I Will Not Leave You Orphaned

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 3: 13-22 and John 14: 15-21 Sermon title: I Will Not Leave You Orphaned Preached on May 17, 2020 A formative moment in my life happened during the Great Recession of 2008. I was serving my first church in Lilburn, as an associate pastor. The senior pastor had just left for a church in Florida, so attendance was already dropping as were the finances. Certainly, the economic forecast didn’t help the financial situation, so the Session met and one of the first things they did was allowed the interim pastor’s contract to expire. They didn’t renew it. They couldn’t afford to. And that meant suddenly I was the only pastor at that church. This was a problem, because I didn’t know what I was doing. When the Finance Committee reported how bad they projected the budget deficit to be I was certainly terrified. I don’t remember sleeping much the night after that meeting. The next day I went to the Presbytery Office. In a sense, that’s the church’s governing body, and there I spoke with the Executive Presbyter. An impressive title for an impressive man. I didn’t have an appointment, but he saw me anyway. Perhaps the receptionist could see the terror on my face. I told him how bad the projected budget deficit was, and that I feared this church might close her doors. “What should I do?” I asked him. He took the situation seriously, then he took me seriously asking, “How much do you know about finances Joe?” I told him that I’d never successfully managed my checkbook. Then he said, “What makes you think that you’re the one to do anything?” This was one of the most important questions I’ve ever been asked. “What makes you think that you’re the one to do anything?” “What makes me think that I’m the one to do anything? Well, who else is there?” I didn’t ask him that out loud, but that’s what I was thinking. Before I had a chance to ask, he said, “Are there business owners in the congregation? Bankers? Accountants? Get them together and make sure they know the situation. Ask them for help.” As he gave me this advice, he didn’t use Jesus’ words exactly, but it was close enough. Through this man I could hear Christ saying to me as he said to his disciples so long ago: “I will not leave you orphaned.” You are not all on your own. When you pass through the waters, they may rise, but I will be with you. And through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you. When you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. Such are the promises of Scripture and this is the story of my life as a pastor. Every time I was brave enough to ask for help, my shepherd has supplied my need. Every time I boldly took inventory of the limit of my ability, he stood beside me in the breach. Every time I faced what seemed insurmountable, every time I rely on my own strength, every time I wondered, “But how will I find the words?” “How will I do it?” “How will I face the grief or the terror or the death again,” a touch of the hand or a word spoken in love reminded me that I am not alone. Coleen and Cheryl sang it, didn’t they? I believe in the sun even when it’s not shining. I believe in love even when I don’t feel it. I believe in God even when God is silent. “I will not leave you orphaned,” Jesus promised. And maybe he didn’t promise that it would be easy. Maybe he didn’t promise that we’d always sleep through the night. But what he did promise was that he’d be there even when the world can’t see him. “You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” Now that’s a promise. It’s a promise like the one in the song, which was written during the holocaust and was found after, on a slip of paper. Who wrote it? And how did she become so enlightened? I don’t know, but I do know that she was right. The sun is there even when it’s not shining. Love is real, even when I don’t feel it. God is here even if we can’t hear him, and sometimes it takes a concentration camp to teach us such a lesson. Or sometimes it takes a viral pandemic. This is a time when many are reaching the end of their rope. Isolation is getting the best of some of us. Fear is wearing us down. Paranoia is creeping into our minds, prompting us to ask hard questions in a time without easy answers. I’ve felt fear, worry, frustration and anger, only who should I be angry with? We look for a villain, someone to blame, yet perhaps the thing that will bring us hope is looking, not for the villains, but for the helpers. One of the great Presbyterian ministers of history, Mr. Rogers, was bold to confess: When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of “disaster,” I always remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” He’s right. There are, but can you see them? Christ promised, “I will not leave your orphaned,” but do you perceive it? I was reminded this week of a story I’ve told you before of a woman I went to visit. She was upset with the church. Upset with life, really, and because I was there, she let me have it. “At that church of yours pastor, no one speaks to me. I’ve been gone for four weeks and no one has noticed.” I hate hearing that kind of thing. It breaks my heart, because I know it’s true. It happens. Sometimes the church isn’t there when we need our family of faith the most, only in that moment her phone rang. It was Gloria from the church, calling just to say to this woman, “I haven’t seen you and I’ve missed you. How have you been?” The conversation lasted just a few seconds. The woman I was visiting said something like, “Gloria, thank you for calling. But Joe, our pastor is here, and I was just telling him something. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” Then she looked to me, “Where was I? Oh yes, no one from that church ever calls me!” What is it that clouds our vision to the helpers, even when they are there, right before our eyes? “I will not leave you orphaned” he said to the disciples. Only like this woman, they couldn’t see it always. Peter didn’t believe anyone could save him once Christ was arrested, so rather than call for help or react in faith, out of self-reliance and self-preservation he denied him three times. Or consider Judas who betrayed him. A wise man once asked me, “Would Christ have forgiven Juda had he repented?” Of course. He forgave everyone, all of humanity, hanging there on the cross saying, “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.” Still, consider how often we focus on what is broken within us, rather than the grace he provides. How often do we focus on what is broken in the world, rather than His love at work in helpers great and small? How often do we depend on ourselves, not believing in forgiveness really, just holding it in. Letting the darkness in our hearts fester rather than inviting love’s light to cast it out. Of course, asking for this kind of help is hard to do so. Seeing it is hard to do. Faith is required. It reminds me of the third Indiana Jones movie, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Apparently, Indiana Jones 5 is coming out in 2022. I heard that in this one, instead of a whip, Harrison Ford has a walker. I’m just kidding. Even if it’s bad I’ll probably still go see it. All through fourth and fifth grade I wore a fedora to school I was such a big fan of Indiana Jones. And the greatest of the series is the third movie: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. In that one there’s this incredible scene. A deep chasm stands in the hero’s way. It’s so deep he can’t see the bottom. It’s too wide to jump. There’s nothing for him to catch with his whip to swing across. The ancient manuscript tells him the only thing he can do is take a step into the nothing with enough faith to know that he won’t fall. That’s what he does. With a sweaty forehead and a body trembling he steps out and his foot finds a bridge. He couldn’t see the bridge, but it was there. He took the first step then kept going and reaching the other side he looked back and it was clear that an invisible bridge had been there the whole time. We can’t always see to know that “he will not leave [us] orphaned,” but I tell you this, once this is all over, we will be able to look back on this time knowing that his hand has been moving all along. We just couldn’t see it. I know that, because that’s how it is. Faith is easier in retrospect, just as our hindsight is twenty-twenty. So, as I look back on the years of my life, I see it, while in the moment I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know that the church I served in Lilburn would go from a projected budget deficit to end the year with a surplus. The first time someone asked me how I did it sarcastically I said, “Well, I’m a financial genius.” Sarcastically, because that wasn’t true. God’s hand was at work, and while I wasn’t always sure where we were going or whether or not we were doing the right thing, He was leading us, nonetheless. Likewise, it was a strange thing to ask of you about two years ago to invest in new cameras so that we could worship over the internet. Can you imagine where we’d be had wise leaders in our church not encouraged us in this direction? Then, about three years ago today I was telling the church I served in Tennessee that I’d accepted a call to serve a church in Marietta, GA. I uprooted my family. We left people we love. While today I see His hand guiding us, in the moment, I felt like Indiana Jones, stepping into the great unknown. Of course, it was not unknown. It never is. And I was not alone, because we never are. Open your eyes to see that he is with you where you are today, at work in your life, changing things for the better. And be prepared to reach out for help. There is no need to rely on yourself, for he has not left you, he has not left me, orphaned. So, let us step into our unknown future with faith, trusting His promise that He will be with us always, even to the end of the age. Amen.

