We Wish to See Jesus, a sermon based on John 10: 11-18, preached on April 21, 2024

Last Friday, Rev. Brandon Owen of First Baptist Church and his wife, Lesley Ann, invited Sara and me out for dinner to Two Birds Taphouse on the Square. That sounds like the beginning of an old joke: A presbyterian minister, a Baptist minister, and their wives walk into a bar. We had dinner at Two Birds, and last Friday, every staff member had on matching t-shirts. It was one employee’s last night working at Two Birds before she moved to Greece, and every staff member wanted to celebrate her. They all had on matching shirts, and customers could help her raise money for the big move by putting a little cash into the jar. I was excited to do that. Rev. Brandon Owen was as well, and it got me thinking about what a special workplace Jeff and Rachel Byrd have created in that restaurant they own, where the customers love the staff, the staff loves and supports each other, and this one staff member was so sad to leave. This staff member, Alex, had been working at Two Birds since the restaurant opened seven years ago. In the restaurant industry, that’s a long time, so while I’m sure she stayed that long in her job because of the pay or because the hours worked for her life, when I think about the matching t-shirts and the number of people wanting to wish her well, I could see why she stayed for so long. She didn’t have a typical job, and she didn’t work for a typical boss. I know a father who once told his son that people stay in jobs for one of three reasons: the money is good, they love the people they work with, or they feel good about what they’re doing. I think he’s right about that. People will stay in jobs for the money, even if they don’t like the people they work with and they don’t really enjoy the work that they’re doing. They’ll also stay in jobs because they love the people they work with even if the money isn’t good and they don’t especially love the work. They’ll also stay on because the work matters. I think of teachers and school counselors and social workers. The money is OK, but no one teaches for the money. Teachers teach because the work matters. Police officers put their lives on the line because they have the chance to make a difference. Now, imagine how many teachers would teach or how many police officers would sign on if they got paid what they deserve. Have you seen those police cars out everywhere advertising that the MPD is hiring? This father also said, “Son, if you ever find a job with two of those things, you won’t ever leave.” I feel especially blessed to have all three. I’m grateful for that, but I wonder about everybody else who is just working for a living. Are you just working for the money? This morning our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of John is all about the Good Shepherd. He’s not like the hired hand or any typical shepherd. He’s different, but before we can really appreciate Him, think with me about a typical shepherd. A typical shepherd is something like a typical boss. A typical shepherd isn’t bad or evil; he’s just a shepherd. I knew a man back in Tennessee who raised cattle for a living, and he always got frustrated in Sunday school classes and Bible studies because people would talk about shepherds without knowing anything about them. They’d be reading Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. That’s all good and right and true, but if the shepherd in the psalm is anything like the man I knew who raised cattle, some sheep from the fold would be dinner soon enough. That’s what shepherds do. Shepherds raise sheep and turn those sheep into sweaters at best and lamb chops at worst. That’s the deal with a normal shepherd. That’s what a typical shepherd does. How does a shepherd act? In what way does a shepherd take care of his sheep? Does he hug the sheep and lie down beside them? Does he pick burrs out of their wool and make sure they’re fed and watered? Sure. Most shepherds are going to do some of that the same way that most employers are going to take decent care of their staff, but how does the shepherd make a living? Why does the shepherd have sheep at all? It’s so he can shear them or milk them or eat them. And that’s the reality that most of us know. Whether it’s our bosses or our boyfriends, many people want something from us. Will they take care of us? Will they protect us? Will they help us out? Sure, they will, but they also want to get paid. They’ll scratch our backs if we scratch theirs. Our bosses will pay us in exchange for our labor. Our politicians will learn our names and listen to our concerns, but they also want our votes. Even pastors can be like this. How many pastors have I known who were wonderful and kind and supportive, but as soon as I joined the church or turned in my pledge card, I was no longer the center of attention because he got what he wanted from me, and he had other sheep to go and find. I haven’t ever wanted to be that kind of shepherd. I’ve wanted to be more like the Good Shepherd, who, as Rev. Cassie Waits just said in the children’s sermon, knows my name, for the world is full of transactional relationships. We work for a paycheck. We exchange money for haircuts and checkups. We spend money so that we can buy goods and services. This is the way it is, often enough. However, this is not the only way it is, for while our world is full of shepherds who treat us fine but want something from us, the Good Shepherd knows our names, and it’s not because He wants something from us. As a matter of fact, while a typical shepherd will sheer or milk or kill his sheep to make a living, the Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. He died to save us, and what does He ask in return? He asks us to go and do likewise. John 15: 9 and 12 says, “as the father has loved me, so I have loved you… this is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” That happens often enough. Back to Two Birds. Sitting in Two Birds, thinking about those t-shirts and the staff celebrating their coworker who was leaving and wishing her well, Rev. Brandon Owen told us about this experience he had at a Braves game. He was right in the middle of a financial transaction at Truist Park. He was paying too much for a hot dog when he received a message from his mother telling him that his Aunt Sonya had died. As he told us this, he told me that I remind him of his Aunt Sonya, and Sara said, “Joe sometimes reminds me of a 65-year-old woman, too.” I don’t know what she meant by that, but I thought it was funny. We laughed, and Brandon went on with his story. As the news of his Aunt Sonya’s death sunk in, tears filled his eyes, so when he gave his credit card to the woman at the concession stand, she saw the tears and asked him what happened. My friend, Rev. Brandon Owen of First Baptist Church, just opened up to the stranger at the concession stand. He told her he just got news that his aunt had died, and she reached over the barrier between them and hugged him. That’s a great story, right? He’s already told it in a sermon, so he said I could use it. I tell it to you this morning because, while the way of the world may be quid pro quo, the way of Jesus is also at work in our lives. People are following the way of Jesus in this dog-eat-dog world too, and I don’t want you to ever forget it. Think about all those times someone went the extra mile or showed you kindness without expecting anything in return. Has it ever happened that the person in front of you at the drive through window paid for your order? Or has it ever happened that the good people in your office rallied together to support you through a hard time? Last Friday, I was preaching the funeral for Fannette Adams, and right during the welcome, tears came to my eyes. They came to my eyes because it was a Friday afternoon at 2:00, and yet the whole Sanctuary was full. A whole congregation showed up to be there for Fannette’s family. They were daughter Emily’s coworkers. They were elders who serve on the Session beside Bebe. They were Fannette’s high school classmates. They were neighbors and friends. They all stood as the family walked into the Sanctuary, and as I stood in the pulpit looking around, I was moved to tears because there He was. There He was in His church where the followers of the Good Shepherd were loving each other just as He loves them. His love for us isn’t too good to be true, and His commandment is that we accept His love, let it fill us up, and show this world that we live in, where too many people struggle to see the light because of all the darkness, that the Light of our Risen Lord, Jesus Christ, will not go out, for He is Risen. Halleluiah. Amen.

Have You Anything Here to Eat, a sermon based on Luke 24: 36-48 preached on April 14, 2024

