Peace, a sermon based on Malachi 3: 1-4 and Luke 1: 67-80 preached on December 8, 2024

My friends, prayers may not be answered in the way that we expect them to be answered. Miracles may not arrive on our timetable, but may they always come in such a way that you recognize them and receive them with thanksgiving. That’s my introduction to the story of John the Baptist’s birth, which we are focused on this morning. Jesus said that among men there has been none greater than John, and yet he was just the opening act to the main event, so in these weeks leading up to Christmas Day, today our focus is the birth of John the Baptist, which, like the birth of our Savior, was miraculous. Like our daughters, Lily and Cece, John was a preacher’s kid. His father, Zechariah, was a priest at the Temple in Jerusalem; his mother, Elizabeth, born into a family of great priests, and the two had longed for a child. They had been waiting for years for a child to be born. In fact, it had been so long that, as they were getting on in years, Elizabeth and Zechariah had pretty much given up on ever being parents. You know how this works. Some of you know their struggle personally. You get married, and for the first few years, you don’t even think about it. “We’ll have kids at some point,” so many newlyweds assume. In the beginning, getting pregnant is something that scares you. No one walks into a relationship expecting to have any trouble conceiving, and we may imagine that it was this way for Elizabeth and Zechariah, yet by the time Zechariah the Priest was given the high honor of going into the Temple, they had already gone through all the steps. They had tried and tried. They had gotten their hopes up. After their hopes were dashed, they finally went and asked for help. Maybe Elizabeth finally opened up about it to her sister who already had three kids. Maybe they sought advice from a wise woman in town. Maybe they requested prayers from a priest or a ritual from a healer. Whatever it was that they tried, none of it had worked. Some here know how that can stress a marriage. Somehow, they stuck together; perhaps they stuck together by making peace with the bitter reality of their situation. That’s what people do. To survive, many people make peace with sad situations. They accept that not all dreams come true. We can’t know for sure, but we can safely assume that they had pretty much made peace with the reality that children would never come because when an angel of the Lord, Gabriel, appeared to Zechariah to say that Elizabeth was pregnant, he didn’t believe it. From Luke’s first chapter, the angel Gabriel said: Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your payer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before the Messiah, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord. Can you imagine? Zechariah couldn’t. This morning, I invite you to think with me about why. Why would it be that a priest married to the daughter of a priest would not believe that their prayers had been answered, that their dream of a child would come true? Why would they make their peace with infertility? I imagine that it’s because, while they’d read the stories in the Bible of Abraham and Sarah who had a child in their old age, they’d also felt the pain of miscarriage. While they’d heard, and while Zechariah had even preached, that our prayers never go unanswered, they knew how bad it hurts to keep waiting with anticipation for something that never comes. This morning, as we light the candle of peace, I ask you to think with me about that word: peace. Sometimes, we make peace with disappointment and unanswered prayers. Sometimes, we make peace with disappointing realities that may never change. While we talk about peace, we also constantly read about war, and this unfortunate reality becomes such a part of our lives that we make peace, not with the promise that peace will come, but that it may never. Last week, maybe you read the story of the chef who was preparing food for the sick in a hospital in Palestine. He was targeted by a drone and was killed. We wait for peace, but we’ve grown used to war. Haven’t we? What else have we grown used to? At the recommendation of Jimmy Johnson, my wife, Sara, and I have been watching a new TV show on Netflix. It stars Ted Danson, who, in the show, has grown used to loneliness. The first episode begins with the toast he gave to his wife at their wedding: “I’ve found the one I want to grow old with” he says, but he has grown old, she died, and every morning, he wakes up on his side of the bed. He gets out of bed and makes just one cup of coffee. Then, he takes a walk by himself. He reads the paper by himself. He does the crossword with no one to ask for help when he gets stuck on 11 down or 17 across. After the crossword, he snips out interesting articles and sends them to his daughter, who doesn’t want to read the articles he sends her, but he sends them anyway because this is his only connection with another human being. Every night, after spending the day alone, he goes to sleep alone, anticipating the same lonesome existence to continue tomorrow. His wife died. The one he wanted to grow old with left him alone, and he’s made peace with his isolation. He’s made peace with that echo in the empty house. He’s made peace with his routine, even though there’s no brightness to it. He’s made peace, not with being alone, not with solitude, which can be good and healing and healthy, but with loneliness. Let us never make peace with loneliness. Loneliness will kill you, but yet, is it not easier sometimes to make peace with such hardship rather than get our hopes up for fear that our hopes will be dashed once again? Therefore, when the angel Gabriel said to Zechariah: Your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord, Zechariah couldn’t hear it. He wasn’t prepared for this news. He had made peace with the disappointment and wasn’t expecting his hopes to be fulfilled. Therefore, the angel said, “because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.” “Because you did not believe my words,” the angel said. Now, maybe a priest should be punished for not believing what an angel said, and yet, remember that priests and preachers come to doubt the miracles just as some of you may. When our prayers go unanswered, we are just as disappointed as anyone else. To make peace, though, with disappointment is a dangerous thing because prayers are answered all the time, and nothing is more tragic than an answered prayer that goes unrecognized. That’s the warning from the story of Zechariah. Make peace with your unanswered prayers so that your heart isn’t shattered, but don’t make such peace with your unanswered prayer that you miss the signs that God has heard you. What’s more tragic than an unnoticed miracle? I imagine such a thing just breaks God’s heart, and yet it happens. We get so fixated on the door that closed that we ignore the door that opened. What I’m talking about this morning is this strange reality of accepting disappointment, heartbreak, and isolation to such a degree that when salvation comes, we are too resigned to our dreadful lot that we can’t accept the invitation. It happens to the young: When their love goes unrequited, they become so fixated on the one who rejected them that they ignore the one who loves them in return. That happens. We have to learn to accept that not all our prayers are answered in the way that we expect them to be answered. Miracles may not arrive on our timetable, but may they always come in such a way that you recognize them and receive them. I once went to visit a woman who hadn’t been to church in weeks. She told me that no one from the church cared enough to call. No one knew her name. She’s been out, and not even the people who sit next to her have noticed that she’d been gone. As she was telling me all this, the phone rang. It was Gloria, who sits just across the aisle. “I was just calling because I’ve missed you and wanted to know how you were,” Gloria said to her. “I noticed you’ve been gone. Is everything OK?” I heard Gloria ask the woman these things because I was eavesdropping, and that’s the kind of nosy person I am, but I was so thankful for this miracle of caring in the church. This was the most obvious and tangible answer to the lonely woman’s prayer, and yet she said to Gloria, “Joe is over here. Thank you for calling, but I’ve got to go.” She hung up and then said, “Pastor, what was I saying? Oh, yes. No one in the church cares about me.” It's not that the reality she perceived was pure fantasy. It’s not that her sadness and disappointment wasn’t real. It’s not that her perception of the church was completely inaccurate. It’s just that situations change, people change, prayers are answered, and there are few tragedies greater than a miracle that falls in your lap yet goes ignored. There are few tragedies greater than the open door you missed walking through because you were still fixated on the door that closed. What is more discouraging than a priest who had made peace with his unanswered prayer in such a way that when the angel showed up to tell him that his prayers were answered, he didn’t believe it? My friends, heartbreak is real. Disappointment is real. There are sad realities in our broken world. If your hopes are getting dashed again and again and again, it is only natural to protect yourself by no longer getting your hopes up, but when an angel shows up in your life, I pray that you see him and that you believe what he has to say. A miracle is on its way to you. The King of Kings draws near to save us, but not everyone is going to see Him. Not everyone will have her head lifted in expectation. Some people will be so focused on their dreams dashed on the ground that they’ll only see the pieces of all their disappointment shattered across the floor, even while the King of Kings descends from the clouds from on high. Don’t stop waiting for peace. Don’t get so used to war that you begin to tolerate the bullets and the bloodshed, for hope is real. Peace is real. Christ is coming. And He’ll come in some place you least expect Him. Like a manger. Like as a child. Like as a miracle that those who walk by faith will see, and those who have become permanent residents of this broken world will miss. Don’t make peace with this broken world. Don’t treasure your shattered dreams. Get ready for the dawn of peace. Amen.

Hope, a sermon based no Jeremiah 31: 31-34 and Luke 21: 25-36, preached on December 1, 2024

