Leaving Father Zebedee

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 9: 1-4 and Matthew 4: 12-23 Sermon title: “Leaving Father Zebedee” Preached on January 26, 2020 There are several good questions to ask when you first read this Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Matthew. I think the first one that I ask is, “what was it about Jesus?” These four fishermen – they just stopped and followed. How did they know it was him? How did they know Jesus was someone who was worth following? There are some good explanations. We’re not unfamiliar with the leadership quality called “command presence.” Command presence is this quality, a quality that’s not easy to define exactly – it’s one of those “you know it when you see it” things. Looking back at history - George Washington must have had it. As a man over six feet tall in the late 18th Century he was always the tallest man in the room. He was known to be the best horsemen as well, and when he barked an order most people fell in line – he had command presence. The same could be said of others like General Patton, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Dr. Jim Speed, or my wife Sara Evans. What was it about Jesus? Was he tall? Was he commanding? Could he persuade a crowd with the truth of his words and the sound of his voice? Dr. Roger Nishioka thinks that it’s something more than that when it comes to Jesus. He was a professor at Columbia Theological Seminary while I was there. He’s a big name in the Presbyterian Church, and in a commentary on this passage Dr. Nishioka quoted his father who said, “We are imprinted with a memory of God, and God is imprinted with a memory of us, and even if it takes a lifetime, we will find each other.” What was it then about Jesus? According to Nishioka it is like those newborn baby seals numbering in the hundreds or the thousands on a single beach, these beaches are packed with all these baby seals who all look alike, but as their mothers return from the ocean with their catch the pups find the mothers or the mothers find their pups because from the moment of birth, “the sound and scent of the pup are imprinted in the mother’s memory, and the sound and scent of the mother are imprinted in the pup’s.” Could it be then that even before we are born we are imprinted with the memory of God, so that when we hear his voice we just know to follow? I think that must be how it is, and so, St. Augustine was so bold to write at the beginning of his Confession that “Man is one of your creatures, Lord, and his instinct is to praise you. The thought of you stirs him so deeply that he cannot be content unless he praises you, because you made us for yourself and our hearts find no peace until they rest in you.” For him, even while his childhood and young adulthood was spent wandering so far that he was at first rendered ineligible for baptism for they said, “He was a great sinner for so small a boy” – still Augustine found no satisfaction in the pleasures of the world, but only found peace by resting in the Lord, for when we hear his voice we hear the call of home. Or to put it as GK Chesterton does in his great poem of Christ’s birth in the manger: There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. For men are homesick in their homes, And strangers under the sun, And they lay their heads in a foreign land Whenever the day is done. To an open house in the evening Home shall men come, To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home. What then did these fishermen see in Jesus as he wandered up the beach? What did they sense in his demeaner? What did they hear in his voice? They heard a voice they had always known but couldn’t place and they saw a man they recognized but whose name they could not remember, for they had always known him and yet they hadn’t met and they knew to follow though they could not have told you why. The words of the Prophet Isaiah that made up our 1st Scripture Lesson is quoted again in the 2nd claiming that seeing him is as “the people who sat in darkness” seeing a great light – “for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.” That was Jesus you see, and when you’ve seen him and when you’ve heard him you just know. Meeting him is like looking into the eyes of your new born child – she’s breathing her first breaths and yet you recognize her face somehow. You don’t need explanation – for the truth isn’t so hard to recognize when you hear it. It’s like water to the thirsty, like water to the thirsty who didn’t even know that they were thirsty, for in him is the satisfaction for our deepest need. Bind our wandering hearts to thee, we sing, because our hearts find no rest until they rest in him for we are imprinted with a memory of God, and God is imprinted with a memory of us, and even if it takes a lifetime, we will find each other and when we do we will finally be at home. He found those four…. and they followed. Perhaps this is where there is sometimes a difference between them and us. I want to argue that we would have known it was him as they did, because the imprint of our creator is inside us just as it was inside them. We know his voice when we hear it, but the question is: would we have followed? It’s not whether we would have recognized him. You would have and so would I, but would we have followed? Think for a moment about what these fishermen had to leave behind. In becoming his first disciples, what were they willing to give up? Verse 18: “As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea – for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.” What were they willing to give up? What did they leave behind? Their nets, their livelihood, all that they had known, their trade, their heritage, their people, their home, their family – and poor old father Zebedee is left in that boat. I say that when you hear the voice of God you know it, but are we able to get up and follow? That’s a big part of the challenge of being a Christian today – preachers like me make it too easy. Someone will ask me what are the requirements of church membership and I’m just so glad they’re interested I don’t ask them to do a thing – “Just join the church, please!”. But here’s the truth – if you want a new life in Christ, you must leave the old life behind. In Chapter 10 of Matthew Jesus says it himself, “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” What then is the cost of discipleship – what do you have to give up to really follow him? Back in Tennessee, in an African Methodist Episcopal Church we sang about it once. The Presbyterian Church I served there started a relationship with Bethel Chapel AME and for our third joint worship service, the service began with a song that was easy to learn but profound in its message. It went like this: Victory is mine Victory is mine Victory today is mine. I’ll tell Satan Get thee behind Victory today is mine. We sang that until we got it. It took the Presbyterian a little while, but we got it. When we did the Music Director at Bethel Chapel AME changed the words a little bit and we sang: Happiness is mine Happiness is mine Happiness today is mine The part of this hymn that I want to emphasize here which struck me so profoundly is that for happiness to be mine I must “tell Satan, get thee behind.” To inherit the gifts of God To have the joy he intends To follow where he leads, we must leave our nets, leave our old life, maybe even leave our father behind because even the people we love can hold us back from enjoying the majesty of New Life. What becomes clear from this passage from the Gospel of Matthew is that recognizing Jesus is one thing but leaving behind what must be left is another. And perhaps, when you consider how clear Jesus is about the cost, how upfront this story is about what must be left behind, you’ll see that those who are worth following never gloss over the fine print. You remember well the words: “It’s not what this country can do for you – it’s what you can do for this country.” There’s a cost. “Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline. Communion without confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.” That’s a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He died in a Nazi Concentration Camp. Why? Because following Jesus is risky. Going along with the crowd is not discipleship. Falling in line with the powers that be is not the same as obedience to the Gospel, for the one we follow was tried, condemned, and crucified by those who would rather maintain their power than hear the truth. This religion of ours; it costs something. Joy is the Father’s intention, but to have it some things must be left behind. What have you been asked to leave behind? Nets. Fathers. Bad habits. Old dreams. Hatred, hypocrisy, appearances, ego, or public opinion. Whatever it is and no matter how hard it is to let go, know this – “this present time [is] not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.” So, do not cling too tightly to the present, to what you have, for we have been called by the Savior to something better. Go tell Satan, “get thee behind” for I have heard his voice and I want to follow where he leads. Amen.