How Can We Know the Way?

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 2: 2-10 and John 14: 1-14 Sermon Title: How Can We Know the Way? Preached on May 10, 2020 Last week I was listening to a radio show that comes on National Public Radio called This American Life. The show reports on the lives of Americans, 10 to 12 minutes each. In recent weeks the stories have mostly been from people in New York City: sick parents trying to care for their children in the confines of their apartments or overwhelmed ambulance drivers, sometimes able to do little more than nothing for the dying and always afraid that they themselves will contract the virus. Last week the subject was lighter, but still COVID 19 related. In honor of all those high school seniors who are having to miss their Senior Prom or settle for a virtual prom, This American Life spent the entire hour celebrating what for many is an important milestone, what for others is a source of dread or embarrassment. This Prom themed episode included stories from tuxedo rental staff who reported on the state of returned tuxedo rentals. There was one story of a high school class in the Midwest who safely danced in the basement of the school gym while a tornado swept through town, others of young men stood up by their dates, mothers who made their daughters uncomfortable with their advice, and post-prom high school seniors who had spent all this time and effort looking forward to a night that failed to meet their expectations. The whole show brought back memories for me of my own senior prom. I remember the weeks leading up to it. How daunting it seemed. I had to rent a tuxedo, make dinner reservations at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, buy tickets, order a corsage, and most nerve-racking of all, find a date. Remembering my personal experience with prom, I realized how I would feel if my Senior Prom were canceled due to a global pandemic: relived. I would have felt completely and dramatically relieved to not have to go through the dauntingly vulnerable process which leads up to a night that I’ll always remember, not because it was particularly magical, but because it stretched me in ways that the academics of high school never could. My prom memories include how I finally asked a girl on a date I had been wanting to ask on a date for years. We danced and we talked. I almost kissed her but lost my nerve. Why? Because going into uncharted territory without knowing what’s going to happen next is terrifying, especially if you’re the kind of person who’s afraid to ask for advice or directions. That’s why I admire Thomas. He’s pretty much my favorite disciple, because he is always brave enough to ask. In that passage I just read he says to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” I’ve never heard of that being a memory verse, but it ought to be. With life always stretching us and pushing us into the unknown, asking for directions is absolutely imperative. I’ve said it before, we call him Doubting Thomas, but truly, he’s just the one who is brave enough to speak his doubts out loud. Every one of them was thinking or feeling the same thing, they just weren’t willing to say it. Had the Disciples been driving in a car, lost at night on the highway, Thomas would have been the one who walked into the dimly lit gas station to ask for directions. Had the Disciples been students all lost in Spanish Class, Thomas would have been the one to ask the teacher to go over the verbs she’d just conjugated a second time. Had the Disciples all been young high school seniors, nervous about asking a girl to the senior prom, Thomas would have been the one who called his older brother to say, “There’s a girl I really want to ask, but where do I even start?” Some of us pretend that we’re doing fine or that we know our way through unchartered waters but take note of Thomas’ example: it’s ok to ask for directions. It’s ok. For the truth is, no one makes it though unchartered waters without help. A pastor named Shannon Michael Pater wrote about our passage from the Gospel of John saying that the role Jesus plays and which he calls all his disciples to play in moments such as this one is like that of a midwife and a hospice chaplain. Both of these roles stand in between two very different realities. Both these roles perform a pivotal task during a dramatic transition. Both these roles boldly proclaim maybe there is pain right now, but it’s the pain of in-between. Something is happening now. Something is changing. One chapter will come to an end, but another will begin. Just relax if you can and wait. That’s not easy to do. What’s easier is just to do something. Anything. One of the most stressful feelings I can think of is that of being late for a meeting or appointment. That feeling that comes from knowing that I’m supposed to be somewhere, only I’m not there. I’m stuck in traffic, I’m lost, or I’m trying to politely exit a conversation. Worse, is that feeling of knowing I’m supposed to be somewhere only I can’t remember where. Whatever it is, there’s severe anxiety that comes with knowing that I’m in the wrong place. That I’m supposed to be some place other than where I am. Do you know the feeling? Today, that’s the feeling that I pretty much feel all the time. I always feel like there’s something happening that I’m supposed to be at. I wake up already feeling like I’m running behind. I have to constantly remind myself that still, most things are closed and besides that, this is a time for waiting, only waiting is uncomfortable and it’s hard. I’d much rather have a timeline or a road map so I could know where it is that we’re going and how long it’s going to take to get there. Do you know what I mean? The shelter in place orders are lifting, but to what are we returning to? Some hope we’re getting back to normal, only sitting in a restaurant with half the tables roped