Several years ago, there was a trend to wear bracelets with the letters “WWJD” on them. The bracelets were meant to remind the wearer to ask him or herself, “What would Jesus do?” I remember wearing one as a teenager, and so while driving, I’d occasionally glance at the bracelet and would check my speedometer, asking myself, “Would Jesus speed?” or, joking with friends, maybe making fun of someone we knew, I’d glance at the bracelet and would ask myself, “Would Jesus be laughing right now?” That was the intended purpose of the bracelet, yet given the supernatural abilities of Jesus, Dr, David Bartlett, a well-known Bible scholar, once asked the question, “What would Jesus do?” and said, “Jesus would give the blind man his sight. Jesus would make the leper clean. Jesus would multiply the bread and fish to feed thousands. Jesus would face death without fear. Jesus would die and on the third day, would rise again.” In other words, it’s not always good to ask ourselves, “What would Jesus do?” because there are things that Jesus can do that we cannot. Jesus, the son of God, did supernatural things, and yet, Jesus, the risen Christ, also did perfectly human things. The Bible tells us that Jesus wept, just as we do. Jesus laughed, just as we do. When Jesus stormed the Temple and toppled the tables of the money changers, it was because Jesus got angry, just as we do. Now, in our Second Scripture lesson, Jesus, the risen Christ, Who has done the most supernatural thing of all by rising from the dead, follows up this awe-inspiring miracle by asking his disciples, “Have you anything here to eat?” Eating is not supernatural. Jesus got hungry; we get hungry. Being hungry and asking friends for something to eat is an act that everyone here is capable of, so while I don’t doubt the power of God, Who might enable one of us to walk on water or speak in another language, think with me today about Jesus, the divine Miracle Worker, the One who conquers death and is risen to rule the world and what has He to teach us in asking this question, “Have you anything here to eat?” What does it mean that Jesus who wept, who laughed, who got angry, also got hungry, and when He got hungry, He made a request of his disciples, “Have you anything here to eat?” when likely He could have waved His hand and produced a five-course meal or touched His belly and freed Himself from such mortal struggles as being hungry. Have you ever wished you wouldn’t get hungry? I wish I could resist tortilla chips at Mexican restaurants. Why can’t I stop eating them? “What would Jesus do?” the bracelet asks. I say, “Jesus would never give into the temptation of tortilla chips the way I do,” and yet Jesus, the risen Christ, asked His disciples, “Have you anything here to eat?” Why? I believe it is because they were afraid, and Jesus knows that there are a million tiny things that reduce our fear. He knows that there are hundreds of tiny gestures that make us feel safe. One of them is sharing a meal, but another is a simple handshake. Have you ever thought much about the power of a handshake? Imagine with me that you’ve just signed a contract with a new business partner, and when you go to shake her hand, she keeps her hands in her pockets. How are you going to feel? What I’m trying to say is that a handshake is more than a handshake. And a meal is more than food. Jesus knows that. Have you ever experienced it? I have. Just last week, I was on my way to a Presbyterian pastors conference in Moab, Utah. It was for Presbyterian ministers at larger Presbyterian churches. Only 15 were invited from across the country, so I was honored to be invited and proud to be a pastor at a larger Presbyterian church. A wealthy donor put us all up in a beautiful lodge next to a river. The only catch was that to get there I had to fly in a plane that didn’t have TVs. I sat down and there was no built-in TV for me to watch. In fact, there was a sticker where the TV might have been that said, “At this seat, we’re pleased to offer you free personal device entertainment.” Translation: You don’t get a TV to watch movies. You can look at your phone or use your laptop, so I put in my earbuds and took out my computer. Later, the flight attendants came around with snacks. Because they charged me $40 to check my luggage, I thought they were also going to charge me for a snack, yet lo and behold, the flight attendant came to our row with off-brand Chex Mix and full cans of ginger ale. Closing my computer and taking out my ear buds to focus on eating my snack, the woman next to me, who noticed that I had been working on this sermon, asked me if I was Roman Catholic or Presbyterian. “Presbyterian,” I responded, “but how did you guess that?” I asked. She saw the sermon I had been working on and noticed the bulletin draft I had open. Knowing that her nondenominational church doesn’t use the liturgy that we do, she put it together that I must be Roman Catholic or Presbyterian. Then, I introduced myself. I told her my name. She told me hers and that she lives near Peachtree City. I told her that I live in Marietta. The next thing I know, she’s telling me about her son who lives near the Battery, her other son who is doing his residency in Albuquerque, and her youngest son, also named Joe, who died by suicide two years ago. I told her I was sorry. She thanked me for listening. Would she have told me that if no off-brand Chex Mix had been provided? I doubt it because a handshake is not just a handshake. A meal is not just a meal. Knowing that, this morning I draw your attention to a most human request that the resurrected Jesus makes of His disciples: Have you anything here to eat? He’s just done the most supernatural thing that He could possibly do. Rising from the dead is so amazing, so supernatural, so miraculous that the disciples can’t even believe He’s real. Did you notice that in our second Scripture lesson? They were all disbelieving and wondering, so He invited them to touch His hands and His feet, yet that wasn’t enough. As Dr. Bartlett said, “What would Jesus do? Give the blind his sight, heal the leper, multiply the loaves and fishes.” There are all kinds of supernatural things that Jesus does that keep Him outside our grasp and keep us from understanding Who He is, so this morning, think with me about this most human thing that He does, this most basic thing He does, which is also something that from time to time defies our grasp because we get busy doing all kinds of other things so that we don’t eat together either. What keeps us from sitting down and eating together? Maybe one kid has baseball practice three nights a week. The other has dance lessons. Plus, they both have after-school tutoring to get ahead. Parents work. Dogs must be walked. The grass must be cut. All kinds of important meetings and enriching activities have families moving in so many different directions that getting around the dinner table for a shared meal can seem impossible, so when I hear Jesus ask, “Have you anything here to eat?” while I don’t hear anything supernatural in the request, and while I don’t hear anything impossible, I do hear Him teaching us something important and life changing. I hear Jesus, the perfect, sinless, miracle-working, Son of God, revealing once again the incredible gift that we look over, for He is there in the breaking of the bread. That’s what we say so often at the communion table, and yet the kitchen table is an ordinary miracle with healing powers all its own. In my first or second year of ministry, I was invited over for lunch by a mother in the congregation. The invitation came about three weeks after I had been asked by the local newspaper what the Bible really says about homosexuality. In 250 words, I wrote my response. I wrote that while there are passages in the Bible that speak to the issue, Jesus never mentions it, and if Jesus never mentions it, then why do we spend so much time talking about it? That’s all I wrote, but that statement was enough for one member of the congregation to photocopy the article and place it on every pew in the sanctuary while another member of the church held a petition for people to sign if they’d like for me to be fired. It wasn’t the best day of my life, and it was followed by multiple lunches where I was lectured. Multiple cups of coffee where I was interrogated. I would go to visit church members in the hospital, and after I prayed for them, they’d tell me how they felt about what I wrote. Three weeks after I wrote the article, this mother invited me to her home for lunch, and I remember calling Sara from the driveway, “I hope this is the last one. I’m tired of this.” When I walked in, she was visibly nervous. She had prepared too much food for us to eat. I remember there being a bowl of chicken salad and another bowl of tuna salad. We ate in awkward silence for at least 30 minutes before she finally asked, “Can you really tell me that my son isn’t going to hell?” Have you anything here to eat? That’s the question that Jesus asks. Moreover, it’s a question that we all ask because we are all hungry, yet it’s not only a question about food, for a handshake is not just a handshake nor is a meal just a meal. A meal is an invitation to see Jesus as He is, right here, risen and with us, so sit down and eat with people. Eat with your family. Invite your neighbors over. Why? Because we don’t see Jesus clearly even though He is always with us nor do we see each other clearly because we are moving too fast, yet when we sit down to break bread together, we remember that He is with us, and He will be with us forever. Halleluiah. Amen.

Whom Are You Looking For? A sermon based on John 20: 1-18, preached on March 31, 2024

Last Wednesday morning, I was emptying the dishwasher, and as I began putting the clean glasses back in the cupboard, I noticed that several glasses were missing. However, I knew where to find them. I won’t tell you which daughter, but of the two, we have one who loves to take a glass of water up to her room yet is unable to bring the empty glass back to the kitchen. I don’t know why this would be. It’s one of the great mysteries of life. Occasionally, in a fit of frustration, I go upstairs to my daughter’s room. There, on her bedside table last Wednesday morning, were nine glasses. Nine. Her bedside table does not have room enough for all those glasses, so they sat there precariously, stacked one upon the other. You can possibly tell that this habit of hers gets on my nerves. It gets on my nerves because I can’t understand it. I picked up the glasses one by one to take them downstairs to the dishwasher. As I was attempting to hold all nine in two hands so that I might carry them all down in one trip, I noticed that the nine glasses were covering up a valentine’s card. The card wasn’t signed, but I believe it came from her grandmother. Here it is. I stole it, and this is what it says, this valentine to our daughter from her grandmother: The way you are is awesome. The way you are is smart. The way you are is fun and funny, Kind and full of heart. The way you are is magic. The way you are is wow! No wonder you’re so loved for just the way you are right now! That’s what you think, Grandma. You don’t have to pick up her dirty glasses. That’s what I thought to myself for just a second, before I thought about how true those words are. Looking around, I noticed again that there is so much in her bedroom besides an accumulation of dirty glasses. On her wall are multiple awards. One, which she received just the night before, came from her coach who remarked on how mature she is. How respectful. How kind, so slowly but surely, my frustration with one aspect of my daughter retreated so that I might take in the whole of who she is. Has something like this ever happened to you? Do you know what I’m talking about? The Rev. Joe Brice, who served here as an associate pastor for several years (He’s now at the Presbyterian Church in Rockmart.), likes to say, “What you focus on, you get more of.” What does that mean? It means that when I’m pulling weeds, weeds are what I see. It means that when I read the newspaper, the more I focus on typos, the more typos I see. Just last week, I was reading an article on the bridge disaster in Baltimore. The paper I was reading reported that there was an accident on the Francis Key Scott Bridge. That’s not right. It was the Francis Scott Key Bridge, yet the typo is beside the point. Why focus on typos when people have been injured? Why focus on typos when people have died? However, in focusing on tragedy, the same thing happens. When we focus on it, we see more and more. Surely, Mary woke up that Easter morning and said to her family, “Make your own breakfast. I can’t think about it.” Who could think about breakfast amid such a devastating tragedy as what she’d witnessed? I imagine that in the days after His crucifixion, the agony on His face was imprinted on her consciousness. Having watched Him suffer, seen the blood that dripped down His cheeks, heard the crowd who shouted for His death, followed on the slow march to the place where He would be crucified, those images haunted her dreams. I imagine that all the details and all the joy of life fell away so that tragedy was all that she could see. When tragedy walks in, it just takes over, doesn’t it? When injustice appears, it’s hard to think of anything else. And so that Easter morning so long ago, I’m not surprised that Mary didn’t see Him. What we focus on we get more of, and what Mary was focused on was tragedy and injustice, so when she went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb, she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciples and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” My friends, we know that’s not what happened; we know that this is no case of a missing corpse, but think with me about why Mary Magdalene assumed someone had stolen His body. Think with me about why Mary looked up and, in seeing a man, assumed He was the gardener. She couldn’t see Him, in the same way that when I get focused on the part of our daughters that gets on my nerves, I can’t see the whole of who they are. She couldn’t see Him, just as those who read for typos miss the content. Why would Mary Magdalene, consumed by tragedy and injustice, show up at the empty tomb and assume that someone had stolen His body? It’s because what we focus on, we get more of. What we expect to see, we see. If I’ve been watching the news for too long, I go out into the world expecting to be robbed. If I listen to what the talking heads say about illegal immigration, I go out into the world angry and afraid. Just after a funeral, I get so messed up in my head. Tragedy takes over. It takes a minute for me to remember that death will not have the final word. Last week, I sat with my family at the funeral of a 42-year-old mother of four. That funeral was so tragic and so heartbreaking that I fell into a depression. I looked out onto the world preparing myself for the other shoe to drop. In my subconscious mind were questions like: What’s going to happen next? What is God going to take from me next? Where is the next hurt going to come from? When will the next disaster strike? I asked these questions because the tragedy was all that I could see. The tragedy is real, “and yet,” the preacher at that funeral said. “And yet,” is such an important phrase. The preacher at the funeral last week told us that he’d walk with Josh, the widower, and that Josh would say, “I’ve never been through such a hard time, and yet, the church has been there for us every day. I’ve never been so angry with God, and yet, the flowers of spring have never been so beautiful.” That stuck with me because, my friends, there is plenty for us to be upset about. There is plenty of tragedy for us to focus on. If we only focus on the tragedy, though, we will miss the One who is standing right in front of us. “Mary,” Jesus said to her. When He first appeared, she thought He was the gardener, for like me, like us, like our world, she was so practiced in being disappointed that she had no room in her vision for a miracle. What we focus on, we get more of, and I want you to know this morning, that I’m tired of being focused on tragedy. I’m tired of being focused on the bad news. I’m ready to hear the Good News, and I want you to know that the Good News is just as real and as true as anything else, yet we are so practiced in being disappointed that tragedy is clouding our vision, so on this Easter morning, I’m calling on you to see through the lens of faith. I want you to practice your Easter vision. (That’s not exactly what I mean, but it’s close). I’m talking about how I wake up in the morning, look myself I the mirror, and all I see is how the hair that was once on the top of my head is now sprouting from my nostrils. It’s been said that we produce up to 50,000 thoughts per day, and 80% of those are negative. The impact of all those negative thoughts is that we’re dragging through life, preparing ourselves to be disappointed, so remember, thoughts are not the same as reality. The Evil One will use our thoughts against us, and so I ask you this Easter morning the same question that the Risen Lord, Jesus Christ asked Mary Magdalene so long ago, “Whom are you looking for?” Are you looking for death? You will find it. Are you looking for injustice? You will find it. Are you looking to be disappointed? Are you looking for signs that the world is falling apart? Are you looking for a reason to give up hope? You will find it. And yet, if you are looking for the Lord Jesus, you will find Him too, for He is risen. Every morning, I wake up and I write down 10 things that I’m thankful for. Just 10. Every time I get started, I get stuck. It’s slow going because I’m trying to be grateful for what God is doing in my life right after I’ve read the newspaper which has reported on how the world is falling apart. The world has taught me to focus on the flaws, not to be thankful but to complain, and so when I sit down to write down what I’m thankful for, I’ll write down one or two, then I’ll slow down, and I won’t know what to write next, and yet, once I get going, once I reframe my thinking, once the powers of sin and death lose their grip on my consciousness, I can’t stop writing. I can’t stop giving thanks to God who has provided me with a house in which to live, a wife who loves me, two beautiful children, a church to serve, an office with books, the sun that shines, flowers that bloom, springtime all around, for He is risen. Just take a moment to think about it with me. Think about this choir, think about this Great Hall, think about how far we’ve come, and be reminded of the truth: He is risen. Now look around and see these people. Who are they that the Lord has surrounded you with? Criminals? People who will take from you? No. These are your brothers and sisters in Christ, for the message that the world has been pushing into our ears is a false gospel, a lie, meant to manipulate us and push us into despair and isolation. Remember that He is risen and greet your neighbor with joy in your heart. I’ve been moping around too long. You know that? I’ve been moping around too long, focused on what I don’t have. I’ve been moping around too long, afraid that someone is going to take something from me, when the Lord has given me everything. My friends, He is risen. In His wings comes salvation. In His death comes to us the gift of everlasting life. Go out into the world, prepared to see Him, for He is risen. He’s not dead. Hope is not dead. Love is not dead. For He is risen. That’s the message of Easter. The cold earth gives way to the blooms of tulips. Broken relationships are mended by the miracle of forgiveness. And broken people like us, the Lord shows up to us, redefining us. Bringing life to everything. Halleluiah. Amen.