Getting Out of the Way

Scripture Readings: Isaiah 49: 1-7 and John 1: 29-42 Sermon Title: Getting Out of the Way Preached on January 19, 2020 Last Thursday afternoon I saw something remarkable. Remarkable things happen and I’m thankful when I notice them. Our daughter Lily was the one who pointed this one out. We were walking with her friend Julia, leaving the church after helping out at Club 3:30, our afterschool program. Once she pointed it out, we all stopped dead in our tracks because walking across the Harris Hines Memorial Bridge was a pink dog. That’s right. A pink dog. The woman walking the dog saw us gawking but just kept strolling normally as though she were walking a normal dog. She wasn’t. That dog was pink, and we caught up to her to ask her about it. Once we caught up, we could tell that this pink dog belongs to Maggie, daughter of Janet Lewis. Maggie just wanted to give her dog a pink mohawk, only the dog moved while she was dying it so Maggie ended up dying her whole dog pink, which is something that never once occurred to me to do. I’ve never thought of dying my dog’s hair, but Maggie has. Isn’t that remarkable? It’s so important to stop and notice when you see something remarkable. The most remarkable sight that anyone has ever seen walked up to John the Baptist and John the Baptist stopped to notice. Last Sunday we focused on John the Baptist just as we do today, but this week is different. Last week we read a Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Matthew that described John’s willingness to step forward to baptize Jesus. John hesitated, not feeling worthy of baptizing Jesus. In stepping forward and answering the call to baptize the Lord in the Jordan, John models a courage that we need to have too for God calls on us all to step forward. However, while John the Baptist had the courage to step forward even though he felt unworthy, what we see in today’s Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of John is that he also had the wisdom to step back in awe and wonder. Last week he stepped forward to do something. This week he gets out of the way. We must be able to do both possessing the wisdom to know which we should do at any given time. Not everyone has that kind of wisdom, but people must know how to step back. If they don’t, they can be very annoying to be around. There are some people in this world who don’t know when to step forward to speak, but at the same time there are plenty of people who don’t know when to stop talking. There are some people in this world who never try, but there are plenty of other people who try too hard. There are some people in this world who don’t know how to accept praise, who have no capacity to receive a compliment, but there are so many others who never step back to give others their due, serving as the president of their own fan club, wanting all the good news to be about them. Do you know anyone like that? Of course you do, because while there are people who have trouble stepping forward, there are others who don’t know how to step back, so consider John again today. Last Sunday we saw how he stepped up to ministry when he was called on. Today we see that he also steps back for when he saw Jesus coming toward him, he points away from himself to declare: “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” In thinking about John’s example now for two weeks in a row I realize that I don’t always have the courage or the nerve to step forward. Neither do I always have the wisdom or humility to step back. A funny thing about being a preacher is that you stand at the door as everyone leaves the service. The reason we do this is to greet you, the members of the congregation, and to connect with you as your pastors. An added bonus is that we also become those who receive all the compliments. You are such a gracious group of people, and you so generously tell me when the choir sang so beautifully, when the flowers looked just perfect, even when the floors are clean. Regardless of whom should receive the compliment I am often the one who receives them. Do you know what I always say? “Thank you.” I guess there’s nothing else I could say. Only consider for a moment just how many hands go into crafting this worship service. Someone must print the bulletins, another hands them out. There are speakers and microphones which have been maintained and controlled from up in the sound booth. Music is played on the organ, prayers have been written and proofread, hymns sung. There are too many parts of this worship service for any one person to take credit for. Plus, all of what goes on here is empty without the Holy Spirit, yet I am the one who says, “Thank you.” That doesn’t make any sense; however, this is so often the way it is. Consider all the people you know who never step back to thank those whose shoulders they stand on. How many quarterbacks bask in the limelight without thanking those who blocked for them? How many dig into their meal without giving thanks to God from whom all blessings flow and for the hands who prepared the food? How many hours in a day do we spend looking at our phones when pink dogs are walking by? We wake up to scarlet sunrises. We sleep under a galaxy of stars, and still some spend so much time navel gazing that they would have failed to take notice of even “the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” I’m as guilty as anybody. The church I served in Lilburn was facing a financial crisis, which they emerged from. They went from a massive forecasted budget deficit to a large financial surplus. When I left that church for First Presbyterian Church in Columbia, TN, a former college president, Dr. Herold Pryor had heard this story from my resume. At a meet and greet with the entire congregation present he asked me down in the Fellowship Hall what I had done to achieve such a success. Sarcastically I said, “well, I’m a financial genius.” Of course, that isn’t true. I’m not a financial genius. Still, it was on my resume because it’s hard to explain when the God of miracles acts and it’s easy for humans to take the credit. We all want to be the somebody who can fix it or did fix it. We see problems and we pressure leaders to do something about them. If a leader of this country were to say, “Well, I’ve prayed about unemployment and I trust that God will do something about it” she’d never get elected because it seems passive to step back and point to the heavens. No one wants to admit that they can’t do it. No wants to admit that they can’t help. For we’re all the time pretending we have it all together, so it’s time we learned from John that having it all together is not what’s required. I think about the Rev. Billy Graham. You know he preached across the country and the world asking us to do this one thing: “Will you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?” Who knows how many lives he changed just by asking this one question? Who knows how many faced their end without fear because of their answer? But we must not think for a minute that this is a simple request, for acknowledging Christ as Lord and Savior requires accepting that we cannot save ourselves. That’s a hard thing to do. Don’t think it’s not, for we all fall into the trap of believing that we’re doing pretty well on our own. That we just need to work a little bit harder. That we can hold it all together if we just wake up a little earlier. So, listen to this. Someone once asked Billy Graham’s wife, Ruth, who was a Presbyterian, if she’d ever considered divorce. She said, “Oh no. Absolutely not. However, I’ve often considered murder.” That’s a funny story, but I tell it because it’s also a liberating one. Don’t look to the mere mortal. Look to the One all the great preachers, mere mortals themselves, have pointed towards, because everyone is need of His grace. Everyone. That Prayer of Confession in your bulletin: do you know who it comes from? Me. Do you know where I gain inspiration for those prayer? My sin. So maybe some of these prayers don’t all fit your life, but don’t go through that thing like a checklist. Because these are my confessions, I worry that they don’t always fit your life, only don’t look at that prayer and think through it like this: Together we prayed: We confess that we have not sought your face, but I worry that someone might have added to their prayer, “well God, maybe Joe hasn’t but I’ve been seeking your face.” Then we continued Focused on ourselves we look past your presence and the needs of others, and maybe someone looked heavenward self-satisfied saying, “All good there.” Then finally the prayer continued, Rather than sing the praise of our redeemer, we take center stage. Did any of you pray, “Lord, I’m good here too, but we have some work to do on our preacher”? Some of us read through the prayer of confession on Sunday morning and use it as a nice, weekly, internal audit. Only that’s not the point, because while we all want to be good, while we all want to be innocent, the prayer of confession invites us to face our faults so that we can receive his grace. That’s the truth. I know doing so is a lot to ask. We don’t want to ask for help. No one does. No one likes the truth that we are broken and need His healing. We like to teach and don’t want to be taught. Knowing how stubborn we can all be, recognize the strength it took for John the Baptist who “saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”” It’s not me. It’s him. I can’t do it, but he can. I cannot hold it together, and here is one who holds the whole world in his hands. I am not good, but he is so good. A counselor once said it to me this way: sometimes we must stop trying to fill our own cup, to see that he has already filled it. We must step back from our problems to see him answer our prayers. We struggle to be worthy, because we want to be loved but step back, because you are already. Get out of the way and allow him to do for you what you cannot do for yourself. Amen.