There’s a history quiz that comes out every Saturday. My wife, Sara, does it first, and then I try to beat her score. Yesterday, she beat me pretty badly, and one that I missed was the year that Jane Fonda popularized the phrase “Feel the burn!” It was 1982. I won’t forget it again. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about that phrase, “Feel the burn.” It is an interesting one because it’s counterintuitive. When it comes to exercise, you want to feel that burn in your muscles. The burn means that the exercise is doing something. You’re getting stronger and more physically fit. You’re burning calories, losing weight, and toning your figure. To “feel the burn” is a good thing, and it was wise for Jane Fonda to point that out and celebrate that feeling because a newcomer to exercise might misinterpret that sign, thinking that the unpleasant feeling means that you should quit. In our second Scripture lesson, Jesus is doing essentially the same thing. He is helping us to understand the signs. We just read that: There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among the nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. The nations will be confused because signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars sound like bad things. They’ll be confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves because most people think that a calm sea is good and that a roaring sea is bad. When it happens, some will faint from the fear and foreboding, but not you. “Do not fear,” Jesus says, “stand up and raise your heads” when these things begin to take place because these signs mean that your redemption is drawing near. Don’t misinterpret the signs. Don’t be afraid. Don’t panic, for fools misinterpret the signs to their own detriment. For example, my friend Tom Clarke works for a company that manages investments, and often, he must help clients understand that when the stock market slumps, that’s not the best time to sell. That’s when some people want to sell, however. When the market fluctuates, sometimes their clients will call the office nervous or afraid. They’ll say, “But I’m losing money. Get rid of those stocks! Make it stop before I lose more.” The calm response of the company is always the same: Don’t panic. “Wait,” they’ll say. “The market does this from time to time. Don’t be afraid. Let’s talk next week. Allow me to interpret what you’re seeing.” All that is good advice, and it’s not just good investment advice, although it is very good investment advice. In 2008, we owned two homes in Decatur, Georgia. We bought one before the bubble burst, then a second with plans to sell the first, only once the bottom fell out of the housing market, we could sell neither. Then, we moved to Tennessee and needed to sell them both. Unable to sell the two in Decatur for anything close to what we’d paid for them, we bought a third in Tennessee. That was a terrifying situation in which to be; however, do you have any idea what those homes would be worth today? My point is that in fear, sometimes we panic. We lose faith. We lose hope. We don’t make good decisions when we’re running around like chickens with our heads cut off. When we’re in such a panic, we just want to do something, even if it’s the wrong thing. Therefore, the best advice can be to wait. Don’t panic. Hold on. Fear not. Such advice isn’t just practical, it’s also faithful, so when you see the signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, the roaring of the sea and the waves, while many people will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, don’t misinterpret the signs. Consider how the leaves change color. When the leaves change, no one responds as though the tree were dying, yet when the stocks go down, we rush to sell as though they’ll never go back up again, or when criticism comes our way, so many of us crumble. Don’t misinterpret the signs. Stocks fall then rise again, as leaves change their color. Likewise, criticism may feel like failure. It may feel like rejection. Yet, no one takes the time to criticize people who don’t matter. Don’t misinterpret the signs. Criticism is the sign that you matter, that you can be better, and yet, how many look at the scoreboard and quit before time has run out? The Yellow Jackets and the Bulldogs lasted how many overtimes? Eight overtimes. My friends, we lose when we quit. We lose when we panic. We lose when our hope runs out. We lose when we’ve misinterpreted the signs. Don’t misinterpret the signs. This old world will fall away to be replaced by a new heaven and a new earth. Don’t be weighed down by the worries of this life, for each step we take is one step closer to the gates of Heaven. All our pain is like pain of childbirth. It is not punishment, for from our struggle comes new life, a new life far better than what was before. I’m talking about hope here. As the waves roar and the heavens shake, get ready for the new thing. Go out into the world today expectant, for our best days are not behind us, but before us. Christ Jesus, who will come again, comes not to judge us or condemn us, but to set us free. Don’t misinterpret the signs. I’ve been watching this TV show about the world’s greatest soccer player. He left his hometown to play in Europe where he rose to celebrity status, only then, at the very height of his career, his heart began to trouble him. His doctors told him he could never play again, and so he returned to his hometown, this tiny Mexican village on the ocean, and he began to drink himself to death, believing that his life was over. My friends, he had misinterpreted the signs, for his best days were still ahead of him. Each day in this small town brings with it new life. He starts to grow and mature. While celebrity had given him fans, in his hometown, he discovered his family. While Europe had given him a mansion to live in, this village gave him a home. So it will be with us, so don’t misinterpret the signs. Do not be weighed down with the worries of this life. Hope. “The days are surely coming,” says the Lord, “when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel. No longer shall they teach one another or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest,” says the Lord, “for I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.” That’s the sign of what’s to come. Not condemnation, but salvation. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Is He Your King? A sermon based on Revelation 1: 4B-8, preached on November 24, 2025

A couple months ago, I invited a new pastor in town to lunch. Matt Armstrong is an associate pastor at a neighboring church on Rose Lane. We met here and walked down to Marietta Proper, where it is possible to pay $12.00 for iced tea, but it’s worth it. Before the Rev. Matt Armstrong took his first sip of $12.00 iced tea, he lifted his glass and said, “To the King.” Today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of the year before Advent begins. Each year on this date, we acknowledge Him Lord of all, but let us heed the warning in our second Scripture lesson from the book of Revelation. This morning, we read: He is coming with the clouds. Every eye will see him, Even those who pierced him. And on his account, all the tribes of the earth will wail. All the tribes of the earth will what? All the tribes of the earth will wail, Scripture says. Why would they wail and not rejoice? It is because the King of Kings was not their king. Having kneeled before the earthly powers, they were not prepared for His arrival, which sometimes is the case. Think with me about what happens to Prince John at the end of Robin Hood. My tastes are not too refined, so it’s the cartoon version that I’m thinking of. I loved the one with that Bryan Adams song in the soundtrack; however, as we read about the return of King Jesus, I’m thinking of the Disney cartoon version of Robin Hood where Robin Hood is a fox, and the king sitting on the throne sowing injustice and oppression in the land is the false king of England, depicted by Disney as a thumb-sucking lion named Prince John whose head is too small to wear the crown. Do you remember what happens at the end of that movie when the real king, King Richard, a noble lion, returns to England? Our second Scripture lesson is something like that. Here comes the True King of Heaven and earth descending from the clouds to put all things right. In the Disney version, King Richard runs that usurper, Prince John, and all those who bowed before his throne, stealing from the poor and raising taxes ever higher, Sir Hiss, his advisor, and the Sheriff of Nottingham all end up on the chain gang. Our second Scripture lesson is meant to evoke such an image as that one. Descending from the clouds, the True King returns to reign. His rule is defined by justice. His call is to stamp out oppression. He’s more interested in love than in money. He came not to claim status, but to serve the lowly. He takes His throne to put those who abused power in their places. All that is wrong shall be made right. The prison doors will swing open. The hungry will be filled. The widows will be provided for. The orphans shall have an inheritance. The refugees, a home. And those who pierced Him will wail, for they’ll finally get what they deserve, but, wait just a minute and consider with me who it was that pierced Him. One of the finest hymns in our hymnal is number 218. I wish we could sing it every Sunday: Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee? ‘Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee. I crucified thee. My friends, this morning I ask you, who is your king? Have you bowed before the throne of Prince John who sucks his thumb, or do you await the return of the true King of Heaven and earth? Sometimes I wonder because Santa sits on the throne, and we take our children to the mall to meet him, and we’re willing to wait in lines for hours upon hours to see him, but when it comes to Sunday school and the opportunity to learn about the King of Kings, is there the same level of dedication? Last Wednesday morning, I was having breakfast with a bunch of pastors and one rabbi. That sounds like the beginning of a joke, right? We were talking about travel baseball and college football, and one pastor said of the members of his congregation, “If they invested in their kid’s religious foundation half as much as they invested in his travel baseball career, our church’s roof could get replaced, and the kid would have a faith to sustain him once he gives up trying to play in the major leagues.” Is He your king? Now, the truth is, I’m not any better. Our daughter Cece was asked to play on a flag football team. She got invited to try out. It was an out-of-district team who wanted her. The coach made a concession just for her. It was a special thing, and I had told so many people about it, at some point my wife, Sara, had to say to me, “Joe, you know it’s not you who got invited to try out, but your daughter?” Friends, I want what’s best for our two girls, but if we believe that what is best is eternal salvation and freedom from this broken world, then let us all look ourselves in the mirror asking ourselves to consider this question: Who is Lord of your life? If you can name the starting lineup for the Georgia Bulldogs but can’t call the names of the twelve disciples, who is your king? If you stretched so far to buy the car of your dreams that you don’t have anything left to put in the offering plate, you can’t claim to be like the Wise Men, who offered the Christ Child gold, frankincense, and myrrh. My friends, why is it that we live in a world where the quarterback for the Georgia Bulldogs drives a Lamborghini, but the Son of God has no place to lay His head? It’s because we live in a broken world with misplaced priorities, and we all end up kneeling before the false kings of this present evil age. Not a one of us is blameless. Not a one. I’m as guilty as you are, and you are as guilty as the one you’re sitting next to, and we really get into trouble when we forget that part. Let me now get down to it: If we blame the one across the aisle, convinced that we’re right and he’s wrong, that she’s the enemy and we’re the heroes, then who is our king? Did the true King not say, “love your neighbor as yourself?” Did He not say, “Bless those who persecute you. Bless and do not curse them?” Did He not say, “Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself?” Who is our king? If the aftermath of the presidential election has us worried about what it’s going to be like at Thanksgiving dinner this year, then who is our king? I was at a Thanksgiving service last Thursday night. Two members of our youth group spoke, Lydia Marcum and John White. They were incredible. We all gathered in Temple Kol Emeth, that synagogue in East Cobb, representatives of more than 30 houses of worship, and we stood and said the pledge of allegiance, “one nation, under God,” all those people representing all the nations of the earth, and my eyes welled up with tears because it was like I was in that Norman Rockwell painting. Do you know the one? Moreover, do you know his Thanksgiving picture? Freedom from Want is the name of it. It’s a full table at Thanksgiving, and Grandma is laying down the turkey while Grandpa is getting ready to carve it. All the family and friends are getting ready to eat. I imagine that they had not all voted for the same candidate for President. I imagine that they don’t always get along so well. That sometimes they argue. That sometimes they judge each other. That sometimes they get so mad at each other that they think about not showing up at the table, but once they’re there, the Spirit reminds them that regardless of what they can’t agree on, Christ is still King, and they find a balm for their hurting souls. May it be so with you on Thursday. Put aside your arguing and break bread together. If you’re preparing for Thanksgiving by sharpening your arguments rather than prepping your pie crust, I call on you to lay down your sword and take up your cross. You don’t need to fight any battle, for the war is already won. The King is coming. On Thursday, I want you to raise your glass with the uncle with whom you can’t get along, and the aunt who made the comment about your weight, and the sister who never returns your phone calls, and Grandpa who never says the right thing, and your mama whose love language is criticism, and your dad you loves you but can’t ever say the words, and Grandma who let everyone know for whom she voted, and along with them all, I want you to toast to the King. Some may say, “Preacher, I’m not giving them that. They’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m not letting them win.” To that righteous indignation, I say, “Is not the battle already won?” Is He not King over Heaven and earth? Indeed, He is, so let us live like it. The King is coming, and He is your King, and He is mine.

