A Vaccine Is Not Enough to Save Us

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 103: 6-14 and Mark 2: 1-22 Sermon Title: A Vaccine Is Not Enough to Save Us Preached on June 21, 2020 That was 22 whole verses I just read. I don’t know if that seemed like a long reading to you. It did kind of seem like a long reading to me, but that could just be because I’m used to reading only a few verses at a time, maybe half that many, so that my sermons are based on just one moment in Scripture rather than a chain of events. The benefit of basing a sermon on just a few verses or on one particular event in Scripture is that I can focus on just one thing. Like most husbands, that’s better for me. Because it’s impossible for me to multitask, I just focus on one thing at a time. One event in the life of Jesus or one small section of His teachings. Only, when we read several verses describing several moments in the life of Christ as we just did it’s possible to see significant similarities as Jesus moves from one healing to the next, and then to a statement about patches on clothes and new wine in old wineskins. Reading all these 22 verses at once, I see how the whole series of events works together, and for the first time I noticed the similarities between the healing of the paralytic in the first 12 verses of our reading and the healing of Levi in the next five. However, our Bible doesn’t call it the healing of Levi. The heading in my Bible has: “Jesus heals a paralytic” over verses 1-12 and “Jesus calls Levi” over verses 13-17, but what I want to focus on this morning is how Jesus deals with both of these men in a similar way, though we may think of them differently. While we call one of these events a “healing” and the other a “calling”, Jesus deals with them both the same way: by forgiving their sins. Just that may have something important to teach us about the way Christ is at work in the world for we mostly think of sin and sickness as two different things. We go one place to be healed from a physical issue and another for the kind of healing a tax collector might require, but in this series of events we see that Christ came to heal the corrupted soul and the paralyzed body. That our Lord prays for broken hearts no less fervently than he prays for those with blocked arteries. That he concerns himself with every disease which causes us pain, whether it be a virus that attacks our lungs or one that corrupts our society. So, while we sometimes see the physical as one thing and the spiritual as another, Jesus sees a link. You can tell, first of all, because when healing the paralyzed man Jesus says, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” He didn’t lay his hands on him. He didn’t take his temperature or suggest a remedy. Nor did he take mud from the ground to rub on the man’s skin as he did for the blind man’s eyes at the pool of Siloam. Instead he says, “Son, your sins are forgiven” suggesting that the Savior knew that our bodies and our spirits are connected. That his spiritual sin had something to do with his physical condition. We don’t always think this way, or not all of us think this way. We mostly tend to think of maladies that effect our bodies as separate from the state of our souls. For example, just the other night I broke out in hives. I don’t like hives and I really don’t like how they keep me up itching until the Benadryl kicks-in. For the second time this summer I couldn’t sleep for some kind of allergic reaction. I told my doctor about it and he told me to check my diet. Then I told my friend Dr. Jeffrey Meeks about it and he told me to relax. Now those are two different responses. One from a medical doctor the other from a man with a doctorate in sacred music. So, which is it, diet or stress? Does the paralyzed man need a doctor or a savior? Do I need pills or prayer? For this moment in our country’s history, do we need Dr. Fauci or Pope Francis? The true answer is not either/or, for we are spiritual and physical beings. We suffer from conditions which require a liberation from disease and despair. We struggle with symptom and sinfulness. We are confined by physical and spiritual paralysis, and while what we all want, while what we all pray for today is a vaccine, a vaccine can’t fix everything. The way Jesus says it: “No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old cloak; otherwise the patch pulls away from it… no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins.” Thinking of this teaching I say a vaccine is not all that’s needed to heal our nation, for this virus is not the only problem we are facing. In fact, you might agree that this time of quarantine is revealing so many problems in our society that the virus appears to be only the tip of the iceberg. Certainly, I’m praying for a vaccine. I’m sure you are too, but that’s not all we need. For as time goes on and quarantine continues what is revealed are just how many cures our society needs. Think about it: I’m tired of being isolated. I’m sure you are too? Only today I realize that many have been living in isolation far before this pandemic hit. We need a cure for loneliness. And I’m worried about our economy and job loss. I’m worried about all those kids who depended on school lunches. Certainly I’m grateful for