Called But Not Qualified

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 42: 1-9 and Matthew 3: 13-17 Sermon Title: Called but not Qualified Preached on January 12, 2020 Last Thursday was a special night for me. Having been nominated by Jim Kerr, I was honored to be named among the top twenty under 40 in Cobb County. They gave me a fancy glass trophy and had me walk across the stage, while several members of our congregation who were in attendance cheered, which made me feel very special. But as the other names were called and all their accomplishments were listed, I started to feel a little out of place. At the end of the ceremony before cocktails on the roof of the Strand Theater, I bumped into Trevor Beemon, executive director of Cobb Landmarks and the William Root House and also one of the 20 under 40. We agreed that we both felt like imposters. “I mean, a guy who was on TV on The Voice was up there,” he said, noting that we had been grouped with truly incredible people. Well, I ran into that guy who was on The Voice in the stair well. I told him I was honored to be included in this group with him, and he said, “Oh man. I felt so out of place. I had to go up on the stage right after that lady who is the South-East’s top building contractor, who also happens to be a helicopter commander. I’m just a singer!” That made me feel better, because I guess, we all feel unworthy at times. Look at John the Baptist. Our Scripture Lesson begins: “Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” The author of the book of Matthew tells us that John would have prevented him, and I can understand that because getting called on by God to do something so incredible is a terrifying thing. Being called on by God to do anything important is terrifying, because it makes us all, even John the Baptist, feel unworthy. I’ll never forget how our neighbor back in Tennessee, a great Episcopalian named Kile Patrick, called his wife Connie just to say, “I just had the most incredible thought. If my cell phone rang and the caller ID said that it was God calling, would I pick up?” Not everybody would. Not everybody does. Think about it. Isn’t it an overwhelming thought that God would call on you or me to do something for him? So, just about every time it happens the one who’s called on hesitates. The Lord appeared to Moses in the Burning Bush and Moses says: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh.” The Lord woke young Jeremiah from sleep in the Temple and Jeremiah says: “Wait a minute. I am only a boy.” The Lord calls Isaiah and Isaiah says: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” The phone rings and God is calling but not many people are ready to pick it up so also Jesus came to John at the Jordan to be baptized by him, and John would have prevented him asking, “who am I to be baptized by you?” Isn’t that what we all ask? Who am I to serve the church as an Elder? Who am I to be a Deacon? Who am I to teach? Who am I to comfort those who mourn? Who am I to preach? How do any of us respond to the honor of being called, and yet we must play our part for Christianity is not a spectator sport, though sometimes we treat it like it is. Sometimes we walk into this sanctuary, and because there are seats out there, there’s a platform up here, it’s easy to fall into the misconception that this place is something like a theater. In a theater, there are three basic stations, there are three basic roles. There’s the audience, the actors on the stage and then there’s the director who is back behind the curtain. That’s true in so many places we go. At a dance recital, there are the dancers on the stage, the instructors are behind the curtain helping them along, and the parents and grandparents are loving every minute of it in the audience. But this sanctuary is different. Every Church is different, because when we are bold to see God at work and when we are courageous enough to answer the call, the whole world is different. According to the great Danish Philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, in the sanctuary God is the audience, you are the ones on stage, and it is the job of those of us who stand up here to direct you in your performance of praise and worship. How then is it if someone falls asleep in the back? To God it is the same as if a dancer fell asleep on stage. Christianity, like life, is not a spectator sport, though some treat it as though it were. Some are called on but don’t pick up the phone. They don’t feel worthy, they don’t feel able, they don’t have the time, though the Lord calls on humans to take on divine work just as Jesus called on John at the Jordan. John doesn’t feel worthy to do so. Neither do I. We sing to worship God in here, but why would God want to hear us sing? It sounds strange that God would need our voices, maybe because we don’t know that God uses them, but let me tell you something, God does. I was at a funeral last Thursday. Many of you were there too. Our choir sang. At the reception Mayor Tumlin walked up to me and he said, “That choir is amazing. And to think that all those people would show up to sing on a Thursday at 2:00.” Why did they do that? Maybe some of them asked themselves the same question: “Why should I show up to sing when there is work to do, and laundry to fold, and what difference will it make any way?” These are the questions that we ask, while God calls us to lift up our voices because it is the music which points to the truth that we cannot comprehend. It is the choir who lifts up the faint hearted. For the presence of mere mortals brings comfort to the broken hearted. Do you know that? It’s true. God calls us. God uses us. But like John we hesitate, saying, “I’m not worthy.” Take heart then, because God doesn’t call perfect people. God doesn’t call the qualified. God qualifies the called. Christianity, like life, is no spectator sport, and just as Jesus called on John to baptize him in the Jordan, so also you and I are called on every single time a baby is baptized here. You are not to watch as I sprinkle that water on her head – you are to participate, making promises to everyone who is baptized here “to receive the child into the life of the church” and to “support and encourage her through prayer and example to be faithful in Christian Discipleship.” You and I have been called because we have a job to do. Now that I’ve explained it this way you might be thinking what John was thinking and wishing that you hadn’t made the promises that you made, but hear what Jesus said to John, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Isn’t it a miracle, an amazing miracle, that all righteousness is fulfilled with the help of a human’s hands? That a church is called on to teach a child about the grace of God? This is God’s way – the divine inviting the human, not to stand by and watch, but to play a part. Consider for just a moment how many human beings played their part in loving you so that you became the person you are today. I was standing there with Mayor Tumlin as he was celebrating our choir. Then he noticed Victoria Chastain standing there handing out glasses of water. “Is that the kind of job I have to look forward to as an ex-mayor of the city of Marietta?” he asked. They both laughed and across the room a woman looked at me and walked over. She looked me in the eye and said, “Can you remember who I am?” I said, “Of course I can. You’re Mrs. Peterson! My teacher!” She said, “Well, yes, but it’s Mrs. Pickett.” And I said, “Of course, Mrs. Pickett, my third-grade teacher.” She said, “Well, it was fifth grade, but yes.” We talked for a while, and she told me she wished she could go dig up some of the things I wrote when I was in her class at Hickory Hills Elementary school, and the thing I wanted to say but couldn’t is that she loved how I wrote and I remember. She bound up our writing in little books, and she asked me to read mine to the whole school at an assembly. My book was called the Swamp Monster, and she loved it, and it made me feel so good that my teacher loved it. My parents meant to be there when I read it to the school, but they got mixed up about the time, and when I cried because they weren’t there Mrs. Pickett gave me a hug and it meant the whole world. Or it might have been my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Peterson. Regardless, my point is this: there are people who made all the difference to me. Some of them are here right now, because God uses mortals to participate in the divine story that is changing us and the world. Jesus called on John to baptize him in the Jordan, just as he calls on you, just as he calls on me. We may not be qualified, but we are called, so say yes. Amen.