The Widow's Faith, a sermon based on Ruth 3 and 4 and Mark 12: 38-44, preached on November 10, 2024

Jesus said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect, and to have the best seats in the synagogues, and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.” I sure am glad He’s not talking about me. But He is. Jesus was teaching His disciples, and as He taught, He said, “If you want to know what faith looks like, don’t look at the guy in the kilt who walks in the grand procession to take his seat up in front of the Great Hall. If you want to know what faith looks like, look over at the widow. Did you see what she just did?” When the poor widow came and put in two small, copper coins, Jesus, as He always did, surprised the disciples by saying, “Look at her, off to the side, the one who just put the two copper coins into the plate. That’s what faith looks like. She’s the miracle. Everyone else is looking at the guy in the kilt, but I want you to see the miracle of the woman who gave to the Lord everything she had.” This is a good lesson for us today, for isn’t it just like the people of God to miss out on the miracle because they’re busy watching the parade? Yet God sees beyond the fanfare to notice the faithful. God loves the humble heart and comes near to hear the prayers of the afflicted; even in the age of kings and princes, our God blessed the lowly. Today is this great celebration of the Scottish roots of the Presbyterian Church. Today we celebrate because long ago in Scotland, they couldn’t. The King of England outlawed the pipes and the tartans. In secret, God’s people would sneak in their plaid, the symbols of their culture and their families, to receive God’s blessing, knowing that God blesses the meek of the earth and can see beyond the fanfare of the powerful. But what about us? What about you? Can you see beyond the fanfare, beyond the preacher in the kilt, to witness the real miracle of God at work in this church? I want you to know that I’m proud to be the Senior Pastor of First Presbyterian Church, but if you want to see God at work in this place, you need to look beyond me to notice the members of this church who live their faith out in the world. I’m talking about women like Sally Benoy. Do you know Sally? Sally was one who maintained our church library. That was a thankless job because while the library was great, ya’ll didn’t use it. The books gathered dust. Still, Sally maintained our church library. She kept it clean. She kept the books in order. Regardless of all that work, not too many people checked any of those books out, so we let the history committee take the room over. The library moved downstairs, and Sally was out of a job. However, she heard that the library at the Cobb County Jail didn’t have any books in it. Since Easter of 2021, we’ve been livestreaming our services in the jail, and since then, our involvement has increased. We’ve provided meals for the jail staff. One of our members, Jeff Knapp, is now a trained chaplain. All the old Bibles from our church’s closets, about 800 of them, have gone over there where they’re being put to good use, and when members of this church heard that the jail library had no books, they wanted to do something about it. Bill and Louise Pardue led a book drive. 3,500 books have been donated. Sally and two other librarians have sorted through those books, organized them by subject, and now, they take requests, so that 500 books are checked out from the jail library each month. 500 books each month. Sally has never been happier, and if you want to know what faith looks like, don’t look at the preacher in the kilt who walked down the center aisle with the bag pipes. Look at her. Look at Doris Faber, who made visits to Presbyterian Village each Sunday for years on end. Look at Marti Miner, who is the chair of the funeral guild, and has only missed three funerals at this church in six years. Consider Laura Powell, whose vision of a Memorial Garden is now a reality. Or Martie Moore, who leads our church in providing a week’s worth of food to over 350 families each week. Think about Mary Groves, who has been leading our afterschool program for years and years. Or Linda Spears, who isn’t a member of this church, and yet she’s here three or four days a week, volunteering, making a difference, and sharing her love. Have you ever noticed the flowers outside our church? Do you know the women who planted them? It started with just one plot maintained by Sue Strauss, who has the fire ant scars on her legs to prove it, then Elizabeth Lisle joined the effort and spread her garden from the front entrance to the corner that’s home to our grease trap. She turned our grease trap into a vegetable garden, and today, because Elizabeth is outside our church watering her garden so often, and because people drive crazy on Church Street, she’s been the first responder for two accidents. When Waze told one young driver to take a right turn onto the railroad tracks, she got stuck, and Elizabeth sat there with that scared young driver until help arrived, and that’s what faith looks like. Look past this preacher in the kilt to consider with me the ministry of the Rev. Denise Beltzner, who has been suffering with a debilitating illness for years now, yet she still ends every email update with the same faithful sentiment: A bit taken back, A tad overwhelmed, Very determined, Extremely thankful, Ever hope-filled. My friends, I walked in here with all the fanfare of a parade, and I loved every second of it because I love the attention, but if you want to know what faith looks like, look past me to see those who serve the Lord without fanfare, who don’t preach faith but live it, for it is better to live one sermon than to preach 500. If you want to see faith, look to the members of this church, not the preacher. Look to the widow who held a baby in her arms. Our first Scripture lesson features a widow named Naomi. Many of you know the story of Naomi and Ruth. They both lost their husbands while living in the land of Moab. Anyone in here know anything about Moab? Not Moab, Utah. Moab in the book of Ruth is the place dreams go to die, and Ruth and Naomi nearly got stuck there, which is about what happened to some members of this church last Wednesday morning. One woke up Wednesday morning, saw the election results, and couldn’t get out of her pajamas. A person can get stuck in Moab. On the other hand, I know that others of you woke up Wednesday morning and felt like you had arrived in the Promised Land. I know that because I have this app on my phone that tells me whom all of you voted for. It’s called Facebook, and because I have Facebook and because many of you have been so vocal, I know how some of you voted, and I also know that those of you who voted one way are sitting right next to those who voted the other way. That’s because we have a church where not everyone votes the same way, and here, we remember that if you woke up on Wednesday morning and felt like you were stuck in Moab, you’re wrong, and if you woke up Wednesday morning and felt like you woke up in the Promised Land, you’re wrong, too, because it’s not a president who will lead us there according to Scripture. It's the Christ Child born in Bethlehem. That’s faith. Naomi had it. She left Moab, encouraged Ruth to marry Boaz, and when Ruth gave birth to a child and Naomi held that baby in her arms, she was holding the grandfather of King David and the ancestor of Jesus Christ Himself. My friends, I’ve been ready for this election to be over for like eight years now because these days, election cycles bring out the very worst in us, but this church brings out the very best. Whether you woke up on Wednesday morning happy or sad, don’t get so tied up in the results that you miss the miracle you are surrounded by. This church is a miracle, filled with faithful people who don’t vote the same way, and if we can sing together, then our nation can remember how to sing together, too. If we can love each other, then we can teach our nation how to love each other. If we follow the Christ Child, live the faith, making a difference in ways that are not always covered on the evening news, then the light will shine forth from this place. And that kind of faith, that kind of hope, that kind of love will change the world. Halleluia. Amen.

Our Help and Our Hope, a sermon based on Psalm 121 and Revelation 21: 1-6a, preached on November 3, 2024

Our first Scripture lesson began with a question. Verse 1 of Psalm 121 reads: I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where will my help come? It’s not a statement. It’s a question. “From where will my help come?” In the King James Version that many grew up hearing, it’s different. The King James Version reads, “I lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence commeth my help.” That translation has been corrected because it wasn’t in the original scrolls written thousands of years ago, and the correction makes more sense anyway because our help doesn’t come from the hills. Right? Where does our help come from? Our help comes from the Lord. That’s what the Psalm says. As Christians, we all know (in our heads) that to be true, but do we know (in our hearts) that to be true? On this All Saints’ Sunday, when we remember again our hope for eternal life in the Lord Jesus Christ and the promise that those goodbyes we’ve said were not farewells but “See you later on that Golden Shore,” let us also remember that no matter what happens on Election Day, our help and our hope is the Lord who made Heaven and earth. You know that in your head already. But do you know that in your heart? Sometimes I forget it because I listen to the news too much, and I feel the anxiety too much. Anxiety is contagious, and it spreads through our phones. We read articles written by people who tell us that the future hangs in the balance, and we get worked up and worried. That’s what happens to us. That’s what has been happening to me anyway. Then, I turn my attention to the candidates, who tell me that the future will be secure if I just put my hope in them and help them make it to office, but let us go back to our first Scripture lesson: I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where will my help come? From the hills? From the candidate? Or from the One who made Heaven and earth? My wife, Sara, and I have been watching this TV show called, “Nobody Wants This.” It’s on Netflix. We can’t watch the evening news, so we watch “Nobody Wants This.” It’s about a Rabbi who started dating a blond who has no religious convictions, and because she’s not Jewish and he’s the Rabbi, nobody wants this. Not his family. Not his congregation. Especially not his mother. There was a time when Presbyterians were like this, too. When a Presbyterian married a Methodist or, heaven forbid, a Catholic, it was a big deal. That happens with religion. In this country, it also happened all the time with race. Up until 1972, it was illegal for a white person and a black person to marry in the state of Georgia. Up until 1972. Thanks be to God, things have changed, but if you look it up, according to the institute of family studies, only 4% of marriages are between Democrats and Republicans. 4%. What’s going on here? My friends, on this All Saints’ Sunday, I’m thinking back to how many times I’ve stood at the grave to read our second Scripture lesson from the book of Revelation: Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth… I was reading those words in the old South, still scarred by the days of segregation. Back in Columbia, Tennessee, I did so many funerals at the old Rose Hill Cemetery. A place like Rose Hill Cemetery, with old trees on the side of a hill, is a good place to be laid to rest, but right on the other side of the hill was Rosemount Cemetery. I did just two graveside services at Rosemount. Rose Hill and Rosemount were separated by an old chain-link fence, and if you know about old, Southern towns, then you know that the cemeteries were once segregated as though Heaven would be as well, yet the preachers read: Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth. Think with me, not of what is, but of what’s coming: A city where God will make His home with all mortals. All people. Regardless of skin color or religious conviction. We’ve come a long way here in the South, and so now we know in our heads that Heaven will not be segregated by race or religion, but, if we won’t marry someone who votes differently than we do, then do we really know in our hearts about what’s coming? If we look across the aisle and see anything other than a brother or sister, who have we become, and what kind of a future do we believe we’re heading towards? As your pastor, I want you to go and vote on Tuesday if you haven’t already. I’m not going to tell you whom to vote for. Rev. Billy Graham endorsed Richard Nixon, and I have learned from his mistake. Instead of endorsing one or the other, I’m just going to tell you to vote, but as your preacher, I’m also telling you that as a nation, we’ve got to learn to love people who vote differently because Heaven will not have a separate section for democrats and republicans. Now, I don’t mean you have to agree with everybody. It’s our obligation to vote, and it’s in our blood to disagree. It is one of our constitutional rights to form an educated opinion, to think for ourselves and then to vote and to debate and to argue. If we stop thinking, we will stop maintaining our democracy, but if we stop loving our neighbor, we are no longer following Jesus. His greatest commandment was: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind and love your neighbor as yourself.” I learned a new word that I like while I was in Brazil the week before last. The week before last, I was with a delegation of pastors trying to help Brazilian church leaders develop new programs for their congregations, and while there, I learned a word I hadn’t ever heard before. It wasn’t a Portuguese word, either. It’s an English one: philoxenia. You might not have heard that word before either. Its antonym is more well known. The opposite of philoxenia is xenophobia. Xenophobia is fear of neighbor. Philoxenia is love of neighbor. If ever there were a word our society needed to hear, it’s philoxenia. If ever there were a word that we needed to practice in a society where so few of us even know our neighbor’s names, it’s philoxenia. We’ve got to practice that word. We’ve got to get into the habit of loving our neighbors because philoxenia, love of neighbor, is the word that will define our eternity. Not fear of our neighbor, but love. Love despite difference. Love over division. On this All Saints’ Sunday, I urge you to practice philoxenia now, for this is the way of Jesus, Who is our help and our hope. Amen.