It Was Already Late, a sermon based on Isaiah 50: 4-9 and Mark 11: 1-11 preached on March 24, 2024

I’ve been listening to the most interesting podcast lately. It’s called The Rest Is History, and recently the two hosts, both English historians with great British accents, have been engaged in a six-part series focused on the sinking of the Titanic. It’s amazing how interested I’ve been, considering how I know the end of the story. I know that the ship is going to sink. Still, I held my breath as the two historians talked about the way the iceberg sounded as it scraped the great ship’s side. I felt the passengers’ panic as water spewed into cabins and stairwells. Knowing what was going to happen to those 1,500 people who drowned, as the great ship approached the iceberg, I so badly wanted the captain to steer around it. Likewise, here we are on Palm Sunday, and tragedy looms on the horizon. Today’s service may feel like a celebration. Today’s hymns have elements of joy and triumph. Hosanna, loud hosanna, the little children sang. But knowing the whole story, those hymns sound to me a little like the music the band played on the deck to keep Titanic’s passengers from panicking. Today, we wave our palm branches. We celebrate as He rides into the city. Only, we already know that the cheering of the crowd will change tune. Soon enough, He’ll be betrayed by Judas. Arrested by soldiers, He’ll be led to a cold cell in chains. Peter will deny Him. Pilate will lead a sham trial. Then, the crown of thorns will be pushed into His brow. His back will be whipped. Nails will pierce His wrists. Upon the Cross, soon enough He’ll die. We read this morning from Mark’s Gospel that it was already late as He rode into Jerusalem. It was too late. Too late to turn around. Too late to chart another course. The iceberg lies ahead and Jesus rides straight for it. As the Prophet said in our first Scripture lesson: He was not rebellious. He did not turn backward. Instead, he gave his back to those who struck him, He offered his cheeks to those who pulled out his beard. Rather than hide his face from insult and spitting, he set his face like flint determined to face what lies ahead. Consider with me on this Palm Sunday the character of our Savior, Jesus, knowing that any mortal ship captain would have tried to avoid it all. On the night the ship sank, the Titanic had two lookouts in the crow’s nest, Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee. Their job was to help the ship’s captain avoid disaster, which is what I like to do. I like to avoid disaster, and I think about how I might have avoided it even after my ship has sunk, so I think about divorce and how, when I hear that a couple is getting a divorce, I speculate on who did what. I want there to be something that someone did to cause it. I’m looking for the iceberg that they should have steered around. Likewise, I think of terminal illness. When my grandmother suffered a stroke, I remember how my father walked through the weeks prior analyzing each moment for clues and thinking of ways he might have stopped it from happening. “How could I have missed the iceberg?” he asked himself. “Whose fault was it?” he wanted to know. “Was it mine?” This is a human reaction to tragedy. We double up our lookouts in the crow’s nest. We are always looking to the horizon for things that might happen. That’s what keeps me up at night: thinking about how I might I avoid disaster. Late at night, I’m looking out onto the next day, asking myself: Where are the icebergs and how can I steer around them? However, Jesus rides right into the city. He faces the cross, head-on. Why doesn’t He try to avoid it? Why doesn’t He steer around Jerusalem if He knows what’s ahead? It’s because His death is not a mistake. His death is not a disaster. The cross that He faces willingly will bring us our salvation. What that means for us is that He redefines all our tragedies and mistakes by His death on that cross. He saves us from those bad decisions, even the ones that we are afraid will stick to us forever. Back to the Titanic: Bruce Ismay, I learned from my history podcast, was the chairman of the White Star Line, who owned the Titanic. He didn’t die when the ship sank. Instead, he gained a place on a lifeboat and lived to became one of the most hated men in America and Europe. You can imagine why. People needed someone to blame, and so they blamed him. They blamed him for not building the ship strong enough to withstand the iceberg. The blamed him for claiming that the ship was unsinkable when it obviously was not. These accusations stuck to him. They never left his mind, and even in death, his tombstone bears this inscription: “Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whither so ever the governor listeth.” That’s a verse from the book of James in the King James Version. In those words, you hear the guilt that kept him up at night. Over and over again, sleep evaded him as he asked himself, “Why did my ship sink?” Consider the inscription on his tombstone and know that even in his death, he regretted that one bad decision. The worst day of his life seems to have defined him forever. This is my fear as well. Maybe it’s yours. I hold on to some of the most embarrassing memories of my life. I still think about the pop-fly that came to me in right field that I dropped. In 9th grade, I got in a fistfight and lost, and I still think about it all these years later. Likewise, I don’t know how many sermons I’ve preached, but the ones I remember most are my worst, and so sometimes I imagine that my tombstone will bear the inscription: Dropped that pop-fly. Never won a fight. At least his sermons were short because they sure weren’t any good. Yet, that won’t be the case. My friends, we will not be defined by the tragedies. We will not spend all eternity living down our mistakes. Whatever we did on our worst days will not be chiseled into our tombstones. Instead, the inscription will be the mark of the cross, for Jesus’ redeeming death washes over us until all our sins are forgiven. The death He died redefines us. The suffering He endured, the sacrifice He made, the tragedy that His road leads to provides us a grace greater than all our sin. My friends, it was already late when He rode into Jerusalem. It was already done. He had set His face like flint for He rode on to save us all, that we be defined not by our worst days, but by His redeeming. Don’t you go around carrying those heavy burdens. Lay them down before the Savior Who bore the cross. Don’t you go through life with regrets any longer. He died that you and I might live. I worry about us, for so often we remember what has already been washed away. We are still carrying that which He has taken from us. Why? Why carry the debt when He has paid the price? Why worry about the icebergs that we hit when His death changes everything? It was already late. It was already done. Halleluiah. Amen.

We Wish to See Jesus, a sermon based on John 12: 20-33 preached on March 17, 2024

A little girl named Braelyn, she’s the daughter of one of our church staff members and is the granddaughter of Joe and Sandra Brice, wrote me this note that says: Dear Pastor Joe. Sorry I missed you. I’ll stop by again. I hope you have an amazing day. Signed, Braelyn. PS: Don’t forget to wear pink tomorrow. That postscript about wearing pink reflects one of Braelyn’s core convictions. She thinks that every Wednesday we should all wear pink. In fact, she told me that once she gets elected President, her first order of business will be putting that practice of wearing pink on Wednesdays into law, so I’ve started early. Maybe you should, too. Get into the habit before you get into trouble with Madam President herself and wear pink on Wednesdays. Her note prompted me to go through my children’s art collection. I’ve saved all kinds of kid’s art. This morning, I have my note from Braelyn. I have a storm trooper by Aiden Bush. I have our daughters’ artwork. Lily brought this home from her first day of preschool. And one Father’s Day, Cece drew this trophy for me. It says “#1 Dad.” I’m proud of this. Then I have a “Best Pastor of the Month” award from Margaret Ann Breed. I have a whole stack of notes and drawings that former preschool student Kate Callahan gave me. This is one of my favorites. When she graduated from our preschool, we rang the bell in the sanctuary to celebrate. Then, I have a stack of portraits that kids have drawn of me. Here, when Gabriel was little, he drew this picture. It’s mostly dots, but there are some glasses at the bottom, so you can tell who it is. Then this one; the young man who drew this one of me is joining the church today. I’m there preaching in the pulpit on Ash Wednesday. Here’s one that Jacob Duda drew. I don’t have a lot of hair on the top of my head. He could have put a little more hair up on top, but the artist chose not to, which reflects reality. I am getting older. There’s less hair on my head than there used to be. Also, I now use this special lotion that is supposed to reduce the size of the bags under my eyes. That’s not a fun product to buy, so sometimes getting older gets me down. Achy muscles and joints that pop can get me down. Getting older isn’t easy. If you add on top of those physical maladies the realities of inflation, social division, and the looming specter of this next presidential election, grown-ups like us will go looking for something to brighten our day. That’s why it doesn’t surprise me that these Greeks in our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of John want to see Jesus. The Gospel of John tells us their national origin. When the Gospel of John gives us a detail like that, it’s important to pay attention. Why Greece? Why is this detail important? Greece in the time of Jesus is sort of like England during World War II. England in the 20th Century is coming to a new understanding of herself because some of her colonies are now stronger than she is. England in World War II needs the help of America because England is on its way out as far as being the world power. By the time World War II comes around, you might have said that England was in decline as our star was rising. Today, some might say that we are in decline as China’s star is rising. Regardless, in the time Jesus, Rome was the global power, which meant Greece no longer was. The Greeks go to Phillip and say, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” What do they want from Jesus? Likely, they wanted the same thing that I needed when I found that note from little Braelyn hanging on my office door. They needed something to brighten their day, yet instead of finding a note from a child, they hear from Jesus some words that surely changed their whole perspective. Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” What does that mean? Let me try to tell you. One night last week, I was looking for a printer cartridge so I could print my homework for class. I’m back in class at Columbia Theological Seminary trying to finish up my doctorate, and I was digging through all our junk draws looking for printer ink when I came across a picture that I had taken of my wife, Sara, when we were in college. She looks exactly the same now as she did then. I don’t. Back then, I had long, flowing hair. A mane of auburn hair. And at 19 I noticed Sara, but she wouldn’t go out with me right away. I just pined for her for a while until I had to get my hair cut for a week-long school trip to Honduras. A friend on my hall named Danny Nelson had his brother’s barber’s license hanging on his wall. It wasn’t Danny’s license, but it was close enough, so he cut my hair, and when Sara saw me with my clean-cut hair, suddenly, she saw someone she might take seriously. What I’m trying to say is that I keep getting older. We all keep getting older. We are like the Apostle Paul, who said: When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I reasoned like a child, when I became a man I put an end to childish ways. We must put aside some childish ways, and then we must keep on putting things aside. We must put aside some freedom to raise a family. We must put aside some spending money to send kids to college, and then for retirement. At some point, we must put aside our car keys and maybe even our independence and self-sufficiency to get the help we need. Yet we need not put aside happiness, for our best days are not behind us. Whether you’re 8 or 98, we all have a future to look forward to. Even if your hair is thinning out, rejoice because what falls to the ground like my auburn locks becomes the seed of new life. Jesus said, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit,” so if you are feeling like a citizen of the once-great Greek Republic now fallen into decline and disrepair, don’t be afraid. Don’t give up hope. Don’t give up joy, for when we go down to the dust, we go down singing bold halleluiahs. We fall only to rise. We go down only to come up stronger. We must go down to the dust before we can rise again. Do not be afraid. Do not fear getting older. Do not even fear death. The Prayer of Saint Francis goes like this: For it is in giving that we receive- it is in pardoning that we are pardoned. And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