For A Child Has Been Born for Us

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 9: 2-7 and Luke 2: 1-20 Sermon Title: For a child has been born for us Preached on December 24, 2019 Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is today and Christmas Eve is a time for hospitality. We set big dining room tables and make room by the fire. Those guest rooms that most of the time are turned into laundry rooms are made guest rooms again so family or friends have a place to lay their head. This is a time for joining together and carol singing. I’m willing to bet that even those of you who have a designated pew in here where you always sit have made room for those who are joining us for the first time. All of that is good, because being left out hurts. I remember being in Middle School and finding out about this boy/girl party. It was one of the first boy/girl parties I remember, and I think I remember it so well because I wasn’t invited. Do you know that feeling? Whether it’s large or small, that feeling of rejection is one you never forget, but in this world of ours not everyone can be invited to everything, even on Christmas Eve. There’s limited seating, so it always seems, or maybe we could do a better job of making room. I remember so well my grandfather telling me about big meals his mother would cook out in the country where they lived. He grew up in a place called the Caw-Caw Swamp. His father was the game warden, and often men would come around to lend a hand. These men were unrefined, as men in the Caw-Caw Swamp tended to be, but as a son to the game warden, my grandfather enjoyed a level of gentility. His family had a radio, and one Christmas a man who had come to lend a hand heard a fine violinist play over the radio. The violinist was maybe performing at the Carnegie Hall or somewhere. This Caw-Caw swamp native stopped to listen and then declared: “It sounds like he’s got a pretty good fiddle, if only he knew how to play it right.” That’s a good story. A funny one. Another that I remember which isn’t so funny is that my grandfather told me any hired hands who were white took their meals in the kitchen of that house. Those who were African American took their meals on the back steps, because not everyone was invited in. So, it was with Mary. So, it was with Joseph. When it came to them that Christmas Eve so long ago it probably wasn’t because of the color of their skin that they were left out, but just the same, they had no room of their own at the inn. They were left out. They had traveled so far just to be sent out back to the manger. Still, they made the best of it. “She gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger.” Now having a new baby changes things. I can imagine that suddenly these who were left out of the inn are now in the position of deciding who gets to see the baby, and everyone wants to see a baby. I can imagine ladies who worked at the inn gathering around Mary. Maybe the inn keeper’s daughter peeked in to see who was making all the noise. Maybe the inn keeper herself wanted to come down with her husband to see the baby. Had I been Joseph, I would have turned them both around. In fact, when Sara and I were new parents, we turned a lot of people around. And even those who were allowed inside, we subjected to scrutiny. We made them sanitize their hands. Anyone under the weather was subject to a health screening. No one was allowed to touch the baby’s face or hands. We even bought these medical shoe covers that we made people put over their shoes before coming in to keep them from tracking in outside contaminants. That’s just how some new parents are. They act like they’re the first people to have ever done it. And we were guarding the door even to those who came bearing gifts. We subjected them all to scrutiny and put out a genuine spirit of inhospitality, because new parents are in the position of deciding who is allowed in and who is left out. What about Mary? What about Joseph? How did they do it? Who did they leave out? In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. An angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place. So, they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger, But Joseph said to the shepherds, “Wait just a minute. First, I’m going to need you to put these cover things over your shoes, I don’t want you tracking any germs in here.” No, that’s not what happened. You know what happened, only have you ever really thought about it? From the very beginning it’s all right there. Before he could say his first word, already, the one who was left out of the inn welcomes all people to himself. In his moment of rejection, still he turns the other cheek. Rather than return evil for evil, though he is the stone that the builders rejected, he is the chief cornerstone of a new kingdom, where all people, no matter how lowly, have a seat at the table and are welcomed inside. That’s Jesus. That’s the little child lying in a manger. God incarnate. True God from true God, shining the bright light on the truth, that no matter how rejected you have ever felt in your life, the Christ child welcomes you in. Don’t you see? From the very beginning he knew that feeling of being left out, set aside, and looked over. And yet in his very birth he challenges any idea of limited space at the table by inviting the shepherds in. That’s a radical message of hospitality that challenges a core fear that rots the heart of our society. That’s a radical message of inclusion that even challenges some core declarations made by the church. The great sign of the shepherds who were invited to his manger bed is that there is more room, more grace, more love, more forgiveness, and more freedom than we had dared to believe. For we turn our back, while the Christ child calls them closer saying: “I was born for you.” We close our doors, while the Christ child invites them in. We build walls and fences, though he cries out to the entire world just as he calls out to you and me. And that’s not theoretical. That’s literal. You. I’m looking right at you. You. He was born for you. Hear the truth of that. “To you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah the Lord,” and that’s regardless of how unworthy you feel, but what it demands is that you look upon other people the same way that God looks upon you. The whole world would change with just this simple recognition, for while our society is divided between those who have and those who have not, those who live in gated communities and those who live on the south side of fences, those who have papers and those who don’t have them, those who were accepted and those who weren’t accepted, those who went to cotillion and those who use the wrong fork at the dinner table, at the Lord’s table there is no partiality so how can there be any in our hearts? Christmas Eve is a time for hospitality. That’s because He was born for each and every one of you and each and every one of them, so make some room. That’s the change that’s required of all of us who celebrate the birth of this homeless, migrant child. Born of Mary, son of God, unto you and unto me. Alleluia, and Amen.

