As One Having Authority

Scripture Lessons: Deuteronomy 18: 15-20 and Mark 1: 21-28 Sermon Title: As One Having Authority Preached on January 31, 2021 In this Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark Jesus is described twice, “as one having authority.” Wouldn’t you like for people to describe you that way? How could I get our children to describe me that way? At our house, it’s like I’m Rodney Dangerfield, “I don’t get no respect!” So, how do we get it? The answer is there in passage. When a man with an unclean spirit cried out to him, “what have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” Jesus rebuked the spirit saying, “Be silent,” and then commanded the spirit to “come out” and it did. His words had power, because they weren’t empty. He said, “come out” to the unclean spirit and it did, so if he told you, “take out the garbage or your grounded” you knew he was serious and if he said he loved you it was clear he meant it. What then is the difference between him and the rest? Why is it worth mentioning that he spoke as one having authority? What’s the difference between Jesus and all the empty suits, windbags, and braggadocios whose words we hear but know we can’t take to the bank? Here’s the difference: He actually does what everyone else just talked about doing. To him, it’s not just words. It was never just speech. If Jesus were to run for President, you could take all his campaign promises, not with a grain of salt but knowing that he was as good as his word. There haven’t been many presidents like that. In fact, some historians say that there was only one. People in Columbia, Tennessee are glad to tell you who it was. Every citizen of Columbia is happy to tell you all about it, because this great town south of Nashville where we lived before moving back here to Marietta, is especially proud of James K. Polk, the 11th President of the United States, who lived there. President Polk was actually born in North Carolina, but don’t try to tell anyone in Columbia, Tennessee that. They’re not interested in where the man was born. He was from Columbia, and while he was running for president, he lived in a house that’s now right across the street from the presbyterian church. Folks are proud of that, so the Presbyterians in Columbia are quick to tell you that the “K” in James K. Polk stands for Knox, for he was a direct descendant of that great Scottish leader of the Presbyterian Church, John Knox, but the Methodists will be quick to tell you that he had a death bed conversion and became a Methodist. Now, this is true, even though it sounds like it couldn’t be. The first time I was in the First Methodist Church in Columbia I looked closely at the great rose window in their sanctuary. It’s a beautiful stained-glass window, but I did a double take the first time I saw it, because I expected it to be Jesus’ to be in the center. He’s not. It’s the 11th President, James K. Polk, who the Methodists claim as one of their own. Now, what’s the point of me telling you all this? I’ll tell you. A close friend of mine, Tom Price, was one of the historians on staff at the Polk Home, and when Tom was giving his standard speech on President Polk, as he was often called on to do, he would always say that Polk only made four campaign promises: 1. To expand the borders of our country, which he did through the acquisition of the Oregon Territory, California, New Mexico, and settling the Texas border dispute. 2. To lower tariffs, which he did. 3. The establishment of a new federal depository system, done in four years. 4. And the strengthening of the executive office, mission accomplished. Many historians will say that he left office at the end of this first term not seeking reelection, and as the most successful president since George Washington. Anyone is Columbia, Tennessee will tell you that he left office as the most successful president of all time, and I’ll agree with them because he did what he said he would do. It’s amazing. Is that not amazing? And is it not amazing that we think living up to campaign promises is amazing? Why have we grown used to accepting false hope, half-truths, and good tries. I don’t know, but when people heard Jesus they were impressed, and when they saw how he lived they knew that he teaches as “one having authority.” That he’s not like the scribes who just talk about the Scriptures. He’s actually living them. He’s not going for personal glory; he wants to glorify his Father in Heaven. He wasn’t all talk and no action. His words had authority because of his actions. It’s a rare thing to find a president like that, it’s a gift to find a person like that, and unfortunately, the world has seen far too many churches who were just too good at saying one thing while doing another. I’ve been talking about presidents, but this event in the life of Jesus described in our Second Scripture Lesson doesn’t take place in Town Hall or congress. It’s an exorcism that takes place, not in a place where people do political things but in one of those places where people worship, a synagogue. The place where all people are supposed to be welcome, but let’s be honest, not everyone always is. Verse 23 makes it plain who belonged there and who didn’t: “Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit,” as though the synagogue belonged to those who had it all together and not those who needed a little help. Their synagogue. Who’s synagogue? Is it not always God’s synagogue, where sinners like us are always welcome? Was this place and so many others like it not created to be a place of prayer for all people? The Pope was clear a few years ago: “the church is a field hospital for the sick,” but how often is it more like a place for the upright to gather together away from the rest of the world? How often have you invited someone to church to hear them say, “I’m not sure I belong there?” Who does belong here and who doesn’t? I don’t know, but something we try to make clear Sunday after Sunday is that sinners are welcome. The broken are embraced. Those who hold their head too high or think they have it all together really have no need for what we have to offer, for what good is grace to the perfect and who needs forgiveness but those who have made a mistake? Every Sunday we pray a prayer of confession. That’s a counter cultural thing to do. Sometimes I can’t believe that we do it, but we do. Sunday after Sunday we pray it all together. Today it went like this: Most merciful God, I sing, “May Jesus Christ be praised!” but I confess that through my words and actions Jesus Christ is not always praised. Forgive me Lord, for while I worship you in the company of the upright, too often I stoop down to the level of the self-centered and self-righteous. We say words like that in here, and we know they’re true, but we also have to live them. What good does it do us or anyone else if we come to worship God and confess our imperfection, then live our whole week according to a standard of perfection rather than a standard of grace? What good does it do us or anyone else if we make plain our faults before God than hide our faults away as soon as we get back to living? What good does it do the world if we aren’t constantly proclaiming a gospel of forgiveness in a culture of “three strikes and you’re out”? What good is this faith of ours if it doesn’t change the way we live, if it doesn’t change the way we see ourselves, if it doesn’t change the way we treat each other? There was a man in the synagogue with an unclean spirit and he cried out, “What have you to do with us Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” That’s how it feels to a whole lot of people. What have you to do with me church lady, have you come to judge me? What are you doing here preacher? Have you come to make me feel guilty? What are you doing here Jesus, have you come to destroy us? You know the answer. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those are good words. A lot of people have them memorized. But they don’t matter unless we live them. We are too often those without any authority, because too often we don’t live the faith that we profess. We fight over who gets to put the presidents name on church’s membership roll, and don’t know what to do when less prestigious members of society walk through our doors. I’ve seen it. I’ve been a part of it. And often, it’s the least of these who reveal who we truly are. Do you remember the last time it happened here? Rev. Cassie Waits was giving the benediction. This was a long time ago when a whole bunch of people were able to come and sit in this room. Along with everyone else was a man who was about to be evicted. He interrupted Cassie while she was giving the benediction and announced to this whole church, “I need some help” in a loud voice. For a long few seconds no one knew what to do. Presbyterians don’t even clap, much less shout in the middle of a worship service, so I walked up to him and was walking him out of our church, but as I walked up that aisle you started slipping money into my hands. By the time we were out the door there was enough to pay three months’ rent, which was nothing short of a miracle, but I’m telling you this story today because it was in that moment that I knew fully who we are. It was the man with an unclean spirit who saw Jesus for who he was, and it was the man who shouted out his need in the middle of a worship service who revealed the heart of this congregation. He knew us. He revealed our identity. He reminded us of who we are and what we were created to be. For that reason and many others, I am daily so proud to serve this church. It is a constant gift to walk through these doors and when people ask me who I am and what I do I tell them, “My name is Joe Evans and I am proud to serve First Presbyterian Church as one of her pastors.” And then they’ll say, as they did at the school board about a year ago: “yours is the church who has made a difference to so many children through Club 3:30,” or “I’ve seen the wall of pictures of all the Habitat Houses ya’ll built,” or more recently, “thank you for feeding so many families by giving them food in your parking lot.” You see, the world around us knows us not by what we say. We only have authority when our words and our actions match up. May it always be so. Amen.

