Those Who Ask Questions Receive Answers, a sermon based on John 20: 19-31, preached on April 27, 2025

Late one night, having had a nightmare, our young daughter cried out. I hurried to her bedroom and rubbed her back. Then, I fell asleep next to her, and I know that she did not fall asleep because I woke up to the feeling of her pulling her finger out of my mouth. A salty taste lingered on my tongue, and so I asked her, “Did you just feed me a booger?” She had fed me a booger. But I don’t regret being there. Every child needs to be able to reach out and touch her mother or her father when she is afraid. We all learn that everything is going to be OK, not because someone told us it was, but because when we cried out, someone with flesh and blood was there. Love must have flesh and blood. Otherwise, it is unbelievable. A lasting image of Pope Francis, who died last Monday, will be him kneeling at the feet of incarcerated men, washing their feet. How are incarcerated men to comprehend the awesome love of God unless such love is wrapped in flesh and blood? The Gospel, to be understood, must come down from the pulpit and to the people because so many understand kinesthetically. How’s that for a big word? Kinesthetic learning means to learn by doing or experiencing. Think of going to the part of the museum designed for young children, where they get to touch a fossil or gently pet the back of a stingray. One of my earliest childhood memories is going to the High Museum of Art and walking across a giant tongue. The taste buds lit up under my feet as I walked over it. We know this about kids, that they learn, not just by listening to us talk or reading about new things, but by doing and touching, feeling and smelling, and we learn about the love of God the same way. We don’t just believe because someone told us, but because someone walked into our lives and made the love of God real. Do you remember that scene in Ted Lasso when Coach Beard goes to Nate’s apartment? Nate is afraid that Coach Beard is there to head butt him. Instead, Coach Beard turns his hat around, gently places his forehead against Nate’s, and forgives him. Jesus said to the disciples, “forgive the sins of any and they are forgiven,” for no one believes in forgiveness until forgiveness comes in flesh in blood. Likewise, Thomas said, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” because the good news is just too good to believe until it takes flesh and blood. Until the Gospel takes flesh and blood, we cannot believe it. The love of God can’t just be learned by listening or reading the Bible but is comprehended kinesthetically. We believe because we have known. Because we have touched His wounds and felt His grace. This is how we learn the truth about people, who they are and whether they can be trusted, not just by reading their resumes, but by shaking their hands and going into their homes, so the great author Mark Twain is famous for advocating that people travel, saying, Travel is fatal to prejudice. It’s fatal to bigotry. Travel is fatal to narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and women and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime. But that is what we are too often doing. I read about the nation of Haiti. Then I went on a mission trip there, and I tell you, it is one thing to read about the poverty, the mounds of plastic floating in the coves, the lack of sanitation and prenatal care. I tell you it’s one thing to read about a lack of sanitation, and it’s another thing to smell the lack of sanitation. It’s also one thing to read about overwhelming poverty, and it’s another thing to witness the strength of human resilience in spite of it. We learn the truth through touch. We come to believe in miracles once we’ve witnessed one. How does anyone ever come to believe that the alcoholic can recover from his addiction, but to see it? How can we comprehend the miracle of the healed broken heart but to see the woman broken by grief lifted and restored? We believe that the light shines despite the darkness because that light has shined upon us, so Jesus doesn’t question Thomas’s motives but says to him, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe,” because this is the way it always is. God who created the heavens and the earth is not some figment for theologians to describe. God is no faceless theory to ponder academically, but is a reality to be experienced. Jesus Christ is God’s love in flesh and blood, which is the way people learn what love is, and so when this city drives by our church, seeing a line of hundreds of cars on Tuesday afternoons, and dozens of volunteers providing those families with food to eat, they know that hope is alive. When the world reaches out and finds Christians here that they can touch, lives are changed. Through ministry here that they can feel, people come to know that this place is not a den of hypocrites, or a country club for casual believes, but the Church of Jesus Christ. For we all learn by touching, smelling, hearing, and witnessing in person, so Jesus calls the disciples to forgive so that His grace takes on flesh and blood. Jesus calls on Thomas to touch His wounds, that he might believe that life has victory over the grave, and I tell you that it’s one thing to read about it in book, and it’s another to experience hope for yourself. I’ve read a book called The Anxious Generation. It’s a book full of incredibly bleak statistics that point towards a concerning