It is Good to Say "Thank You," a sermon based on Song of Solomon 2: 8-13 and James 1: 17-27, preached on October 20, 2024

You may know that men have a strange way of expressing their emotions. We don’t always know what to say, especially when love is involved, and so in our first Scripture lesson, this young man is standing behind a wall, looking through the lattice. What is he doing back there? Why doesn’t he just come out to tell this young woman how he feels? Maybe you know. Eventually, he gathers the courage to say: “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away,” but that’s not easy for a man to say. It took me months to finally say it. Sara and I were in college together. It was a small school, Presbyterian College, with only 1,200 students. I fell in love with her the first or second time I saw her. Of course, I didn’t know how to tell her that. I couldn’t just come out and say it, so one day, I bought a medallion of beef jerky. I used to love beef jerky, and I bought that beef jerky shaped in the form of a medallion, and I chewed it into a heart, which I gave to her in the library. I’m surprised she didn’t report me to the campus police. I didn’t know how to say how I felt. Maybe you didn’t either. However, at some point, we all must come out from behind the wall to stop looking through the lattice. At some point, we take a leap, we step out to say what’s on our hearts, and no, it’s not always pretty, but it’s always beautiful when it’s love. Love is beautiful, and Bible scholars have been saying for years, since the time of the great Hebrew teachers in Babylon, that the Bible is the love story between God and humanity. Throughout history, God has declared His love to us, and Scripture records it. In the beginning, by speaking light into existence, God says to us, “I love you.” By creating this world for us to live in, By knitting us together in our mothers’ wombs and knowing the number of hairs on our heads, By breathing breath into our lungs, By saving us from slavery in Egypt, By speaking through the prophets when we’d lost our way, By giving us a life to live and a nation to live in, By offering His life on the cross that we would be saved, By dying, then rising, never giving up, loving us with an eternal love, We take the bread and wine and remember, yet all around us are God’s gifts. All around us are God’s declarations of love. God comes right out from behind the lattice to lay His heart on the line. How will we respond? Our daughter Cece left her sandwich on the counter last Wednesday morning. I ran down the driveway to give the sandwich to Sara who drove the sandwich down the street to Cece, who was walking to school. Sara handed Cece that sandwich, and Cece said, “Where’s my lunchbox?” Not, “Thank you.” Not, “I would have gone hungry without you.” But “Where’s my lunch box?” Now, our kids are not ungrateful. Our kids are wonderful. When Cece was in Kindergarten, she had to write an essay on her hero, and she wrote about me. That essay is three sentences long: “My dad is my hero. He built me a treehouse. That’s why he’s my hero,” and I will save that essay for the rest of my life because it feels so good to love someone with your whole heart and then to feel some of her love come back in the form of gratitude or acknowledgement. Parents know that. Grandparents know that. Boys who fall in love know that. How have you responded to God’s declarations of love? All around us, God has declared His love for us, but once God has come out to tell us that He loves us, once He’s stuck His head out from behind the lattice and stepped out from behind the wall to tell us that He would give His very life for us, how will we respond? Will we respond with a, “But where’s my lunch box?” For the fourth Sunday in a row, the book of James asks us the same question in plain terms: Are you doers of the word or merely hearers? Respond to God’s love with the religion that is pure and undefiled. Care for orphans and widows, just as God has cared for you. What happens to couples who stand up on their wedding day, making promises to each other that one keeps and the other doesn’t? What happens to friendships when one is always there yet the other makes excuses? What does it mean for us if God continues to pour His heart out to us, and we never respond? James says it plainly: Faith without works is dead. That’s what the book of James says because the author of this book of Scripture knows that faith, if it’s real, turns into something. Love, when it’s real, turns into something. When we feel it, we respond, and if we never respond, was anything there to begin with? I heard the most beautiful story last week. You may know that our own Jeff Knapp, when he heard that we were livestreaming our worship service into the Cobb County Jail, felt a calling to go and to get to know the men and women there. He started by feeding the jail staff. Then, he gathered up some volunteers, and together they restocked the jail library with more than 2,000 books. They’ve given out more than 500 Bibles. Clothed by the Spirit, Jeff trained to become a jail chaplain and is now leading Bible studies and praying with the men and women in the jail. His story is one of the most inspiring stories that our church has to tell, for he is living out his calling in a powerful way, giving up his time, and what is he receiving in return? Last week, he led a study with eight men, and when it ended and Jeff got up to leave, one of the men stopped him, saying that they wanted to thank him for all that he’s given them, and together, with the guard on duty, those incarcerated men began to sing. Who could imagine so great a mercy? What heart could fathom such boundless grace? The God of ages stepped down from glory To wear my sin and bear my shame. The cross has spoken, I am forgiven The King of kings calls me His own. Beautiful Savior, I’m yours forever. Jesus Christ, my living hope. That’s what they sang. All they had was a song, but that was more than enough. What do you have to give? Have you taken the time to thank God for what He has given you? My friends, take this card, fill it out, and may this act of returning to God a portion of what He provided you be a sign of your gratitude. For it is good to say, “Thank you.” Amen.

Happy Are Those Who Do Not Follow the Advice of the Wicked, a sermon based on James 3: 13 - 4: 3, 7-8a, preached on October 13, 2024

