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.

Christmas is Cancelled in Bethlehem, a sermon based on Luke 2: 1-14, preached on December 24, 2023

Christmas is cancelled in Bethlehem. That’s my sermon title for this evening. It’s not something that I thought up to grab your attention. It’s an actual headline being reported right now as war rages in Gaza: Christmas is Cancelled in Bethlehem. In the city synonymous with the birth of Jesus, there will be no Christmas Eve services. Tomorrow morning, in the City of David, there will be no choirs singing. Those Palestinian Christians who have been celebrating the Savior’s birth for more than 2,000 years will not be gathering for worship tonight nor tomorrow, as the city’s priests have canceled public worship services because it is not safe to go out. With a war raging in the streets, Christmas is cancelled in Bethlehem. Of course, this isn’t the first time someone or something tried to cancel Christmas. According to our history, in December of 1864, there was no Christmas Eve service here at First Presbyterian Church. On this night long ago, wounded soldiers were recuperating in our Sanctuary. They were chopping up the pews into kindling and starting little fires to keep warm, yet I can imagine that on that dark night, one lifted his voice to wish another, “Merry Christmas.” Perhaps some dared to sing a carol by the light of their campfire. Maybe one raised a bottle and passed it around to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace because you can’t really cancel Christmas, not when Christmas is hope. Not when Christmas is love. Not when Christmas is joy and light and laughter. No matter how much work we put into it, Christmas is not the trees that we decorate or the presents that we give. While we all may turn our celebration of Christmas into something that requires hours in the kitchen and lights out in the yard, truly, what Christmas is now is what it has always been: the great celebration that defies all challenges. It is the great rejoicing, even in times of despair. Remember that with me, Charlie Brown. In A Charlie Brown Christmas, Charlie has been chosen as the director of the Christmas pageant, yet he picks out the puniest tree and his cast refuses to follow his directions. As he throws up his arms asking the question, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” his friend Linus drops his blanket for just a moment to recite from memory the passage from Luke’s Gospel, which we just read. The pageant was falling apart, yet Christmas can’t be cancelled. Even if the cast revolts, Christmas can’t be cancelled. Even if our homeland is plunged into war and chaos, Christmas can’t be cancelled because Christmas is the Light that shines in the darkness. Christmas is the Promise of God that comes in the form of a child born to a father and mother who barely have a roof over their heads. That first Christmas almost didn’t happen, and yet, it did, for no matter how bleak the circumstance, no matter how dark the night, no matter how desperate the situation, unto us a child is born. Our God is coming to bring Good News. Christ comes to us, is born unto us, even if He must be born in a manger or a battlefield. There is no cancelling Christmas because Christmas doesn’t come once all is merry and bright. Christmas comes because, despite all the darkness, there is Light. Despite all the warfare, comes the dawn of peace. Despite all the hopelessness and strife, despite all the conflict and despair, despite all the dysfunction and family drama, Christ is born. He is born unto a broken people to bring healing. He is born in imperfect circumstance to bring salvation. We forget that. We forget what Christmas means. We don’t have to pretend that everything is perfect. That’s not what this is. It rained on our live nativity, and we canceled it the week before last. I was so disappointed. It’s not Christmas without a family picture in front of the camel, right? That’s how we can all be. We all sometimes think that Christmas is all about getting it right. The perfect tree. The perfect dinner. The perfect present. The perfect whatever. Yet, last night, I had to make two trips to Home Depot because toilets stop working, even at Christmas, but that doesn’t mean Christmas is cancelled. Imperfect is what Christmas has always been and will always be. Christmas is wounded soldiers singing Christmas carols. Christmas is expecting the dawn of peace in a warzone. Christmas is gratitude in the midst of hunger and desperate need. You may know that every Tuesday, cars line up in our parking lot so that members of our church can place food in their trunks and back seats. Hundreds of cars. This year it’s been as many as 365 families a night. Each family who comes through the line has the chance to write a prayer request on a little sheet of paper. Last Tuesday night, despite whatever hardship these people were facing, most of their prayers were prayers of thanksgiving. “How can we pray for you?” the card says. Just Thank you, one wrote. That was her prayer. “Thank you.” Be blessed, wrote another. May God bless you guys. Blessings to all of you. Thank you for your kindness. Thanks, and God bless you. I went through the stack of prayer requests, and so many of the prayers of those who came to us for food were prayers of gratitude. Praying for all of y’all volunteers. We appreciate you! May you receive thousands of blessings!! Thank you for your help. God bless you with many blessings. I pray that God keeps all of you healthy and safe during the holiday season. Merry Christmas to all the sisters and brothers of the Presbyterian Church. Thank you for helping us with your food bank. Thank you for what you do. Thank you. Of course, there were also requests for help. One asked that we pray for her son’s salvation. Another, that he receive enough money. One for a mother’s health, another for a job. One for a family’s travels, a marriage, an upcoming surgery, for a son in the hospital, for wisdom, for the war in Gaza, for one’s wife, for another’s car, for sadness, for world peace. Another asked for prayers for she is homeless. Then one asked that