reality. Many kids are addicted to their smart phones. They’re not playing outside as much. They’re not on the playground so much. Instead, they’re inside, which seems to many parents as though they’re safe at home, yet so long as they’re on their phones, they’re at risk for exposure to child predators, unhealthy images, and all kinds of other bad influences. That’s the reality that I read about, and in reading this book, I wanted to destroy our daughters’ iPhones. I wanted to destroy your children’s phones and your grandchildren’s phones, too, but then, the week before last, our girls had some friends over, and one friend brought with her a phone basket. She demanded that all in attendance place their phones in the basket so that they would all be present in the moment, talking and interacting instead of staring at their screens. Everyone complied with 16-year-old Birdi Dixon. I put my phone in the basket, too, and I tell you this story because the night is not necessarily so dark as you have heard, but to see the light, you’re going to have to open your eyes and reach out your hands. Death will not have the final word, but you may not hear that on the evening news. He is not dead, for He is risen, but to believe, you’re going to have to go out into the world to find where God’s love has taken on flesh and blood. Don’t take their word for it. For prejudice and racism thrive when people stop searching for the truth. Don’t just read about it. Evil in this world grows when good people give up on finding hope. And please don’t let the talking heads tell you what’s really going on, for ignorance thrives when good people stop asking questions. I’ve heard a lot of concerning news in recent weeks, but when God’s love takes on flesh and blood in us, it changes things. I was invited to lunch by a new banker in town. Before we ordered, he started telling me about his Easter, how he spent the weekend with his daughter, a student at Florida State. You may know that there was an active shooter on the campus of FSU. Two were killed, and several others were injured, and upon hearing the news, he called his daughter right away. She was safe, and he told his wife that she sounded fine. His wife told him to drive to Tallahassee to make sure. “What did you do once you got there?” I asked. “All she needed was a hug from her dad,” he told me. My friends, we all learn that everything is going to be OK, not because someone told us, but because when we cried out, God provided us One to touch. Will you let your faith become action, that those who do not yet know or understand might gain a sense of God’s love through your flesh and blood? Amen.

Why Are You Weeping? A sermon based on John 20: 1-18, preached on Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025

As I think about the empty tomb on that first Easter morning and the scene described in the Scripture lesson we just read, I notice that there are three people who showed up, and all three were there for different reasons. First, there’s the unnamed “disciple,” the one whom Jesus loved. Some Bible scholars have said that this disciple is nameless in our Scripture lesson so that we can imagine ourselves in his shoes. Regardless, we know that Jesus loved him and that he knew that the Savior had been crucified, then put in that tomb, but it’s as though he believed Jesus when He said He would rise again, for when he hears that the tomb is empty, he’s ready. He rushes so quickly to get to there that he beats Peter there. This unnamed disciple reminds me of those of you who woke up this morning with your Easter dresses laid out. You knew which flowers you’d bring to place on the flower cross outside the church. Your ham is already in the oven, and peeps are your favorite candy. There are people here like that unnamed, beloved disciple. On that first Easter morning, Peter and that beloved disciple heard that the tomb was empty from Mary Magdalene. Peter and the unnamed, beloved disciple set off running; yet that Peter would run towards the empty tomb is ironic. Do you remember how quickly Peter had been running away from Jesus since the Lord was arrested? When Jesus was arrested, Peter was afraid that he would be next. While Jesus was suffering, Peter didn’t want to suffer alongside Him, so when a crowd pointed him out saying, “That man was with Jesus,” Peter denied that he even knew who Jesus was. Why then did Peter rush to the empty tomb? Was it because he felt guilty? Was it because he wanted to apologize? Was it because he’d been carrying around regret and shame, punishing himself for what he’d failed to do? I don’t know for sure, but I do know that some of you are here for such a reason. While I know that some of you are here because of how you love Easter and love the Resurrected Savior, I imagine some of you are here because you haven’t been to church since Christmas, and it seems like it’s about time for you to get back in here. Peter went to the tomb carrying a heavy burden, and people carry heavy burdens into this church. So many of us are weighed down with guilt, shame, regret, and self-loathing. Not everyone joyfully rushes to get in here on Easter morning, yet regardless of why you’re here, I want you to know that I’m so thankful you are here. I’m thankful that you’re here, even if you don’t want to be here. That’s how it was with Mary Magdalene. Remember that there were three. The unnamed, beloved disciple who rushed to get there. Peter who rushed, too, because he suffered from a guilty conscience. With Mary Magdalene, it was out of devotion to a man she loved with all her heart. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb that first Easter. She was there to anoint a corpse for burial. She didn’t want to be there. She needed to be there. She was there early that morning to honor a man who changed her whole life, but she wasn’t there to see Him; she was there to pay her respect. She wasn’t there because it was pleasant. She was there because it was necessary. Some of you are here today for a similar reason. Mama asked you to come, or your father used to go to church here. You’re here because being here makes them proud. You’re here out of respect or devotion. Your wife comes to this church, and she begged you to come today because it’s Easter. You’re not really expecting anything special to happen. In fact, if a miracle fell in your lap, you might miss it, and so it was with Mary Magdalene. Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept, she bent over to investigate the tomb. Two angels were there, and they asked her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” If it sounds strange to be asked a question like that by two angels, know that Mary didn’t notice it was strange. She didn’t think it was strange to see two angels. Neither did she think it was strange to see Jesus. She didn’t recognize the angels as angels, and she thought Jesus was the gardener. That’s how it is with miracles for people who don’t believe in miracles. They just look right through them and explain them away, so Mary, who showed up at the tomb to anoint a dead body for burial, never considered that Jesus was talking to her. She thought He was a gardener, and when He asked her “Woman, why are you weeping?” she said, “because I wanted to stay home to watch the game, but my husband dragged me to church.” No. Assuming that this man who appeared to be the gardener had moved the dead body, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Right then, Jesus said to her, “Mary!” He called her by name. That opened her eyes, and my friends, regardless of why you’re here, I want you to know that Jesus knows your name. He knows why you’ve come, what you need, and who you are looking for. He knows who you’re missing, and why your heart breaks, and what brings you joy. Jesus has called you here, even if it was your mama who twisted your arm. Jesus called you here, even if every day is Easter Sunday for you. Jesus called you here, even if you drug in a 10-pound bag of guilt along with you. And He knows why you weep. I wonder if, when that beloved disciple investigated the empty tomb, he wept for joy. I wonder if Peter, on the night he betrayed the Lord, wept because he had failed. Do you weep, late at night, wondering if you’ll ever live it down? Do you weep because you can’t believe what you did? Or is it because you miss him? Like Mary Magdalene, do you go in his closet, just to breathe in the smell of his clothes? Out of devotion to someone buried in the grave, have you come here today? Is it simply because you thought coming here might help you feel closer, or might help you feel connected? I want you to know that while the unnamed, beloved disciple showed up at the empty tomb that first Easter morning with Easter basket in hand and a hymn on his lips, Peter showed up at the tomb weighed down by guilt and shame. Mary Magdalene showed up to anoint a body for burial. Yet as soon as He said her name, she dropped those burial spices and rushed to embrace the Lord, for He is risen. Peter might have done the same, had he dared to doubt the voices in his head telling him he’d never live it down. Peter might have laid down his heavy burden of guilt, shame, and regret had he just noticed that Christ had broken those chains and removed that burden, but he was so stuck in his own dark, desolate tomb that he wasn’t ready to come out. He was so stuck in the habit of shedding tears that he left that empty tomb more confused than ever, for we all get stuck. This Easter morning, I tell you it’s not just Jesus who has been stuck in a tomb; it’s you and me. We get stuck in tombs of our own shame. Stuck in tombs of our own selfishness and narrowmindedness. Stuck in tombs of grief and mourning. Stuck in tombs where death has all the power. Why are you here? Why are you weeping? The reason hardly matters, for we are all here together, and I tell you, in a divided world, division will not have the final word today. Isolation will not have the final word today. Death will not have the final word today. For He is risen. Doubt your conviction that miracles are all superstition, that people never change, that the bad guys always come out on top, or that all hope is lost. Doubt your conviction that you can never be forgiven. That the church serves no real purpose. That everyone is out to get you. That being here is just killing time until the ham is served. Doubt those stories that the world has told you and take notice of the miracle of Easter. For death gives way to life. Shame gives way to forgiveness. Doubt gives way to faith. Isolation gives way to community. Mary Magdalene came to the tomb to anoint a corpse for burial. She dropped those burial spices to rejoice in the Good News, and I hope that you who are carrying heavy burdens will drop what you’ve carried in here. Drop your burdens and rejoice in the gift that God provides. For He is Risen. He is Risen, indeed. Halleluia. Amen.