In Order That the World Might Be Saved, a sermon based on Numbers 21: 4-9 and John 3: 1-21, preached on March 10, 2024

Some Sundays each year focus on a particular person in the Bible. Every Sunday, our focus is on Jesus, but Mary has a Sunday a few weeks before Christmas. John the Baptist has a Sunday. The Sunday after Easter, the disciple Thomas always takes center stage, and this Sunday, most years, here in the middle of the season of Lent, the spotlight goes to Nicodemus, a leader of the Jewish people who had been persecuting Jesus but now sneaks off under the cover of darkness to find out more about this radical Rabbi who has captured so much attention. Nicodemus doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s gone to see Jesus; that’s why he goes at night, and when I think about Nicodemus, I think about all the people, including myself, who have struggled to step out into the light. There’s a great Jerry Clower story called “The Chauffeur and the Professor.” The story goes that a genius-level professor has been going around the nation making an incredible speech with the same chauffeur listening the whole time. The chauffeur tells him that he’s memorized the professor’s speech and can probably make that speech better than the Great PhD ever could. Even though he hasn’t graduated from the great school of minds, he’s an unlettered chauffeur, but he’s sure he can make that speech. The Professor, wanting to put this too-big-for-his-britches chauffeur back in his place, agrees to let him try. They swap clothes on the way to the next venue, so before this huge university audience is the chauffeur wearing the professor’s clothes, and the professor is in the back wearing the chauffeur’s clothes. Up before the audience of educated students, the chauffeur made that speech. In fact, in Jerry Clower’s words, “He forever shelled down the corn. He shelled the corn all the way to the cobb.” Translation: He made the speech really well. The crowd, so amazed, stood and clapped a standing ovation, then began throwing their books into the air, shouting in jubilation over the most enlightening speech they’d ever heard. Once they had been calmed down, the university president invited the crowd, if they would like, to ask their speaker any questions. Now, that meant trouble. The chauffeur had the speech memorized, but hadn’t thought about the Q and A. A very intelligent young man lifted his hand and asked the most detailed question you’ve ever heard. Something about carbon dating, stratospheres, and the layers of the earth’s crust. The chauffeur dressed up like a professor listened to the question. You would imagine that he was sweating, but he kept his cool, took off his glasses like this and said, “Young man, as long as I’ve been giving this speech throughout North America’s most prestigious universities, that’s about the simplest question I’ve ever heard. I’m surprised this university let in someone who would ask a question that simple. In fact, it’s so simple, I’ll just ask my chauffeur to stand up here and answer it.” Now why didn’t the chauffeur in professor’s clothes come clean? Why continue the charade? This morning, as we turn our attention to Nicodemus, consider with me the incredible appeal of the light. Consider with me this Jesus, who was the Truth incarnate. He was the One who gave the blind man his sight. Who saved the woman caught in adultery. Who preached the Gospel to the masses. Who was all the time seeking the lost and the lame, going around forgiving the sins of shame-ridden people and setting them free. That Light must have been so awe inspiring that even among those who persecuted Him were some who were compelled by His words, yet not all of them stepped out into the Light to follow Him in public. In fact, here we have Nicodemus who will only go to visit Him under the cover of darkness. Why? It’s the same reason that the chauffeur didn’t come clean. It’s the same reason that we will not hear any presidential contender say this campaign season: Well, I was wrong about that. It’s the same reason it’s so hard for some men to stop and ask for directions. It’s the same reason it’s so hard for any one of us to say the words “I’m sorry” to the people we’ve hurt. Considering Nicodemus, his whole life was built around his identity as a leader in his community, and because all the other leaders were busy persecuting Jesus, when he thought about following Him, he had to consider the cost of stepping out into the light. It’s not always easy to step out into the light. Jesus says, “the truth will set you free,” which is true, but first it will sting a little. First, the truth will cost you something. I’ve heard of a man who knew something was wrong. He felt bad enough to make an appointment with the doctor, yet on the day of his appointment, he drove to the doctor’s office parking lot, parked his car, but never went inside. I’ve heard of a parent who suspected his daughter was suffering. He knew something was wrong but didn’t dig deep enough to find out. Not knowing was more appealing than finding out the truth. There is always something dangerously appealing about the darkness of denial. Hiding from the truth in the shadows feels kind of comforting. And stepping out into the light is dangerous. Consider what Nicodemus might have lost should one of his colleagues seen him talking with Jesus? Nicodemus was a leader in his community. He was wealthy. He had standing. What would his friends say if they heard he had gone off to learn from Jesus? What would the other children say to his sons and daughters at school if word got out? Don’t be fooled. Stepping out into the light always costs us something. The darkness has an appeal all its own, but if you’re tired of living a lie, If you’re ready for true healing, If the charade has lost its appeal then step out into the light. Whether you are in the midst of a difficult season of your marriage and you’re scared to ask for help, or you’ve been nursing an addiction and are worried about what will happen if you let someone know; Whether the debt is piling up or the brokenness is about to get the best of you, I call on you to step out into the light to reveal your wounds to the Great Physician. We all fear that condemnation or rejection will come with revealing our wounds. And revealing our wounds will cost us something. The truth will always cost us something, yet remember that first Scripture lesson, how the Israelites were bitten by the vipers, and in revealing their wounds, they were healed. Likewise, the Son came into the world not to condemn the world, but that all might be saved through Him. Leave the darkness behind. Step out into the light and be saved. Amen.

He Rebuked Peter, a sermon based on Genesis 17: 1-7, 15-16, and Mark 8: 31-38, preached on February 25, 2024