off doesn’t seem normal. Waiting in line outside a Home Depot doesn’t seem normal. How long is all this going to last? What does the future hold? And how to do we get there? Those are the questions Thomas was asking. Again, I like Thomas. He’s always brave enough to ask the questions that everyone else is afraid to ask. Jesus tells his disciples, “don’t let your hearts be troubled… In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places” and I’m going there to prepare a place for you. “That sounds great Jesus,” Thomas says, “But how do we get there?” I love that. He just says it. “Actually, no, we have no idea where you are going. We barely understand what you’re talking about. How can we know the way?” It’s like Jesus assumes that we’re capable of remaining calm at a time like this. It’s like he thinks we ought to just be able to follow him as sheep follow a shepherd. Doesn’t he know how anxious and afraid we all are? I don’t like this. Do you? And I’ll gladly wear my cloth facemask to the grocery store for another month if it means I won’t have to wear it once June comes. The part that scares me now is the not knowing. What’s the world going to look like this Fall? What’s going to happen next? I know that ultimately there is a place prepared for you and me in the Kingdom of God, but there are a few steps to take between here and there so like Thomas, I’d like a slightly more detailed plan than the one Jesus has mapped out. Unfortunately, there’s no map in the Second Scripture Lesson. Instead, there’s this assurance: “Believe me because of the works themselves.” That’s what Jesus says in response to Phillip who wants to see the Father. Jesus says, “Who do you think I am?” Then to Thomas, as if to say, “I’ve been leading you by the hand this whole time. What makes you think I’m going to stop now?” I want you to know that your church is doing all kinds of things as we step into this unchartered territory. Your congregation’s elected representatives are meeting weekly, some nearly daily. Councils and committees are working together, they’re moving quickly, we’re learning from regional and national leaders in the Presbyterian Church, we’re meeting with other area church leaders comparing notes, we’re reading what the governor and school system are thinking, but what I believe is most helpful which only a church, a church like this one can do is to remember that he hasn’t failed us yet, so why be afraid that he’s going to fail us now? “Believe me, because of the works themselves,” He said, and what were those works? He healed the sick. He fed the hungry. He encouraged the hopeless. He relieved heavy burdens. He gave us his very body and blood. He was the incarnation of the Living God who, when the Hebrew people heard the Egyptian horde behind them and saw the sea before them, divided the water on each side giving Moses and the people a dry path to deliver them. When they reached the other side Moses’ sister Miriam sang, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rides he has thrown into the sea.” Those words were sung and repeated then written down. Why? Because there have been other seas to cross, other hopeless situations to be delivered from, so we must remember that he has been leading us through the unknown since the dawn of time with no intention of relenting until we reach the promised land. He said to the disciples: “In my father’s house, there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you.” “How can we know that we’ll get there?” we all ask. Therefore, we must remember, it’s because he’s led us this far. He knit us together in our mother’s womb when the womb was all we knew. In our mother’s arms He filled our lungs with breath, knowing already the number of hairs on our heads. He watched as we stood and took our first steps. He heard us cry as we fell. He wiped those tears from our eyes. Not far, but close, as one chapter closed and the next one began. On this Mother’s Day we give thanks to God for our mothers, and we rejoice that like a mother our God has been our ever-present help in times of transition, promising that he will not drop us and will be waiting for us on the other side of everything. It reminds me of my own mother. She didn’t go to her senior prom. She considered herself too mature at the time, and she insisted that I go to mine. But who will I ask? What will I say? Those were my questions, but I’m not sure I had to ask them. She was there to help me. One thing I remember her saying is, “If I had any idea how scared 18-year-old boys were of 18-year-old girls I would have been a much more confident 18-year-old girl.” Through every transition of my life, from birth to high school graduation, marriage and our first and second child, I’ve been blessed to benefit from those who have been through it already and holding my hand have testified that it’s going to be OK. Certainly, we are in the midst of another terrifying transition, but who is with us in it? Miriam, who pointed to God’s hand dividing the sea. Thomas, who knew who to ask for directions. This month I’ve been reading about Churchill who faced the blitz. That when German bombers flew over London in the middle of the night, he’d go to the roof, still in his nightgown, helmet on his head, believing death was better than surrender. Then I consider the history of this church, with the likes of Pastor Palmer who returned to our sanctuary seeing a floor covered in the blood of wounded confederates and union soldiers alike, the pews burned to fuel fires, and the congregation terrified, isolated, and not knowing where to go next. To whom did he testify? To whom did he ask for directions? Our church came back from that and we will make it through this too. Step by step we will do it, following Christ who leads from where we are now to where we will be, the Father’s House with a place for you, a place for me. Alleluia. Amen.