the way our school system mobilized to deliver meals to kids in our community and I rejoice for the way our church has gotten involved in feeding people, but poverty and hunger are issues that ours, among the richest nations in the world, has struggled with for generations. We need a cure for poverty. This virus reveals so much brokenness, brokenness which has been there, it just wasn’t as obvious before, so in this long Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark what I hear is a call from the Lord to not just think about a patch, but a new garment, not new wine in old wine skins, but new wine in new wine skins, a more perfect union, a noble priesthood, a holy people, a new society overcoming the ills that are not new today, just harder to ignore. For we can’t go visit at the nursing home today, but it’s not as though there was a line out the door to visit our elders before. Home improvement retailers are reporting record sales as people who don’t have anything else to do tackle do-it-yourself projects, but if our concern is only with our own homes than where is our generosity? Protestors rally in the streets marching for an end to racism today, though it’s not as though this were a new problem. And the partisan divide seems greater than ever in Washington DC, only there’s no quick fix, no easy solution, because none of us know how to get along with people who think differently. From sea to shining sea, we all think we’re right and they’re wrong as cities, towns, and households across these states which were meant to be united are divided. Fixing our society is no patch job. A vaccine isn’t going to heal all that ails us. So, Christ goes to heal a paralyzed man by forgiving his sins, then he goes to a tax collector and changes his life. Levi, son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth. Jesus came to him and he too “got up” and walked. Just as Jesus said to the paralyzed man, “Son, your sins are forgiven,” this man was made clean and new. He walked away from a life of self-interest. He gave up his vocation where taking advantage of people was required. He stood up from the tax booth, and in so doing he gave up who he had been to become a disciple. Maybe like me you can see that our nation needs this kid of miraculous healing as much as we need a vaccine. No longer collecting debts, he invited the Lord and a bunch of other sinners into his house to feed them. No longer focused on what he might take but on what he might give, his table was open to all kinds of people. So many sinners and tax collectors were sitting in Levi’s home with Jesus and his disciples that when the Scribes of the Pharisees heard about it, they asked, “Why does he [Jesus] eat with tax collectors and sinners?” Jesus answered: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” Based on what I know of Scribes and Pharisees I want to gently rephrase this statement: “Those who think they are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the self-righteous, but those who know they are sinners.” I rephrase that statement because I believe Jesus is saying that we’re all sick. We just don’t necessarily know it. We’re all sinners, we’re just afraid to admit it, but those who are ready to repent are ahead of the game. Are you ready to face the role that you play in our society’s brokenness? And are you ready to ask him for healing? Some would say that’s the only requirement of being a Christian. It’s not so unlike the requirement for entry into Alcoholics Anonymous. All you have to do to become a member is admit that you have a problem that you need help with, and so, all that’s required of us who would follow Jesus is to confess that we have a problem with sin that we cannot fix ourselves. It doesn’t matter how we got so sick. What matters is whether or not we’d let him make us well. The Psalmist wrote: as a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. That’s important in this culture of ours, where in the face of so much brokenness, there are those who double down on their innocence, deny their role in the problem, downplay its severity, blame someone else, or pretend they have it under control. That’s been me. I don’t know what I’m doing so I’ve been constantly looking for some assurance that I’m doing this right. That as a pastor and as I father I’m going to help us all get through to the otherside, but now I see that if I’ve been looking for assurance that I’m doing OK I’m looking for the wrong thing. For what we all must be looking for now is his open hand, calling us to take it and to follow. Precious Lord, take my hand; lead me on, help me stand; I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light; Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home. Some people have been pretending to be innocent and striving to be perfect for so long they don’t know how to do anything else. On this Father’s Day I want to remind you that your heavenly father, maybe unlike your earthly father, doesn’t reward perfection with love. That’s not even how love works. Take his hand this day and feel his love. Our God does not reject sinners but chases after them to eat with them. Just accept his love, for he gives it freely. Take his hand and be made new, that you might become a light in this sin sick world. Amen.

The Beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 91: 9-12 and Mark 1: 1-20 Sermon Title: The Beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God Preached on June 14, 2020 This is a strange time for me as a preacher. I say that, not hoping for sympathy, but because what I’m feeling now may be something close to what you’re feeling. Maybe like you, my relationships feel like their suffering because without seeing people I care about, physically, I can’t really tell where things stand, and I fill in what I don’t know with too much negative stuff. They say most of communication is none verbal. That’s why phone calls are imperfect, and emails are even worse. We understand and process between words which we hear with what we see. If we see them smile back at us, we know they’re happy. Or by watching as tears well up in their eyes we know more about what their feeling than words could ever tell us. Plus, we feel close to people when they touch us. We know we’re being understood based on all kinds of cues, but I’m here in this pulpit and I do an awful lot of talking. Only I’m talking without knowing how what I’m saying is being received. You might know how strange that is, or how less than ideal. What I typically do is I preach, and I look at your faces. I can tell when I’ve gone on for too long because someone has fallen asleep. I can tell when I’ve gone too far or not far enough because I’m reading your faces while I’m talking. You do the same thing. I wonder if the number one thing we all are missing, it’s certainly the number one thing that I’m missing right now is face to face. Face to face at the grocery store so we don’t have to tell people when we’re smiling beneath our facemask. Face to face with grandchildren. Face to face with our church family. Face to face is a human need and so, that’s what God does. We just read a long Scripture passage from the Gospel of Mark. Rev. Cassie Waits and I are the preachers for this month and next. She suggested we focus on the Gospel of Mark and I agreed. This is the first in a series six. Six sermons, six readings from the Gospel of Mark covering about the first half of this Gospel. We’ll cover a lot ground in these next several weeks and we just did today. The Scripture Lesson began with a clear title: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. What we all know about Jesus is that he is God in flesh in blood, walking around, moving into our neighborhood, taking on the mortal coil, experiencing our joys and fears, suffering even. He’s not bystander to human existence, but in Christ our God takes human flesh. I don’t want to rush past this miracle though I know you’ve heard all about it many times before, because it’s just so earth-shattering and nearly unprecedented. There’s just not much else like it in the world of religion. Much of what we know of the religion of the Ancient Greeks is quite different. Did you ever see those old Greek myth movies? Jason and the Argonauts? A bunch of guys in beards and animal skins fighting off Claymation monsters? The way I remember it, just as in the ancient myths, the god’s in those movies had this place up in the clouds on Mt. Olympus and they could look down on the earth to watch the human dramas unfold. According to the myths, occasionally they’d come down, but what sticks with me from the movies was this portal they had to look into our lives. It was like their TV. It was reality TV before there was reality TV. Their window into our lives was on the floor. They moved the clouds to watch and be entertained, but how much could they really know of humans when watching from a distance? How much can anyone really know about anything when watching from a distance, so what does God do? God comes close. Incarnate in human form. Walking the earth in our shoes. Do you remember those stories inspired by this kind of incarnation? There’s the Prince and the Pauper where these two boys who look alike switch places. The prince finds out how hard it is to be a pauper and the pauper finds out that being the prince isn’t all sitting around eating cake. They’re both better for it. Why? Because when assumptions drive us, we get all messed up. A couple older gentlemen back in Tennessee once told me about the first time they met a yankee. When they were just young boys having never met one before, they threw rocks at him. Now, why would someone do that? How could someone do that? But when we don’t see people, we make stuff up, and what we make up is nearly all the time far worse than the truth. These two probably thought he had come to town like the Carpet Baggers they’d heard from their parents and grandparents. Imagine if we based all our impressions of people not on what we learned after meeting them, but on what we’d heard. I went to college with a Tennessean named Will who went to school up in Maine. The first people he met up there were surprised he wore shoes. Why? Because if your opinion of people from Eastern Tennessee is based on the Beverly Hillbillies, you’ll think all kinds of crazy stuff, so what does God do? Does he take someone’s word for it? Does he come to understand the human condition, based on what he can see through the clouds? No. Again and again, God draws near. God draws near to get to know us, and we must constantly allow our assumptions to die lest we see the world as full of enemies rather than brothers and sisters. After the girls are in bed Sara and I watch TV together. Right now, we’re watching a show called Poldark. It’s one of those Masterpiece Classics that also comes on PBS like Downton Abby. I find some of the Masterpiece shows to be a little slow, but that’s OK. I just take a nap while Sara watches. Poldark put me to sleep just a couple times, but only a couple times. The main character in this show is a British veteran of the American Revolution. This redcoat goes home to Cornwall to manage his family’s copper mine, and he gets into all these adventures. He’s like an 18th Century Rambo with a British accent, exceptional manners, and an enlightened mind. On the subject of war, Poldark tells his wife Demelza: “It’s horrible what men can do to other men once they’ve convinced themselves that their enemy is less than human.” I think about how police officers are being talked about today. Now I do stand with those who march peacefully, knowing that some bad officers have treated those in their care as less than human. And I don’t just know it. I’ve seen it. But any crowd or politician whose been