Dropping the Nets

Scripture Lessons: Jonah 3: 1-5, 10 and Mark 1: 14-20 Sermon Title: Dropping the Nets Preached on January 24, 2021 There are two aspects of this Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark that have become clearer to me in the last week: the first is that these disciples aren’t completely unique in their willingness to drop everything; people we know are doing some version of that often enough that we ought to recognize it. All of us, have likely, at times done some version of the same thing, for letting go is a requirement of every disciple of Jesus Christ, not just the disciples of 2,000 years ago. And the second realization I’ve had in the last week, thinking about his Gospel Lesson is that this account is just the beginning of their letting go. In fact, following Jesus towards the kingdom of God requires that all disciples keep on dropping important things. It may be that we have to keep on dropping nets the whole way there. Let me try to tell you what I’m really getting at. Back in Columbia, Tennessee where we lived before moving back here to Marietta, I heard stories about young men who would hear the call of God as they worked in the tobacco fields. They’d drop what they were doing to become ministers of the Gospel, however, the county historian there once told me, “If you find that story awe inspiring, then you don’t know what working in a tobacco field is like. Anyone would answer a call from God out there. A young man would say just about anything to get himself out from those endless rows of tobacco on a hot summer day. Don’t be so impressed.” Of course, I am impressed. I’m impressed every time I see people doing this kind of thing. Even if maybe they’re not doing it for purely spiritual reasons. But consider this too: sometimes letting go of the first thing is easy, and then you keep having to do it. Which makes me think of this first-hand account of a young white woman, right here in Cobb County, who said that when her brother heard that Lincoln had been elected president, he rushed off to South Carolina to enlist. She was caught up in how he nearly dropped his how in the field to rush off to the fight, however, how was it once the war began? How was it once winter came? How was it for him coming home, questioning the cause or refusing to let it go? Sometimes adventure calls us to let go of our nets and we’d be fools not to listen, but we’re also fools to think that’s where letting go ends. Every soldier knows that letting go of the comforts of home is just the first step in a long journey. On that journey, some let go of their very humanity. The path of discipleship is the same in the sense that we have to keep letting go, day after day, again and again, but the path of discipleship is one of stepping closer to the Kingdom: dying to self, dying to ego, dying to comfort, to take up a cross. For disciples who are letting go to follow Christ it’s worth it, because every time we let go of something like our nets, every time we suffer for the sake of him, we’re stepping out of darkness and towards the light. I heard about it in an audio book I was listening to with the woman who runs First Presbyterian Church, Melissa Ricketts. Her official title here is Director of Administration, and you may know that Melissa Ricketts and I rode down to South Georgia last Saturday. Representing all of you, representing this church we were there at the graveside with Rev. Joe and Sandra as they buried their son. It was hard to be there, but we wouldn’t have been anywhere else, only we had to get there first and the getting there took a long time. It was about five hours down and five hours back. It was one of those drives where you come off the interstate and think you’re getting close, but you’re not. And the day before when I was just getting ready to go our daughters were worried about me being a passenger in Melissa’s car. They were very concerned that I might not be an engaging enough passenger in the car of one of their favorite people, they feel as though I can be a boring person to ride in the car with, so they suggested I bring a book to listen to on the way, and we did. My wife Sara made the recommendation having read it already. This book, it’s called The Love Story of Missy Carmichael, is the story of a woman who lost her husband, and never changed a thing in their house. You can imagine. The story starts moving when she meets a friend who comes over and describing the place as a mausoleum, offers to help her sort through it all. Sorting through the stuff was an emotional experience for Missy Carmichael, because letting go of all that stuff was like letting go of her husband all over again, but once she started letting go of what was there, she noticed the light coming through the windows. I tell you about this book because it makes this clear. It makes it clear how hard it is to let go, but also how pure the light is. That’s what discipleship is like. We let go of our nets, but from letting go, something happens. Real life starts again. Joy comes. We’re not trapped in a perpetual cycle of the way things are. It’s the opposite of the TV show, Hoarders. Do you know that show? Sometimes that show can hit a little too close to home. I haven’t watched the show in a while. I don’t know if it’s still even on, but what I remember is how often, for the people on that show, the physical stuff wasn’t just stuff, and letting it go was so painful they almost couldn’t do it. It’s like Mrs. Havisham in the book Great Expectations. We, who watch, want to say, “Get out of that old wedding dress!” Only she can’t take it off, and neither can she get on with living. Likewise, down in our basement are my old baseball cards. Up in the attic are year books from High School. Our girls were rummaging around in my sock drawer and they wanted to know why I had a Ziplock bag filled with little teeth. I’ll tell you why. It’s because it’s hard to let go. It’s hard to let kids grow up. It’s hard to say goodbye to who they were and what we had. It’s hard to move on. Sometimes it’s hard to get on with living, because living requires letting go. Letting go, over and over. Letting something go. At the beginning of this sermon, I said that people like us do it all the time, and they do, and so often it’s worth it. Have you ever seen a woman who let go of everything to become a mother? The disciples letting go of their nets must have been something like that. Some of you have been that woman who let go of everything to pick up a tiny bundle of life and made that bundle the center of everything. You let go to let the light in. You can’t imagine doing anything else. But did you know that you were going to have to keep letting go? Did you know that you were going to have to let go of her hands so she could walk? Did you know that you were going to have to let go of her so she could go off to college? Fathers are bad at all of this. It takes us too long at the beginning and then we almost can’t bear to do it in the end. I remember how Sara became a mother the first second she held Lily in her arms. It happened right before my eyes. She just let go of self-centeredness and made her daughter the center of her whole world, while I was still the same self-centered guy that I was the day before. I was ready to leave the hospital because I was kind of ready to get back home so I could watch TV and take a nap as though my whole life hadn’t been transformed. Now I watch as fathers walk their daughters down the aisle to let them go and I have an idea of how long it will take me to recover from doing that, only I also know that this is what I signed up for. This is what life requires, and discipleship isn’t any different. We have to keep letting go so that more light can come in. You know what happens from the TV show Hoarders what happens to people who can’t, but there’s an even worse warning for those who hold on and don’t let the light in. It’s there in the book of