The Lord is my Shepherd

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 2: 19-25 and John 10: 1-10 Sermon Title: The Lord is My Shepherd Preached on May 3, 2020 Hearing Jesus talk about sheepfolds, gates, gatekeepers, and sheep stuck behind a wall hits a little close to home this morning. I wonder, have the walls of your house started to feel like the walls of a prison? Have the locks that were installed to keep you safe started to feel like locks that keep you trapped inside? Have you been dying to get out despite the dangers which lurk beyond the walls? I’ve never thought much about getting a tattoo before, nor have I been much of a bowling enthusiast, but knowing that the Governor has opened these places of business as well as nail salons and barber shops has made me excited about getting outside to do anything. Our kids on the other hand. I don’t know about yours, but our kids are happy just staying at home. Of course, our kids are also perfect. Maybe that’s what’s different about them. No, they’re not. Not hardly, or they’re not any more or less perfect than your kids are, though maybe your kids are happy too. I’ve been hearing stories from parents of kids who act like they’re living their best life, which has made me wonder about all kinds of things. Ours have been playing outside in this dinkey tree house I made them. Eating lunch up there. Acting like it’s the coolest thing ever. They’ve also been going on walks with us and asking us to go with them when they ride their bikes. They’ve even been getting along with each other. All of this has made me wonder about the importance of all the junk which we’ve been filling their lives with. In an effort to get the results that we’re getting now, we signed them up for Cub Scouts, basketball, and softball. We sent them to camps and we drove them to lessons. We took them to movies, and we bought them expensive toys. So, why is it that they’re so happy with a platform made from scrap lumber, no more than two feet wide and four feet long which I nailed up into a tree? Why is it that they’re so happy making brownies with their mom in the kitchen? Why is it that they look forward to Friday nights when all we do is eat dinner while watching two episodes of the Gilmore Girls together? Could it be that what matters most to them is not what they get to do, but who they are doing these things with? Could it be that more important than being entertained is feeling safe and heard and loved? I’m coming to a realization in these days of quarantine. Who is with us matters far more than what we’re doing, even more than where we are. The Proverbs speak to this truth. Proverbs 21: 9: It is better to live on the roof than in the house shared by a contentious wife. Do you know that one? I hope you’re not living it. I pray that your homelife is safe and happy. If it’s not than truly you are trapped, and many are. But if your kids are happy now then take a lesson from them. I’m trying to. I’m trying to learn that what’s beyond the gate is not as important as the one who stands guard over it. I’m trying to learn that there’s a good reason to be wary of opening the gate too quickly, and we don’t need to rush if we’re rushing just to get out there, for now is the time to notice who is here. There is one who watches over me and every member of this flock. There is comfort which he brings in walking beside us all that must not be taken for granted, though that’s what I too often do. Our Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of John speaks of one who is at the gate and who himself is the gate. It is Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, who promises to supply our every need. If you haven’t missed a paycheck, then he’s done it, and if you haven’t given him thanks for such a miracle, then what have you been busy paying attention to? That’s what I want to preach about this morning. The fact that I’ve been looking over the gate, longing to be some place other than where I am, longing to do some things that I’m not yet allowed to do to such a degree that I’ve been failing to notice the miracle of right here and right now. Do you know what I’m talking about? I’ll give you an example: Last Tuesday was our Lily’s 11th birthday. That seems kind of sad, or it did seem sad to me. What does it mean to turn 11 if you can’t have a party with your friends or even go out to your favorite restaurant? Knowing it would be different, my wife Sara their mother worked hard to make the day special. She knew Lily wanted her bedroom redone. So, Sara bought cute things to hang on the wall, a new bedspread and posters. Lily wanted all that to be a surprise. Subsequently she volunteered to sleep in the guest room while we worked on it. She asked us how long it would take to get her new room ready. We told her, “not too long.” “But aren’t you taking down any walls?” she asked. She’s been watching a lot of Fixer-upper. Because of that, we worried her expectations might be a little too high, only when she saw her room, she acted like we’d added her a swimming pool or something. She smiled ear to ear as though her bedroom had been completely renovated. Then a neighbor brought by coffee cake for her breakfast. Another brought by cupcakes. She opened birthday cards and received phone calls. With chalk, the kids across the street wrote, “Happy Birthday Lily” in the middle of the road. Friends from school drove by in a birthday parade. Then, right around lunch a man walked by, noticed the chalk writing in the road, and asked Lily if she would like for him to come by later and play “happy birthday” on his trombone. That was funny, when she walked inside and said, “Mama, some man just offered to come by later and play happy birthday on the trombone.” We didn’t know whether to be excited or suspicious, only then it turned out to be Bob Scarr, who many of you know. Right at 5:30, after she had talked with all her grandparents, Bob Scarr drove over with his wife and played our Lily happy birthday in the middle of the road. After that, some cake, and a small-scale fireworks display, Lily told us it was the best birthday she’d ever had. Why? Because within these gates she’s loved, and she knows it. Within these gates, she’s cared for. Within these gates she knows she’s precious, and the difference between children like her and too many of their parents is that they still know that’s all anyone needs. The rest of us are thinking: But, there’s bigger and better! For your birthday we can take you to White Water or Six Flags. What’s so funny is that I’ve seen kids have more fun in puddles lately than they ever would have at White Water, so the question becomes, who have we been taking them there for? Who convinced us that we need so much more than what we have already? There is only one Good Shepherd, but so many try to lead us, don’t they? Yet, we don’t have to work as hard as they say we do to find joy, do we? For when the dust settles from our busy lives, are there not blue skies to be seen overhead? When we can’t go anywhere, don’t we realize that we have so much of what we’ve been looking for? Sometimes it’s only after I’ve grown exhausted looking for answers and fulfilment that I look up to see that he’s always been right there. I just keep looking past him. While I’ve been searching him out, he’s been waiting for me to notice that he’s always been there, right by my side. The Lord is my shepherd, and even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil. Why? For He is with me. We have to get better at noticing that. We must all get better at seeing him as he stands at the gate, as he watches over his sheep, and as he leads the flock. And to do that I must stop looking over the hills into tomorrow, because God is present to us here today. It’s like we’re waiting for something to happen, without realizing what’s actually happening. We must stop waiting for things to change back to normal, to notice that even if normal never comes, the Lord has not abandoned us. It’s in a moment such as this one when we can open our eyes to see that still, mercy follows me. Still, he anoints my head with oil. Still, my cup overflows. Our own Chick Freud sent us pastors a TED talk, a speech, given by a National Geographic photographer and he described his job like this: I always knew that just beyond the rat race was incredible beauty. My job was to see that, to take a picture of that. To not fail to see the beauty that is always there. What I want you to hear today are the words of the Apostle Paul: that with our current suffering is glory being revealed to us. That in the midst of all this loss are gifts we are fools to take for granted. That even in the presence of death and trauma are moments of undeniable beauty. Something that has brought tears to my eyes every time I’ve thought about it, is how many are having to say goodbye to their grandmothers, fathers, or mothers through a mask in the best circumstances and over the phone in the worst. Death still comes in many forms while all our attention is on one particular virus. Matt Burnham’s father was rushed to Emory hospital after a major stroke. He was then transferred to hospice. While the family waited, they played his favorite hymn, “It is well with my soul.” I won’t sing it for you, but I want to just read you the second verse: Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul. My friends, there have been many tribulations and trials though the eras of human history, and faith will sustain us through this one. Remember that there are many highs and lows in this life, and through all the lows He’s walked beside us. Know it now as it’s always been. In this moment, in this time, it is well, because He is with us, just as he promised he would be. Amen.

He Is Risen!