The Bible frequently warns us about money. Did you know that? Look it up. Roughly 2,350 verses concern money in the Bible. Nearly 15% of everything Jesus spoke about related to money and our possessions. I guarantee you that less than 15% of my sermons mention money because money is uncomfortable to talk about. I don’t feel good preaching to you about money, for I assume that not a one of you woke up this morning and said, “We’ve got to get to church. It’s the stewardship season, so I bet Joe is going to tell us what to do with our money. I don’t want to miss that.” However, there are 39 parables in the Gospels. 11 out of the 39 are about money, which basically makes money and how we deal with possessions Jesus’ favorite subject, but why? Jesus wasn’t like the preachers we know who talk about money all the time. They have private jets, and they drive Bentleys, and I swore to myself a long time ago that I’d never become one of them; however, this morning I want to talk with you about money because I’ve learned something from our second Scripture lesson. I’ve learned something from talking with friends and family who are responding to the disaster in Western North Carolina. I’ve learned something from my own life and my own habits. It’s that money can’t buy happiness. I want you to be happy, so I want to talk with you about money this morning because our culture is obsessed with money, but money can’t buy happiness. Amy Sherwood gave me an article to read the week before last. It was an incredible article. I read it twice. In this article, the author was writing about our culture and how we used to spend time thinking and talking about how to live a good and meaningful life. Young people used to say things like, “I want to become a doctor so that I can help people.” Many still say that, but today, one might also hear a young student say, “I want to become a doctor so I can make a lot of money.” Why would anyone do that if money can’t make them happy? From the book of James in our second Scripture lesson, we read: Who is wise among you?” Do what they do. Who is living a meaningful, fulfilling, joyful life? Do what they do. Who is happy? And who is not just happy, but joyful? Who is satisfied? Think about them and do what they do. This is good advice, and so our first Scripture lesson basically said the same thing: Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked. Who is wicked? Who is unhappy? Who is on the brink of giving up and shutting down? Don’t do what they do. That’s basic, common-sense wisdom. Do what happy people are doing. Don’t do what miserable people are doing. Yet, if you watch our kids and the kind of people they’re trying to be like, you’ll see that we are not following that basic, common-sense wisdom, but the very opposite. Who do our kids want to be like? You can name them. They’re rich and famous, but are they happy? According to a study published in The Atlantic, compared to the general population, the musicians that our kids love and want to be like (think of Taylor Swift or Morgan Wallen), these big celebrity musicians who tour the country and have so many fans, they die young compared to the general population, and the leading cause of death is suicide. Who among you is wise? Do what they do. Who among you is miserable? Don’t do what they do. That’s what we’ve read in Scripture. That makes sense, but here’s the problem: Sometimes happy people confuse us. For example, my parents have happier in the last few weeks than they’ve been in years, even though a hurricane swept through their neighborhood. They live in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Until last Thursday, they haven’t had power. They’ve had no clean water. They’ve had spotty internet service. They live in an old cabin, and up until hurricane Helene and all this destruction, they didn’t know their neighbors, and so I assumed they’d want to come down here to stay with us. They refused, however, and I couldn’t understand why until I talked with my mom last Tuesday and she said, “We haven’t eaten a meal alone but once since all this happened. Every lunch and dinner, we either invite our neighbors over or they invite us over. We don’t have hot water, but some of our neighbors do. They don’t have power, but we have a gas range, so we have them over for dinner. They all bring a little something for us to share. We play cards by candlelight. We don’t want to leave. We’re having too much fun.” Now, I’m not trying to say that this disaster in Western North Carolina that also swept through Georgia is a good thing. I don’t believe the hurricane that swept through Florida is any good either. When people die it’s not good. It’s tragic, and I promise you, God was the first to weep over this devastation, and yet happiness is spreading among those who are serving because we were built to help each other. We were built to give of ourselves. We were built for generosity while the way of the world makes us selfish. Florrie Chastain Pate has been in Ashville as well. She lives there. She’s here visiting now, but she’s been helping people in Ashville for so long, feeding people in Ashville. She started a nonprofit organization that takes food from restaurants and conference centers and distributes it to hungry people in the city and out in the rural areas around Western North Carolina, so when the hurricane hit, she kept doing that same thing. She was driving a truck to those same communities, feeding hungry people in the wake of the storm, and people have supported her. Restaurants have cleaned out their freezers, and Ashville residents have siphoned gas from their trucks to give her fuel for hers. However, Flori also told us that there were people who had cars flattened by trees, who wouldn’t allow them to siphon off the gas. There were people with vacation homes who wouldn’t allow these kind people to go in to get the food out from those freezers before it rotted so that someone could eat it. You might say, someone that selfish should be punished. I say, they’re being punished already, for there is no more miserable person in this world than the one who thinks only of himself. There is wisdom from above, which says: Give it away. Share what you have. You might have less, yet you will have more joy because this is the way you were created to be. This is the way of Jesus. This is the way of salvation. This is the way of the happiest among us. What is this pledge card thing? What is this all about? Will the money I give go to buy Joe a private jet or a Bentley? I promise, it won’t. I’m not that kind of a preacher. I’m more interested in getting you a ticket out. This is a ticket out from the earthly misery we all find ourselves trapped in. Money cannot buy us out of the sadness and isolation that we too often feel, yet generosity can. With generosity comes joy. With giving, we receive. When we live as Jesus taught us, sharing what we have, we make our way to the gates of Heaven and the joy that our Creator intends us to have. So fill this thing out. Volunteer for Rise Against Hunger this afternoon. Give. Serve. And discover joy. Amen.

Those Who Are Generous Are Blessed, a sermon based on James 2: 1-17, preached on September 29, 2024

A few years ago, when I was just a newly-graduated seminary student, learning what it means to be a pastor and hoping to strengthen my interview skills, I ran into a well-respected veteran preacher, who had just retired from a large church in Manhattan. I asked him for advice. I asked him: “What should I be doing to improve my skills as a pastor?” and expected him to say something spiritual, like, “Young man, you need to dedicate yourself to the discipline of daily prayer and Bible study,” or maybe something practical, like, “Seminary didn’t teach you everything, so take a class in church administration.” Instead, he looked at the scuffed loafers on my feet and said, “Son, you need to shine your shoes.” That was his suggestion to the young pastor. It wasn’t spiritual advice. It wasn’t practical advice. You might say it was superficial advice, and yet I’ve passed that same advice on to as many people who would listen because if you want to be taken seriously in this world, you had better take seriously your appearance. Clothes makes the man, so the old saying goes. Or have you seen that Tide commercial with the man in a job interview who has a great big stain on his shirt? The stain is shouting so loudly that you can’t understand what this man is saying. Appearance matters. We are always judging each other based on outward appearance. This is the way of the world. Parents wonder why their children want to spend $60 on a water bottle. It’s because it’s not just a water bottle. It’s a status symbol. We are judged by how we dress and by the cars that we drive. We judge our neighbors according to the state of their front lawns or by the signs in their yards. Yet, our second Scripture lesson warns against that kind of behavior. From the book of James, we read: If a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit at my feet,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? My friends, with this real-life example of how superficial we can all be, James prompts us to ask ourselves: Are we living like Christians, or do we just say that we’re Christians? Do we talk about grace, or do we live it? Jesus didn’t judge based on outward appearance, so why do we? Do you remember what the Pharisees said about Him? “Who is this that eats with sinners and outcasts?” That’s what they said because Jesus was different. He could see past the stain on a man’s shirt. He even went to Legion, the man who was chained up out in the graveyard, and saw him as a child of God. He did the same with the hemorrhaging woman who had been bleeding for 12 years. No one would go close to her, and yet Jesus turned and saw her. That’s because Jesus saw beneath their outward appearances, and Jesus has seen beneath our outward appearances, so if we say we are Christians, but we act more like Pharisees, then what good is our faith? That’s the big question that the book of James asks us. James says twice in our second Scripture lesson for today that faith without works is dead. Therefore, I ask you today, if we say we follow Jesus, but we don’t take the time to really love our neighbors equally, are we living our faith? No. If our faith has no flesh and bones then it’s not alive. It’s dead. Our intentions must turn to action. If we say we believe but don’t do what we believe, our faith isn’t worth anything. That’s a strong word, but it’s a good one. What I hear James saying to us today makes me think of “thoughts and prayers.” Do you know what I mean by “thoughts and prayers?” That’s a refrain that people use in the midst of disaster. After a school shooting or a hurricane, people will send their thoughts and prayers, yet a band called the Drive-By Truckers wrote a song about how we all respond with thoughts and prayers, yet if those thoughts and prayers never turn into action or policy change, “then I don’t need your thoughts and prayers”. That’s what James is talking about. Thoughts and prayers must turn to action. Our faith must live or it’s dead. If we don’t share the grace that we’ve received, do we truly know what grace is? Speaking of grace: Almighty God knows who we truly are and loves us anyway. Do you believe that? As a family, we’ve been watching a TV show called Young Sheldon. In an episode we watched last week, Sheldon’s mother, who is often pushed to the brink of sanity by her children, is sitting on a swing set crying and smoking a cigarette. If you saw the episode and if you knew what Sheldon had been up to, you’d understand why she’s crying and smoking that cigarette. If you knew what she had to put up with, you might have lit her cigarette and poured her a drink. That’s what her neighbor does. When the neighbor lady peeps over the fence and catches her smoking, she doesn’t judge her for crying or for smoking. Instead, she says, “Don’t smoke out here in the open where all the neighbors can see. Come on over to our henhouse where not even God can see, and let’s have a wine cooler… and bring those cigarettes.” Now, God can see what we do, even in the henhouse, only God doesn’t look down on us, dolling out condemnation, but grace. Having been loved, accepted, and forgiven by God, we would be hypocrites if we didn’t share the love, acceptance, and forgiveness that we have received with the people around us, regardless of the size of the gold hoops in their ears. Do you hear what I’m saying? Why show preferential treatment to those who are clean and upright, when God has shown love, acceptance, and forgiveness to you when you were neither clean nor upright? If you’ve received generosity, then be generous. If you’ve been forgiven, then forgive. If you know what grace means because you’ve needed it, then don’t be stingy with grace. Share it. Spread it around. Show kindness. Live empathy. I can’t help but do it. People will ask me sometimes, “What’s it like to be the pastor of the church you grew up in?” I tell them that they knew the truth about me and called me to be their pastor anyway. There are people here who remember me when I was 13 years old, sneaking out of confirmation class. There are people here who remember how I drove a car painted checkerboard. There are people here who had reason to judge me, but instead, offered me grace, and even though they knew I wasn’t perfect, they called me to be their pastor anyway. Do you know what that feels like? Do you know what grace feels like? I’m not perfect. I’m far from it. You know that. I know that, and so I would be the king of all hypocrites if I didn’t share the grace that I have received. That’s what James is trying to say. If you know what grace is, if you’ve felt the love of God, if God’s salvation is a gift that you’ve received, if you believe it in your bones, then let it turn into action, for faith without works is dead. It’s not enough just to believe. We also must live what we believe. It’s not enough to stand up and to say the creed and to sing the hymns. We have to give those words some flesh and blood. We have to put our faith into action or it’s empty. Is your faith empty? My friends, this is not just the first sermon from the book of James. This is also the first sermon for the stewardship season, when I’ll be asking all of you to fill out a pledge card and to estimate your financial giving to First Presbyterian Church. If you want to put your faith into action, this is a good way to do it. If you want to take that step in sharing a portion of what you’ve received from God, this is the means to do it. If you’ve received generosity, then be generous. If you’ve been forgiven, then forgive. If you know what grace means because you’ve needed it, then don’t be stingy with grace. Share it. Spread it around. Those who are generous are blessed, and they know it, and so they don’t just talk about it. They live it. My parents and my wife, Sara’s, parents live in the path of that storm that swept through last Thursday. I was on the phone trying to get my parents to come down to stay with us. They’re in Hendersonville, and they don’t have power, but they live in this old cabin with a spring and gas appliances, so they’re having the time of their lives living in that old cabin as though it were the 1800’s. They think it’s great and won’t come down here. I wish they would, though. Sara’s parents have been staying with us since Friday, and I hope they’ll stay until the power is back on where they live. In fact, I’d be glad for them to stay a lot longer than that because it feels good to do something for those who have done so much for us. They could stay with us for the next 10 years, and we still wouldn’t have repaid them for all that they’ve done. C. S. Lewis said that our tithes and offering are something like that. The father gave his son $10 to go to the store so that this son could buy his father a present for Father’s Day. The son spent 9 dollars on himself and $1 on the present for his father. So it is with us. Even when we give God our full 10% pledge, it’s still nothing compared to what God has given us. If you know that you’ve been blessed by God, but you’ve never filled out a pledge card before, then do you really know it? Faith without works is dead. Those who are generous are blessed, and they know it. Amen.