A legendary preacher named William Sloane Coffin once said: While Abraham lived through “summer’s parching heat,” Jesus died young; but didn’t both show us that it is by its content rather than by its duration that a lifetime is measured? Deserted by his disciples, in agony on the cross, barely thirty years old, Christ said, “It is finished.” And thus ended the most complete life ever lived. I love that quote. That word “complete” used to describe the life that Jesus lived is different from the word ideal. Saying that He lived a complete life is different from saying that He lived a superlative or sensational life. Living a complete life is different from living an efficient life, yet sometimes I want to live efficiently. I think about how to spend the limited amount of time that I have, and so when I go into Kroger, I’m thinking about how to get in and out as quickly as possible. However, living an efficient life and living a complete life are not the same thing. I was at Kroger years ago when those self-check-out lines were first being introduced. I had some place to be, but I wasn’t in too much of a hurry. I only thought about the self-checkout line because it was empty, but it wasn’t necessary, so I went to the line with an actual cashier, even though in that line there were a couple customers there in front of me. I remember that the man right in front of me bought cigarettes, cat food, and a newspaper. I remember that because I’m nosy. I was surprised that he started talking to the woman at the register about a book he’s reading. “It’s a work of science fiction,” he said. “It will probably take me six weeks to read it. You must have a physics background to understand it. I sit and think awhile after I’ve only read five pages. And could you also give me change for a ten? Two fives, please,” the man said. She handed him the two fives, and he explained: “I’m taking my mother to get her hair done, and if I only have a $10 bill, she’ll want to tip the stylist the whole $10.” “It looks like you got a haircut, too,” the woman at the register said to the man. “You look nice,” she added. “Not too nice, though,” he replied. “I lost another tooth, so I’m scared to smile because when I do, I look like I’m from Appalachia.” That was a mean thing to say about people from Appalachia, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I just kept eavesdropping. “I’m getting a new tooth though,” he said. The woman at the register looked pleased. “Come in here smiling once you do,” the woman said. He covered his mouth, “I’m smiling now, but don’t look. If there are any banjos around, this smile might inspire them to stary playing the theme song for the movie Deliverance.” Then he left. The cashier looked to me and said, “I love seeing that man. He makes me smile every time I see him.” I wasn’t sure what to say in response, but I knew to be thankful for having witnessed the whole interchange, which never would have happened in a self-checkout line. The self-checkout line would have been faster, but there are things more important than efficiency. Self-checkout lines don’t get jokes. They can’t smile. You can’t touch them. They can’t hold your hand. People can do those things. Jesus did these things. God incarnate came down to make covenant with us, to have a relationship with us, so today as we consider our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus rebuked Peter for setting his mind, “not on divine things but on human things,” I ask you: How should we be living? How should we be spending our time? A few summers ago, I was checking out at the Kroger on a Friday. It was a hot day, so when I was at the Kroger at about 5:00 PM, the woman in front of me had taken off her wig while shopping and put it with the produce in her basket. The reason I know that she took her wig off in the produce section is because the cashier bagged all this woman’s produce, and nearly bagged the wig along with them. “Ma’am, you forget your hair,” the cashier said, handing the woman back her wig. Today, as I remember the cashier handing this woman back her wig, once again, I think about the difference between divine things and human things. When I think about Kroger, I think about getting in and out as efficiently as possible, and yet there are divine things happening all around us. God is at work all around us. There are great acts of compassion for us to witness; however, our focus is so often on the human, on the temporal, on the business, or on the hardship, all of which is temporary. There’s a C.S. Lewis quote that I love: “The devil’s greatest trick is making us believe that our temporary pain is not in fact temporary, but permanent.” We get wrapped up in worries that come and go. I have no idea what I was on my way to either of those times I was tempted to go through the self-checkout line, yet the first story I told happened 15 years ago and the second back in 2019. I don’t know what I was rushing to get to, yet when I slowed down, I saw a glimpse of the divine. Jesus rebuked Peter saying, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Last Tuesday morning, I witnessed the divine. Last Tuesday morning, I walked into the church to find that the power was out. Our Director of Administration, Melissa Ricketts, had already talked with the crew working out on the corner replacing the power line. They didn’t know how long the power would be out, so she was on the phone, cancelling the Tuesday morning Bible studies and meetings. The rest of us waited there with her, not wanting to go to dark offices. We just stood by the glass doors waiting and hoping the lights would come on so that we could get on with our day and do something productive. There are so many things that must happen on a Tuesday. I was thinking about emails I needed to respond to. I was thinking about the bulletin that needed to be prepared. I had a sermon to write and phone calls to make. Would I be able to get anything done in the dark? Should I just go work from home? And what about all the food in the refrigerators? Or all the clocks we’d need to reset? Those were the kinds of things I was worrying about while waiting for the lights to come back on. Maybe everyone else was thinking about the same kinds of things. I don’t know for sure what anyone else was thinking because I was looking down at my phone, trying to make efficient use of my time. Then, our Tuesday front desk volunteer, Amy Sherwood, walked in. With her, we had a big enough crowd standing there in the gathering area for Melissa to suggest that I lead a morning devotion while we wait. I knew already that Fran Sommerville had written one for me. Having begun my day with the Lenten Devotional our Stephen Ministers prepared for us all, I grabbed a copy and read what she had prepared. This is what she wrote for last Tuesday: Anxiety and worry. Who among us has experienced these? Probably most of us at one time or another. In Matthew, Jesus teaches us that worry is unproductive. He implores us not to worry about tomorrow but to live in the present moment. Attend to his words: “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Remember that God is in complete control of everything. As I read those last words, the lights came back on. I’m not kidding. Ask Melissa or Amy. They were there when it happened, and I tell you this true story now to say that God is in control, but sometimes I think I have more important things to do than to sit and wait. Christ goes to the Cross to ensure our salvation, but some days, I’m still working so hard to make something of myself that I forget I don’t need to do anything to earn His love. My friends, Peter took Jesus aside and began to rebuke Him, but Jesus rebuked Peter, saying, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Let us focus on divine things, for we read in our Call to Worship, which used the 22nd Psalm: Future generations will be told about the Lord, Saying that he has done it. In his death on the Cross, he has giving us everything, so stop acting like everything depends on how you use your next five minutes. It will be OK if you’re late. Next week, will you even remember what you were rushing to get to? It will even be OK if you leave your wig in with your produce. If you do that, you might help some preacher write his sermon. Let us focus on divine things. Like the people around us. I was struck by a podcast my wife, Sara, encouraged me to listen to. In it, a man was interviewed who said that for his 50th birthday, he invited his 11 closest friends to dinner, and over dinner he told them each how much they mattered to him. One by one he did it. Can you imagine such a dinner? This man enjoyed doing this so much, telling his friends how much he appreciated them, that when he turned 70, he traveled to them, and thanked them all for making a difference in his life. As he described the experience, I could hear it in his voice, how it brought tears to his eyes. And I get it, for what matters most in the end is not how efficiently we’ve lived, but how completely. How complete are your relationships? How completely have you enjoyed your time? How completely aware have you been that God is alive in our world, working His purpose out? My friends, we will overcome the hardship that we face. Future generations will be told about the Lord. All the nations shall worship before Him. Not because we have done it, but because He has. The God of our salvation will come in glory to set all things right, and when He does, let us not be so rushed that we fail to see Him. Amen.

The Water that Almost Drowned Us, a sermon based on Genesis 9: 8-17 and Mark 1: 9-15, preached on February 18, 2024

In 2007, I became the Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach at Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church in Lilburn, Georgia. That job description didn’t last, however, because after I began my ministry as Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach, the Director of Christian Education left, and I suddenly became the Associate Pastor for Christian Education. Then, a few months into my second year, the Senior Pastor left, and I became the Senior Pastor. Three different job descriptions in two years was a lot of transition, which I would not have asked for. I wouldn’t have asked for all that change, not only because out of the three roles (I was barely qualified to fulfill one of them.), but because that much instability made me anxious, and that much change didn’t just challenge me; it overwhelmed me. During those years, I experienced so much stress that I broke out in hives. I started to see a counselor. I was pushed beyond my limit, and I needed help. All that change wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t enjoy it, and I wouldn’t have asked for it, so, in 2007, as I was considering this opportunity to go to Good Shepherd as their Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach, had I been able to forecast the future and see that if I agreed to go, my job description would change three times in two years, I never would have gone there in the first place. However, today, as I look back on those challenging years, I can easily see how those years prepared me. I know now that the rapid change strengthened me, and so today I give thanks to God for the water that nearly drowned me. The title for this sermon is “The Water That Almost Drowned Us,” and I’m wondering if that title resonates with you. Were there events in your life that nearly took you out? Were there hard years that made you feel like you were drowning? Sinking? Struggling? Fighting to come up for air? Was there a season in your life that tested you, challenged you, pushed you beyond your limits so that you nearly drowned, yet instead of drowning, the hard time made you who you are today? When I think about such challenges, the challenges that nearly drown us but instead make us more than who we were, my mind goes back to my first hours as a parent. The night our daughter Lily was born, her mother had labored for hours. As the contractions were coming in rapid succession, Lily’s heartbeat slowed, Sara was rushed into surgery, and by an emergency c-section, our daughter came into the world. As they were stitching Sara back up, I was in the nursery with our newborn daughter. She couldn’t be held right away, but I stood right by her side, and so long as my hand was on her stomach, she wouldn’t cry, so I stood there, looking at this new person who had merely been a kick inside Sara’s stomach a few hours before. Now, she was here, and I was her father. Do you know the feeling? I learned how to swaddle her in class, so once I was allowed, I wrapped her up and rocked her in a rocking chair. Rocking her for the very first time, I felt both overjoyed and overwhelmed. Once the adrenalin left my body, I also felt tired, only when we were back with Sara in a new room in the hospital, the nurse walked us down there, then she left, so Sara and I were on our own with a brand-new baby girl who had needs all her own. When baby Lily cried, it was up to us. When she was hungry, it was our job to do something about it. It seemed like I only slept in five-minute increments, so slowly but surely, the overjoyed part melted away, and I was simply exhausted and overwhelmed. Do you know the feeling? If you’ve read the book or watched the TV series “Lessons in Chemistry,” then maybe you remember the mother who, during a season when her infant daughter cried incessantly, confessed to her neighbor: “I’m a terrible mother. I’m not having any of those special moments that you’re supposed to have with your baby. Those blissful moments that I’ve read about in the women’s magazines. I’m ashamed to say I’ve been ready to give her away at least twice now.” That last comment made her neighbor stop in her tracks. Turning around, she asked, “You’ve wanted to give her away… twice?” Then the neighbor shook her head and laughed. “Twenty times would still make you an amateur.” I love her neighbor for saying that. New parents need to hear things like that, and after sympathizing so effectively, later she said to this new mother, “Soon enough, you’ll expand.” These days of early motherhood may not be easy, yet because they are hard, they are stretching you in such a way that you’re becoming someone new, for sometimes, from the water that nearly drowns us, we rise to new life. In a universal sense, this is the story of Noah and the ark. I’m thankful that this is a story that every child learns from a young age because we all need to know that there are moments in life when the world we knew dies, that a new world may be born. There are moments so challenging that we’d never choose to go through them again, yet in the process, our old selves die that our new selves may be born. This is the way it always is, and so repeatedly, we hear this story. More than that, repeatedly, we live this story. A great author and scholar is Joseph Campbell. I hope you’ve heard of him. His most famous book is called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In this book, he explores common elements found in myths and stories from around the world. After studying thousands of stories about heroes like Osiris, Prometheus, as well as the Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, and Jesus, Campbell identifies universal themes and proposes that many of the stories we tell about our heroes follow a similar pattern: that of separation from the known world, then a crisis or series of catastrophes and tests, which, should the hero endure them, enable him or her to return home enlightened and changed. This pattern is easy to see in classics like The Iliad and The Odyssey, in which the hero, Odysseus, leaves home. When he finally returns home after a war, multiple shipwrecks, and temptations, he is not the same man who left. He comes home a new person, for from the water that nearly drowned him came a new life. The new man is mature in ways he wasn’t before, enlightened in ways that only a process of harsh refinement can explain. So it has been with us. The challenges of life change us, and while what we’d all ask for would be peaceful days filled with crossword puzzles and ice cream sandwiches, it’s our greatest challenges that have made us who we are. My favorite line from Joseph Campbell is that the hero and the villain must swim in the same water. What drowns one baptizes the other. In our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus is baptized by John. What happens immediately after His baptism still surprises me. Our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark begins with His baptism, which is as picturesque as a baptism could possibly be. Just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him. And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” How special is that? It’s the most beautiful baptism account of all time. Only then, the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan, and he was with the wild beasts. Now, that part doesn’t sound so good. After most baptisms, the family has a nice lunch at the house. Sometimes there are cupcakes. That didn’t happen with Jesus, for while His hair was still wet from His baptism, His temptation began. Yet this is often the case: From the water that nearly drowns us, we rise to new life. I believe that. I believe it because I’ve lived it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have lived it, too. In our lives are many struggles, and the ones that don’t break us sometimes make us stronger. Sometimes, from the struggles we gain strength we never thought we had. Other times, it’s through the hardship that we see God most clearly. This week, I read through our church’s publication. We used to call it a newsletter. Now, it’s too fancy to be a newsletter. We used to use this publication to advertise events that were coming up. Now, we do so many of the announcements through the bulletin, emails, and the church website, so we use this publication to celebrate ways that God is at work among us. If you’ve read the Lent issue, then you’ve heard already about Dr. Bob Smith, who, in his 35 years as a member of First Presbyterian Church, has been through some difficult times, and yet during the hard times, he learned how to listen to the heart and what it means to be chosen for a purpose – not a destination but a journey. Clyde Grant’s story is published in this issue as well, and if you read about this man who’s been on the battlefields of Afghanistan, providing medical care to the men and women injured on the front line, then you’ll hear that he has been through that deep water as well, yet through the struggle, he’s learned to breathe. He’s learned how to be present. He’s learned to take a walk in his backyard to find peace. Katharine Wesselink wrote an article as well. You may know the story she tells, how she was diagnosed with stage III bile duct/pancreatic cancer in 2022 and learned during her treatment that great lesson from the Apostle Paul to put on the whole armor of God. During her hardship, she discovered the kind of faith that only comes from adversity. Now, I don’t like adversity. I would never ask for adversity. If I had some knowledge to offer to help us all avoid adversity, I would preach about that. However, the Bible doesn’t teach us to avoid hard times. Instead, Scripture teaches us that even Jesus was in the wilderness 40 days tested by Satan, yet the Bible also tells us that the angels waited on Him as well. If you’ve been reading the devotional the Stephen Ministers of our church prepared for this season of Lent, then you’ll know that the devotional for this morning was written by Bennett Frye. Bennet’s doctor ordered a test out of an abundance of caution. Unfortunately, the test found something serious. On the way home from the hospital, having just heard the news, he stopped off at the grocery store to buy some bananas. “The cashier handed me my change” Bennett wrote, “a quarter, two pennies and a nickel. Funny how I remember that. On the way to the car, I looked at the quarter and to my surprise saw it was not a quarter, but a rather crude silver coin with the impression of a flying angel stamped upon it. I suddenly felt the presence of an angel and the assurance of God; not assured that I would survive but assured that He was present.” Bennett still carries that coin, and may you continually be reminded that by the water that almost drowned us, we may see the power of God. Amen.

