Are You Talking to Me? a sermon based on Exodus 3: 1-15 and Romans 12: 9-21, preached on August 30, 2026

I titled this sermon, “Are you talking to me?” imagining how Moses might have felt at the burning bush. Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro, and he came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There, he saw a bush, burning yet not consumed by the fire, and he heard the voice of God call him by name, “Moses, Moses!” Moses said, “Here I am,” The Lord said, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt. The cry of the Israelites has come to me. So I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” And then Moses said, “Are you talking to me?” Do you know that feeling? I feel sure that you do. To some degree or another, we’ve all felt it. Called but feeling unqualified. Recruited to an office beyond our experience. I don’t have the time. I don’t have the talent. I’m glad to be invited to the ball, but I don’t have the money to buy the gown. I’m pulled out on the dancefloor knowing none of the moves. Perhaps you’ve been promoted but daunted by the job. Maybe you’ve been elevated into leadership, yet you’ve felt insecure. Those feelings of insecurity are not necessarily a bad thing. Last week, the Rev. Cassie Waits told me about the Dunning-Kruger effect. Have you ever heard of it? The Dunning-Kruger effect describes a mental bias where people with low skill or low knowledge overestimate their own abilities because of their ignorance. It’s the phenomenon of overconfident people who know so little about a subject that they think they’re great at it, but the only reason they think they’re great is because they have no idea how complicated it actually is. That’s why you know to be cautious when a 15-year-old driver is overconfident. What we naturally hope for is a 15-year-old daunted by driving, not one who already has his foot on the gas, which is but one example of how dangerous the Dunning-Kruger effect can be. It can be important to put your trust in people who doubt themselves rather than those who arrogantly assure you that they can do it. You see, sometimes doubt signals competence, while over-confidence is the sure sign that you don’t have any understanding of the challenge at hand. In other words, when Moses says the God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharoah?” God says to Himself, “I knew he was the right guy.” “I knew he would grasp how difficult this challenge would be.” “I knew he would understand that getting the Israelites out of Egypt would be no walk in the park.” “I knew that only Moses, who had been inside the palace, a witness to Pharoah’s strength and his brutality, only Moses who had first-hand experience with the oppression of the Hebrew people and the whip of the Egyptian taskmasters, would grasp the magnitude of this quest.” Only Moses would be up to the task because only Moses would understand how high the mountain, how deep the struggle, how great the obstacles, how important the mission. My friends, be warry of trusting the kid who is too willing to put his foot on the gas and celebrate the one who, with humility, takes the mantel of leadership, for the challenges we face today as Christians in this nation are great. The journey is long. The shadow has fallen. Some days, the light seems to be but a glimmer. Yet our job description remains the same. Let love be genuine. Hate what is evil. Hold fast to what is good. Love one another with mutual affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Regardless of the circumstance, our job description as followers of Jesus Christ is still this charge from the Apostle Paul in our second Scripture lesson. Regardless of the hardship or challenge, these words echo in my consciousness because I’ve heard them so often. Many of you will remember how our former pastor, the Rev. Dr. James O. Speed, from 1972 to January 15, 1999, ended the Sunday service with words inspired by our second Scripture lesson. Dr. Speed took Romans 12 along with 1 Thessalonians chapter 5 to create the charge and benediction that he ended each worship service with for those 27 years of his ministry here. Sunday after Sunday, he would end the service saying: Go forth into the world in peace, be of good courage; hold fast to that which is true; render to no one evil for evil; strengthen the faint-hearted; support the weak, help the afflicted; honor all. Hearing him say those words to me when I was but a teenager, I would say to myself, “Are you talking to me?” Do you have any idea what it’s like at Marietta High School? Or what it’s like out in the real world? My friends, like me, you may remember him saying those words, and yet, he didn’t just say them; he expected us to do them. Maybe, like me, he looked you in the eye, saying, “Support the weak, help the afflicted, honor all,” and you said to him in your mind, “Are you talking to me?” I can’t do those things. I can’t go out into the world rejoicing in hope, being patient in suffering, persevering in prayer. Have you seen the world out there? How widespread is the hate? How culturally acceptable division has become? And he would have said to us, “Yes. I have seen the world out there, and yet my charge to you is just the same.” That you would be daunted just proves that you’re the man or woman for the job. It won’t be easy, yet God goes with you. We can answer this call, and we can live these words. Our trepidation is proof that we are the ones called for this purpose. In fact, let me remind you that the Apostle Paul wrote the words of our second Scripture lesson to a persecuted group of Christians who were living in the Roman Empire, a place where slavery was widespread, war was constant, oppression and greed were everywhere, and yet just a few years after Paul wrote these words to the Christians in Rome, Emperor Constanine transformed Christianity from a persecuted underground sect into a privileged religion in the Roman Empire, for the road may be winding, still it leads to victory if you are bold enough to step out into a culture of darkness with the light of Christ. Be daunted and still step forward in faith. Today, as we all mourn the loss of Dolly Parton, let me end this sermon by telling you that a young woman in a patchwork coat can change the world. Now I know I had no money, But I was as rich as I could be. In that coat of many colors, That my mama made for me. Would you believe that she would become a national icon? Surely, she was daunted. Surely, she was intimidated at times. Yet God calls us all for a purpose. God calls us all to live our faith out in the world. At first, we may ask, “Are you talking to me?” yet those who answer the call, those who walk in faith, those who dare to believe that change will come, they will see the Promised Land. Halleluia. Amen.