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 114 and Matthew 28: 1-10 Sermon Title: He is Risen! Preached on April 12, 2020 Today is the most important day of the Christian Calendar because today we celebrate Christ’s victory over death, but today also brings with it one of the most challenging claims Christianity makes. Namely, that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. Not everybody believes that. Thomas Jefferson didn’t. He was what some would call a cafeteria Christian. Like going through the line at Piccadilly, picking and choosing, he took his Bible and his scissors and he left in the teachings of Christ he most admired, literally cut out the parts of the story he couldn’t believe and made for himself what today is known as the Jefferson Bible. Of course, this version, called the Jefferson Bible leaves out the resurrection. Not everyone believes in a bodily resurrection. Not everyone believes in it today, not everyone did back in 1776, and even on Easter morning 2,000 years ago, not everyone believed that Jesus would rise from the dead. Certainly, the disciples didn’t. You can tell from how our Second Scripture Lesson began, that the disciples did not believe he would rise from the dead on that Easter morning nearly 2,000 years ago and we know that they didn’t because they’re nowhere near the tomb, they’re nowhere near anything having to do with Jesus at this point, because they were sure he’d been killed by the Romans and were afraid that any one of them could be next. It’s only these two brave women who go to the tomb. And do you know why they went? They went, not to greet a resurrected Lord, but to anoint a dead body for burial. Now why would that be? Why would those who followed him and listened to him and knew him by name, the men who left their boats and their families to go fish for people, the crowds who saw him give the blind their sight or multiply loaves and fishes, his closest disciples whom he told: “I will die, but will rise again,” the women who knew he had raised their brother from the dead, why would they not have been waiting right outside his tomb on the 3rd day to greet their resurrected Lord? Why? It’s because they, like so many of us, hold the power of God captive by our own minds, our own meager expectations, our own fear, and our own understanding of what is possible and what isn’t. We get so good at thinking we know, that we fail to take God at his word, which is a strange thing to do. Strange, because it’s not as though we don’t have imaginations. It’s not as though we only act based on what is certain and sure. Thomas Jefferson had faith enough to believe that 13 threadbare colonies could defeat the British Empire, which must have sounded impossible at the time. Not three weeks ago our President declared that our churches would be full by Easter Sunday, though the experts told him it was impossible. And today, everyone guards themselves from a virus that they cannot see yet talk with them about the Resurrected Lord and many are like the Disciple Thomas saying, “I’ve got to see it to believe.” We don’t have to see everything to believe, so I wonder, could it be that we are better at fear than faith? Both fear and faith are based on what is not seen. Only we’re so well versed in worry and so uncomfortable with hope that people talk about a leap of faith rather than a leap of fear, as though being negative were any more material than optimism. Mark Twain once said, “I’ve had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened.” I’ve hoped for a lot of things that never happened too, but still I worry, still, I fear. I’ve been locked away in my house like those disciples, not expecting the moment when the anti-virus is discovered or the cure is found but instead, preparing myself with a store of dried beans for the moment when it’s no longer safe to even go to the grocery store. Here’s my confession: I’ve been filling in the gaps of my knowledge with negative assumptions. Pessimistic fairy tales. I do it even when I’m up here, in this pulpit. I can’t hear you laugh, so there’s a part of me that has assumed my jokes aren’t funny. Someone suggested we pipe in a laugh track like those old 80’s sitcoms. Maybe that would help? Maybe we’ll do that. I’m just kidding. That was a joke, but I can’t tell whether or not you can tell that was a joke because I can’t see your faces, I can’t tell where my words are landing, and after preaching to this empty room for weeks at some point in the sermon I assume you’ve wandered from the live stream to shop for toilet paper on Amazon.com. What’s wrong with me? Because I’m out of the circle I assume I’m being left out, which is like thinking that because no on is coming over to the house, no one likes us anymore. That doesn’t make any sense. Does it? So, I tell you, we can’t just question our faith. We also must scrutinize our fears for they’re not rooted in facts either. We are not connected, but does a lack of connection feel the same as rejection? When you don’t have all the information, do you jump to conspiracy? In a moment when you’re not able to do what you usually do, do you assume that it’s not getting done? Do you imagine that if you’re not there no one will be? The disciples didn’t know where he was, so they assumed he was dead. The two Mary’s went to a tomb, spices in hand, to anoint a body for burial assuming they would find a corpse. When it wasn’t there, they assumed someone had stolen it. When they felt the earthquake and saw an angel, they assumed they should be afraid. The assumptions are piling up now, yet a pile of assumptions doesn’t equal a single fact. Why would we be people, who live our lives dismissing hope while acting on our fear, when all we really need to do is take God at his word? The angel told the two Marys: “He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.” Too often we are these women, who at least are better than those disciples. In this time of isolation and social distancing, who hasn’t been afraid or downcast? What are we hoping for? What are we expecting? To anoint a body for burial? To get through another day? To scrape by, accept our lot, throw up our hands, give up and get used to it? If you are erring on the side of the negative, I ask you, “did you hear the words of the Psalm?” when Israel went out from Egypt they were met by the sea and assumed they were as good as dead, yet the sea fled before our God and they walked through on dry land. Why is it, O sea, that you flee? It is because ours is the Lord, whom the earth trembles before. Ours is the God who turns the rock into a pool of water. We must be bold to say that Ours is the God who bridges gaps, set prisoners free, and works out his purpose in the midst of a viral pandemic. Just look. Look at the empty tomb. There we see that God, as God always does, gives to his children, not the greatest gift that they can imagine, but the gift that he promised us which is so glorious that we wouldn’t dare imagine it. Don’t guess, don’t fear. Look into the tomb and see that he is not dead but risen. Notice the cloth thrown to the side, for up from slumber he rose to new life. And we will rise too. We have to remember that. He has risen that we might rise too. If there is one word we might use to describe this day it is resurrection. A resurrection hope that when the sun sets on this strange season, a new day will dawn when we’ll actually appreciate the chance to see people we love. Hope that when we don’t have to be social distant, we’ll strive for unity rather than division. Hope that rather than apathy we will take on purpose. Not despair, but joy. That we will no more take what we used to call normal for granted, when every day is a gift and every moment precious. When I see your faces again, I don’t know what I’ll do, but because today is Easter, I know that I will see you. I know that a new day will dawn. How do I know it? For he is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia. Amen.

Who Is This?