we pray for his family, for his health, and his kids, and for God’s help, for “My life has fallen apart.” My friends, the One is coming who will put us back together. Should your world be falling apart, should your Christmas be less than perfect, tonight is the night for you to believe. There is no cancelling Christmas, for the Hope of this night defies all despair. Tonight of all nights, remember the One who is coming to save us. Glory to God in the Highest Heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors! the angels said. Early this morning, my friend Dr. Brian Robinson, who is the dentist to many in this congregation, sent me a poem by Madeleine L’Engle: He did not wait till the world was ready, Till men and nations were at peace. He came when the heavens were unsteady, And prisoners cried out for release. He did not wait for the perfect time. He came when the need was deep and great. He dined with sinners in all their grime, Turned water into wine. He did not wait till hearts were pure. In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt. To a world like ours, of anguished shame, He came, and his light would not go out. He came to a world which did not mesh, To heal its tangles, shield its scorn. In the mystery of the Word made flesh, The maker of the stars was born. We cannot wait till the world is sane. To raise our songs with joyful voice, For to share our grief, to touch our pain, He came with love: Rejoice! Rejoice. Friends, it’s not like me to wait to finish my Christmas Eve sermon until a dentist sends me a poem, but this is Christmas, my friends. This is Christmas. The perfect Child, coming to us, an imperfect people. We are always rushing without rejoicing, feeling shame when our God brings forgiveness and grace. He comes with love, so whatever you circumstance, whatever your mood, rejoice. Rejoice. Christmas will not be cancelled, not this year, and not ever. Halleluiah. Amen.

Putting Christ Back into the Christians, a sermon based on Luke 1: 67-80, preached on December 24, 2023

A few weeks ago, I received an email from a woman named Kay Power, who livestreams our worship service regularly. Because of livestream, she can worship with us from her home in Australia. Thanks to her friend Jane Sullivan, she was introduced to our church and has developed such a high regard for our chancel choir, that a couple weeks ago she emailed to say: “I don’t know of a place nearby where I could hear a choir like yours, maybe in the cathedrals of Sydney. Other than that, I don’t know where I could go to hear music like what you have in Marietta.” I think she’s right about that. We have cathedral-level music around here. However, I feel sure that many who hear our choir, bells, and musicians Sunday after Sunday have gotten used to them. While there have been Sundays when we’ve all been so moved that we clapped after hearing the chancel choir sing, we don’t always clap, not only because Presbyterian don’t clap, but because our expectations have adjusted. That can happen. It’s possible to grow used to excellence. When that happens, the outstanding seems typical, and the exceptional feels normal. The same thing can happen with mediocrity. After hearing myself sing for as long as I have, I’m starting to think I sound pretty good, and that’s not objectively true. I’ve just gotten used to it, and sometimes what we get used to, be it above or below, becomes average. Those who expect to succeed get used to success, and those who expect to be disappointed can get used to that as well. We all adjust our expectations in such a way. They say that it’s the hope that kills you, so some save their hearts from breaking every time their prayers aren’t answered by not expecting them to be. Yet, those who adjust to low expectations and unanswered prayers stand the risk of not believing should the miracle arrive. So it was with Zechariah. Our second Scripture lesson is the song of one who had grown so used to disappointment that when a miracle dropped in his lap, he couldn’t believe it was real, not at first. While he celebrates in our second Scripture lesson for today, his initial reaction to the miracle of his long-awaited son’s birth was not celebration but doubt. To give a little background, in the previous chapter, the Gospel of Luke tells us that Zechariah and his wife, Elizabeth, were good and righteous people. In fact, the Gospel of Luke goes so far as to say that they were, "Both of them... righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord." Not only that, but Zechariah was also a priest and Elizabeth was a descendant of Aaron, the original priest of Israel. There can be no doubt that both knew right from wrong, went to the Temple, not just when they had to but as often as possible. We should all assume that they knew how to pray, and when they had trouble conceiving, they knew from Whom to ask for a miracle, only at some point or another they must have stopped believing that the miracle would happen. That’s what happens with disappointment. People get used to it. Month by month, I imagine that they got used to the disappointment over their unanswered prayer by lowering their sights and settling into the unfortunate reality that children would not be in the cards. "Both were getting on in years," the Gospel of Luke tells us, and you can’t allow your heart to break again and again forever. You learn to adjust your expectations. That’s what people do. Their disappointment didn’t stand in the way or their religious observance, however. As the years went on and the hoped-for baby didn’t arrive, he still said his priestly prayers. He just said them with a little less hopeful expectation. Zechariah continued as a priest, though bitterness over his unanswered prayer may have worn on his heart. Perhaps he wore his priestly garments without the same reverence he once did. Maybe he admonished his congregation to faithfulness with a little less conviction. Perhaps he declared the mighty power of God with doubts in his mind. Surely, he was honored when he was chosen to go offer incense in the holiest place on earth, the sanctuary of the Temple, the Holy of Holies, the place where