Jonah. We don’t always get really deep into the full story of Jonah and the whale. We simplify it, because this is a story, we tell children. So, kids grow up thinking that the hard to believe part of the story is that a man could get swallowed by a whale then spit up on a beach three days later. That’s not the hardest part to believe. The hardest part for Jonah to believe is that God would want to save the Assyrians. That sounds silly if you don’t know how awful the Assyrians were. They were demonic. Had they been the ones to march on Capitol Hill, they’d make what we saw two weeks ago look like a yard sale or a lemonade stand. When they invaded a nation, they would skin their enemies alive. They’d burn children, destroy cities, enslave survivors, and God wanted Jonah to go preach to them. That’s a terrifying proposition, but it got worse. When Jonah finally did, they listened. Those Assyrians were like so many disciples. They let go of who they were and became someone new, which surely brought an awful lot of light into their lives. However, Jonah wasn’t ready for it to happen, because he couldn’t let go of the hatred he was holding on to. You know how disappointed Jonah was. He pouted under that broom tree. Then God sent a worm and killed the tree. On first reading it sounds like he just being a big baby, only we can’t simplify his disappointment or we’ll miss the point. He was disappointed because his whole life he’d been dreaming of the moment God would wipe these enemies of his from the face of the earth, then God wants him to let go of that dream to face a new reality. Do you know how hard that is? This is something that some people are never able to do. They can’t see what’s right in front of them as good, because it’s not the good that they wanted to see. They can’t tell that it’s a blessing, because it’s not the blessing that they had asked for. Disappointment breaks their heart. It happens all the time. Again, and again, we must let go of what we wanted to happen, what we thought would bring the light in, to trust that God might know better than we do. The persistent call of Christ is, “drop what you’re holding onto,” and follow me. Don’t let that call sound too easy, or you’re fooling yourself. It’s not easy. But don’t let that call sound impossible either. People do it all the time, and they can tell you that doing so let’s more light in. CS Lewis said it was something like a child, happily making mud pies in an ally way, receiving an invitation to the beach. She’s never been to the beach. She can’t imagine the beach. But when we let go of what we know, we stand to gain what might be. When we let go of bitterness, we stand to gain joy. When we let go of hatred, we stand to gain love. When we let go of our nets, we stand to be a part of the transformation of this whole planet. Let go of your nets. Let go of what was. Follow Christ towards the light. Amen.

Here I Am, But Who Called Me?

Scripture Lessons: 1 Samuel 3: 1-10 and John 1: 43-51 Preached on January 17, 2021 Sermon Title: Here I Am, But Who Called Me? Getting to know people for the first time can be a tricky business. We are not like Jesus in that Jesus meets Nathaniel for the first time and gets him right. We meet people for the first time and time we know them, not because we’re divine but because we’re judgmental. Maybe it’s some more than others, but we all probably have a few disqualifying issues, observable traits or bad habits, that we don’t want anyone else to see us do for fear of what they might think of us or maybe, when we see it in another person just one thing can send them down the ladder in our estimation. For example: when I eat French Fries, I eat them the right way. I make a little well of ketchup and I dip my French fries, which is the right way to do it. And I just don’t know about people who just squirt ketchup all over their fries. Likewise, my grandmother didn’t think much of people who bought anything other than Duke’s mayonnaise. She couldn’t even understand why anyone would want to use anything else. But, there’s more. Dental hygiene, hair style, names that are hard to say or spell. We notice things and make judgments about people based on them. Additionally, we look ourselves in the mirror and make disqualifying judgements about ourselves. One thing that our two Scripture Lessons for this morning have in common is that they both point out how our assumptions can lead us to miss God’s invitation to new life. Let me tell you what I mean. A friend of mine went to school in New York State. His roommate asked him where he was from and after Will said Tennessee the new roommate asked him if he owned a pair of shoes. Now that’s a small thing, but it happens all the time. These two became friends but they almost didn’t because we think we know too much about people based on where they come from. So, the North looks down their nose at the South a little bit. But the South’s not innocent. I’ve been making jokes about people from Alabama my entire life, and as long as Snuffy Smith runs in the local paper, we know that there are some people it’s still socially acceptable to make fun of, only what can you really tell about a person based on where he comes from? We can get stuck in these assumptions and start thinking that nothing good can come out of certain places or from certain people, and so we say things like: Nazareth? Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Is that not the most incredible question you’ve ever heard? It sums up all these assumptions and proves them wrong in one fail swoop: “Yes, in fact the most good the world has ever seen comes out of Nazareth” so there. But what do we do with that? Well, I’ve heard some people call the desecration of our nation’s capital the Duck Dynasty Revolution but putting down a group of people because of how they look, or feel is not going to help put this nation back together. What’s become clear to me amidst all that broken glass is that we’ve now seen a very tangible sign that our nation is bitterly divided, and, regardless of which side you are standing on, do not forget to love the person on the other side. Why? Because Jesus always shows up where we least expect him to, and if we’re not ready to be surprised, we are likely to miss out all-together. What’s true about humankind is that when we are sure we’re right; we’re usually wrong. When we think we know; we’re announcing our ignorance. When we are completely certain, we leave no room for faith. Therefore, the posture of Christians must be one of persistent humility. Why? Because we must be prepared for God to defy our expectations. What did Nathanial expect? “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” is what Nathanial asked. Well, Nathanial, with that attitude, can anything good come out of you? That was Samuel’s struggle. He didn’t think anything good could come out of him. Samuel didn’t expect to be called by God. He just assumed it was old Eli calling. Why would he think that? Well, do you think he saw himself as someone who God might need to do the next big thing? Had he not taken in all the messages from the judgmental world? So often, those who sleep on the ground as Samuel did on the floor of the Temple, never expect to rise above it. Having been left there by his mother, he may have come to think of himself like so much else that we leave behind and don’t ever think about again. You surely know his story well enough. It’s a story like so many others. It’s like Harry Potter who can’t believe that he’s a wizard. It’s like James, who climbs into a Giant Peach. There are so many adventures which must begin with a child of God first believing that something wonderful could ever happen to the likes of them. We all must be ready for this kind of surprise or we might miss it, and Samuel nearly did. “Samuel, Samuel,” the Lord called, but the audacity here is that no one important ever called this boy by name. No one called him, not for dinner, but