Restoring Fortunes, a sermon based on Job 42: 1-6, 10-17, preached on September 22, 2024

There are some great videos on the internet of first-time drivers, but in these videos, it’s not the teenage drivers who are being recorded. It’s their nervous parents. Our daughter Lily showed me a video of a mother sitting in the passenger seat of her car. Her daughter was excited to be at the wheel, having just received her learner’s permit, yet her mother was nervous. She was clearly tense, but it was more than that. It might be more accurate to say that this mother presented as someone with generalized anxiety disorder. As her daughter moves towards a stop light, Mom reaches with her left arm to brace herself with the dashboard. Her right hand finds the grab handle above her door. She looked like she was expecting an explosion at any second. This is the way it often is. That’s how I was driving with our 15-year-old daughter, Lily. When Lily first got her learner’s permit, she asked me to ride with her around the neighborhood. I was nervous, but not because of how Lily was driving. Lily drove slowly and cautiously. She made full and complete stops at all stop signs. She looked both ways before moving into intersections. After the wave of anxiety passed through me, I was impressed, and she was proud, so when we made it back to the house after circling the neighborhood, she wanted to park my car in the driveway. That’s a challenge because our driveway snakes around the house. It’s a difficult driveway to back out of or to pull into, yet she was threading the needle. She navigated her way up the driveway, around our house. She pulled up right next to her mother’s car. Slowing down right in front of a brick retaining wall, which marks the raised bed of my garden, she wanted to bring the car to a full and complete stop, so she slammed on the gas. The front two wheels of the car were up on the raised bed of the garden. She yelped, then cried. I asked her to put the car in park and told her to hop out and go inside. I backed the car back off the raised bed of the garden. No real damage was done. I haven’t grown many tomatoes this season, but no real damage was done to the car, and wise parents tell me that it’s just this kind of hardship that all kids need to face as they’re learning to drive. A small mistake that doesn’t hurt anyone is just what every new driver needs as they learn to drive because such real-life suffering teaches a lesson that can’t be learned from the safety of a drivers ed classroom or a driving manual. I can’t teach her everything. Sometimes, she’s got to walk that lonesome valley on her own. This is the fourth sermon in a row based on the book of Job. Today, we read the ending of the book. Four weeks ago, we read the beginning, and what I want you to notice today is how Job changes. I want you to notice that the way Job parents his children changes. If you remember back to the beginning of the book before anything bad happened, Job was working overtime to protect his kids. We read in the first chapter: He would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all; for Job said, “It may be that my children have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.” This is what Job always did. This is what every parent is tempted to do. I remember one afternoon when Lily was very young. I had read an article about the dangerous content on the internet, and so I called my grandfather and told him that I was thinking about having the internet disconnected from the house to protect little Lily from what all she might find there. He said, “While you’re at it, keep her from getting a library card because there are plenty of dangerous ideas in there as well, and maybe don’t send her to school or let her learn to read. Maybe just wrap her in bubble wrap. That should do it.” Do you get his point? My grandfather, knowing that resilience comes from making mistakes, facing temptation, and suffering, wanted me to help Lily learn to live in the world rather than protect her from it, which is where Job ends up at the end of the book. We just read that Job, had seven sons and three daughters. He named the first Jemimah, the second Keziah, and the third Karen-happuch. Notice that the book of Job names the daughters and not the sons. That’s unusual. Then, here’s something even more unusual. We read: In all the land there were no women so beautiful as Job’s daughters; and their father gave them an inheritance along with their brothers. Now, there are daughters named in the Bible. Sometimes, the Bible tells us the names of the girls, but never do the daughters inherit anything from their fathers. I can think of one other instance in Scripture where it happens. It’s in the book of Numbers, the account of the daughters of Zelophehad. Everyone knows about them, right? With this uncommon practice of preparing his children for his death by providing all his children an inheritance, what is the Bible trying to tell us? What changed in Job? What did he learn from suffering? From suffering, he learned that life doesn’t last forever and that hardship strengthened his relationship with God, so why overprotect them from it? Why not equip them to stand on their own? Will they make mistakes? Of course. Might they squander their inheritance on loose living? Sure. Think about what happened with the Prodigal Son, who squandered his inheritance and returned to the Father valuing his relationship with him. We can pray for them, but think about what happens when they pray on their own from the ash heap. There’s a beautiful story that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. tells about learning to pray. It was late one night in January of 1956. He couldn’t sleep, and so he got out of bed, went to sit at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee by his side. He said that he could feel the darkness of despair creeping towards him. A few weeks earlier, Rosa Parks had refused to move from her seat on a bus in Montgomery, sparking the Montgomery Bus Boycott. King, who had just turned 27 years old, was the leader of that boycott and had received an endless stream of death threats against him and his family ever since. He had reached a point when the forces standing against him seemed impossible to overcome. It was the middle of the night, and he was away from home. Had he been in Atlanta, he would have gone to see his father and would have asked his father to pray for him, but his father was too far away, and it was too late at night to call. King wrote: I was ready to give up… In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. [It was as though I had never prayed before.] I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying, ‘Stand up for righteousness, stand up for truth, and God will be at your side forever.’ Almost at once my fears were gone. My uncertainty disappeared and I was ready to face anything. My friends, Job is a book of the Bible in which the main character suffers. Suffering has so much to teach us. Suffering taught Dr. King to pray. That dark night of the soul set him free from his fear to stand up for righteousness. Yet his father would have spared him that suffering, just as I would have spared Lily from her first car accident. I want you to know that I asked Lily if I could tell that story about her first car accident. She told me, “You’ve already told everyone, so why not tell it in a sermon?” I’m not a perfect father. I wish I were, but I’m not. I’m not Jesus. Jesus is more than me, and I want our girls to know Him more than I want them to think that I’m perfect, and more than I want to protect them from every hardship that they may face. I want them to know that in the pit of hardship, they will not be alone. No matter how dark the shadow, His light will still shine. No matter how bad the mistake, no matter how deep the shame, His grace is for them. He is more than me, and as much as I want to protect our girls from everything, I won’t always be there, so I want them to have the inheritance of faith. Job gave his daughters an inheritance: an inheritance of gold that would help them, preserve them, and keep them. Yet, our inheritance is even greater than that, for our fist Scripture lessons tells us that our High Priest, is holy, blameless, undefiled, and exalted above the heavens. Unlike the other priests, He has no need for sacrifices, for He died once and for all. We are but humans. He has been made perfect forever. You may not meet Him when the sun is shining and the birds are chirping, and everything is just fine, but not every day will be like that. On those dark and stormy days, look, and you will find Him. The blessing of suffering is that while we are suffering, Jesus, and our need for Him, becomes clear, and Jesus is the most precious inheritance, the greatest fortune. Amen.

He Made His Peace with God, a sermon based on Job 38: 1-7 and 34-41, preached on September 15, 2024