Emmanuel

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 7: 10-16, Matthew 1: 18-25 Sermon Title: Emmanuel Preached on December 22, 2019 What was going on in Joseph’s mind? Can you imagine? I know it’s hard to imagine. Joseph and Mary are Saints of the Church and heroes of the faith. They are parents of the Christ child! It’s hard to imagine them as having emotions or doubts like all the rest of us, but to fully grasp the magnitude of this Second Scripture Lesson from the book of Matthew it’s important to recognize that Joseph and Mary were people. Sometimes we think of the stories in Scripture as happening to spiritual figures who are somehow different from us. If we think that way then we miss the point completely. So, imagine instead what you would be feeling if you were in Joseph’s shoes. You’re engaged to be married. The wedding plans are in place. There have already been multiple bridal showers. Invitations have been sent. Maybe, because you’re a carpenter, you’ve already put an addition onto the house, or maybe you’ve been working on a bed for your bride to sleep in. I don’t know exactly what it was like. Neither does anyone else, so just imagine what it would have been like for you to find out that after you’ve told everyone and prepared in various ways Mary was “found to be with child.” How would you have felt? What would you have been thinking? Now imagine what your mother would have said. It’s hard enough for the daughter or son-in-law to be. I was once a son-in-law to be. I love my mother and father-in-law very much. I’ve known them now for 19 years. For nearly 20 years they have been as much a part of my life as my own parents. Their home, especially their vacation home on a mountain in North Carolina, feels like home to me. They’ve always welcomed me in and have been kind and loving beyond measure. But I will tell you this. About the time Sara and I were getting serious, her father bought a revolver. He did. He said it was because of the wild boar that had invaded their property up on the mountain. That’s probably true, only by this purchase it was clear to me that he had a gun and he knew how to use it, and as I had been invited into the heart of his beloved daughter, I could imagine him using that gun for more than just protection from wild boar. This is a precarious place; the place of a son or daughter-in-law to be. I don’t know whom my daughters are going to marry or fall in love with, but I already hate him. I do. And considering that hatred I can imagine what was going on in the mind of Joseph’s mother, and what words of hers might have been poisoning her son’s thoughts. “Well, I never liked her anyway,” his mother might have said. “I told you to stay away from her,” she might have added, “And that’s why I invited you to meet my friend Lois’s daughter, Miriam. She’s such a nice girl. Maybe she’s a little homely, but at least she has class unlike this Mary of yours.” This is part of the challenge of getting married: your parents may have been looking for an opening to criticize your fiancé, and as soon as they have it, the flood gates open. That’s not because they don’t want you to be happy. It’s because they love you and don’t want you to get hurt. I can just hear Joseph’s father: “I knew that girl was going to break your heart Joseph. But you weren’t thinking, were you son?” Parents are like that. People are like that. We all are. We jump to conclusions, and it’s not just because we’re prone to suspicion or conspiracy or fear, but because we want to protect the people we love from those who appear to be deceptive, dishonest, or disloyal. The problem is that appearances can be deceiving. And you all know what they say about assumptions. Have you ever thought about how many assumptions inform the opinions of your family members? And have you ever wondered whether or not those family members know how wrong the assumptions they are making are? Such would have been the case with Joseph’s parents, his friends, and even Joseph himself, because Mary was found to be with child, but it’s not what any of them thought. Still, I have to imagine that they were talking and that Joseph was listening, because that’s what people do. And so: Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. In those days he could have had her stoned, humiliated, or cast out from the community. Because he was a kind man, he took all his assumptions and tampered them with compassion. Assuming he knew why she was with child, rather than give voice to his full anger or embarrassment, he was kind. I like that about him, but even his kindness was misinformed for he was operating on the basis of assumption rather than truth. That happens an awful lot. Do you ever think about how much of our lives we spend misinformed? Every morning Thomas Jefferson woke up and placed his feet in a bucket of cold water because his doctors told him it was good for his health. When George Washington was sick, the doctors rushed over and decided that his blood levels were out of whack, so they bled the poor man until he died. Today there are people like me who will rub Ben-Gay on any sore muscle, though it’s healing properties are unverified while its odor has proven to be highly offensive. Likewise, others will prescribe Robitussin for every malady. I’m always giving Becca Yan, a member of the church staff, a hard time for her conviction that essential oils will cure anything. It sounds like witchcraft to me. Only who knows? Who knows? We do. Or so we think. And yet, how often are our assumptions misleading us? How often do our prejudices misinform? How many holiday dinners end with World War Three because Uncle Alfred is sure that his liberal grandchildren are communists and his liberal grandchildren are sure that Uncle Alfred would vote for Atilla the Hun? We don’t really know, yet we think we do. Our assumptions mislead us. We take a few scattered observations and let them fill in the gaps. Our minds run in circles based on misinformation. And I know it’s hard to argue with the reality that this woman was with child but let us all give thanks to God for Joseph who was willing to abandon all of his assumptions in favor of a dream. Now, be honest. You don’t give much credence to dreams. Neither do I. But dreams do affect me. They affect Sara too. Some mornings Sara wakes up already mad at me, and for good reason. But once or twice she woke up mad at me, and I asked her what I had done. She looked at me and said, “Well, nothing I guess, but you won’t believe what you did in my dreams last night!” Has that ever happened to you? Something like that happened to Joseph. It was a dream and it changed his world view. Only consider this: Mary was visited by an angel. All Joseph had to go on was a dream. He could have explained that dream away saying, “It must have been indigestion.” He could have told his mother about it, and it wouldn’t have stood up to all her assumptions. He might have just allowed the dream to fuel his compassion, to affect his emotions but not his actions, and yet Joseph allowed this dream to change the course of his life and the fate of this world. It was a dream of the great promise made by God to humankind summed up in one word: Emmanuel. That’s a name, and it means simply: God with us. Not God looking down on us, trying to figure us out. Not God making assumptions about who we are and what we’re thinking. God with us, knowing us, understanding us, in such a way that leaves no room for misinformation or assumptions. That matters tremendously because in every human relationship assumption are being made. What we don’t know we often make up, and so often what we make up is worse than the truth. Consider the Grinch. I’ve been under the weather, and so I’ve had a lot of time to watch my holiday movies. Maybe you haven’t, so let me remind you. The Grinch lives in a cave on Mt. Crumpet. Mt. Crumpet