all good Jews knew God was truly present, yet did he really expect to meet God or one of God’s angels when he went in there? We know that he didn’t, for when Zechariah went into the Holy of Holies, an angel of the Lord appeared to tell him that a baby was on the way, and Zechariah didn’t believe it. “Because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time,” the angel Gabriel said, “you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.” That’s all there in the verses before our second Scripture lesson, and a version of the events they describe have happened to me as well. In my first year as a pastor, I was serving the Lord at a suburban Presbyterian church in Gwinnett County. I was an associate pastor, who in seminary had loved learning theology and studying Scripture, and was overjoyed to be called to serve a real church with a real congregation, only as the weeks and months went on, there was more stress than I expected. Seminary was one thing. Ministry in a church was another, for there was no class in seminary for choosing between white or red poinsettias, which is a real issue I had to navigate, and it had real consequences. Likewise, there was no class on how to respond when a member of the church is surprised to see you buying beer in the grocery store. I felt like a 17-year-old caught in the liquor store when it happened. Six or seven months in, mentally, I had grown used to life as a member of the clergy, but physically, I hadn’t. A rash broke out on the side of my stomach. At my wife’s urging, I went to my doctor who examined the rash, then diagnosed it as hives. “I could give you medicine,” my doctor said, “but I’m not going to.” Wondering why, he then said, “This rash comes from stress. You don’t need medicine. You need to relax. You’re a pastor, right?” I nodded. Then he said, “You need to find a way to relax. Have you ever heard of prayer?” Why would a pastor need to be prescribed prayer? Or in the case of Zechariah, why would a priest lose his faith or abandon hope? The great preacher Fred Craddock once described his disappointment when he looked behind the pulpit to find nothing but a Styrofoam cup of coffee growing mold and a box of Kleenex. How could it be that this sacred lectern could turn into a receptacle for moldy coffee cups? It sounds strange, but this is what happens. Human beings get used to sacred things and forget that all the ritual of organized religion points to the supernatural. The same thing happens in The Bishop’s Wife. Have you seen that movie? If not, watch it tonight. I watched it again this morning. The bishop was standing there in his office. He’s feeling pressure to raise money to build a beautiful cathedral, and in desperation, he prays to God, “Lord, won’t you help me?” God heard the bishop’s prayer and sends an angel to come and help, only guess who doesn’t really believe in angels: the bishop. This bishop doesn’t believe that this character who walked through the locked door of his office is an angel sent by God; however, he’s glad for the help he offers. The bishop asks the angel to take his wife out to lunch while he goes to meet with a wealthy widow who may be prepared to make a sizable donation to the cathedral fund, and this is where Hollywood and the Gospel of Luke diverge, for in the movie, the angel falls in love with the bishop’s wife. No such thing happens in Luke’s Gospel, although the bishop and the priest Zechariah both eventually wake up to remember what faith is about. It's there in our second Scripture lesson. When the long-awaited child is born, he proclaims: By the tender mercy of our God, The dawn from on high will break upon us, To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, To guide our feet into the way of peace. This is a wonderful passage for us to hear about this morning. There is so much ritual to our celebration of Christmas. Yet, like a priest who stopped believing that God would answer his prayer, we get so caught up in the motions that we forget the miracle at the center of it all. This Christmas, I hope to help put the Christ back in the Christians, and I don’t mean that I insist you say “Merry Christmas” rather than “Happy holidays.” I mean, I hope that you and I can remember that at the center of all of this is a miracle beyond our understanding. At the center of all the preparation is a supernatural event. A miracle. A gift from God, far greater than any gift you are likely to give or receive. Do not forget that there is something terrifyingly real beneath all the wrapping paper and amid all the decorations. The twinkling stars point to the God who created the spinning planets. No lights on any houses can compare to the true Light coming into the world. Now, I know that some were dragged here this morning against their will. Others are working on their to-do lists at any break in the service. It’s that time of year for over-functioning and pushing ourselves to the brink, but if the foundation of all that we do today is not the mighty love of God, then we have missed the point and deserve to be silenced by the angels just as Zechariah did. Back to The Bishop’s Wife (I’m going to give the plot away.): Just in the nick of time, the bishop wakes up to discover that loving his wife well says more about his faith than building a cathedral. And I haven’t had hives since. I’ve learned to pray. I try to relax and to keep my priorities in order. When I don’t, I lose sight of the true meaning of Christmas, so I hope to keep Christ in the heart of this Christian standing before you, and if you are just going through the motions this time of year, then hear me when I say, God doesn’t want a forced march towards Christmas morning. God wants to hear you sing. Let’s put the Christ back in us Christians because Jesus didn’t come to earth because He had to or was supposed to. Jesus came to earth because God loves us. If your celebration this time of year looks like obligation and feels like a heavy burden, then remember that. Remember to love one another as God loves you. At the root of all that you do this time of year, let it be not routine or obligation, but love, which is always miraculous. Amen.