There Are No Small Parts, Only Small Actors, a sermon based on Exodus 2: 1-10 and Romans 12: 1-8, preached on August 23, 2026

There’s a story I love to tell about a group of medical students who were touring the surgery during their residency. A major surgery had just taken place, so the patient as well as the nurses and surgeons had left the room. The only person left was the young woman cleaning up after the surgery. As she was picking up the discarded gauze and sanitizing all the surfaces, the attending physician said, “Good morning, Maria. I’m sorry to interrupt, but these medical students need to know who you are.” Addressing the residents, he continued: “Without Maria, this surgery would be a mess. If she didn’t clean it up after each procedure, disease would spread from one patient to the next. But not only does she clean, she restocks our supplies and makes the lives of all our surgeons easier. You all need to know her name. Remember her name.” Then they went on with the tour, meeting the CEO of the hospital, the other surgeons, the chief nursing officer. Each person the residents met seemed more impressive to them than the one they had met before, yet as the tour wrapped up, the attending physician had just one question. “Tell me the name of the young woman you met who was cleaning up after the surgery.” Do you remember her name? A couple of weeks ago, a man walked into our church. We welcomed him in on a Monday or a Tuesday, and it became quickly obvious that he was wrestling with issues that our church wasn’t prepared to help him with. Talking to himself too loudly, he rushed around the gathering space. He was so agitated that he scared the other people who were in the gathering space with him. Hearing the commotion, Kelley Byrd, one of the women who cleans our church building, rushed to the lobby where he was now shouting, looked him in the eye, calmed him down, and restored peace in our church. You may have seen Kelley, but I ask you to remember her name, and “to think with sober judgement” of all the people we depend on. Do you know their names? Some are easy to recognize for they stand in the spotlight, while others labor away in the shadows, yet I ask you to remember with me this morning that “we, who are many, are one body in Christ. We have gifts that differ,” but all the members are necessary for the hospital to run, each part of the body must play her part. Without each member of the body, there would be no church, and there would be no school. Last Thursday night as I walked around the high school meeting our daughter’s teachers during the school’s open house, I met the man who changes out the ceiling tiles. “How many do you change out a day?” I asked him. “Dozens,” he said, “But I don’t want our students learning in a school that looks second rate. No stained ceiling tiles. That’s me doing my part.” There are no small parts. We see this truth illustrated plainly as the book of Exodus tells the birth story of Moses. Moses becomes the most prominent figure in the first five books of the Bible, yet his life was preserved by two midwives who outsmarted the Pharoah. The Bible remembers their names: Shiphrah and Puah. Then, his brave mother made a boat out of a basket, and as he floated down the river, his sister watched to make sure his little boat didn’t tip over, and when Pharoah’s daughter found the baby, his boat caught in the reeds, Moses’ sister suggested that she go and find a suitable Hebrew midwife, so Moses was raised on his mother’s milk. Without these five women, there would be no Moses. Who are the unsung heroes in your life? Do you remember their names? Last week, I had a skin procedure. I went to be looked over by the dermatologist, who removed two little spots from my skin. One was fine, the other wasn’t, and so I was called back in for what’s called a Mohs procedure. I was talking about Moses, but now I’m talking about Mohs. A Mohs procedure is when the skin surgeon cuts around the area where they found a little something, then looks at that flap of skin under a microscope. If it’s clean, then they stitch you up, if it’s not, then they cut a little more, look at that, and keep going until they’re sure the cancer is gone. It’s awful. It’s not awful. It’s wonderful that this procedure exists, and I’m so thankful the skin surgeon removed the cancer from my skin, but the procedure took a long time, and the scar looks