to clean up after dinner. No one called him because they wanted to see him, but because they wanted something done. Hardly anyone even took the time to know his name. Do you know what that’s like? I don’t know my garbage man’s name, but God does. Who is calling this boy? He can’t imagine, because it’s just too much. And that’s the point. How will those who have been pushed around by society ever believe that God would call them by name? Should the garbage man start to think that he’s garbage because the world treats him that way, God will break into his life to show him the truth, only he must have enough hope to imagine he’s worthy. “Samuel, Samuel,” the Lord called. He almost missed it for doubting, certain that nothing like this could happen to someone like him. Don’t be so certain. Like Nathaniel we ask, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” And will we be so defined by the events of this week and the one before that we give up on ourselves? Will we stop holding close the virtues which our nation was founded on? Will we be so shaken by this nightmare that we give up on the dream? Will we be convinced by the evidence around us that we are broken, divided, out of luck and up a creek, or will we listen now to this call from God, “You’re looking in all the wrong places and your listening to all the wrong voices. Listen to me as I call you to be fully who you were created to be!” Let us not be so narrow minded as to judge ourselves based on what’s broken. Let us never be so foolish as to think that the only power at work in our world is humanity’s vast capacity for evil. Our eyes have been open to a level or fragility and depravity. We’re pushing closer to the edge of incivility, and to make matters worse, this week I’ve had homework to keep up with too. That’s a small thing to mention, but I mention it for this reason. As I work on my doctorate, my professor has had me reading about the lives of black women like Ella Baker and Fanny Lou Hamer, who called this nation to her higher ideals, having never experienced much other than oppression, discrimination, and hunger. Fanny Lou Hamer was a sharecropper in Mississippi. She worked for most of her life in fields, then went home to rest in shacks without enough coal for the fire, clothes for the children, or food for the table, yet she preached and preached about a freedom that she’d never had herself but somehow knew was within reach. The Lord called out to Samuel, and do you know what the Lord did for him? Made him the great prophet who would bring order to a kingdom in chaos. I can imagine the boy hearing all this on that cold temple floor, and wanting to say, “That sounds fine, but I’d really just like a blanket and a warm meal. What about a new tunic?” The Lord provided him more than he ever could have dreamed of, and this is the requirement: he never would have done it had he been sure that he was unworthy. No one ever gets anywhere if they give up on themselves. And we will never get beyond this point we find ourselves in now if we stop fighting for a more perfect union, a city on a hill, the land of the free and the home of the brave, one nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all. Can anything good come out of Nazareth? More good than this world has ever seen before. Can anything good come out of Washington? Can anything good come out of me? We cannot allow one of the worst days in our nation’s history to determine our nation’s future, any more than we can allow one of our worst mistakes to determine our salvation. Only by the Grace of God go I. Only by the power of God did I walk into today with confidence. Only because of His magnificence can this ordinary me stand in this pulpit. It’s only because of forgiveness, grace, love, hope, and faith that we are here today. So, listen to the call of God my friends, and together, let us find out what will happen next. For I’m ready to follow this Jesus who has called me by name. He saw me under the fig tree and called me to follow. I believe he love me, and I believe he loves you, and I am absolutely convinced that he has not had it with this world that we are living in. In fact, I believe he holds this whole world in his hands. Amen.

Home By Another Road

Scripture Lessons: Matthew 2: 1-12 Sermon Title: Home By Another Road Preached on January 3, 2021 A couple weeks ago, Keli Gambrill, who is a member of our church and one of our county commissioners, called to ask me if I’d be willing to put together a short article for her weekly newsletter. She’s launching a new section of her newsletter dedicated to asking members of different churches and other organizations in our county the same question, in the hopes that our answers will reveal that we have more in common than we realized. So, Commissioner Gambrill and I decided to ask several members of our church: how has 2020 made you a better person? Members of our congregation answered this way: - Wow, I can think of a lot to say about 2020 but, can I say it has made me a better person... I'm not sure. Maybe a stronger person? Together, we have all endured a devastating pandemic and a very divisive election. It has been hard not to fall into depression! - As our social activities narrowed, we spent more time with family. - We now have closer relationships with our grandchildren. That time was exhausting but precious. It forced me to slow down and relearn patience. - This spring was especially beautiful, so we spent more time outdoors. - With so many neighbors working/learning from home, everyone was out walking and biking. I met many neighbors and participated in events to assist local restaurants/food trucks etc. Relearning the importance of community was a definite positive. - I can't say for sure I am a better person, but I think I have become a better friend and family member this year. We lost my dad and a friend battled cancer (successfully so far!) and, even though those are difficult walks, I feel relationships got stronger. I worked on not worrying about what I can't change and letting it go to God. Despite this year's losses and disappointments, as it comes to a close, I am hopeful. - 2020 has made me a better person as I have found myself really taking time to learn about myself because I am now alone sometimes not seeing anyone in person for days. As an extrovert I have spent time with friends and family on the phone really talking about our lives. - I am more compassionate than ever before. My heart aches as I try to relate to the suffering that is all around us this year. I have been more giving than before. I also have grown to cherish the importance of family and will never again take the time spent together for granted. What I hear in those responses is that something big has happened to all of us. Something has disrupted our routines and changed the way we live and see the world. It’s been bad, but it hasn’t been all bad, so now, as some of our friends and family are receiving the vaccine and we can all start thinking about getting back to normal, I hope you’ll first take some time to think about the parts of normal you hope to never get back to. That’s important to think about, because experience tells me that unless I make a point of not, I’ll just go back to being the same person I was, living my life the same way I did before. Unless I try, I’ll fall into the routines of traffic and rushing. I’ll just go back to being over committed even though being less committed has been so good for me. I’ll forget, because that’s what people do. And so, I ask you: How has this strange time changed you for the better? And what will you do to keep yourself from reverting back to the way you were before? While I don’t imagine that any of us will ever look back on this year nostalgically, what’s true is that some events call us, not to the same road we’re used to, but to journey by a different road. That’s what the Magi did. Our Second Scripture Lesson ended with the verse: And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. Considering everything we’ve been through and still are going through, what new road might we be called to? That’s my question for you today, on this Sunday we call Epiphany. Today we remember when these wise visitors gave gifts to the Christ Child. I’m deliberately not saying there were three of them, because we know, not their number, just the number of their gifts. I’m also not saying that they were all wise men, because there must have been some wise women among them, considering how they stopped in Jerusalem to ask for directions. Our Gospel lesson begins: “In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, they came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” We know that part. Listen closely to this too: “When King Herod heard this, he was frightened.” We know about what happened next. We know what he did. It’s hard to even say out loud. He said he also wanted to pay the child homage, though really, he wanted him destroyed. And I ask you to consider both reactions, the reaction of the Wise and the reaction of the King, because while some encounter the miraculous and allow it to change them forever, we can all be too stubborn to change, fighting to keep things the way that they are or once were. While some manage to open themselves up to change, others fight to put life’s genies back into their bottles. While some see something that makes them stop, take stock of their lives, and adapt, others live unexamined lives that lead to death and destruction. While the wise offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, then left for their own country by another road, Herod would sooner kill ever male child in the region than lose a grip on his power. These are two options, and as things open back up over the next few months, we’ll also have to choose whose example we’ll follow. Our world has forever been changed by, not just the COVID-19 Virus, but more especially, the birth of the Messiah, only how will we allow these changes to change us? The wise found him, gave him precious gifts, and then went home by another road. On the other hand, is King Herod, who sought him out, and coming to terms with the truth of the Messiah’s birth, was renewed in his determination not to change anything. It’s the same, common, event, but their reactions were so different. It reminds me of two men, both who suffer a heart attack, but one gives thanks to God and changes his diet, the other stops for a Big Mac on the way home from the hospital. The Messiah was born, and they all knew it as we do, but the reality of his birth brought the wise men joy and made Herod afraid. Having seen him, they left for their own country by another road, but Herod doubled down on the road he was on. If you are listening to me this morning, then I bet that you’ve seen him just as they had. This Christmas, maybe you saw him in an act of kindness. Maybe you saw him in the embodiment of joy. Or maybe you saw him in some experience of the holy, a healing, a miracle, a change of heart. Regardless, I’m sure that you’ve seen the Messiah somewhere, but now what? Our Gospel Lesson offers us two choices. Which will it be for you? In the last year we’ve all suffered under the same fear and we’ve all been frustrated by the same virus. Will this common virus enable you to see our common humanity? Will you acknowledge that just as this virus affects us all, it proves that we’re not nearly so different or as divided as we’ve been told? Right now our eyes are open to the same hardships, and we’ve all seen such tremendous acts of kindness and sympathy which have the potential to bridge all our division, but watch for some will try to push us back into the same kind of partisanship we’re not yet rid of, denying the reality that we so truly all care about the same things. What’s true is that this virus and this season has the potential to call all of us to greater unity, and the vaccine, developed in record time, reveals just what we can really do, but that well-worn road of division and indifference feels to some as comfortable as going home. My friends, is where we were really our home? Is a new earth not calling us? A new realization? A new way of being? A new kingdom, without borders? A new life, without old hatred? A new realization, that we are all of us, brothers and sisters? The world has changed, over the past nine months, but we don’t have to change with it. We must choose to change. Now, in this season of New Year’s Resolutions, will you, who, after giving the Christ Child gifts, be like those wise who “left for their own county by another road.” Will you take some time now to think about what your Saturdays have been like, and will you fight to keep some time set aside for Sabbath rest? Will you consider how good it has been to talk more with your brother or your sister or your mom, and will you make it a priority to keep calling them every week? Will you remember how nice it was to have groceries delivered? Will you rejoice in how nice life is without an hour of traffic every morning, and will you fight to keep it that way? Will you hold close the image of a line of cars in our church parking lot, waiting to receive meals, and will you remember that our church can always make a difference to those who are in need so long as we work together? Will you be changed, though being changed means leaving an old life behind? Let us never go back to what was normal. Instead, let us journey with the wise by another road. Amen.

Fear Not

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 9: 2-7 and Luke 2: 1-20 Sermon Title: Fear Not Preached on December 24, 2020 The Scripture Lesson I just read from the Gospel of Luke is the same one read by Linus in the Peanuts Christmas Special. It’s a well-known passage, featuring those mainstays of every nativity scene, the shepherds, who answered the call from the angels to go and see this thing that God had done on that very first Christmas so long ago. I wonder if they left their flocks behind or brought them. Does that sound like a good question? It might sound too fanciful or beside the point, as our questions often are. In the comics last Sunday, the mom in the Family Circus was trying to tell the Christmas story but couldn’t for all the kids who were asking: who wrote this story? Should Joseph have called sooner to get a reservation at the Inn? Why didn’t the Wise Men bring baby Jesus some better presents? I don’t mean to get in the way of the story with this question, but truly, I do think about the flocks, and I bet they left them because hearing the great Good News which changes everything demands that we leave something behind, namely, our fear. To quote from the 90’s movie Defending Your Life, “Fear is like a giant fog. It sits on your brain and blocks everything – real feelings, true happiness, real joy. They can’t get through that fog. But you lift it, and buddy, you’re in for the ride of your life.” That’s how it was. Maybe they left one shepherd behind the way Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon while what’s his name stayed back on the ship. We remember the shepherds because they took that step of faith right over their fear. That’s worth thinking about on Christmas Eve. In this season of abundant anxiety “Fear not,” is the part of this Second Scripture Lesson which I find impossible to ignore, because that’s just such a challenge in the time of a viral pandemic. “Fear not,” is a radical instruction in this time when there is much to fear. Yet, something that I never would have noticed on my own is that as Linus, the Peanut’s character known for always carrying around his blankie, drops it when he says this verse from the Gospel of Luke, “And the angel said unto them, “Fear not!” There’s a message for this age which glimmers from that scene as well as from all the best Christmas movies. “Fear not,” George Bailey. “And see that you’ve had a wonderful life.” “Fear