesus will help those who have forgotten what it means to believe. This sermon is about living in a culture that has seen an empty tomb and assumed that someone stole His corpse because our hopes are so minuscule, and our expectations are so tiny. Some days, we’re just trying to scrape by in this life. We’re just hoping to go home from the service and have a nice slice of ham and maybe a Bloody Mary, but I want you to raise your glasses of champagne this afternoon and say to your friends that He is risen and know what that declaration means. I want you to believe it. I want you to dare to see the world differently knowing that He has done it. I want you to regain the courage to hope because this man, Jesus, does what He says He will do. I heard about a church that wanted do something special on Easter, so they put out all the Easter eggs in the lawn, had a plane fly over the church, and the Easter bunny jumped out and parachuted down. Pastor said he wanted to make Easter a little more exciting this year. Easter doesn’t need to be any more exciting than it is already, if you can just understand what Jesus has done. He is not dead for He is risen, and that truth changes everything, but for us to change, we must first identify the pattern we’re in, and I believe we are in a pattern not unlike those ancient disciples. We are stuck in a pattern of expecting to be disappointed, while we need to learn that we can expect Jesus to do what He said He would do. Do you remember that one of the first things Jesus told them was to cast out their nets at the end of a day when their nets kept coming back empty? They had already given up. They were on the shore, washing their nets, and He got into one of their boats, the one belonging to Peter, and He asked him to put out into the deep. Now, Peter barely knew this man. Peter had only met Him the day before, yet for some reason he put his boat out into the deep water, and when Jesus said, “Let down your nets for a catch,” they did it, though we must remember that at first, they were reluctant. “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. If you say so, I will let down the nets,” is what they said. When they did, there were so many fish that their nets were beginning to break, but it was not their nets but our bad habits of pessimistic thinking that must be broken because He is risen. My friends, this is the God we serve. The God of Joseph, the dreamer. The God of Moses, who led the people out of slavery in Egypt. The God of Miriam, who with tambourines, sang of the God who triumphed over Pharoah. The God of David, who slayed a giant with a rock and a sling. The God of Ezekiel, who went to a valley of dry bones and watched as they all came back to life. The God of Jeremiah, who brought the children of God back home. The God of Mary and Joseph, Ruth and Rahab, Ester, and Lydia. More than that, we live in this modern age, years beyond Orville and Wilbur Wright, who surely heard that their plane would never leave the ground, and yet they flew. An age where Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. An age of electric cars, phones smarter than us, and artificial intelligence that can write term papers for students and sermons for preachers, yet we no longer expect to find a solution to poverty. We are used to politicians grumbling with each other rather than finding a solution to children getting shot in their own schools. It’s ridiculous to get used to disappointment. It’s ridiculous when you consider that He is risen. Likewise, because He has said, “It is finished,” I need never say, “I am finished.” Because Scripture has said, “He is risen,” I need never say, “I am beaten.” I need never say I am tired, or I am worn. Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart be lonely? And long for heaven and home? When Jesus is my portion? A constant friend is he. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me. He is risen from the dead. He has conquered death. He has won the victory. So we will never be defeated. We need never crawl up into that little ball, under the covers, wallowing in the darkness of our own defeat. My friends, do not get used to giving up. Do not become accustomed to grief. Do not make your bed in the valley of the shadow of death. For He is our Shepherd, and He is risen from the dead to lead us from a place of despair to that place of constant rejoicing. He is risen and so the setbacks will not define us. We know that the hard times will pass. Sorrow may last for the night, but a song comes in the morning. He is risen. I can’t help but think about all this on this Easter Sunday because I am preaching in a church that hit rock bottom in 2016 but has won “Best Place to Worship” in Cobb County for 5 years in a row, so don’t talk to me about managing expectations. Don’t talk to me about getting used to disappointment. Talk to me about hope fulfilled. In the last week, pastors and congregations from different churches, who typically segregate on Sunday mornings, joined for worship here, so don’t talk to me about getting used to division. Talk to me about unity. 110 volunteers showed up to make it happen. 110 in a culture that many have called selfish. 110 came together in a culture that many have said is giving up and turning in on itself. Don’t talk to me about selfishness. Talk to me about service. Talk to me about love. Talk to me about faith. Talk to me about hope. For He is risen. My friends, everything will change. Everything will get better. Miracles happen all the time. You’ll miss them, though, if you expect to be disappointed. Don’t expect to be disappointed. Expect victory. For He is risen. He is risen, indeed. Halleluiah! Amen.