Did you watch the debate last Tuesday? I doubt it would have occurred to me had the presidential debate not been last Tuesday, but because it was, and I was thinking about it on Wednesday morning, I realized that what we’re seeing in our second Scripture lesson is something like God’s counterpoint to Job’s opening statement. Last Sunday, we heard from Job. Having suffered a horrible tragedy, losing his children, watching his home and property go up in a cloud of dust, he bravely voiced his bitter complaint to the Almighty. That was last Sunday’s Scripture lesson. In today’s Scripture lesson, we’ve heard God’s counterpoint, and in every way, God’s counterpoint is overwhelming. Thinking of last Tuesday night, if this were a debate between Job and God, I have little doubt whom would be declared the winner. I can hear the political commentators offering their post-debate analysis as God wraps up His counterpoint. Behind a desk for the evening news, one political commentator might say: I know that Job’s been preparing his argument from the ash heap for days now, but God’s been preparing for this debate since the beginning of time. Then, another might chime in: Job was pretty into his emotions tonight. His words had feeling and passion, and he represents so many of the downtrodden that it’s impossible not to be moved by his words, yet when God speaks, He sounds like James Earl Jones, may he rest in peace, and that gives His argument an authority that rings throughout time and space. Here’s an important difference between the debate last Tuesday night and the debate we’re hearing unfold from the pages of Scripture: God isn’t trying to beat Job in this debate. God isn’t trying to win an election here. God is trying to help Job heal, for at the right time, healing from grief and trauma may mean lifting your eyes up from the misery of your ash heap to appreciate the majesty of God’s creation. We lift up our eyes from our suffering to the hills or the stars, the sunset or the sound of a baby’s laugh, to be moved by the power of God. God’s counterpoint is something like that: The Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind: Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Who was it that swaddled the water of creation and set a limit to the sea? Have you commanded the sun to rise? Have the gates of death been revealed to you? Can you comprehend the expanse of the earth, much less the universe? Do you know where snow comes from? Or what about something easier: like do you know where the mountain goats give birth? Or do you know why the ostrich has wings but can’t fly? The purpose of these questions is not just to put Job back in his place, but to help him see that there is more to life and more to God’s creation than his season of tragedy. Now, tragedy can’t be glossed over. God isn’t like the preacher at the funeral who tells everyone not to worry because now another angel has joined the choirs of Heaven. There’s a time for rejoicing in the promise of eternal life, and there’s a time for weeping over what’s been lost, and you can’t gloss over the heartbreak and maintain your mental health. You can’t deny the stark reality, for when we see suffering clearly, our own or the suffering of our neighbor, we can offer real compassion instead of empty platitudes. God isn’t offering Job the empty platitudes that his friends offered. God is better than that. I can imagine God being the first to weep with Job in that ash heap, for when our hearts break, God’s heart breaks as well. God has said nothing to Job until now, for in the ash heap, Job wouldn’t have been ready to hear what God has to say. I had a friend in Tennessee who told me that when he was child, his house burnt to the ground. The house his father built with his own two hands was there one day, and it was an ash heap the next. This friend of mine remembers how his father stood in that ash heap for one day and one night, not moving, not speaking, not eating, just standing, for we all must go down to the dust to acknowledge our hurt. There is no way around it. There is no denying anger or sadness. You can’t bury it nor can you drown it. You can’t go around the valley, you’ve got to go through it, yet after acknowledging our hurt, after sitting in the ashes of our despair, maybe after shouting out to God and voicing the injustice of it all, God lifts our heads to see that the world is bigger than our pain and, in our lives, there is not only sadness but also beauty. The heartbreak of the past need not rule our future, for there is more to life than ashes and despair. We can’t get stuck in the ash heap. I practice meditation a little bit. I’m not becoming a Buddhist or anything. I just downloaded an app on my phone that helps me relax and clear my head. According to an article published by the National Science Foundation, the average person has between 12,000 and 60,000 thoughts per day. 80% are negative, and 95% are repetitive. Sometimes, what we need is to lift the needle from the record player so that the same thoughts stop cycling through our heads. Maybe not everyone in here remembers record players, so let me tell you something about them. Records are how people used to listen to music before all the music was on our phones. You used to have to go to a store to buy music. First, there were record stores. A record was this big, flat plate with grooves on it. If you left your record in a hot car, it became a salad bowl, and if you scratched your record, the needle of your record player might get stuck at a certain point, and it would just repeat the same part of that record again and again and again. Our minds will do the same thing. Our minds will fixate on the same thought again and again and again. We’ll ask ourselves, “Why did he have to die?” again and again and again, or “What should have happened?” again and again and again, and sometimes, the best thing that can happen is for someone to come along and hit the table so that the needle bounces and the record moves on to the next song, for Job’s tragedy is not the only track in the story of God’s great and glorious salvation epic. There is more than his sadness and more than his frustration. Yet once he’s fixated on it, once the needle has found that groove of suffering, those thoughts go through his mind again and again and again on repeat. Therefore, God speaks: Have you commanded the sun to rise? Have the gates of death been revealed to you? Can you comprehend the expanse of the earth, much less the universe? Think about all that there is beyond the thoughts in your head. That’s a good thing to do: to get beyond your temporary suffering to consider the majesty of salvation. That’s why it can be good for grieving people to take a trip to the Grand Canyon. We took our kids there, and one of our daughters stood on the rim of the Grand Canyon and said, “This place has nothing on Kennesaw Mountain.” Most people don’t say that. Most people look down upon the Grand Canyon and think about how many years it’s taken for the river to wear that canyon down. Most people go to the Grand Canyon and think about how ancient our earth really is, how majestic is God’s creation, and how many ups and downs this world has seen. Acknowledge your sorrow but remember there is more to life than your sorrow. Can you get your mind off that groove? Lieutenant Dan couldn’t. Do you remember that guy? I can’t think of a scene in film or TV that makes me think of Job as much as Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump. Lieutenant Dan, who lost both his legs in Vietnam, straps himself to the mast of Forrest’s shrimp boat and faces down a hurricane. Do you remember? There’s rain and wind, and Lieutenant Dan is up there in the middle of it. Out of the whirlwind, God spoke, and the next day, having braved the storm, Lieutenant Dan jumps into the water and swims off into a peaceful sea. Then Forrest says, “He made his peace with God.” My friends, I don’t know why bad things happen. I’m not convinced that the Bible ever gives us a good answer to that question, but this I do know: There is more to life than our problems and our pain. God has not only provided us with suffering, but also with joy. Can you find joy? Can you see the joy that God has provided? You see, sometimes we heal from grief and injustice when we stop paying so much attention to the grief and the injustice. You who are downtrodden and heavy laden, look up in wonder at the majesty of creation. Consider with me the grace of God. Remember, not just your suffering, but the suffering of Jesus on our behalf. Remember salvation. Consider, not just the sufferings of this present age, but the promise of Heaven. As the sun is setting, look for the fingerprints of the One who will cause it to rise again. Rember the words of our choir’s anthem: Over my head, there is music. In the night’s deep darkness there is music in the air. I hear it when I’m praying, I hear music in the air. There must be a God somewhere. Indeed, there is. God is here. God is with us. Always and forever. Halleluiah. Amen.

It Could Not Have Been Worse, a sermon based on Psalm 22 and Job 23: 1-9, 16-17 preached on September 8, 2024

Traffic is the worst, isn’t it? Last week, I heard about one family in our church who drove to Indiana for Labor Day weekend. The worst leg of the journey was between Chattanooga and Nashville: bumper to bumper the whole way. It sounded like torture, and some of you drive in traffic like that every day. I can’t imagine. Not to brag, but when I’m riding my bike here to the church, it’s often like riding through a Norman Rockwell painting. Last Tuesday, it was that way. There was a breeze, and birds were chirping. I waved to some neighbors on our street. Then, I rode up Stewart, turned onto Maple, where people were walking their dogs, and parents were pushing strollers to our preschool. It was one of the most idyllic experiences of my life. Only then, I rode my bike through our west parking lot. Around 9:00 AM in our west lot, when parents are dropping their kids off for preschool, it’s like a miniature version of 285. The main parking lot isn’t big enough to handle all the parents dropping off their preschool students, and the cars can’t clog up Kennesaw Avenue, so parents and grandparents circle around our west lot on the other side of the bridge. A lot of cars circle up other there. It’s typically the most aggressive driving that I have to ride my bike through during my morning commute, but last Tuesday, it was worse than usual because blocking the line was a semi with a load of lumber. It was parked, while a forklift unloaded that lumber and tried to carry it through our parking lot and across Kennesaw to a house being renovated. I got off my bike, and when I walked past Suzanne, our assistant preschool director, I heard her say, “It’s always something.” So often it is. Neighbors use our parking lot, and I love that people make good use of our parking lot. It’s a ministry of this church, just providing such a large, open area for people to use. How many teenagers, learners permit in hand, have learned to drive in that great big parking lot? Some have learned to ride their bikes in that lot. On Saturdays, a farmer’s market sets up over there, and they bring their surplus to our food distribution ministry. As a church, it’s good to partner with others who are doing good in this community. When people call and want to use our space, we help. Marietta High School holds their AP exam testing here. In a couple weeks, all the school counselors from Marietta, Cobb, and a couple other school systems will hold a big meeting in Holland Hall. We’ve hosted Rotary, the Sheriff’s Department, the Police Department, we host community choirs and retired teachers’ events: all kinds of stuff, and so I can say with confidence that we would have been more than happy for one of our church’s neighbors to use our west parking lot to unload lumber for their home renovation. I would have asked that they not do it during preschool drop off, or those parents are going to kill you. However, I never had the chance to ask because they never called. Now, I get it, asking for things can be hard. Just talking to people can be hard. I was a shy kid. When I was 8 years old, my mom walked me into the Lawrence Street Rec for basketball practice, pointed out my coach, and told me to go over and introduce myself for my first practice with his team. When she came back to pick me up an hour later, I was standing right where she left me because I was too shy to go and introduce myself. I can still be that shy kid. When I have to have a difficult conversation with someone, it takes me a minute to psych myself up, and then it takes me a minute to recover. After a hard week of too many difficult conversations, I may go to the grocery store like I did last Friday, a little too thin-skinned to deal with one more person. Last Friday, our daughter Lily drove me to the grocery store, where we picked out all kinds of stuff. Sara gave us a list, but the new flavor of Pop-corners, nacho cheese, found their way into our buggy. Plus, Moon Drop grapes are in season. We had to have those, so in the check-out line, when the cashier asked us if we’d found everything that we needed, I said, “We found a lot more than what we needed,” then I waited for her to laugh… or smile… or something. Instead, she said, “I hear that same line at least 60 times a day.” Next time, I’m going to the self-checkout line. It can be hard to talk to people. Sometimes, it’s easier not to. After a week like the one we’ve just had and during a week like the one we’re headed into, we can’t just bottle up all the fear and all the anger. Let’s think about how to let some of it out. We’re in the book of Job again today. It’s the perfect book to read in the days after a school shooting and in the days before the anniversary of 9/11 because here, Job shows us what to do with our shattered expectations and some of our darkest feelings. For the month of September, each sermon will be based on a passage from the book of Job, and last Sunday, Cassie introduced us to Job beautifully by saying that Job stands at the boundary of religion and faith. Another way of saying the same thing is to say that in our second Scripture lesson, Job is stepping away from the routines and trappings of a religious life and into having a soul-bearing relationship with God. That’s the difference between religion, as Cassie was talking about it, and faith. Another way to say it is to say that there’s a difference between going to church, following along with liturgy, singing the hymns on a Sunday morning and learning what it really means to trust in Jesus in the midst of the storm. There’s a difference between wearing a cross, having religious home décor on the wall of your house so you look like a Christian and trusting God with your deepest fears and darkest emotions. Do you know what I’m saying? Religion is a box that we check when we’re filling out paperwork. Faith is a relationship, and relationships must weather disappointment and heartache. Sometimes, there is anger and misunderstanding that must be expressed, so when a reporter asked Ruth Bell Graham, who was married to that great preacher Billy Graham, if she had ever considered divorce, she responded: “Divorce? I never once considered divorce. However, I often considered murder.” What’s the difference between calling yourself a Christian and having a relationship with God? When you have a relationship with God, you open your mouth and let God know what you’re really feeling, even if what you are feeling is ugly, so we read in our second Scripture lesson that Job answered: My complaint is bitter; and God’s hand is heavy despite my groaning. God has made my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me. If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face! For Job, his whole world had fallen apart. His children were dead. His flocks of camels and goats were gone. His home had been destroyed. Things could not have been worse, and in our second Scripture lesson, he lets God know about it. Can you imagine? Friends, the last time I preached on this passage from the book of Job, it was 2021. We were in what was, for me, the darkest days of the pandemic. We were passed the time when we were all leaving our groceries in our cars. We were passed the time of thinking that everyone was going to die. We were in that point of the pandemic when some of us thought we needed to be careful and others of us were wondering if maybe the whole thing was a hoax, which meant that for people like me who were trying to lead organizations of mixed-opinioned individuals, it was the darkest days of the pandemic in 2021 because of the stress. I started having migraine headaches. I wasn’t sleeping a whole lot. This passage from Job was a difficult scripture lesson for me to wrestle with then because, despite Job’s honesty, if you would have asked me how I was doing in those stressful days of 2021, I would have said, “I’m doing fine.” Why? Because it takes a whole lot of faith to be honest when things are going badly. It takes a whole lot of faith in our relationships with God to let God know about our greatest vulnerabilities or our deepest pain, and so we say that the book of Job stands at the edge of religion and faith because in this book, Job trusts God with how he’s really doing. How’s he doing? Awful. Everything has fallen apart. If his boss had walked up to him in this moment, he might have lied. If his grandkids had walked up to him in that moment, he might have put on a brave face. Maybe that’s how we need to be around some people; however, we put on a brave face before God to our own detriment. Many who have reached that dark place in life must wrestle with a lie. They must wrestle with the lie that there’s nothing to be done and nothing to say, that no one wants to hear it, and no one really cares. Doubt that lie. Dismantle that lie with the truth that God will listen, for when we begin to open up about our fears, we live our courage, and when we trust God with our heartache, we live our faith. Our first Scripture lesson, undoubtably one of the most depressing, gut-wrenching psalms we could ever read, Psalm 22: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Where have you heard those words before? Jesus quotes this psalm while He’s being crucified because life for Jesus wasn’t perfect, yet He was perfect. He was perfectly faithful, and so in His darkest moment, He trusted God enough to reveal to Him His pain. If another school shooting has you broken hearted, or if the state of affairs in our nation and our world keeps you up at night, do not bottle up what you’re feeling. Instead, live your faith. Trust God with what you’re feeling. Let your Father in Heaven know. Trust Him with your hurt and your heartache. Doing so may not make all your problems go away. However, doing so will strengthen your relationship with Him, which will change everything. Amen.