convinced that all police officers are evil are promoting the same prejudice they’re protesting against. It’s horrible what people will do to each other once they’ve convinced themselves that their enemy or opponent or subject or family member is less than human. What if we all took the time to say to ourselves in the midst of our anger or frustration, “I don’t agree with this person: this liberal, this conservative, this protestor, this police officer and I wonder why they think the way they do?” What we all too often do instead, is assume we already know, saying to ourselves, “Oh, I know. They must be stupid.” What’s different about Jesus is this: He could have sat up in the clouds making assumptions. Instead, he took on our flesh to really understand. He just kept drawing closer and closer to us until he understood why we are all so broken and confused. Because he understood us all and why we do the things that we do, even from the cross he called out: “Forgive them father for they know not what they do.” In this Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark he even got baptized. Why? For what? “What sins did the Lord need to have washed away?” we ask. Only, that’s not the point. He’s taking on our condition. He’s baptized to be as we are and to do as we have. He just keeps coming closer and closer. He didn’t even keep his distance from Satan. Now that’s important, isn’t it? Unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark doesn’t include any details of what this encounter was like. Typically, I would say that being “in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan” sounds graphic enough, only now, after three months of isolation we might say: forty days? That’s nothing. Only, consider what happens to us after forty days or three weeks of isolation. What has happened to us after three weeks of only looking out on the world through our television screen or Facebook feed. Consider what happens to our view of the world when we aren’t apart of it? Consider what happens to how we think about people when we can’t see them or hear them or be with them face to face. How hard it is to get to know a person through email! How hard it is to ease a troubled relationship or work out a disagreement if you can’t see their face and really understand! For the past three months, we may as well have been up in the clouds, looking down, having no real understanding of the people we’re looking down on. When that’s the case it becomes all too easy to give up. Yet, Cindy Buchanan (member of our church and mother of my oldest friend, Matt) said it better than anyone: “The zombie movies convinced us that after months of a viral pandemic we’d all be eating each other. Only, when I actually see people, I see how much kindness there is in the world.” The tempter whispers in our ears: just give up on them. They’ll never get it. They’re not worth it. Jesus never did that. I just know he never did. Even after 40 days in the wilderness tempted by Satan himself, Jesus never gave up on the world or on us. After the temptation our Scripture Lesson’s last few verses described what he was doing. John had been arrested and he started proclaiming good news. Then, “he passed along the Sea of Galilee.” That’s all it says: “he passed along.” What do you think that means? I imagine he was whistling. Or enjoying the waves as they hit his feet. Then he looked up and saw two fishermen: Simon and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the sea – for they were fishermen. I imagine Jesus thinking to himself, “I’ve always loved watching fishermen cast their nets into the sea. I wonder what else those two could catch… Follow me and I will make you fish for people,” he said to them. And immediately they left their nets and followed him. A few years ago, I got caught reading the Bible in a doctor’s waiting room. A man said to me, “I love to read the Bible too. It tells us what God is like and how we should be.” What is God like? God is like Jesus. Longing to know us. Always loving us. Saving all his harsh words for those religious authorities who cared more about rules and status than people. And how should we be? Not like them. Like him. Amen.

The God of Love and Peace Will Be With You

Scripture Lessons: Genesis 1: 1-4 and 2nd Corinthians 13: 11-13 Sermon Title: The God of Love and Peace Will Be With You Preached on June 5, 2020 One morning week before last I was walking our dogs around the block. I wasn’t exactly happy to be doing that, but it’s an important thing to do. Since being stuck inside our home all day myself, I have new sympathy for what their lives are like, so maybe it was more of an obligation than a joy to greet the morning by slowly walking around the block while our dogs smell every mailbox, stump, and branch, then dutifully picking up whatever they leave behind. Only about halfway the block around a woman hauling limbs from her front yard to the curb said something to me which changed the way I greeted that new day. I missed it the first time she said it, so I stopped, took my headphones out, to hear her say it again, “This is the day that the Lord has made!” Do you know that feeling of being stuck in an obligation or to be simply moving through the steps and all at once your eyes are open to how lucky you are? This was the perfect thing to hear someone say that morning. For one thing it reminded me that this was the day that the Lord has made. It was a beautiful morning and it was gift. It also evoked my awareness of the divine moving around us. But most of all it was so nice to hear someone say something that I knew exactly how to respond to. With a smile on my face I responded to this woman’s “This is the day that the Lord has made,” with my “Let us rejoice and be glad in it,” yet how many other times is it not nearly so easy to know what to say? I remember vividly standing in the foyer of our old house in Tennessee just a few years ago. Our two little girls stopping me in my tracks to ask, “I know that when we were tiny babies we were inside Mama’s tummy, but how did we get out?” Worse than that, have your children or grandchildren asked about the events of the past two weeks? The protests? Did they ask you if it was true that as George Floyd died, he called for his mother? Did they have trouble understanding why the police, who is called to help, had his knee on Mr. Floyd’s neck? Or why his partner stood idly by as he said, “I can’t breathe”? Were they scared when they saw the damage done to the