gross. I didn’t know any of that when I scheduled the surgery for 8:30 on a Thursday morning, the same day I had a 2:00 funeral to preach. I asked the medical assistant if I would be done by 2:00. She said, “You might be done, but you’re going to look awful. What were you thinking scheduling this procedure today?” she asked. Then she took me by the hand, walked me out to the front desk, and rescheduled my appointment. Her name is Iesha, and without her, I’d have preached a funeral with a patch over one eye, so today I give thanks for the body of Christ. We can’t make it on our own any more than a pair of eyeballs could thrive without fingers and toes. However, in our society, as in every society since the beginning of human history, some people get all the attention. Some people receive all the praise. Yet those who labor without recognition deserve more than scraps that fall from the table, and those who stand off on the sidelines wondering, “Do they need me?” must step out of the boat and onto the water to play their part. Only too well do I remember being 8 years old and showing up to my first basketball practice at the Lawrence Street Rec. We had just moved to Marietta. My mom was pregnant with my little brother, so we moved here to Marietta to a home with a little more room. In those first few weeks here, there was a lot for my mother and father to do. My little sister had activities of her own, my dad was still moving us into the house, so my mom led me into the Lawrence Street Rec, pointed out my coach on the basketball court, nudged me to go introduce myself to him, then rushed off to do whatever chore needed to be accomplished next. When she came back to pick me up an hour later, I was standing right where she left me. I never introduced myself to the coach. I never even set foot on the court, for not only is it a challenge for us to acknowledge the people who make our lives possible, it can also be difficult for us to imagine that we have a part to play. Paul writes in our second Scripture lesson: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God.” Every member of His body has a part to play, and that includes you. All God’s children have a place in the choir. Now, your place might not be in this choir. Our Director of Music and Fine Arts invited me to tour with the choir through Scottland last year, but just as I was imagining myself singing along in the tenor section, he clarified, “I’d like you to go as a narrator.” That’s OK, “for as in one body, we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ.” We have gifts that differ, but no one gift is more important than another, and we cannot be the body without you playing your part. There are no small parts. A human body can get by without an appendix, but our church cannot get by without you. You are a part of the body of Christ. You have music to sing. You have work to do. You have gifts to give. I have a part. You have a part. Get out of the boat. Step onto the court. Lift your voice and sing. All disciples of Jesus Christ are called for a purpose. One of the most beautiful things happened last week at the Pantry on Church. You all know that we have a food distribution on Tuesday, and last Tuesday, our volunteers ended up with a great big truckload of food from Sam’s. But not only was there food on the truck, for some reason or another there were flowers. Well, Scott Suhr took those flowers and handed a small bouquet to every woman who went through our food line. The people who go through our food line are coming for food because they need it, but when they received flowers, some of them burst out and cried. You might say that the food was the main thing in the food line. The flowers were a small part of our food distribution last Tuesday, but there are no small parts. What part will you play? Today in Holland Hall, nearly every group and volunteer opportunity in our church had a table set up for you to volunteer and serve, making a difference, taking part in a Bible study, using your gifts to the glory of God, and I am so thankful because there are no small parts; every member of this body has a purpose. “I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable.” That’s how the Apostle Paul describes you: holy and acceptable. Don’t be self-conscious. Serve the Lord. Lift your voice to sing, giving glory to our Father in heaven by putting the gifts He gave you to good use. Amen.