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2 and 19-29, Matthew 21: 1-11 Sermon Title: Who is this? Preached on April 5, 2020 The Gospel Lesson for today, and the general spirit of this today, Palm Sunday, reminds me of so many movies or books where something happens: a magic lamp is rubbed, a map is discovered, or a spaceship is boarded and it lifts the characters from their normal lives into adventure, hardship, and eventually triumph. For Jesus it was a donkey and not a spaceship. He gets on the donkey and first there’s adventure: a cheering crowd, then hardship, eventually triumph, but it all starts with this donkey. According to the Gospel of Matthew it was both a donkey and a colt. Once he’s on them everything changes. That’s what’s on your bulletin cover. On the cover of your bulletin is painted Jesus’ view as he begins his journey into the city of Jerusalem. He’s standing on the cliff. His next step sets him on a course where everything will change, for him and for the world. Now, because we have heard the story before we all know what awaits him, and considering his fate, knowing he rides toward the Cross, there’s a part of me that wishes he could right now turn around. When I was a kid, I had that same feeling watching this cartoon movie called An American Tail. Do you know that movie? The word “tail,” in the title is a homophone. Someone listening to this sermon just said, “I can’t believe he knows such a big word,” but I do, and I had to do something to redeem myself for using a children’s cartoon as a sermon illustration so I’m using this big word: homophone. In the title it’s spelled “t-a-i-l,” because this movie is about a little mouse who immigrates from Eastern Europe to America in the hopes of escaping the oppressive cats of his homeland. He goes with his family, but on the way across the sea he chases his hat out on the deck during a storm and he’s swept off the boat. He slips through his desperate father mouse’s fingers, and ends up lost at sea. I remember watching this movie as a kid over and over, and each time I watched it I asked: why did he have to chase that stupid hat? But that’s because I knew. Had he known where chasing his hat out onto the ships deck would lead him, maybe he wouldn’t have gone after it in the first place. Movies have to have adventure, so against my advice, the mouse chased the hat and fell overboard, and every Palm Sunday Jesus keeps riding his donkey into Jerusalem even though it is in this city that he will meet his death. What’s different between the mouse in An American Tail and Jesus is that, while the mouse couldn’t have known that chasing his hat out onto the deck would lead to him being swept overboard, atop his donkey Jesus knows. Jesus knows what’s going to happen to him as he rides into Jerusalem, and he goes anyway. He hears the cheers and sees the waving palms, knowing that they’ll soon be shouting, “Crucify him” and yet he goes anyway. He waves to the crowd, knowing that a nail will pierce both his hands, and still he rides on. He felt the gentle breeze on his skin knowing that soon his back would be whipped, his head would be crowned with thorns, and still, onward he goes. He knew you see, and had it been any of us, in knowing we would have turned around. That’s how we are. If we only would have known how challenging the journey we would have turned around. If only we had stopped travel out of China earlier. If only we had started the quarantine sooner. If only we had listened to the experts. If only we heeded the warnings. I wish we had. I wish we had done all those things, but now it’s too late, and as we journey into the unknown moving forward into the future which we cannot avoid, we only face one choice: will we face the future with fear or with faith? Will we accept our new reality or live in denial? Will we adapt or hide? Will we search for someone to blame or will we develop solutions? Will we blame God or will we see God at work? Many in Jerusalem were fearful: let’s just send him back home. Let’s put the genie back in the bottle. Forget about the adventure, they said, though there was no going back. So, When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” That’s what everyone asks when the unplanned happens. That’s what everyone wants to know when their world turns upside down. Who is this that causes such turmoil when all we want is peace and normalcy? Who is this that gets the crowds so up in arms? Who is this that topples the tables of money changers, gives the blind their sight, raises dead men from the grave, and tells us that a new Kingdom is coming if we only have the eyes to see it? You know who he is already. He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, and what he demands of us today is that we see him at work in the midst of one of the great moments of chaos that we’ve seen in a generation. He is the embodiment of Grace, and in the midst of this virus he invites us to recognize that when we are shaped and changed, purified and refined, challenged and broken down it is an invitation to be stronger than we were before. Because it is through adventures that heroes are born. Maybe you remember that the Wizard Gandalf said to Frodo: “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us,” or how Mikey yelled to the Goonies from the tunnel under their hometown: “This is our time.” And sure, I wish we had not been given this time. I wish you High School Seniors were not missing your graduation and prom. That you parents were not facing lay-offs and uncertainty. I wish that we all were not at risk. But my friends, the hero and the villain swim through the same water. Only one can emerge. Only one will rule this day, and I charge you to follow the One whom death cannot conquer like you’ve never followed him before. One way or the other he is going to lead us out of this, and if we walk beside him, he will shape and change us in his image. We will be made better for this, if we chose to see with the eyes of faith rather than fear. We will be closer as families. We will be stronger as a church. We will be more faithful Christians, as truly we are tested. You see, the school tests have been canceled to make room for a real one that our children might learn that they don’t have to go through life being afraid that something bad is going to happen, because all things are work together for good. Know it now. We are enough. We have enough. Because He is enough. “Who is this” Jerusalem asked, urging him to turn around lest everything change. My friends: we know who he is, and he knows who we are. So, let us follow him and be changed forever. Amen.