Get Up and Go, a sermon based on Isaiah 40: 21-31 and Mark 1: 29-39, preached on February 4, 2024

Near the beginning of our Gospel lesson, we just read: “[Jesus] came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.” Couldn’t she have taken a nap first? Or might Simon have made her lunch? This moment in Scripture sounds like what may happen in your house. When Mom spikes a fever, she keeps working, whereas, the moment Dad gets a cold, he can’t leave the couch for a week. It’s safe to assume that Simon’s mother-in-law was so grateful to Jesus that she wanted to serve Him supper, or that she bounced back from the fever so completely that she felt better than she had in years. Mark’s gospel, originally written in Greek, uses the Greek verb “diakoneo,” which, translated into English, means, “to serve,” and gives us the basis for our word “deacon.” Many have read this passage with its use of the verb “diakoneo,” and concluded that Simon’s mother-in-law was the Church’s first deacon, for she was called into a particular kind of service that many here have been called to and that may also lead to feeling overworked. I once knew a Presbyterian who agreed to be a deacon in the church, and he told me that on the night he received a phone call asking him to serve as a church officer, he was so honored, he couldn’t help but say yes. Then, at the church service when he was ordained, he was moved to tears when all the past elders laid hands on him in front of the whole congregation, only just as he stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes, a man handed him a toilet brush and said, “Congratulations. Now get to work.” “[Jesus] came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.” That verse can be problematic, yet our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark doesn’t end there, so let’s keep going. After Jesus healed Simon’s mother-in-law, word spread about this man who could do miracles, so the town lined up to be healed by Jesus. We read that after Jesus “cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons… in the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.” It might not sound strange to hear that Jesus prayed. Of course He prayed. We could go into the nursery right now, and every child there would be able to tell you that Jesus prayed. Think, though, about what the Gospel of Mark is telling us about Jesus here. The theologians tell us that Jesus is fully human and fully God. He’s like us, but He’s also not like us. When we hear that, it’s difficult to know exactly how to understand what it means to be both fully human and fully God. Does that mean that He was faster than a speeding bullet? More powerful than a locomotive? Was He able to leap over tall buildings in a single bound? That’s Superman, not Jesus. Jesus is like us in the sense that His time was limited as ours is. Jesus is like us in the sense that He also had to prioritize His day as many different needs competed for His attention, yet He was unlike us, He was divine, in the sense that busyness never got the best of Him. It gets the best of me all the time. As my friend Victoria Chastain walked out of the 8:30 service, she thanked me for my sermon. “We needed to hear it,” she said, “but you know who needed to hear that sermon most of all?” she asked. Then she answered her own question: “You.” She’s right about that. I get busy. I want to keep going so that I get to everything and everybody, and it feels like weakness when I can’t. It feels like failure when I let someone down. Yet Jesus is divine, not in the sense that He could do it all. He is divine in the sense that He couldn’t yet never gave into the feeling that He had to. Jesus is different. Jesus wept like we do. Jesus laughed like we do. Jesus got mad like we do. Jesus got tired and stressed like we do, but when He got tired, He didn’t just keep on going. He didn’t forge ahead. He left his friends and took a break. He went off to a deserted place and prayed, rather than give into the pressure to keep going. Listen to this: When the crowds of sick people who needed the Great Physician lined up, Simon felt anxious. He felt that human anxiety that we all feel when people come around asking for help, and he did the most human thing that we so often do. He went looking for Jesus, and as though he were handing Him that toilet brush, he said “Congratulations, Miracle Worker. Now get back to work.” “Everyone is searching for you,” we read in verse 37. Do you know that feels like? A dad in this church told me that once he sits down on the couch, if he lays down to rest his eyes, it’s like a sensor goes off in the house. Suddenly, the kids line up to ask questions: “Dad, what time is my basketball game?” “Dad, where is my soccer jersey?” “Dad, what’s the weather going to be like next Tuesday?” That question about the weather is the one that really gets him. In his house, they each have a phone that he can’t keep them off, plus there are two Alexas, one in the kitchen and another in the living room. Any of these devises can tell them the weather, while for some reason, they go asking Dad about it.” My friends, Jesus knows that feeling. He knows about the demands people make for our time. He knows the feeling of being pushed and pressured and wanting to lock Himself in the bathroom, only here’s the difference between Him and all of us: When He felt His tank go to empty, He snuck off to be with God and wouldn’t allow Simon to make Him feel guilty about it. He went to that deserted place. He voiced His concerns to His Father. He listened to the Creator’s voice, and He remembered again who He was and what He was meant to do. On the other hand, while I aspire to begin each day with prayer and meditation, when I get too busy, what’s the first thing to go? Prayer and meditation go in favor of answering emails, yet emptying out my email inbox won’t fill me up when my tank is empty. Shopping on Amazon might make me feel better for a minute, but no amount of scrolling is going to lead me to the thing I’m looking for when I’m so tired that I lack direction. We must stop and rest, and we can’t give in to the feeling that we can’t rest because we haven’t done enough. Jesus didn’t give into that feeling. What about the mom who shows up at the bake sale with store-bought cookies? Does she feel like she deserves a break, or does our culture make her feel ashamed? A few years ago, I finally remembered to bring my carpool number when I went to pick up our daughter from elementary school. I couldn’t ever remember to bring my number for the line, and Mrs. Williams got used to that. She’d be there, plugging in the numbers. I’d wave and give her an apologetic look, then she’d laugh a little bit and forgive me, until one day I remembered that number. I pulled into the line, and as soon as I got to Mrs. Williams, I showed it to her, saying, “Look, Mrs. Williams. I did it.” She responded, “What do you want, a parade? For doing the bare minimum required of all parents?” Dads get more grace when it comes to this kind of thing. We get celebrated more for doing things like bringing cupcakes to bake sales. However, I don’t think we should be harder on dads for forgetting the carpool number. I think we should be easier on everyone, for if Jesus needed to be alone to recharge His battery, taking time for yourself can’t be wrong. Jesus was divine in accepting His human limitations and living within their bounds, so if you’re giving so much of yourself at the office that you come home and can only offer your family the leftovers, take a lesson from the Great Physician, and take a break. Now, I’m really preaching to myself. Hear me say this from personal experience: If you’re feeling pulled in a million directions, and you feel pushed into such anxiety that you’re losing sleep, follow the example of Jesus and go to that deserted place to rest and reorder your priorities. You can’t do everything, so do the most important things. Some, like me, say “yes” to everything and never get it all done. Others say “no” to every opportunity and never really get started. When Jesus felt stretched, He went to that solitary place, and He rested. Then, He listened and went on to Galilee, leaving a whole lot of unfinished business right outside Simon’s house. Were those people disappointed? Surely, yet even Jesus couldn’t do everything. He’s like us in that way. He’s limited, yet He’s different from us because He accepted it. If you’re stretched so thin that you’re miserable, remember that if life stops being fun, it may be that you’re doing it wrong. We were created, not for toil, but to worship the Lord our God and to enjoy Him forever. Jesus lived that principle, so go and do likewise. Do not lose direction. Do not be swayed by the crowd. Do not surrender to the anxiety of the ones who hunt for you because you were born, not to be busy, but to mount up with wings like eagles, to run and not grow weary, to walk and not faint. Amen.

As One Without Authority, a sermon based on 1 Peter 5: 8-10 and Mark 1: 21-28, preached on January 28, 2024