Open the Gates

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2 and 19-29, Matthew 21: 1-11 Sermon Title: Open the Gates Preached on April 2, 2023 Today is Palm Sunday. Our second Scripture lesson describes it from the perspective of Matthew’s Gospel. Two scholars, John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg, have done some important work in imagining what Jerusalem was like on that day so long ago. On that first Palm Sunday, when Jesus’ rode into the city on a donkey and a colt, He was sitting on the cloaks of His disciples, which made His saddle, and the crowds around Him swarmed rejoicing. According to the scholars, we should pay particular attention to the size of the crowd. Jerusalem at that time had about 40,000 permanent inhabitants. However, on that day, when Jesus rode into the city, the population swelled. According to the scholars’ estimates based on historical records, on that first Palm Sunday so long ago, the population reached as high as 250,000. Think about that. A city of 40,000 welcomes more than 200,000 visitors. That’s like Athens on game day. Athens, Georgia, according to census data from 2021, has about 125,000 residents. On game day, they’ll welcome about 160,000 visitors, so the population more than doubles. In Jerusalem that day, the population more than quadrupled, which makes me wonder if anyone had the bright idea to sell palm branches the way the venders sell t-shirts in Athens, only first let’s ask: Why were so many people there? What was the big deal? To observe Passover, plenty of people were in town, which was expected. Passover is that ancient Jewish holiday remembering the moment when God led the Hebrew people out of slavery in Egypt. Jewish people celebrate Passover today just as they did then. Last Wednesday evening, I was honored to be a reader at the Passover celebration at Temple Kol Emeth in East Cobb. That synagogue was kind enough to invite me in for the celebration, just as Jerusalem welcomed all kinds of people from all over the Empire to celebrate the most important holiday of the year. However, more than these religious pilgrims, there were also crowds of people who came into town just to follow Jesus, waving Palm branches as they went. Why were they there? What was the big deal? To put it simply: Jesus is the One they had been waiting for. So, yes it was Passover, and every Jewish grandmother in Jerusalem was hosting her children and her grandchildren, but Jesus makes the big holiday even bigger. It’s like how plenty of people go to Athens for Georgia games every year, but it’s different when the national championship has been won. For the last two years, the Bulldogs did it, and crowds mobbed the streets to celebrate. Double that. Triple that. For Jerusalem to quadruple in population, it was four times the celebration. Four times the anticipation finally met. Four times the hope fulfilled, and all because one man rode into town on a donkey and a colt. That’s what today is all about. Jesus rode into Jerusalem, and the city went wild. They saw Him as an answer to their prayers. Having heard of the miracles, they imagined what He might do next. Having suffered under the oppression of the occupying Roman government, they imagined that He would bring their long-awaited independence and freedom, so they welcomed Him into the city, and they cheered as He rode by. They opened wide the gates of Jerusalem for salvation was at hand. The crowds waved palm branches and laid their coats onto the road making a kind of red carpet so that His steeds’ hooves did not touch the ground. “Hosanna to the Son of David!” they yelled. “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven.” These cheers mean, “Here He is. The One we’ve been waiting for.” “Open the gates! He’s finally here!” they cheered, and in He went. The crowds went with Him so that Jerusalem quadrupled in size. But wait, there’s more, for we read from the Gospel of Matthew verse 10, “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?’”. That’s what critics ask whenever the crowds swell with anticipation. “Wait just a minute. Who is this?” They asked that question of Stetson Bennett. Do you remember? Who is this? Those who believed, answered: “He’s our quarterback.” “But he’s 5’11 and 42 years old,” the critics responded. They asked the same of Jesus. “Who is this?” “This is Jesus, the Messiah,” the crowds answered, but the moment the critics open their mouths, damage is done, even with so simple a comment. When hope is fragile, sometimes all it takes is one question and the celebration stops in its tracks. It happened to me last Friday. There I was, getting ready for the most relaxing hour of my week. Every Friday morning, I take our dog, Izzy, for a run down the trail that starts at Burnt Hickory and goes on past the Illinois monument. That peaceful trail crosses two creeks, is covered by tree limbs, and being there always helps me relax after the end of a hard week. Last week was a hard week, and last Friday, I got out of the car ready to relax and recharge. I walked up to the start of the trail, but my shoes came untied. I’m holding the dog leash as I try to tie my shoes, and Izzy takes this opportunity to relieve herself before we get started. A man steps over what she’d left behind, and as I’m trying to tie my shoes while holding the dog, I hear him ask with true resentment, “You going to clean this up?” Now this is a reasonable question. There’s nothing wrong with asking, “You going to clean this up?” There’s nothing wrong with asking, “Who is this?” but hope can be a fragile thing, and I just needed a second to tie my shoes. Therefore, those words said in such a way sent me backwards into a week that started with a school shooting at a Presbyterian Church in Nashville where the pastor’s daughter was killed along with five others. “Who is this?” “You going to clean this up?” “Can we really do anything about gun violence?” Sometimes it doesn’t matter how many people have joined the crowd or how confident they are that the time has come for redemption, if the wrong question is asked, it can be the beginning of the end. “Who is this?” they hear, and the crowd starts to wonder. Their aspirations become ensnared by the cynics. The movement comes to a halt because the most negative, the most pessimistic, the most questioning voices can pull the hopeful in the wrong direction. Sometimes that happens. It’s happening now. However, today, I call on you to open wide the gates in hope, for the cynics were wrong then, and they’re wrong now. Here we are, 2,000 years later, and the crowds so large on that first Palm Sunday would be dwarfed by the crowds who gather to wave their palms in churches throughout the world today. Though cynics doubted, the fragile hope came to fruition. The One the crowds hoped in has changed the world already. So if you are discouraged, if you’re hope is running dry, or if the questions of the cynics resound in your hearts this morning, open the gates of your hearts wide this morning. Open the gates of your hearts wide to believe that things will get better. Open the gates to hope. To peace. To change. To reform. To faith. Open the gates, and let Him come in, for He has changed the world, and He’s doing it again even now. He is the One to save us all. We need simply to believe. Amen.