not,” Ebenezer Scrooge. “Your life isn’t over. You can do it all different, starting now.” “Fear not,” ancient shepherds. “Fear not,” my brothers and sisters, for fear is holding all of us captive in one way or another. And I’m not talking about whether or not you’re wearing a mask in public. I’m talking about giving life a chance to be new and surprising. I’m talking about real risk, truly opening yourself up to the transforming power of the Gospel, which requires us to let go of our fear. My brother-in-law is a Methodist pastor. He’s a chaplain down at Oxford College of Emory University, and he frequently writes for the local paper. This week he pointed out that even Christmas movies like Home Alone contain a glimmer of what it means to let go of fear. Do you remember the character with the shovel in that movie? That old man who lurks the neighborhood salting the sidewalks? The kids in the neighborhood are afraid of him. They call him Old Man Marley and the rumor is that he distributes the remains of his murder victims in that salt, slowly getting rid of the evidence, bit by bit and piece by piece. On Christmas Eve he sits down with Kevin, the main character, in church. There it’s revealed that Old Man Marley carries guilt more than evil intentions around with him as he salts the sidewalk, having years ago broken ties with his son. “Why don’t you call him?” Kevin asks. “What if he won’t talk to me?” Old Man Marley responds. You see, he’s afraid. There’s always something to be afraid of, and this has been a fear packed year where there’s something to be afraid of around each and every corner. The obvious fear is of a virus. Some say it’s no worse than the flu, yet it’s taken the lives of more than 300,000 Americans. Some compare the daily death count to other tragedies, saying it’s like a 9/11 every day. We know it’s overwhelming some of our hospitals, it’s beating down the work force, making educators do backflips (as though their jobs weren’t hard enough already), all while some voices are saying: what’s the big deal? It’s easy to be afraid of the truth, but it’s also easy to be even more afraid when it’s not clear what the truth is. That’s made calling home more difficult. Maybe your mother is relieved that you’re not coming. Maybe she’s mad and eating at a buffet right now before she goes to Walmart without a mask on. Ours is a Christmas veiled in a fear that not everyone is facing but all of us are feeling, yet the angels come again with that same message, be not afraid, fear not, come to Bethlehem and see. Drop your burden, let go of whatever it is that you’ve been depending on for comfort be it denial or hand sanitizer, and take comfort in the truth that God is doing something new tonight which changes things. Even though sometimes it’s hard to believe that anything could ever really change. The vaccine is here, but that has some just cautiously optimistic. For example: my Mom works in mental health at the hospital on a Cherokee reservation, so she’s one on that front line to receive a vaccine for this virus, only one of her friends who is Cherokee said, “I was honored that Native Americans are among the first to receive the vaccine, until I started thinking about the last time the government offered to help us out. Is this a cure or another delivery of smallpox blankets?” It’s hard sometime to get excited about the future if you’ve been hurt in the past. It’s hard to be hopeful if you’ve been let down before. It’s hard not to be afraid if you have a good reason to be, but I heard a three-year-old named Dalton quoted this week. She said, “Sometimes it makes me a little nervous to go down the slide,” but guess what, she still goes down them and if we can drop our fear, we’re in for the ride of our lives. That’s what the shepherds did. All at once they could see that there was a power greater than whatever they were afraid of breaking into the world, and the same is true for us. That’s what Christmas is always all about. God breaking into our lives, revealing what fear has hidden from our eyes. Think about it. On Christmas Eve do you really know enough to be hopeless? Wayne Dyer, an author, once wrote: “No one really knows enough to be pessimistic,” especially on the night before hope was born. Fear not. Fear not. What are you holding so tightly that you can’t hear them? Are you ready to recognize that fear could have you seeing it all wrong? For George Bailey was certain he was a failure. Though he had been a hero his whole life regret was blinding him to it. He’s on that bridge, trapped in this whirlwind of emotions and unfulfilled dreams. He never got to do any of things that he wanted to do. He wanted to travel the world but had to stay home to take care of his family. He wanted to be a war hero, but the brother, whose life he saved, got to do that instead. He saved countless lives, he prevented financial ruin, he elevated the lowly, he prevented the degradation of women, he built a community for families where instead there would be a graveyard, and he looks down into the water from a bridge wondering if it had made a lick of difference. “Fear not” George Bailey. “Fear not” Ebenezer. It’s not too late. This Christmas Eve, fear not. Let go of such worries. Forget how to keep score. Look up from the water of hopelessness to see the bright shining star overhead, for the angels are singing, “fear not.” Fear not, all you nurses, underwater, caring for too many people at once. Rushing from one bedside to the next, while friends go to parties and act like everything is fine. Tonight, fear not, because your life of virtue makes a bigger difference than you’ll ever know. Fear not, all you teachers. Abraham Lincoln had to learn remotely too, and look at where he ended up. Fear not all you parents, for learning how to do without never hurt anybody, and it won’t hurt your kids. They should fear not as well. Fear not all you children. Tomorrow is a new day, shining bright with potential. Fear not, even you who mourn, because the God who takes death’s sting away is born unto us. Fear not if you’re hopeless, for there is more to the story. And fear not all you who are alone, because you’re not. The light of the world is breaking into our lives. Drop your fear, anxiety, worry, and angst for just long enough to see that something different is happening for unto us is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. Amen.

Prophecy Fulfilled

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 31: 31-34 and Luke 1: 67-80 Sermon Title: Surprised by a Fulfilled Prophecy Preached on December 20, 2020 We’re now getting very close to the big day, the most important day for most every child in every state of our nation. The morning when, having made their lists and been as good as possible, they drag their sleeping parents out of bed, rush to the living room to see what Santa’s left under the Christmas Tree. It’s a morning of promises fulfilled. Of wishes made and granted. Christmas morning is the essence of hope and joy. Even if there’s not peace on earth exactly or abundant blessing on all humankind on Christmas morning, it feels like it for just a minute. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. Even if before the wrapping paper is even cleaned up, most of our kids will be thinking about what they’d like to get next year, there is something beautiful about their attitude. Yet think about it. Regardless of the self-interest and materialism, they’re kids who know that dreams do come true and if you really want something you might just get it. Adults don’t think about it that way. On Christmas morning we stand back and watch it happen without feeling exactly the same hopefulness and joy ourselves. Of course, adults still love Christmas morning. I love Christmas morning, but I don’t look at it the same way I once did. I don’t look forward to it as our girls are looking forward to it right now. I wonder if many adults, like me, would rather have Santa come down the chimney to pack up some stuff from my basement and take it back to the North Pole than deliver anything else. A member of our church had too much, so was having a yard sale last weekend. She’s someone with outstanding taste, so as soon as Sara and I heard about it we made or way to her driveway. Then, last Sunday, when a nice armchair hadn’t sold, she invited us back over to pick it up if we still wanted it. Well, we did, and while I was loading it into our car, I asked her what the yard sale had been like. Most people don’t like yard sales. I don’t like hassle of hauling everything outside, then getting up early to stand around while people pick over my stuff. Interestingly, this woman said that the hard part of having a yard sale for her was giving up and moving on. “To have a yard sale, you’re admitting that you’re not going to get to all those things you thought you would. If you’re selling it than you’re facing the fact that you’re never really going to learn how to re-cane those chairs or refinish that dresser.” Your son is never going to come back for his catcher’s mitt. Your daughter really doesn’t want her grandmother’s paintings. To have a yard sale you have to give up on something you imagined or promised yourself that you would do, which is even harder than finding out that some people are only willing to pay fifty cents for what you paid $50 for. Most children aren’t ever thinking like that. They’re still filling up their lives, not downsizing. To them, the whole world is full of possibility, and their dreams are coming true on Christmas morning. They’re good at wishing for. On the other hand, some of their parents have had to master the art of letting go, moving on, and settling for less. If we didn’t imagine how full all our basements would be. Some brides hang onto their wedding dresses, imagining that one day their daughter might wear it. Some grooms hang onto their tuxedos, imaging that they’ll fit back into it. It’s a hard thing to face the fact that neither of those things are likely to happen, so congratulate yourself if you’ve had a yard sale. Give someone else the chance to make their own pasta or brew their own beer but be careful. Let go of your motorcycle, but don’t let go of adventure. Let go of your golf clubs, but find another way of getting outside. Let go of your bassinette, but don’t give up on the future, don’t give up on the promise. For Zechariah it had been so long, surely he had given up on the idea that it would ever happen. Our Second Scripture lesson from Luke is the account of what Zechariah said once he had finally regained his speech. What he says in our Second Scripture Lesson is in celebration of his son’s birth, John the Baptist, but the background for this Scripture lesson is that he had been waiting for a child so long that the bassinette had been sold or given away. They wanted a child, but the child never came, so rather than keep wishing they let go. Is that wrong? Well, it depends. Elizabeth and Zechariah were good and righteous people. The Gospel of Luke goes so far as to say that they were, "Both of them... righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord." Not only that, Zechariah was a priest and Elizabeth was a descendant of Aaron, the original priest of Israel, but none of that guarantees their lives are full of faith, hope, and love. None of that ensures that they really expected the living God to step into their lives. What we should all assume is that they knew how to pray, but at some point they started to wonder, “what’s the point.” Month by month the disappointment became too much to take, and rather than be the victim of their high expectations, they lowered their sights and settled into the reality that children would just not be in the cards. After all, "both were getting on in years," and part of growing up is letting go of fairy tale dreams, so they had a yard sale and let go. Zechariah continued on as a priest. He kept wearing his priestly garments, saying his priestly prayers, and was surely honored when he was chosen to go offer incense in the holiest place on earth, the sanctuary of the temple, the place where all good Jews knew God was must truly present. Surely, he was honored, but as a man who had gotten good at letting go of some of his dreams and some of his hopes, did he still believe he might meet God there? Had it been you, what would you have expected? Parents know that their kids are growing up when they stop believing in certain things, but where does the stop-believing-in stop? If your kids like Harry Potter, maybe you broke the news that an acceptance letter from Hogwarts School of Witcraft and Wizardry isn’t ever coming? But don’t you still want them to believe that the world is full of magic? At some point I had to let go of my dreams of being a professional baseball player, but did I also let go of the idea that I could be anything I dreamed I could be? Zechariah had stopped asking his wife Elizabeth about it. Now a stomach bug was always just a stomach bug, but having given up on that dream, as he entered the Temple, the place thought to be the sanctuary of God, did he expect anything special to happen. What did he expect to see? When we start letting go, it’s so easy to let go of too much. The words we say in here can become empty, so that it’s easy to participate in the rituals without believing that they mean much of anything. How often have I said to you, “Know that you are forgiven, and be at peace” and how often have you really believed it? How often have I stood at the table, reminding you that Christ died for your salvation, and how often have you really taken it in? I think this is true of Zechariah, that this man who must have known all the stories of Scripture by heart, all the accounts of God speaking to Abraham and Sarah and Rehab and Jacob and Moses, all the times angels appeared, all the miraculous events that changed the course of history, still this man was terrified when an angel of the Lord was there, exactly in the place that an angle of the Lord is supposed to be, because he had let go of too much. He had even let go of the truth that God is alive and makes miracles happen. We are now very close to the big day. Christmas. And Christmas is about this God being born. Christmas is about God really being born and walking around on the earth, but do you really believe he’s coming, are you really ready for his birth, or have you given up believing such miraculous things? Zechariah wasn’t a faithless person. He was a priest after all, but when an angel really showed up and told him that his prayer for a child would be answered he was terrified. His wife on the other hand, you might be thinking, “and you thought Zechariah was afraid,” but Luke tells us that “after those days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she remained in seclusion. Then she said, "This is what the Lord has done for me when the Lord looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people." On the other hand, because of his faithlessness, the angel made Zechariah mute. Finally, once he was able to speak again, having only been able to watch and listen, he spoke the Second Scripture Lesson which we just read, not like a rational, measured old man, having learned how to give up on his unfulfilled dreams, but like a faithful prophet, having had his eyes opened to the God who is still at work in this world doing impossible things. There is so much ritual to our celebration of Christmas, but do not forget that there is something wonderfully real beneath all the wrapping paper. It is a love that changes everything. By the tender mercy of our God, The dawn from on high will break upon us, To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, To guide our feet into the way of peace. These are not empty words. This is no idol tale. This is the prophecy fulfilled. The Good News of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

What Child Is This?