A couple weeks ago, I was having lunch with three other pastors at Sugar Cakes on the Square. You may have heard that Marietta Community Church has a new pastor about my age named Zack Carden. I wanted to introduce Zack to David Eldridge, who is the pastor at StoneBridge Church and to my friend Brandon Owen, who is the pastor at First Baptist. The four of us were having lunch, and while “four protestant pastors walked into Sugar Cakes” might sound like the beginning of a joke, it wasn’t a joke; it was important. It's important that the pastors in this town know each other and that the religious community be as unified as possible because if churches are busy competing with each other, we’re not working as allies in the greater struggles that our community faces. One of those great struggles that we’re likely to ignore if we’re busy competing with each other for members is that half the population of Cobb County has no religious affiliation whatsoever. Did you know that half the county has no religious affiliation? Look it up. It’s in the census data. If we know that half the county has no place of worship, then we don’t really need to worry about who goes where and which is the biggest church. We need to focus on the reality that there are about 800,000 people in Cobb County and 400,000 have no church, no synagogue, no mosque, no nothing, so I love getting pastors together. It helps me remember that we’re on the same team. Besides that, the four of us have other things in common to talk about. We all have families. We have kids in sports. We love this city. We all love our churches. We all care about the same things, and we all share the same kind of stress that comes from doing ministry in a culture of division. When we had lunch, we talked about that. Zack from Marietta Community Church, Brandon from First Baptist, David from StoneBridge, and I are all anxious about the upcoming presidential election that’s already heated. We’re all four struggling with the stress that comes from serving a church made up of a variety of people who won’t all be voting for the same person in a political climate as divided as ours. I want to share that commonality with you today. All four of us are dreading November already, and I bring that up with you because when I think about leadership and how a leader should act, I look to the Bible. I read about Jesus, Who our second Scripture lesson says was different from the scribes for he spoke with authority. How was Jesus different from the scribes? And how is His Word different from the messages we are hearing now from the news, the primaries, and from the courthouse steps? What was it about Jesus that made Him sound like one who spoke with authority, so unlike the scribes? In our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark, there was a crowd of people in the synagogue, but one person was left out. We read in verse 23: Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit. Did you hear that? Whose synagogue was it? It was “their” synagogue, meaning that this man with the unclean spirit didn’t belong. Just that one word, “their,” tells us so much, for in a culture of division, there are lines that separate people from each other. It was their synagogue, the scribes said, for they were well-versed in telling everyone who was in and who was out. When I read about the scribes, it makes me think of the movie Mean Girls that’s just been rereleased as a musical. These girls were good at maintaining the social hierarchy of their high school. They knew how to maintain a system of insiders and outsiders. Likewise, in the synagogue that Sabbath day long ago, there were those on the inside and there was but one on the outside, yet with compassion, Jesus went to the lost sheep and brought him back to the fold. With compassion, Jesus bridged the divide in the room. It’s as though He were blowing the horn outside the city of Jericho, for the walls came tumbling down. With compassion, Jesus was kind to the man who was possessed by a demon. Is that what would have happened in our political rallies today? Last Wednesday morning, the state’s Democratic Party Chair was here in Cobb County, and he said that this is the year to break the Republican Party’s back. When I read that, I felt sick to my stomach, but when it comes to scribes who speak without authority, that’s often the best that they can do. Rally supporters and target the opposition. It sounds like the way college football fans talk about each other, but because it’s politics, it sounds to me like the beginning of a civil war, and it certainly doesn’t sound like Jesus, for whose back did Jesus ever break? In the synagogue was a man with an unclean spirit. Jesus went right over to this man with the unclean spirit and healed him. That’s the way Jesus did it. That’s the way Jesus lived, and they said He “taught as one having authority,” yet I read about another man in the paper who said the great book debate that the Cobb County School System is wrapped up in is a matter of good and evil. My friends, if we’re going to start talking about evil, know that according to Scripture, evil is described in different ways, yet often as the voice stirring up division. From our first Scripture lesson, we read: Discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Here in 1st Peter, the devil, like the snake in Genesis, is compared to an animal, but this time the animal is not a snake but a lion. Do you know how lions hunt? There are great videos of lions hunting on National Geographic, but most of the time, it’s the lionesses chasing down an antelope while the lion sleeps under a tree. The way the lion hunts is by roaring. What happens is when a group of wildebeests or water buffalo know that a lion is around, they form a circle around their young, with their horns pointed out. It looks like an image out of the old westerns when the settlers would circle the wagons with the rifles pointed out and the children protected in the center. Likewise, the wildebeests will circle around the young with their horns on the outside, and so long as the circle is intact, the lions won’t attack. They’d just be running into a bunch of horns and wouldn’t be able to get to the young that they want to eat. However, when the lion roars, sometimes the roar scares the wildebeests so much that the circle divides, and once the circle divides, the children get eaten. I bring up that image today because I see so many politicians these days harping on divisive issues to stir up their supporters. They roar, and their supports go to one side, dividing the circle, dividing our communities, dividing our families, dividing our country. The left goes this way, and the right goes that way. The conservatives stand on one side and the liberals on the other. Next thing you know, the scribes start talking as though one side is good and the other side is evil, yet according to 1st Peter, dividing this way is playing into the plan of the evil one, for once the population is divided, the children are easy prey. Friends, I’m sick and tired of division. Maybe you are too, and so maybe you can understand why the synagogue was so excited to hear Jesus speak as one with authority, for in a culture of division, where communities are divided, the voice of one who brings unity back is worthy of celebrating. Unlike the scribes who called one group good and the other group evil, if Jesus ever talked about there being two groups of people, He called one group neighbors and the other group enemies, and guess what? He said that we should love them both. That’s the truth. He’s the truth. And while I don’t always read about Christ-like leadership in the newspaper, sometimes I do, and when I see it, I’ve got to celebrate it. We must celebrate the good news just as much as we worry over the bad news. Did you read about Hodge Army Navy in the paper last week? The store was in the newspaper because it’s going to be closing, which is sad. That store has been around for 70 years now. Maybe some of you bought your first sleeping bag from there, or your first pair of hiking books. Another reason this store will be missed is that when veterans die, they often want to be buried in uniform, only putting an accurate uniform together isn’t easy after years of retirement from the military. The old uniform might not fit or might have been lost in a move. Hodge Army Navy would put accurate uniforms together so that veterans might be buried in uniform, and I bring this story from the paper up simply to say that the song goes, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love.” Not by how well we break each other’s backs. Not by how judgmental we are. Not by how much ink we spill calling God’s children who think differently than we do evil, for once we become the ones who make the division worse, we become evil ourselves. The way of Jesus is seeking out the lost and the friendless, for when we get to heaven, St. Peter’s not going to be asking for our voting record. He’s not going to ask where we stand on the divisive issues of the day. I can hear him reading from Matthew 25, where Jesus said, “for I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was naked and you gave me clothing. I was in prison, and you visited me.” The ones picketing in the street might say, “Lord, I would have laid down my political agenda, but I didn’t know it was You,” and the One with authority will say, “As you did not do it to one of the least of these, so you did not do it to me.” The One with authority said, “Love your neighbor. Love your enemy. Go to the one who has been possessed by the demon, even, and love that one too.” In our world today, there are so many who are speaking without authority, so let’s stop paying them all this attention. If they stir us up and pull us apart, let’s pay less attention to them and more attention to the One who said, “Do not fear, I am with you.” Love your neighbor as yourself. Love your enemy. Rejoice, for the Kingdom of God is at hand. Amen.

Get Up and Go, a sermon based on Jonah 3: 1-5 and Mark 1: 14-20, preached on January 21, 2024

Last Sunday, I read a great article in the Atlanta paper all about Monica Pearson, who you might know as Monica Kaufman. For years, she reported on channel 2’s evening news. She was a fixture of Atlanta television reporting for more than thirty years, and, since retiring, you might imagine that she’s been resting and taking it easy. Instead, since retiring, she has earned a master’s degree, hosted multiple TV and radio shows, and at least once a week, she’ll emcee a charity event or speak to a civic group or school. Her husband says that the only thing she’s ever failed at is retirement. That’s true for a lot of people I know and love. A friend of mine who lives in Columbia, Tennessee once nearly pulled his hair out watching his retired father spend an hour polishing his shoes. He couldn’t understand why his father, once so busy, would polish his shoes so slowly. He was meticulously handling each one, painstakingly rubbing polish over every surface of the leather, and taking an unnecessarily long time to buff the shoes after that. My friend James was tempted to take over, saying, “Let me do it, Dad. This is taking you forever.” Only his retired father responded, “Twenty-four hours in a day, Son. Got to fill it with something.” Now that James has retired, he understands that way of thinking. Maybe you do as well. As for me, in the stage of life that I’m in, I don’t have any trouble filling up my 24 hours. With two active daughters, a wife who works full time, and so much happening here at the church, some days it seems like 24 hours isn’t enough, and I bring this point up simply to say that not having enough to do may be worse than having too much to do. Perhaps that’s why Monica Pearson is not the only one who failed at retirement, for people who know what it feels like to do work that makes a difference in the world can’t give up that feeling. I once heard comedian Chris Rock describe the difference between a job and a career. When you have a rewarding career, you get lost in your work. You sit down and the time passes so quickly. After dedicating yourself to an important task, you might glimpse at your watch and say, “Five o’clock already? Where did the time go?” On the other hand, you know you don’t have a career, but a job because you reward yourself by looking up at the clock to see how much time has passed. Maybe you’re scraping food off dishes in a busy restaurant kitchen, and you put your head down to scrape a whole pile in the hopes that when you look back at the clock ten minutes has passed. I’ve had jobs like that. In high school, I was that dishwasher at the Winnwood Retirement Community, and there were some days when my three-hour shift felt more like three days. I also cut grass for a living, and on my crew was a man who drank gin during those hot Atlanta summers the way I was drinking Gatorade. Why? Because some people get stuck in jobs. Not everyone gets to do something she loves for a living. Picture with me these two sets of brothers who answer the call to follow Jesus. The first two were casting their nets into the sea. The second pair was sitting in the boat mending their nets. The Gospel of Mark uses the word “immediately” twice as they left their jobs at the call of Jesus: The first two immediately left their nets and followed him. The second pair of brothers are invited to follow: Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired hands and followed him. Can you imagine why they responded to Jesus this way? Think with me about their motivation. Think with me about their immediate response. Do you know why they would drop their nets and even leave their father in the boat to follow Jesus? My friends, we are all hungry for the opportunity to do something meaningful. We all have an ache in our hearts to do something life giving, and there is no life more meaningful, there is no pursuit more life giving than following Jesus. All His disciples know that. Yesterday morning, I woke up before the rest of the family, and drinking my first cup of coffee, I watched an interview of the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu. These two giants of spirituality captured the interest of this one journalist who was interviewing them because they always seem so happy, and he wanted to know why. We know already. We know what it feels like to follow Him and to feel the joy of making a difference. I feel it when I show up at a funeral, and the grieving family thanks me for showing up, which reminds them that they are not alone. I feel it when I write a thank you note and then see it on the refrigerator of the person I sent it to. I know the joy of living a life, not in the pursuit of things, but of being a part of something. I feel different when I know I am a part of something that matters, and I hope you know that feeling, too. If you do, then you know that we’re wrong to imagine that there was something especially faithful about these first four disciples. On first reading, we might say: Isn’t it miraculous how they dropped everything to follow Jesus? We might think that they’re saints, so they’re different, or that they’re holy and different from normal people. No, they’re not. They were sitting there mending nets, wishing the time to go by faster, and wondering to themselves, “Isn’t there something more to this life?” when suddenly, the invitation to that “something more” came walking by. Do you know what it feels like to get that kind of invitation? I do. Last weekend, we went to visit some friends in Columbia, Tennessee. We lived there for nearly seven years while the girls were little. Our daughter Cece was born there, and the friends we made are special to us. The friends our daughters made are special to them, so special in fact that when our daughter Lily’s friend Mary Dudley Hill of Columbia, TN was turning 15 last Saturday, Lily asked if we could go visit to celebrate her friend’s birthday, and so we went. Every time we go visit that place, I think about how many friends we made there, and how special it was. When we visit, I always think back to the decision to sell our house there to move here. What was it about the opportunity to move here to Marietta that made us want to pull up the roots we’d put down to come some place new? My wife, Sara, will say that the moment I learned that in this church there is a private bathroom attached to the senior pastor’s office, she knew we were moving, but that wasn’t it. The thing that did it, the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about, was the idea that I might come here and be useful. The idea that my time here would have meaning was so captivating that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea that I might make a difference here was so compelling that I can understand exactly why those first four disciples dropped their nets and left their father immediately. Immediately because there is no better feeling than the feeling of making a difference. Do you know that feeling? You might get it from your job. You might get it from your children or your grandchildren. You might get it when you take the time to write a note or show up at a funeral. You might feel it when you give a thoughtful gift or see a student you taught years ago, and he stops to say, “Thank you.” Consider those moments and know that many people in this world are just working for a living. Many people in this world are just killing time, wondering to themselves, “Isn’t there something more to this life?” which is where, I believe, the church must come in. The church must come into people’s lives just as Jesus walked into the lives of those four disciples, to invite them and show them how to live lives of meaning, which will bring them not just happiness, but joy. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,” Jesus said. “Come on Tuesday, and we will help you feed hungry people.” “Come on Wednesday and join the choir.” “Come on Sunday and teach Sunday School.” There are so many invitations that people accept, that we have accepted, and this morning, I ask you to think for a moment about why. Why would we say yes, and why would anyone add one more thing to his plate? Why would people get up off the couch if they didn’t have to? What does the church have to offer these people in return for their time and their labor? We can’t pay them. We work them hard, and so much of what they do is thankless. Why would they say yes? We are tempted to believe that it’s better not to ask them or bother them with the invitation. That was Jonah’s problem, in a sense. We read in our first Scripture lesson that the Lord said to Jonah a second time, “Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.” Jonah didn’t want to go. Jonah didn’t think they’d listen. Jonah didn’t think they’d respond. I can be just like that. Last Monday morning, I was honored to take part in a Martin Luther King Jr. Day celebration. They asked me if I’d give the benediction at the end of the celebration, and I said “Yes”. I was honored to take part, but when the organizer asked if we’d also be willing to serve lunch, I got nervous because I couldn’t imagine that anyone would want to serve strangers lunch on her day off. Can you relate to that way of thinking? Many Presbyterians can. In fact, the old joke goes, “What do you get when you mix a Mormon and a Presbyterian?” Someone who knocks on your door but doesn’t know what to say. I get scared about asking people to do stuff. I know how good it feels to be invited. I know how good it feels to do something that makes a difference. Yet when I have an opportunity to invite someone else, sometimes I’m scared to ask. Sometimes, I think I know what they’ll say before I open my mouth, and so I stay as silent as I was at my first school dance, too scared to invite anyone to dance so I just stood at the refreshment table eating brownies. However, the MLK committee asked Rose Wing if we’d serve lunch, and she said we’d do it. She called Jeff Knapp, who showed the youth group how to cook soup and make sandwiches. She called Andy Tatnall. Then, she called Denise Lobodinski, who brought along her boyfriend, Eric. She called Bill Pardue. She called Clyde Grant, and Clyde told me that before the invitation was even out of Rose’s mouth, he’d said yes. Immediately, he dropped his nets and followed. Why? Because people are hungry for the opportunity to be of service. The right invitation to the right person is so compelling that it may illicit an immediate response, for people are hungry for opportunities to make a difference. Remember that and get up and go invite some people to follow Jesus with you. It may change their whole lives, and certainly, in making a difference to them, it will change yours. Amen.