CNN Center just down I 75? What did the children of police officers think, should they have witnessed the video of squad cars burning? Or what did the parents of protestors think when they read the tweet: “When looting starts the shooting starts?” Then, how does anyone make sense of that picture of our President taken after the crowd was dispersed with gas and rubber bullets, standing in front of a church holding up a Bible? Where is God at work in all of this? What are we to say to anyone, much less our kids as they make sense out a world that all of us are having trouble making any sense of ourselves? An old friend of mine, Rev. Amos Disasa sat his son down to talk about race. Amos serves First Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas as their Senior Pastor. The two of us have a lot in common, though we don’t look alike. He was born in Ethiopia to Ethiopian parents, so race has played a subtle part in our friendship since we were classmates at Presbyterian College. Just after seminary the two of us spent several days in Montreat, North Carolina, for a conference of Presbyterian ministers. One night we went out for a beer at a bar called the Town Pump. Immediately, upon sitting down, it became obvious to me that this was a bar for locals, not out of town Presbyterian ministers, so I said to Amos, “I feel a little out of place.” Amos said to me, “Joe, do you see anyone else from Ethiopia in here?” Amos married a white woman from West Virginia. Their two children are of mixed race. Last Thursday Amos told the congregational of First Presbyterian in Dallas that in light of recent events he sat his 10-year-old son down to explain what’s been happening and what it means for him as a male with dark skin. “Your skin color will make some people uncomfortable. Some people will see your body as a threat,” he told his son. Then, thinking about George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, or any number of other unarmed African American men who have been killed recently, his son asked, “Can that happen to me?” His father said, “yes.” Then, his son’s second question was, “Can that happen to you?” Again, his father said, “yes.” Our children have asked me many difficult questions, but “where do babies come from” doesn’t come close to either of these. Among all the many difficult questions our children have asked me, they’ve never asked me to answer a question that I would have been so sad to answer truthfully as these two questions, but we all must say something about the events of the last two weeks. Only, where do we even begin? I wonder if where we ought to begin is with the words of our Declaration of Independence: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. Or with those words which have marked the beginning of each school day for my children and your children: I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Or those words which lady liberty holds precious sheilding Ellis Island: Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door. Or with the dream Dr. King preached about 57 years ago before the Lincoln Monument: I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. Even in these moments when the table of brotherhood has erupted in protests and riots with shielded police facing off with the crowds as democrats and republicans prove that truly anything can be made into a political issue, we turn to these words to remind us of who we’re intending to be. We turn to these words to remember again, that even if they don’t describe where we are, they do describe where we are going. And then we turn to the words of Scripture to remind us of who is with us on our journey. In our First Scripture Lesson, God spoke our world into existence. Some people think that these verses are trying to replace the Science text books, but I say they are trying to remind us of the power of our words. God spoke our world into existence. My friends, if we don’t like the way our world looks today, then know that our words have the power to create a new reality. So, we must remember again those words which gave birth to our nation and stand against those words which might take it all away and the violence that would burn it all down. Violence is how we lose ourselves, while words, beautiful words are how we find our way back. The words of Scripture testify to the reality that hovering over a formless void was the wind from God which swept over the face of the waters. When God spoke light into that darkness and as the Spirit swirled the waters of chaos into order, God spoke again saying that it was good. Don’t forget that He still does. God hasn’t given up on His creation. Neither can we. And he calls us to show the indifferent, the prejudiced, the polarizing, the power drunk, that a more ideal union is possible, that justice might roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. The Apostle Paul ends his second letter to the Church in Corinth saying, Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace, and the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the saints greet you. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you. This is a powerful way to end a letter. It’s a call to order and harmony. It’s a call to love. It’s a reminder to recognize God at work in our midst. And it is likely his great goodbye. How do we honor his memory or the memory of any of God’s saints if rather than agree with one another, we make our brothers and sisters our enemies? How do we follow the model of any who have loved us if we stop working for peace? How do we honor the memory of those who spilled their blood for the ideals of this nation is we turn to tyranny and chaos rather than love and the communion of the Holy Spirit? As Americans and as Christians, our persistent charge is to join the God of creation in forming a more perfect union, a more noble brotherhood, to continue on in the building of that city on a hill where all are valued, all are honored, and where all so truly matter. Let us never ignore the brokenness. Let us never silence the angry, saying peace, peace, when there is no peace. Instead, let us listen to the lady who called me to recognize that this is the day that the Lord has made. Today, let us pray, let us listen, let us walk, let us dance, let us work for something better for our children, but above all else let us rejoice and be glad in this world our God is still creating, sustaining, and redeeming. Alleluia. Amen.

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.