In the Strength of His Power, a sermon based on Ephesians 6: 10-20, preached on August 25, 2024

“Put on the whole armor of God.” That’s stronger than how I end each worship service. When we get to the end of each worship service, I always say the same thing: As God’s own, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, and patience. Clothe yourselves is different from arm yourselves, but sometimes the world outside requires armor. People are fighting all kinds of battles every day. The great preacher Dr. Frank Harrington, who served the Lord at Peachtree Presbyterian Church, used to talk about how he was all the time fighting the battle of the bulge. He wasn’t talking about what happened on the Western Front during the winter of 1945. He was talking about how hard it was some mornings to button the top button on his white shirt. He was talking about the battle of temptation to avoid the potato chips and to go for the carrot sticks instead. He was talking about the belt he put on and the feeling he got when he ran out of holes. Just last week, I received a joke from Fran Hammond put out by “The Laughing Christian.” It said: I got on my bathroom scale this morning, and let me tell you, the full armor of God is heavy! Halleluia! In the days of the Ephesians and the Apostle Paul, the battle was different, but it was also the same. Each day, those Ephesian Christians walked out into a world in which their faith was tested and their identity was questioned. Likewise, we will all walk out of this worship service, going into a world where our patience will be tested, and it will happen the minute we try to turn out of our parking lot. We live in the world where sin and death, evil and hatred, envy and vanity still have power, and if we are to resist, some days it takes more than just clothing yourself with love. Some days, what you need is the belt of truth. Speaking of the battle of the bulge, whenever I put on a belt, I’m noticing the hole I used the last time I put that belt on. I wear the same belt often enough that I can tell which hole is my standard. Then there’s the hole one notch up that I use for the week after Thanksgiving. My friends, we are not living in exile in Babylon or under the power of the Roman Empire, thanks be to God, but we are living in a society so overrun with standards of unattainable beauty that girls are turning to anorexia and bulimia at younger and younger ages. If a little girl looks at her reflection in the mirror and says anything other than, “I am a beautiful child of God,” then she needs to add a belt of truth to her outfit. As you think about the armor of God this morning, think about what it takes to extinguish the arrows that come at us. Do you have your shield? Do you have your helmet? Have you put on your belt of truth so that you know who you are while living in a society that tells you you’re only as good as you look? This is what Christians have been doing for generations. We have maintained our conviction despite the world around us. Let me tell you about the Huguenots. Do you know anything about the Huguenots? About 500 years ago, John Calvin, the theologian, became so popular that Christians throughout Europe were reading what he had to say. He lived in Geneva, Switzerland, and there, those who followed his interpretation of Christianity were called Calvinists. In Scotland, they were called Presbyterians. And in France, they were called Huguenots. Many of those French Huguenots immigrated here and became some of the first Europeans to settle in Charleston, South Carolina. One of the oldest churches in that city of Charleston is the old Huguenot church, established in 1687, but not all of them left France. Other Huguenots stayed, and during World War II, when the Nazis invaded and took over the country, a small village of Huguenots wrestled with what they should do. How would they live their faith under Nazi occupation? How would they go on living without compromising their convictions? How would they survive without losing their souls? With the armor of God in mind, their pastor stood in the pulpit of that town occupied by the Nazis and said, “The responsibility of Christians is to resist the violence that will be brought to bear on their consciences through the weapons of the Spirit.” In other words, put on the breastplate of righteousness, for they may have invaded our borders, they may be occupying our nation, their hatred and cruelty may surround us, but we can still defend the state of our hearts. That’s part of what a breastplate does. It guards your internal organs. It protects your heart, and those Huguenots, they couldn’t push back the Nazi tanks with their hunting rifles, yet with pure and loving hearts, they provided sanctuary to Jews all during the war, and by the time the war ended, the total number of Jews they had saved was over 5,000. “The responsibility of Christians is to resist the violence that will be brought to bear on their consciences through the weapons of the Spirit.” “Put on the whole armor of God.” Wear that belt of truth. Put on the breastplate of righteousness. And lace up the sandals in preparation for the gospel of peace. That’s such an interesting phrase: lace up your sandals in preparation for the gospel of peace. I think it means that if your boots get too used to marching off to war, if your fingertips get too used to arguing on the internet, if your brain gets too good at criticizing, you won’t be ready for the dawn of peace. You might come home from the battlefield, the cease fire may be called, but if you’re too used to fighting a battle, you won’t be ready for peace. On the other hand, those Huguenots knew that the Nazi occupation wouldn’t last forever. They didn’t surrender nor give in, but they resisted. They were so rooted in the faith that they were like a tree whose trunk twisted by the wind, whose branches were battered, but remained standing once the hurricane passed. That’s the main thing about this armor of God. It’s not about winning the battle. It’s about standing firm until the battle is won, and Who is it who will win this battle for us? Who is it who’s always fighting on our side? For several years now, every day, I’ve been reading a morning devotional. I went through “Jesus Calling” a couple times. Do you know that one? I just moved from “Jesus Calling” to “Jesus Listens,” and last week in “Jesus Listens,” I read this line, that amid all the headlines we read each day, something most important is always left out by the journalists. We read the headlines of the conflict in the Middle East. We read about the desperation of the Palestinian people. We read about the plight of women in Afghanistan. We read about the upcoming presidential election. And we think we know who the major players are in all those conflicts, but unless we remember that in the midst of all of that, God is working His purpose out, we’ll never really know what’s going on out in the world. My friends, we don’t need to worry about the outcome of the battle, for the war is already won. We just can’t lose our souls in the midst of it. Don’t sacrifice your friendships. Don’t spend your time spreading the division. Put on that belt of truth, and the breastplate of righteousness, and the helmet of salvation, and lace up those sandals in preparation for the gospel of peace. Don’t take up your sword to fight the battle that He’s already winning. Notice with me that the sword in the whole armor of God isn’t a lethal weapon for us to wield. It’s the word of God. The sword is the word of God, but in the Bible, do you remember how Peter used his sword? Jesus was being arrested to be taken to His trial, where He’d be condemned and crucified. Peter thought Jesus needed him to defend Him, so he took out his sword and he cut off the ear of an enslaved man named Malchus. I think about that, and I remember how impulsive we all can be. We want to stand up and defend ourselves and our religion and our convictions, forgetting that Jesus doesn’t need us to fight for Him. He’s already won the victory. My friends, we are in the middle of a spiritual conflict that will not be solved with a political solution. Our struggle is not against blood and flesh, but against the cosmic powers of this present darkness. That’s what the Bible says. So, we need to be, not Christians who are ready to lash out at our brothers and sisters, but mature Christians who are always wearing the armor of God. A great preacher named Oswald Chambers once said, “Spiritual maturity is going from being thin-skinned and hard-hearted to thick-skinned and soft-hearted.” Have you ever been around someone who was thin-skinned and hard-hearted? Of course you have. They’ve taken over the internet. However, the spiritually mature wear the armor of God to maintain a tender heart, open and compassionate. Wear that armor and be quick to listen, slow to judge. Don’t break under criticism but remember who you are. Be spiritually mature. May the state of your heart remain steady in spite of the chaos around you. Stand firm, knowing that the storm will pass, and that Christ will have the victory. Be strong in the strength of His power. Amen.