looms over Whoville, and the Grinch lives in that cave with his dog Max. He thinks a lot about the Who’s in Whoville, but he doesn’t really know any of them well. He thinks he does, however. He assumes their Christmas is materialistic. That they don’t care about people, unless those people are carrying toys. Only then he meets Cindy Lou Who. Cindy Lou Who is different. What does she want from Santa? Well, in the new Grinch movie, Cindy Lou Who only asks Santa that her Mom who works so hard would have a break. And how does she react when she wakes up on Christmas morning to find nothing under the tree? The Grinch assumes that Cindy Lou and every other Who in Whoville will be devastated. That Christmas will be ruined! Instead, Cindy Lou and all the Who’s in Whoville gather in the town square to sing that weird, nonsensical song, because Christmas in Whoville isn’t about the stuff. What happens when the Grinch hears them sing? He comes face to face with the truth. He learns who these Who’s in Whoville really are. And his heart grows three sizes, only do you see what had to happen? His assumptions had to die. The distance between Mt. Crumpet and Whoville was bridged, not by what the Grinch thought he knew, but by the truth. It was like a dream where he finally understood. It was like a miracle when everything changed because he was close enough to really know. That’s what Emmanuel means. God comes to earth to become one of us, rather than rely on assumptions. Can you imagine what would happen if our friends in Washington were so bold as to try and understand each other to such a degree? Can you imagine how dinner at Christmas would change if we were all so bold as to try and understand each other that way? In Christ, God has done it, for this is what love requires. And in listening to each other, in striving to understand rather than assume we already know, we are continuing the work that our God has started in Emmanuel: God with us. Amen.

A Way Through the Wilderness

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 146: 5-10 and Isaiah 35: 1-10 Sermon Title: A Way Through the Wilderness Preached on December 15, 2019 Last Tuesday was the annual Church Staff Christmas Party. This is an event that all of us look forward to, because it is a rare gift to work in a place where you feel so appreciated. This year we were welcomed into the home of Helen Hines. We sat at her dining room table, used her polished silver, were waited on by members of the Administration Council, and ate like kings. Then we gathered in her living room, where Santa delivered gifts. That took a little while because his slay was blocking the driveway, so he had to movie it first. Eventually we all unwrapped presents, a Christmas bonus, and I was also honored to receive the black tie that I’m now wearing, which celebrates a recent accomplishment. For months I’ve been learning to ride a unicycle, and this tie has a unicycle on it with the words, “Yeah, I can!” And I can. It took a lot of work which started when I bought a unicycle at a yard sale. The first time I tried to get on it I knew it had been an impulsive decision because I couldn’t even sit still on it. Frustrated, I quit for a couple weeks. Then I picked it back up again with greater determination. Last June I finally peddled once or twice without holding on to anything. I was so proud that I called my family out to the driveway for a demonstration. I miraculously repeated the same feat of ridding a unicycle for a distance of nearly one yard. I’ll never forget their response: “Was that it? Is that all you can do?” Fueled by their encouragement I kept going. I can now ride for about twenty feet. My goal is to ride in our next church talent show in October, but the point I want to make is that many times I wished for a short-cut. I wish it had been easier. I wish I hadn’t had to fall so often. I wish I could have learned this new skill a lot faster. If I could have learned faster, I might have started trying to learn much earlier, but that’s the way it is with new things and long journeys. Just as there are falls in the process of learning, so there is a long way between point A and point B, and that long way in-between goes by many different names. You can call it practice, purgatory, or adolescence. In Scripture the point between point A and point B is often called the desert. The wilderness or the desert is an in-between place. The Hebrew people wandered in it for 40 years after leaving slavery in Egypt. 40 years is a long time. Typically, it would take a person just 11 days to walk from Egypt to the Promised land, but the truth is that making it from slavery to freedom takes much longer and there are setbacks along the way, just as the journey between starting and finishing or not knowing and knowing is always harder and always takes longer than we want it to. We fall more often than we want. We look silly. We get frustrated. The road is rocky so often people give up before they make it, or they just stay right where they’ve always been, unchanged. That’s true for some when considering going to the FOX to see the nutcracker or something. One thought of the traffic and we watch it at home, but that’s also true for anyone who is trying to change or learn something new, like a new musical instrument. There’s a magazine that I love called Okra. I love it because it’s a magazine that celebrates the South unapologetically without being redneck about it. That tone was summed up in the letter from the Editor of last month’s issue: We don’t try to preserve our past to live in it. We preserve it to feel a connection to our ancestors, to learn from the lessons left behind, thereby creating a better future. I like that. I also liked an article in that same issue by a guy named Matthew Magee who knows how to play the fiddle. A friend of his asked him to send some instructions, because his brother-in-law, a classically trained violinist, wanted to learn how to play the fiddle, but only if someone could teach him to do it in about ten minutes. Now I expected Matthew Magee to be clear and say, “that’s just not how it works.” Getting from point A to point B takes a lot of time. Who knows how many hours of practice our own Will Myers had to put in before he learned to play as he does? And to ask him how to master another style would probably take years. By the way, at our staff Christmas party Will ended up with a t-shirt that says, “God’s gift to women.” But back to the point, to learn how to play something well takes some time in the desert, yet this Matthew Magee said he would send instructions for learning the fiddle in ten minutes. This is what he wrote: All he needs to do is hold the bow a little further up, lower the violin turned fiddle off the shoulder kind of slumping over out of classically taught position. Never use vibrato with the left hand, ever; move like he’s getting stung by happy bees. Shuffle the fire out of the notes with double stops every now and then holler something random… not quite on pitch, like “tater patch, tater patch” or “had a dog named Rover, when he died, he died all over,” with extreme confidence and wild eyes. Always smile like you know something they don’t. Be in the moment and feel the vortex of music pulling you in. The objective is to make people feel like something musically strange is happening, because it is. And that’s Fiddling 101 by Matthew Jay Magee. Mr. Magee ended the article by saying, “What this basically means is… make a joyful noise… [for] the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best.” Sometimes we never start because the way is hard or we fear failure, but what if the way were easy and filled with song? What if trying were the same as rejoicing and we knew that walking out on a limb were the same as stepping into the fragile space where Christ takes us by the hand? From the Prophet Isaiah we