Dry Bones

Scripture Lessons: Ezekiel 37: 1-14 and John 11: 1-45 Sermon Title: Dry Bones Preached on March 29, 2020 Every night before we eat supper, we always say one thing that we’re thankful for. Everyone has to say something. No one can eat a bite until we’ve all said at least one thing we are thankful for, no repeats and no kiss-ups. Like, no one is allowed to say, “I’m thankful for Mama.” This is not a time for kissing up, this is a time for gratitude, but while repeats and kissing up are against the rules, simple is OK. Gratitude doesn’t have to be for anything complicated. So, often, we say things like: “I’m thankful we’re having macaroni and cheese,” or “I’m thankful for my friends.” Thinking about it one night last week I realized that I was thankful for technology, and that’s what I said. “I’m thankful for technology.” Now, I’m not usually. Sometimes I hate it. I generally prefer things that I can fix without the help of an expert, or better, I prefer things that I can understand. So now, while I have often hated having a phone that’s smarter than me or a car that talks, I’m thankful for technology because it keeps me from feeling separated from all of you. Today, technology is a tool we can use to fight isolation. Technology defies social distancing. Technology can help us beat back fear with love. It daily reminds us that we’re not alone. Which is true, we’re not alone, though it’s easy now to feel that way, just as it’s always been easy to feel that way. Before this quarantine ever happened, I once felt all alone in one of the biggest, most densely populated cities in the world. I was in New York City, and there I had the chance to volunteer in a great big building where counterfeit clothing was processed and cleaned, then distributed to homeless people. I introduced myself to the man who was supervising the project and told him my name and that I was from Georgia, and he said, “Yea, I can tell.” In New York City, way up North, I felt like a pilgrim in a barren land of people who used too much diction and not enough ya’lls. I didn’t like it. But I never do, because felling alone is the worst. Worse still was when I spent a summer in Argentina as a missionary intern. I felt alone often there, not because there weren’t people around. There were, but I felt alone in Argentina because I couldn’t always understand what people were saying. I remember riding a train in Buenos Aires, the capital, and up came a Mormon Missionary who spoke English. I was so happy to talk with him in a language I could understand that I nearly converted. “Please, tell me more,” I said to this man. It was probably the first time the missionary was the one trying to get away. Feeling alone isn’t a good feeling. That’s why, in this dangerous time where social distancing and fear are combining to assail our spirits, I give thanks for everything that keeps us connected: technology, language, empathy. Empathy forges connections today, because pretty much we are all feeling the same thing. Maybe, like you, we’ve had some extra time to clean up around the house, and something that we’ve kept but keep thinking about getting rid of is a huge collection of National Geographic magazines. It’s like we have all of them, but it’s hard for me to let these magazines go because the pictures on the cover are just so powerful. The desperate mother, the hungry child, the refuge with the soulful eyes, the smiling groom on his wedding day. Regardless of the culture you can tell what each person is feeling by the emotions there on their face and regardless of the year the picture was taken you can feel a connection. The same thing is happening right now on Facebook, because people aren’t just spouting out what they think on there as usual, now they’re also posting what they’re feeling. A member of our church recently posted: How long is this social distancing supposed to last? My wife keeps trying to come in the house. Do you know the feeling? Are the people you’re quarantined with driving you crazy? Elsewhere on Facebook there are the desperate prayers of a mother turned teacher as well as reports from Day 1 of homeschooling, like: Both students suspended. Teacher caught drinking on the job. There are many others. Religious ones even. I saw that someone posted, “I didn’t expect to give up quite this much up for Lent.” Seeing and reading this kind of stuff I know what everyone out there is feeling. It’s the same thing I’m feeling. We’re in a moment of mass solidarity, for so many of us, regardless of party, race, creed, nationality, or rank on the totem poll are in this together. We are not in this thing alone. We have to remember that, because know that we’re together makes a difference. That’s why the most important lesson for us to hear from today’s Gospel reading is in just two words: Jesus wept. It’s two words in the older translations. It’s “Jesus began to weep” in our pew Bibles, which isn’t as succinct. Regardless, it’s still among the shortest verses in the Bible, and out of the 45 verses that I just read that’s the one I focus on. In our Second Scripture Lesson for this morning Jesus saw Mary’s tears. When he saw her crying, he started crying. Why? Because not only are we all in this together, God’s in it with us too. When we see the tears of Christ, we come to know that our God wipes our tears away, not with indifference but with compassion. When we reveal to our Creator the depths of our hearts and our deepest pain, we know that God is feeling that same pain with us. Mary looked to him with tears in her eyes to see that he felt the same grief. Jesus wept. He did. He was not indifferent. No, he hurt, he grieved. He just isn’t stuck in it. Do you know what I mean by that? Well, to Mary and Martha all they could see in the world at the beginning of this Scripture Lesson, all any of us would have been able to see was a dying brother and a miracle worker who was running late. Then, when they closed him up in the tomb, they were confined to their own understanding of what was possible and what wasn’t possible. What was possible? Healing. What wasn’t possible? Bringing someone back from the dead. This is how we all think. The Prophet Ezekiel wasn’t any different in our first Scripture Lesson. He saw a valley of dry bones and God asked him, “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel was far more faithful than I would have been because he said, “O Lord God, you know.” That’s right. God does know, but sometimes I think I do. “Will this Corona thing ever end?” I ask. It sure doesn’t feel like it. What started with two weeks is now stretching out to: “Maybe the kids will be back in school by May.” I doubt it. So, does everyone else. If it felt to anyone else like this was going to end any time soon half the nation wouldn’t have filled up their attics with toilet paper. We’re settling into this crisis, and it’s hard to see over the top of it. You can tell that’s the truth because the people who talk about getting past it sound like jerks. Did you hear about the Lieutenant Governor who wants to just let the grandparents die out so we can get back to normal. If that guy gets reelected our democracy is in worse shape than our economy. Still, life will go on. We will get past this. And no one need be sacrificed at the Idol of the Dow to do it. Do you know how I know? Because I’ve just heard about the God who breathed on a pile of dry bones and brought them back to life and Jesus Christ who called into a tomb and a dead man walked out. Carol Bockman painted it for us on our bulletin cover. Look and see, death is not even the end with our God, so Corona Virus will not be either. You know that. I know that, but we have to act like we know it and come out of this thing better than before rather than emerge from our caves as PJ wearing apathetic, selfish, couch potatoes. This a moment. It’s a moment, where we have to let go of so much, but don’t forget we will also choose what we’ll pick back up once it’s over. And what do I suggest you pick up now and cling to once it’s over? Your power. It was a valley of dry bones and God called on the Prophet Ezekiel to prophesy to them. That was a bold request, to use his words to do something so momentous, but God uses our words all the time to do impossible things. I was running yesterday, and I saw a banner. It said, “Marietta, we can do hard things.” I saw another that said, “This too shall pass.” Then I saw rainbows in windows because people are trying to give children something to look for as they walk around their neighborhoods. People are still connecting. Lives are still changing, and we as a church will come out of this stronger than ever before if we remember that our words can break the silence and do impossible things. You might be hesitant. Ezekiel was, but don’t underestimate what happens when you take the time to speak. Years ago, my father had a quadrupole bypass surgery. He was in the hospital, and as he had become a critic of the pastor who was serving our church then, he wasn’t interested in letting anyone here on the church staff know where he was or what was going on. The pastor came to visit any way, and after the visit my father said, “Joe, it just means something. It just means something when someone takes the time to say they care.” Use your words First Presbyterian Church. Use your words, use technology, be honest with each other about your true feelings just as those who can’t get to the salon are having to be honest about their true hair color, and watch as dry bones come to life, as broken relationships are mended once more by the power of the Holy Spirit working among us, connecting us, changing us for the better. Amen.