Scripture Lessons: Ezra 3: 10-13 and Luke 1: 46-55 Sermon title: What Child Is This Preached on December 13, 2020 Some years ago, I was a camp counselor at Camp Cherokee, which was a church camp the churches in our Presbytery organized up on Lake Allatoona. My sister Elizabeth and I grew up going there. When we were old enough, we both became counselors. Every week of camp there’d be a different preacher who would lead the evening worship service for all the young campers, and one of their sermons comes to mind in thinking about this passage of Scripture, where Mary reacts to the news that she will be the mother of our Savior. This preacher didn’t beat around the bush. He had something he wanted to say, and he was going to say it whether it was appropriate for young ears to hear or not. He was really focused on the Lord’s crucifixion. “Did you know children,” he says, “that after the Lord was betrayed, he was arrested, but the Roman soldiers weren’t kind to our Lord. No, they whipped him. They whipped and whipped him within an inch of his life, but it wasn’t quite enough to kill him.” “So, after they whipped him, they put this awful crown of thorns on his head so that blood dripped down his face. But children, it wasn’t the crown of thorns that killed him either. Since he was still within an inch of his life, they took these old rusty nails. They took these big rusty nails and they nailed him through the arm and to this wooden cross, only it wasn’t the rusty nails that killed him either. Do you know what finally killed him children?” And I could hear it from the back of the group. Just a whisper from a boy of 8 or 9: “Was it tetanus?” I love that story. The preacher is trying to make one point, but a young boy speaks up to make another, and in that moment one sermon gave way to an experience that brings me joy every time I think of it. That’s one place joy comes from isn’t it? This Sunday of the season of Advent we light the third Advent Candle, the Candle of Joy. It’s particularly appropriate that the Foster Family light the Joy Candle, because that was Natalie Foster’s mother’s name, so today we celebrate joy, but think with me about where joy comes from. Don’t we so often find joy in the unexpected. Don’t you see joy when the daily grind blooms in surprises. That’s how it is sometimes. Because sometimes when everything goes according to plan life becomes boring and monotonous, and sometimes when everything goes wrong, it goes exactly right. Sometimes the best laid schemes of mice and men fall apart, and what gives way are stories truly worth telling and remembering. The best Christmas movies are like that. Think about Home Alone. In the movie, Home Alone, in one sense, everything goes absolutely wrong. What could be worse than forgetting your child at home when flying to Paris? That’s what happens to the main character, Kevin, who was no older than the little camper in my story and yet he’s left all alone at Christmas. At first, it’s an exciting adventure for him. For his mother it was her worst nightmare, but what starts off in a nightmare turns into little Kevin learning to value his family. A lesson is learned because they forgot him and left him at home all by himself. Now that wasn’t a well-executed family trip, yet something so good came out of it. In the same way, think about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. No one hopes to have their tree stolen by a broken-hearted man covered in green fur, but when the Who’s down in Whoville find that everything is gone on Christmas morning what do they do? They sing. Then there’s our family favorite, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. We watched it last weekend and our daughters couldn’t believe how their parents laughed at all these jokes they considered to be highly inappropriate, yet it is hilarious. It’s hilarious how Clark Griswold works and works and works to enhance everyone’s Christmas cheer, yet nothing goes right. The turkey is dry, one lady wraps up her cat as a present, Snot the dog gags on a bone from under the table, and Cousin Eddie empties the-you-know-what in the storm drain, for despite all our hard work it appears as though all we’re going to get some years is a subscription to Jelly of the Month Club or worse. This has been a challenging year. In some ways, this has been a nightmare of a year. Have you seen the 2020 themed Christmas ornaments? We have special, commemorative ornaments on our tree that represent different milestones. The 2002 ornament from Sara’s Mom has wedding bells on it because that was our first Christmas together as husband and wife. Sara’s Mom also gave us new baby ornaments for 2009 and 2011 for our daughters’ first Christmases. But have you seen the 2020 commemorative ornaments? One has Santa with a N-95 mask on. Another is a garbage dumpster on fire. I just designed one for the Foster’s, because little Harry, their four-year-old, got his head stuck in the banisters of their staircase. Jon made the mistake of sending me a picture, which I’ve sent off to a company to turn into a glass ornament, so they’ll always remember just what this crazy year was like. The Grinch would say that this year stink, stank, stunk, but if we look to Mary then comes the reminder that among our shattered expectations is the promise of God. We know her song well. It’s been sung and sung, again and again. We call it the Magnificat, but consider the context she sang that song in. She had just been told by an angel that she would become the mother to our Savior, but what child is this? Being pregnant wasn’t part of her plan. She wasn’t even married. Do you think she grew up dreaming of the year she’d become an unwed teenage mother? Do you think she was hoping to be the subject of whisper and rumor, a stress on her poor mother and a shame on her father? That Christmas so long ago, was anything going according to how she envisioned it? No. But consider how when all her plans go up in smoke, she sings, because Mary sees something larger than life unfolding before her. She feels a promise growing in her womb. She knew that in her life a dream was becoming a reality, a bright future that she could not have imagined, only for it to be realized she must accept that Christmas can no longer be about her plans. What we see in her song is that faithful Mary knows that this is about God’s plans, so rather than sing a sad lamentation as everything she wrote down in her wedding book planner is going up in flames, Mary rejoices for she knows that sometimes God makes a mockery of our best laid plans to give a gift that’s even better. That’s what happens in all the best Christmas movies. Do you remember how Cousin Eddie kidnaps Clark’s boss and brings him back hog tied in his bathrobe? Now the Griswold’s are truly in the midst of a disaster. Clark has basically already ruined everything in his attempt to hold it all together, only it’s about to get worse, because the SWAT team is poised to capture the kidnapper and Clark is can see himself spending the rest of Christmas in jail. Think about what all is going on here. Things are now very bad, when suddenly the boss can see that not giving his employees their Christmas bonus was the wrong move. Everything is falling apart, but somehow, in the midst of the chaos he is busy recognizing what really matters. Clark’s boss is facing the uncomfortable truth about himself, and wrestling with what he should have done all along but didn’t and what he can do next to somehow make it all right. That’s what he sees as his world is turned upside down. He’s seeing things while at the mercy of a kindhearted doofus, but through his unexpected Christmas Eve this powerful corporate mogul discovers what Christmas really is. The mess has to happen, for the proud must change and be reborn. That’s another reason we love Mary’s song. We love to hear it, because it’s beautiful, only it’s not holly-jolly, radio ready, Christmas fluff. It’s justice, righteousness, and joy springing from ashes. My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones. Are you ready for that? Are your eyes open to that? They may as well be, because we’re right in the middle of it. This year we can’t gather for Christmas Eve services as we always have. I’m the most disappointed that we can’t have our family service, but that doesn’t mean families aren’t gathering here. In fact, 350 families are lining up in our parking lot every Monday to receive a box from the Atlanta Food Bank containing five complete meals. For some reason the Atlanta Food Bank gave us boxes and boxes of garlic last week. Thank goodness no one brought all those boxes inside or we’d still be smelling it, but that’s hardly the point. The point is that there is such a profound need in our community, but had we all been rushing around like always, I don’t know if I would have seen it, whereas this year the unemployed and underemployed are impossible for me to ignore. My eyes are open, though my plans are falling apart. We want Christmas to be perfect, but this year it’s being interrupted. Some of us will have to adapt to new ways of doing things. Some of us will be by ourselves this Christmas, which I hate, but consider this: every year some people are alone on Christmas, we just don’t always think about it. Now that you’re thinking about them, hear the invitation to really see them. That’s what Christmas really is. In Home Alone, it took having a nightmare Christmas to discover the miracle of family that they had been taking for granted. In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, it took stealing Christmas for him to understand. In Christmas Vacation, Clark’s plans must go up in flames for him to erupt in joy as his bosses hardened heart changed, finally seeing his employees as people. This year we all have to think about Christmas differently. Inspired by Mary’s song we faithful people must imagine how that can be a blessing. We sing, “What child is this?” And the answer is, he is the one who changes things. Take this year of change as an opportunity to value what you’ve taken for granted, to celebrate what’s become tired routine, and to find joy in the unexpected. May Christ’s peace rise from the ashes of your best laid plans, for he is coming, and he comes to make all things new. Amen.