read: The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, The desert shall rejoice and blossom; Like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, And rejoice with joy and singing. What the Prophet means here as he addressed the people Israel is that the land in between where they were, exile in Babylon, and where they longed to be, the Promised Land, was not a desert or barren wasteland. In fact, it was no longer a wilderness at all, but more like a forest full of bird song or like I 75 when you have a Peach pass. The highway is clear, he says to us today, for the Lord is here, and no traveler, “not even fools, shall” miss their turn. The redeemed shall walk, the ransomed shall return, and all will make it to Zion with singing. Everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. This is an important and crucial message for us, for like the people of Israel, there are so many moments in life where point A is not where we want to be, but the getting there to point B keeps our feet planted. The illiterate doesn’t want to look foolish. He imagines admitting his need will met with shame, so he hides the fact that he can’t read rather than start the long journey towards literacy. The addict fears facing the truth, so numbs himself to it again. The soldier longs for home, but even once she lands back on US soil there’s still a long way to go: bills, childcare, learning how to get along with her husband again. Then for others, the journey through the desert is literally that: a desert. My first job out of college was as a lawn maintenance man, where I met some of those who had done it. They were two men from Mexico, who spoke little English, but had literally crossed a desert to cut grass in Buckhead and I cut grass right beside them and drove around with them in a big truck from house to house. One benefit of such a workday was that my Spanish got pretty good, but no matter how good, the jokes were still hard to make. The only time I really made my coworkers laugh was once when I didn’t mean to. They were describing the journey through the desert from Mexico into Texas. They told me that it costs about $5,000 dollars to pay a coyote or guide to lead you across the border, and still, you might get caught and sent back. I asked them if you could get your money back if you didn’t make it over. That’s when they started laughing. Then I said, “But don’t you get a receipt or something.” For the rest of that week my coworkers were retelling my joke to every Mexican lawn maintenance worker they saw, which points to a reality: going from point A to point B is a risk. It’s hard. It costs something. Only let me say this, the Lord is with us as we walk our pilgrim journey and if we have hope in our hearts then a desert crossing or a mountain pass is nothing. Consider the Von Trapp family who illegally crossed the Alps into Switzerland to escape the Nazis, but for them, the hills were alive with the sound of music. That’s what the Prophet is saying. The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, The desert shall rejoice and blossom; For the difference between point A and point B is nothing considering how the Son of God bridges heaven and earth, born in a manger, as the great sign that God is with us. Too often we imagine that he’s waiting for us at the finish line. That he’ll meet us just as soon as we’re good enough or have made it but that’s not it you see. In the Christ child we know that he’s running beside us in the race. And that even when we slow down, he’s close by our side. Back in Tennessee I went to visit a woman named Mrs. Cotham. Mrs. Cotham was in hospice. I went to visit her and asked her if she was afraid. “I’m not afraid of death,” she said. “It’s what happens between now and then that scares me.” I can understand. There’s always fear between point A and point B. So, this Advent may our prayer be like that of the great Episcopal priest Thomas Merton, who was bold to pray: My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. [Yet I do know this,] you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost in the shadow of death. I will not fear for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. “Do not fear, for I am with you,” says the Lord, so let us find joy on our way through the wilderness. Amen.

Old Dogs and New Tricks

Scripture Lessons: Romans 15: 4-13 and Isaiah 11: 1-10 Sermon title: Old Dogs and New Tricks Preached on December 8, 2019 As I’m sure is the case in your house, Sara and I have a list of banned words that no one is allowed to say. Our girls aren’t allowed to tell anyone to “shut-up” nor can they call each other “stupid.” Sara requires all of us to use proper grammar, so “ain’t” is also banned, and sometimes she gets on to me for telling her what “I’m fixing to do”. Apparently “fixing to” is not an acceptable alternative to “about to” in the Queen’s English. This Advent Season I’ve been thinking about adding another word to the banned list: “never.” I’m also considering the fate of the words “can’t” and “won’t.” These are words that people use, though a lot of the time these are words that they must later take back. Certainly, that’s how it is with kids. When a kid says: “I’m never going finish my homework.” “I’m never talking to her again.” Or “I’ll never make it” as adults you and I may know well enough to say to them something like: “Even though it looks like it’s going to take forever, you can and you will finish your homework.” “Even though you’re angry now, your anger will pass and you’ll want to talk with her again.” Or “Yes, rejection is hard, not making the team hurts, and when you’re standing at the bottom of the hill it may feel like you’re never going to make it to the top but just start walking and see what happens.” Those are all things that adults will say to kids, only what about all the other sayings that are just as defeatist that we adults accept as truth all the time? Consider how negative are the phrases: You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Some men you just can’t reach. A leopard can’t change his spots. That dog won’t hunt. Or my favorite: You can’t fix stupid. These phrases are about things that can never happen. They claim that a dog can reach an age in which it’s outlived it’s adaptability, that some men can never be rehabilitated, that born with certain traits a leopard can never change as though genetics determine fate, which, leads me to: “you can’t fix stupid,” a phrase which people say as though education were but a pipe dream. While it’s true that some things can’t be done and some problems will never be fixed, often these phrases accept hopelessness, spread discouragement, reinforce depression, wallow in sadness, and allow the power of evil to have the final word. Yet who has the final word? You see, just as Genesis tells us that the Creator God spoke all that is into existence, we too must be warry of the power of the words that we use and the worlds which those words create. By our words will we be so bold as to deny that sometimes miracles happen? That sometimes everything changes and even those dogs who have been spreading their fleas and promising they’ll change while never lifting a finger can, in fact, learn. That’s what happened in the Mr. Roger’s move. I hope you’ve seen it. It looks like it’s all about Mr. Rogers. It’s not though. It’s actually about a grumpy young man who writes for Esquire Magazine. It’s 1997 and the journalist, his name is Tom, has gained a reputation for taking down heroes from the pedestals that society has placed them on. He goes looking for the skeletons in Mr. Rogers past, yet the plot of the movie is how Mr. Rogers ends up helping Tom face his. Tom’s father was an alcoholic. He was abusive. And as Tom’s mother was dying in the hospital, young Tom and his sister had to sit with her to help the doctors make the most difficult decisions