Riding a Borrowed Donkey, a sermon based on Luke 19: 28-44, preached on April 13, 2025

I was watching Driving Miss Daisy last week. Do you remember that movie? I was on a plane trying to decide how to occupy my time on this flight, and I realized that I’d never seen Driving Miss Daisy. It takes place in Atlanta during the age of the Civil Rights Movement, and Miss Daisy gets invited to a dinner where she’ll hear Dr. King speak. She asks her son to go with her, and her son likes Dr. King. He believes in what he stands for. He agrees that it’s time for change. He knows that segregation is holding the South back, and as a Jewish man, he knows what discrimination feels like, but when it comes down to making a choice to stand publicly with the Civil Rights icon, he gets worried about what rubbing shoulders with an agent for change might do to his business. Maybe you know the feeling. Maybe you’ve been there before. There’s a choice to be made, and some people join the parade, cheering beside the Messiah riding on the borrowed donkey. Others stand near the edge, trying to keep a foot in two camps. They’re with Jesus, but quietly. They don’t want to disturb the peace. They get all wrapped up in second guessing, wondering: “What will people say?” “How will this choice affect the bottom line?” Not everyone is comfortable taking the risk to follow Jesus, so while today we celebrate these crowds of people who waved their palm branches to welcome the king and who lay down their robes in defiance of Rome without a care for tomorrow, listen as Jesus says, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” What does that line mean? He means that if these people weren’t celebrating, then the stones would. In other words, this celebration is inevitable. This moment in history is unavoidable, and whether the parade of people forms, whether their cheers are loud or soft, it doesn’t really matter because Jesus is the King of Kings, and He doesn’t have to win an election to make that true. He just is. His Lordship is not based on public opinion, but on the arc of history. Nothing lies in the balance. The future is not uncertain, for He commits to us fully even if we suffer from cold feet. He is determined, and He has decided. He rides on a borrowed donkey because there will not be a return trip. He rides to the cross, where the price of our salvation will be paid. If we don’t lift our voices to praise Him, the stones will. That’s the message I want you to hear this morning, in an age where it seems to many that our nation sits on a precipice. My friends, empires rise and fall, stock markets rise and fall, nations have histories that begin and end, while His kingdom will never end. Do you believe it? As mortal creatures, it’s hard to grasp something that never ends, but I caught a glimpse of eternity last week. I watched Driving Miss Daisy on the plane to California because we flew there to see the giant sequoias. The largest one is called General Sherman, and it’s been growing for more than 2,000 years. It’s truly something to stand at the foot of a tree that big. The marker claims that standing at the foot of General Sherman and looking up at its branches is something like how a mouse feels when he looks up at a human. The proportions are about the same. Compared to a giant sequoia, we are like a mouse, yet compared to the God who created the heavens and the earth, the giant sequoia is like a toothpick. At some point, that tree will fall. Maybe we’ll be alive to see it; maybe we won’t. Regardless, all that we see and worry over and obsess about will end, sooner or later. The work of our hands, for good or for evil, will not outlast the Lordship of Jesus Christ. Bow to His power in awe and wonder today and allow the politics and the problems of this present age to take their place in the backdrop of your consciousness. The powers of this world will rise and fall, but the Word of God will stand forever. Stand with the One who rides that borrowed donkey and have the assurance now. Believe the Good News today that the One who rides that borrowed donkey, He rides on to bring our salvation. Halleluia. Amen.

