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.