regarding the person they loved more than anyone. They, though children, were the ones who had to do it because Tom’s father was off with his new girlfriend. Tom couldn’t forgive him for that. He was angry, and the anger that was born of a difficult childhood was poisoning the rest of his life. That’s hard for a man to admit, though it can be a state that he’s willing to accept as permanent, as though anger were not an emotion to be talked through but like spots on a leopard that he can never get rid of. Living with that attitude is dangerous and foolish, not only because his life was off track and he could do something about it, but also because even as his father was dying, now a changed man, Tom couldn’t see it. Why was that? Why couldn’t Tom see something good that was obvious to everyone around him? It’s because Tom had “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” tattooed across his eyeballs. Even when the old dog had changed his ways and gained a heart full of love and remorse, Tom who lived by words like “can’t,” “never,” and “won’t” was blind to the shoots that sprang forth from an old, nearly dead stump. The prophet Isaiah points us towards that image. It’s a small thing, a common thing a stump with shoots springing forth. It’s something that we’ve all seen after cutting down a Bradford pear tree, thinking it gone, only to watch it come back year after year, driving us crazy with its determination to testify to the reality of hope. The Prophet Isiah says, “look at this shoot, a small thing, and know hope springs forth in bigger things, Hope springs forth all around us!” It does, though so cluttered by “can’t,” “won’t,” and “never,” hope can be easy to miss. It’s easy to miss hope. Isn’t that sad? Something like the Presbyterian College Blue Hose is easy to miss. Have you ever heard of them? When there are so many other huge football programs around, an alumnus like me has to point out that Presbyterian College really does have a football program and they really are called the Blue Hose, but they haven’t been very successful. In fact, I read in our alumni magazine that Presbyterian College is leaving the Big South Conference. Why are they leaving? Because they lose most all their games. Now that’s a sad thing, but sports at a small, liberal arts college is often a sad thing. If you play sports at Presbyterian College then most likely, you won’t play professionally, though graduate Justin Bethel of the Patriots does. Still, if you’re on the Presbyterian College Blue Hoes’ than you can’t expect to win a whole lot, and if you’re a graduate of Presbyterian College you just about have to accept that you’ll never get into sports the way a Georgia graduate would. Maybe to those who are mourning the loss to LSU that sounds like a good thing, but back to Presbyterian College. Just last Wednesday, the feature story in the College Sports Journal came with the headline: “Wrestling History About to be Made at Presbyterian College.” This year Presbyterian College is home to the only NCAA Division 1 women’s wrestling team, and they are set to compete at home for the first time in the history of the program. This occasion reminds me of something my Dad said once. My Dad was the South Eastern Champion in three cushion billiards. I once asked him how he did it. He said, “Son, if you want to be the south eastern champion of something, it’s good to pick a sport that hardly anyone plays.” You might say that this is the case when it comes to women’s wrestling, but I say wait, watch, and listen as history is made. A small liberal arts school is making national news. Now, that’s different from a big deal football program, but it’s still something, and if we’re always looking for what’s big, we may look right past what’s there. Sometimes hope starts as a small thing, only don’t ignore it. A shoot grows into a tree. A small light will spread to concur the darkness. And love is a power stronger than hate even if the only place you can feel it is in your own heart. Maybe you know that Senator Johnny Isakson, who holds the distinction of being the only Georgian ever to have been elected to the Georgia House, Georgia Senate, U.S. House, and U.S. Senate, has just stepped down from his office in the U.S. Senate due to ongoing health issues. He is a three-term senator, and because we live in a country of division and partisanship, there’s been conflict between Georgia Governor, Brian Kemp, and President Donald Trump, over who ought to be appointed to fill his Senate Seat until the next election. All that’s now been settled and put to rest. What I don’t want to put to rest is how Mr. Isakson seized the opportunity in his farewell speech, not to celebrate himself or make note of his many accomplishments, but to urge all legislators to “forget their differences and focus on common ground to find solutions” for the good of this country and her people. He went on to highlight his friendship with U.S. Representative John Lewis of Atlanta, pointing to their relationship as an example of the change that bipartisanship can bring if people just let it. Now, in today’s world that seems like a longshot, and many have already given up on it saying it will never happen, but during his speech he said, “Bipartisanship will become a way we accomplish things, a way we live, a state of being. It will be the end of a bad time and the beginning of a new one and I’m going to live long enough to see both.” He also said, “America is changing for lots of reasons” and the solutions to our problems are in people’s hearts. How’s your heart? Is it hard and cold like Pharaoh’s who would not let God’s people leave Egypt? Is it settled in the way things are now and resistant to how they might be? Is it open to what God is doing in the world? Is it prepared to live in a New Heaven and a New Earth where the Wolf shall live with the lamb, The leopard shall lie down with the kid, The calf and the lion and the fatling together? A little child will lead us there, and he is coming, but are you ready to follow? He’s not grown used to the way things are because he knows how they might be. This child can see newness springing forth all around him, so he’s a permanent resident of the Promised Land and he declares that it is coming soon, but are you ready? He’s something like a tombstone that I saw last week. A tombstone, by design is hopeless. It’s the great sign of what will now not happen, what has ended, and what won’t come back, yet this tombstone declared: This memorial is dedicated to the remarkable life of Melvina “Mattie” Shields McGruder. She was born a slave in South Carolina in 1844. At age 6 she was brought to the nearby Shields Farm in what is now Clayton County, Georgia. Her family would endure a five-generation journey that began in oppression and would lead her descendant to become First Lady of the United States of America, Michelle Obama. Theirs is a story of hope. Such hope is so vital in our world today, because too many use words like “can’t” and “won’t” and “never” so often that they’re residents of a fallen world full of broken hearts, resigned to broken ways, and broken habits. If that’s true for you, I call on you to look around this morning. Just last Monday I saw a great big largemouth bass mailbox on our street wearing a Santa hat and it reminded me that I must allow Christmas to surprise me. Then I saw a picture of a shoot coming out of a stump on a counselor’s card last Tuesday and it reminded me that anything can happen, anyone can change, for hope springs forth all around us and we must not grow so used to the ways of a broken world that we are comfortable in it. As Paul said in our First Scripture Reading from the book of Romans, and as I’ve quoted him every Sunday that I’ve given the benediction: May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Old dogs can learn new tricks. Alleluia. Amen.