Surely, We Are Not Blind, Are We?

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 23 and John 9: 1-41 Sermon Title: Surely, we are not blind, are we? Preached on 3/22/20 Do you remember when we used to go out to dinner? I do, and I’m trying to remember the bad things about going out to dinner so I don’t miss it so much. Have you ever been out to dinner with another couple and she won’t let him or her won’t let her finish telling a story for correcting some insignificant detail? Do you know what I’m talking about? It annoys me, because it seems petty, and it always really bothers me when the details prevent the telling of a good story. For example, maybe she was trying to tell you how she was walking the dog across the street and Fido was out in front and in the middle of the crosswalk when a blue Ford Mustang turned the corner too quickly and… “No, it was a red Dodge Charger,” he interrupts her to say. In this instance, the thing that drives me crazy is I don’t care what color the car was. I care whether or not the dog got run over. Do you know what I mean? It’s not uncommon for people to get caught up in details. Details are important. Many good story tellers say, “I never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” That might be too extreme. Really, what I want to point out is that details are important. We can’t ignore them. However, sometimes we allow little details to distract us from big truths. Our Second Scripture Lesson began: “As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” Jesus answers, “Who cares?” That’s not exactly what he said, but it’s close enough. What I believe he was trying to say is, “Don’t be distracted by the details. Watch what I’m about to do.” Then Jesus “spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam”. Then he went and washed and came back able to see.” That’s what’s pictured on the cover of your bulletin. Again, a member of our own community, Bill Needs, took the time to contribute his gifts that we might stand back in awe and wonder at Jesus, beholding this great miracle. He titled his work, “One thing I do know, I was blind and now I see.” That’s the main thing. He got it. What about everyone else? After the man went and washed and came back able to see, “The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him.” Why were they asking, and why weren’t they rejoicing? Well, they were caught up in the details, unable to see the miracle that had just taken place. That’s sad, but it happened. Before that the disciples, so focused on the problem, so practicing in assigning blame and debating “who sinned” to cause the man’s blindness were about to gloss right over the miracle. Then the Pharisees get involved, and when Pharisees get involved there’s always trouble. They got stuck on the fact that “it was a Sabbath day” when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes and so they boldly proclaim: “This [Jesus] is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.” Now why did that matter? Why an interrogation and not a party? Couldn’t they just be happy for this man? Where was the cake and the parade celebrating the day when the man born blind regained his sight? Instead, the investigation continues. Why? Because a culture trained to look for sin can be blind to miracles. A culture focused on details can ignore the bigger picture. A culture concerned with who did it or who is trying to do it can become distracted from what happened or what needs to happen. That’s how it happened then, and that’s how it is now. Have you been listening to all the criticism? Have you heard what should have happened and who should have done what and when? Have you heard that this whole Corona thing is just the Democrat’s attempt to get President Trump out of office? Have you heard that sales of Corona Beer have slumped? Rather than just listen to the CDC or the Governor we get caught up in debates. We trip over details. We wonder, “Is this really any worse than the flu?” Then we get into the blame part: “Why do all these things start in China?” “Shouldn’t the President have done something before now?” “Why are people still going to the beach?” It’s because they drank water out of the hose as a kid and heard that makes you immune to it. You know, the priority here should be caring for people rather than assigning blame. The goal should be eliminating disease rather than talking about what our leaders could have done better. And maybe that’s where we’ll get eventually, but to get there we have to stop acting like unpleasant dinner guests, or worse, Pharisees. I hate Pharisees. Don’t you? Unfortunately, I am one. Like them, I get more interested in whose fault it was. I wander down these rabbit trails that distract me from the real issue. I become problem focused rather than solution focused, sin focused rather than miracle focused, detail focused rather than big picture focus, and when that happens I can’t be surprised if nothing ever gets done and if life feels more like a deposition rather than the celebration God created it to be. Look again at our Second Scripture Lesson. First the Disciples want to know who sinned. Then the Pharisees want to know when he healed the man. The parents just don’t want to offend anybody. And meanwhile, Jesus gave this man sight. The Pharisees asked: “We are not blind, are we?” You better believe we are. But not all of us. This Corona Virus is a source of stress and conflict. Husbands and wives are arguing. Siblings are fighting. Stocks are declining. Employers are having to lay off staff. Last week my neighbor told me about her friend’s aunt who had to ask her maid not to come back, and because Aunt Sally doesn’t drive, she also counted on this maid to deliver her vodka, so remember Aunt Sally in your prayers this week. She’s having a really hard time. The truth is that we all have it hard right now, though some of us have it harder than others. The most challenging phone call I’ve had to make since this thing started was to Andrew MacIntosh who’s wedding was supposed to be in our Sanctuary yesterday. Friday before last I called him. “Andrew,” I said, “We have a problem.” Well, it turned out his caterers were backing out anyway and his guests were already nervous, but if a tear was shed or a harsh word was spoken, I don’t know about it. All I know is that Anna, Andrew’s bride, asked me if I could still officiate a private service, saying, “We’re just excited to be married. The particulars are whatever they need to be.” This has been a hard season for so many reasons. Some of you have had to lay off employees. Others have feared for the future as the stock market dropped. We all have had to change our daily routines. Parents have become teachers, siblings have become playmates because there’s no one else to play with, doctors and nurses are working overtime, and we all have felt the lingering anxiety of not knowing. Every day I’ve woken up to a tightness in my chest. Have you? But let me tell you what I’m forcing myself to see: that if our kids are healthy, it’s a miracle. If we have a home to be confined in, we need to give thanks to God. This service is coming to you in your home because we can’t be together, but because of the providence of God working through a team of volunteers, this service is streaming to you. We can’t be blind to what’s good, no matter how frustrating the distractions and the changes. And what are those distractions and changes really? Most of them are just details, and we can’t allow the details to distract us from the miracle for if Anna and Andrew can see it as their wedding plans collapse what’s our excuse? “Surely, we are not blind, are we?” That’s what the Pharisees asked, and they were blind. But we don’t have to be. Open your eyes to miracles. Open your eyes to God at work among us now. Amen.