By Another Road, a sermon based on Matthew 2: 1-12, preached on December 31, 2023

According to Rolling Stone magazine, it’s number 15, but some might say that the best Christmas movie of all time is 1965’s A Charlie Brown Christmas. In it, all the Peanuts characters work to bring the story of Christmas to the stage in a nativity play. Charlie Brown is the director, which is as frustrating for him as is trying to kick a football. In the hopes of bringing some Christmas cheer to the production that’s going downhill fast, he picks out a thread-bare Christmas tree from the lot because he feels sorry for it. When he’s ridiculed for his choice, he throws up his arms in exasperation asking, “Doesn’t anyone here know what Christmas is all about?” Linus, who’s been picked at for carrying around his blanket more than usual during this episode, takes the stage to prove that he does know what Christmas is all about. From memory, he quotes from the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke, saying, And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. He says all that and more from memory. Inspired by his example, our Director of Music and Fine Arts, Dr. Jeffrey Meeks, has this passage memorized as well. If you’ve seen A Charlie Brown Christmas as often as I have, then maybe you can picture Linus saying these powerful words, only, there’s one detail I hadn’t noticed. Right in the middle of his recitation, Linus drops his blanket. Until Mary Anne Lanier, one of our church’s elected leaders, mentioned it in her devotion to the session last month, I knew Linus recited the passage from memory, but I didn’t know the passage enabled him to drop his security blanket. I was so taken with this detail that I looked it up, and interestingly, a lot has been written about why the character Linus drops his blanket while he’s proclaiming the Gospel. Specifically, he drops the blanket the moment he utters the words of the angel to the terrified shepherds, “Fear not.” In that moment, Linus was unafraid. In that moment, the Gospel gave him the strength he needed, not the blanket. This is the power of Jesus. Jesus brings us strength and comfort, joy and peace, and so those Magi from the East were drawn to Him. They traveled from home down one long road, bringing gifts to the Christ Child, a road that took them right by the home of King Herod, yet after seeing Jesus, they traveled home by another road. That’s what our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Matthew says. “They left for their own country by another road.” Today, I invite you to think about how Jesus enables us to do the same, for the Gospel separates us from our fears, and by the power of the gospel, we may find ourselves able to drop those old habits to which we’ve clung for security just as Linus dropped his blanket. The Good News in Jesus Christ can set us free from our fears so that we might drop the old routines we’ve been stuck in to travel by new paths, just as the Magi went home by another road. That’s what I’m trying to say this morning. It’s nothing too complicated. The Christians life, the new life Jesus enables us to live, is marked by less fear and more faith, so we can let go and move on, no longer bound to the false security of pleasure, power, or routine, but are set free to live a new life, forgiven, changed, renewed, and restored. From the wise to the simple and from the humble to the proud, Jesus invites us to drop our security blankets and to follow Him down a new road in this new year, only the Magi make it look too easy. The kind of change that I’m talking about this morning isn’t easy. Lasting change takes time, so if you really pay attention to Linus in A Charlie Brown Christmas, then you’ll notice that as soon as he completes his recitation of Luke’s Gospel from memory, he steps out from the spotlight to pick up his security blanket once again. Why would he do that? Maybe you know. The power of the epiphany fades. Our spirits are willing, but our flesh is still weak. The old road that we know starts to look good compared to the new road with its destination unknown, so many of us who find the strength to make a change go back to our security blankets a few times before truly letting it go. For example, during the Pandemic, many families slowed down. We did less and were together more, yet I’ve now returned to the old habit of staying busy because it is difficult to stay on the new road. Losing weight is one thing; keeping it off is another. Giving up alcohol for January is something that many people do, yet how long will the new practice last? Change is difficult to embrace. People are afraid of change, though what should scare us more than change are the monsters we become when we can’t let go of our addiction to control. We’ve been thinking about the new road the Magi travel down. They embody the most faithful response to the Christ Child in our second Scripture lesson for this morning, yet as we face our own reluctance to change, consider with me Herod’s fear. When Herod heard about the newborn King of the Jews, Matthew tells us that he was afraid, and that the whole city of Jerusalem was afraid with him. Out of fear of losing his grip on power, Herod asked the Magi to tell him once they found the baby, although he wanted to find the child to kill him. When the Magi went home by another road, Herod killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or younger. Think about that. In the face of fear and anxiety, many cling tightly to control, or the illusion of it. I heard someone say, “My least favorite Christmas tradition is waking up for two hours every night to worry about things over which I have no control.” Can you relate? Sometimes, when I look out on the world and feel truly afraid, or when responsibilities pile up, and I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I’ll fold laundry. At least I can control that, or so I think, until I get to a fitted sheet, and then I feel out of control all over again. Still, think with me about how we respond to fear. Like Linus, many respond to fear by holding tightly to their security blankets. Others, like Herod, hold tightly to the control they think they have. I believe that faith calls us away from both those well-traveled paths to another road: the road modeled by the Magi, who respond to the Christ Child and the chaos of the world around them by giving gifts. Herod lived in such a way that he acted as though he had everything to lose, yet the Magi had so much to give, so they laid gold, frankincense, and myrrh at the Christ Child’s feet. Compare those two different responses and think with me about the difference that people make when they show up at a grieving neighbor’s home armed with a casserole. When a neighbor dies, that’s what we do. On the other hand, in the book of Job, Job’s friends show up to sit with Job for 40 days, and after that, they try to explain his tragedy away. When we face the uncertainty of life on earth, when we feel afraid, and that fear creeps into our bones so that it keeps us up at night, we might get out of bed to fold laundry, we might tighten our grip on the power that we do have, but better is for us to ask ourselves, “What do I have to give?” We are always thinking about what we have to lose, but better is to ask, “What does this situation need from me?” This is the way of Jesus. It’s there in the words of our second hymn, “What Child Is This?” We sang some Christmas carols this morning. Up until now, my family’s been giving me a hard time for making y’all sing too many Advent hymns. “Now that Christmas is over, we’re finally singing them,” I can hear them say, but listen to the second verse of “What Child Is This?” Nails, spear, shall pierce him through. The cross be borne for me, for you. Even in the Christmas carols, we remember that in the face of so much suffering, Christ did not try to control the world. He rejected the throne. He refused to take over. Instead, He offered a broken world His body and blood. My friends, this response to fear is a different road, for over and above all our culture’s many addictions is the addiction to control. We want to hold so tightly to what we have. We want to wrap our kids in bubble wrap, and we stay up late at night worrying over that which we can do little to nothing about, for in the end, how much control do we really have? What can we do about the suffering of the world? We can give of ourselves. We all have something to give. So bring him incense, gold, and myrrh. Come, one and all, to own him. The King of Kings, salvation brings. let loving hearts enthrone him. That’s how the hymn goes because that’s how Jesus lived. Follow where He leads by giving of yourself, and in so doing, perhaps you’ll find that you are afraid no longer and that you’ve made the world a little bit of a better place. I remember so well this one scene in the movie Stepmom. Have you seen that one? Julia Roberts plays the new wife of Ed Harris and the stepmom to his two children. She’s learning the ropes without much success, until Ed’s first wife, the mother to his two children, is diagnosed with terminal cancer. Before Susan Sarandon’s character dies, she gives her children two gifts. She gives her son a cape because he was into magic, and her daughter a blanket. Both gifts are covered in pictures that their new stepmom took of the children with their mother, and by this gift she not only honored their past but paved the way into the future. There are so many things that make me feel out of control. Our best response is not fear, but faith. Give of yourself and pave the way to a brighter future. Amen.