Come Back to the Party, a sermon based on Jonah 3: 1 – 4: 1 and Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32, preached on March 30, 2025

If you were reading with me in your personal Bible or your pew Bible, then you noticed that I skipped from verse 3 to verse 11 of our Gospel lesson. Do you ever wonder why the preacher would skip over verses like that? Chapter 15 of the Gospel of Luke tells three parables right in a row. I skipped the first two, the parable of the lost sheep and the lost coin, to get to the third parable: the parable of the lost sons. Jesus tells two parables to set up this third one about a father and his two sons, both of whom are lost in their own way. Now speaking of being lost, Jesus tells the three parables together because, when it comes to lost sheep, lost coins, or lost car keys, people rejoice when they find what they thought they’d lost forever, and God is no different, especially when it comes to His children. That’s the point of telling the three parables together. Together, they give us a glimpse of who God is. The love of God is like the love of a father who says, “There is nothing you could do or tell me that would make me love you any less. I just want you to come home. Come to the party I have prepared for you. Don’t let shame get in your way and certainly don’t let the resentment of your grouchy older brother weigh you down.” My friends, I hope you’ve all heard enough sermons focused on the son who left home, squandered his inheritance, and was still welcomed home that you understand the love of God. I hope and pray that you know that mostly what God does is love us because you need to know, and I need to focus on the older brother this morning. There are two lost sons in this parable, and while many sermons have focused on the son who rebelled, left home, squandered his inheritance on loose living, and out of desperation came home to receive a grace he did not expect, many of us need to hear about the resentful son, who stayed home, did what was asked of him, followed the rules, was there when his father needed him, and couldn’t take it when the rebellious son came home and received not punishment from the father but a party. The great preacher Tom Long once said that the parables of Jesus are like a stick of dynamite wrapped in a story, and the dynamite is this: Jesus is telling this parable to a whole crowd of older brothers. It’s the pharisees and scribes who are listening to Jesus here: good, church-going folks who knew and understood the resentment that the older brother felt. They were the audience. We are the audience today. Do you know what it’s like to be the older brother? I’m the oldest of three. There are enough years between the three of us that we all had different experiences being raised by George and Cathy Evans. I’ll summarize by saying that they wouldn’t let me do anything, and they would let my little sister and brother do whatever they wanted. That’s not true, but at times, it’s felt true. Parents raise each child a little bit differently because no two children are the same, so I don’t parent our daughter Lily the same way that I parent Cece. They are two different kids. They’re both beautiful, but they don’t look the same. They’re both miraculous, but in different ways. They’re both gifted, but they have different gifts. For example, Cece is an athlete. The first time she beat me in basketball, she was in 4th grade, but Lily’s not an athlete. In fact, every time I see Lily run, it looks like she’s trying it for the very first time. Instead of athletically, Lily excels socially, and she is so sweet to me. Every time we’re in the car together, she asks me specific questions about my day: whom I had lunch with, which meetings I had, what was great about my day. Cece hasn’t asked me a question about my day maybe ever, but in her heart, there is so much kindness. Twice in school, she was asked to write about her hero, and twice she picked me, and she dotes on our two dogs while Lily would leave them for dead. They’re not the same kid, so I don’t parent them the same way. Likewise, I’m not the same as my brother or my sister, so my parents have not raised us the same way either. For example, I was 6 or 7 years old, and I got mad at my mom and told her that I was running away. She said, “Let me help you pack.” I’m not kidding. She studied drama in college, and so she made it a theatrical experience. She prepared peanut butter and crackers for the road, wrapped them in a handkerchief and tied it to a stick so that I could walk down the sidewalk like a hobo about to catch a ride on a slow-moving train. She knew that I wasn’t going anywhere. All I needed to do was cool off around the corner, eating my peanut butter and crackers. Once I finished eating my provisions, I came back home. All she had to do was wait. The older brother wasn’t like that, so while the father waited for the rebellious, prodigal son to come home, the father left the party to go and ask the older brother why he wasn’t there rejoicing with everyone else, and the older brother says: For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him! He needed to say that, and so the father went out there to let him. The father knew that this son was in a kind of self-imposed exile. He’s not lost in some far-off land, but he’s still lost: lost in his anger, lost in his hurt. He’s like Jonah, disappointed that the people of Nineveh will be spared. He’s just like all of us, who sometimes feel resentment and anger over the grace of God flowing freely to people who don’t deserve it. Resentment in many ways is a greater barrier to overcome than geographic distance. To bridge that chasm of anger and resentment that the older son felt, the father went to him and listened. He let the older brother spew his anger and his hurt, and then he said: Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found. My friends, when I feel resentment, I want God to be on my side. And God is on my side, but God comes to my side to listen, and to invite me back to the party, not to take my side in the argument. God can’t take my side in the argument, for if God is like a father then know that until all His children are at the table, the party will not feel like a party to Him, and if you’re not at the party, then who is being punished? The older brother was outside of the party. Why would anyone choose resentment over a party? Is that where you are? Are you outside of the party? Are you waiting for God to take your side? I want you to know right now that God isn’t ever going to do what your resentment wants Him to do. God isn’t going to exile His children if He can help it. The party is going on, and if you’re outside all by yourself, don’t blame God. Get over yourself. Let go of your resentment and come back to the party. Outside in the cold, stewing is no way to spend today, and it’s no way to spend eternity. If you are looking forward to judgement day to finally hear that someone in your life gets what he deserves, you’re going to be disappointed, and you’re misunderstanding the grace and love of God, for in Heaven, there will be a party, and everyone is welcomed in because Heaven is not about being worthy. Heaven is all about grace. Stay out if you want to, but I implore you: Leave behind whatever would keep you from celebrating and come back to the party. Amen.