Crumbs from the Table, a sermon based on Matthew 15: 21-29 preached on August 16, 2026

Last Wednesday morning, pastors and church staff members from most of the churches in Marietta gathered for breakfast. A gathering of religious leaders happens often in our community, and at the beginning of the school year, the superintendent of the Marietta City School System always makes a point of being with us, so last Wednesday morning, we prayed for him, Dr. Grant Rivera, Superintendent of the Marietta City School System, as well as the for teachers, principals, custodians, administrators, cafeteria workers, and students in our schools. Dr. Rivera also said a few words, making us aware of issues in our school system, and he told us about his goal for the year. He said, “Test scores aside, my only real goal for this school year is that every child in the Marietta City School System knows that they’re loved.” Can you believe that? What a beautiful goal. I loved hearing Dr. Rivera say that, yet I know how challenging such a goal can be to accomplish, for no matter how hard we try, it always seems to be the case that some people are celebrated and warmly welcomed to sit and eat while others survive on the crumbs that fall from the master’s table. Do you know what I mean by that? Who in our school system knows that she’s loved, that she’s somebody, and who, like this woman in our Gospel lesson is so downtrodden, so destitute, that she’s reduced to gather the crumbs that fall from the master’s table? Our Gospel lesson tells us that a Canaanite woman came to Jesus, shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” Jesus didn’t immediately respond to her cry for help. What Jesus does at first is about the least Jesus-y thing He could do. He ignores her, says He came to feed the people of Isreal, not throw food to the dogs. And His disciples encouraged Him to ignore her, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” Well, she’s shouting because she needs help. She’s shouting because her daughter needs healing. Notice that when she pleads with Him for mercy saying that even dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table, something clicks within the Son of God, and so, in our second Scripture lesson, we hear how He ignores His disciples who want Him to send her away and instead says to her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” In other words, “Thank you for waking me up.” In other words, “Thank you for helping me to realize what I’ve been doing,” and from this moment on, Jesus stops worrying only about His people in Isreal and starts proclaiming the Gospel to all God’s people. It’s true. This is the moment in the Gospel of Matthew when Jesus stops worrying only about the Jews in Isreal and starts proclaiming the Gospel to the ends of the earth, for once He realized that the one living on the crumbs from the table was also a child of God, His whole ministry shifted. What then will you do when you realize that someone in your life is living on the crumbs that fall from your table? Teachers, what will you do when you realize that a child in your classroom needs more than what you’ve been giving? Or when you care so much about the kids at school that the child at home gets only the crumbs? It’s been this way throughout history. There was a time of segregation when white children got new textbooks and black children got hand-me-downs, yet discrimination and inequality are not left to the pages of history books. The question is not, “Are some people being treated differently?” for they are. They always are. Some are at the table. Others are living on crumbs. That’s reality, and yet we can change reality if we’re willing to listen to the woman’s voice the way that Jesus did. What will you do when you find out that some are in pain? Others are being neglected? What will you do when you hear the voice of one who lives off crumbs from the table? My wife, Sara, told me a story about a child who was having his eyes examined last week. At Marietta High School, this young man walked in to have his eyes examined. He had glasses on already, yet the optometrist knew those glasses weren’t what he needed. Not even close. “How long have you had those glasses?” she asked. “Eight years,” the young man said. “You’ve had those same glasses for eight years?” she repeated, impressed that he had kept them intact for so long, but concerned that his eyes had not been re-examined. Then, sheepishly, he said, “And they’re my dad’s.” It’s human to not be aware of this kind of thing that’s happening right under our noses. There’s no shame in not knowing that some kids have prescription glasses that help them see while the best that others can do is wear their fathers’ glasses, for we are all naïve and unaware. We can’t know everything. We don’t get to hear everyone’s story. And it’s not our fault that we live in this world where some have privileges and others live on the crumbs that fall off the table, but what will you do once your eyes are opened to the suffering of your fellow man? My friends, be willing to see. Be willing to listen. Be willing to change. Once Jesus heard the voice of the woman who was living on crumbs, He changed His tune. He changed the course of His ministry. How will you change once you hear the voice of one who is living off the crumbs from your table? Should your mother call, saying, “Son, I need more help than you’re giving me,” you had better listen, and you had better listen closely because when she needs help, she’s not just going to come out and say it. I have a friend named John Jamieson. He’s been worshiping with us for the last several years, ever since he flew down from Madison, Wisconsin to bury his mother in her hometown of Marietta, Georgia. That’s how we met. Mayes Ward Dobbins Funeral Home, right across the street, called and asked for a Presbyterian minister to help with John Jamieson’s mother’s funeral. That’s how I first met him, but I didn’t know how he had become his mother’s primary caregiver until last week. This is what happened. Years ago, Brother John made it his goal to retire at 50, so he started his career by putting in 20 years working in Alaska. If you teach in Alaska, you retire with full benefits after 20 years, so at 50 years old, he was all set up to retire, move to Arizona, start a second career there, playing golf as often as he wanted. There’s no golf in Alaska, so he was excited to get to Arizona, yet John took some time before moving to Arizona to take his mom on a trip to Marietta. That’s what a good son would do, spend a little time with mom before getting on with his new life in Arizona, yet while they were here in Marietta, winter came early and mom caught pneumonia. She insisted she was fine. “Just fly me back home to Madison,” she said, “I’ll be fine on my own. You go live your life.” Yet, John knew this was the time to set his mother at the table. To serve her. To be by her side. To give her, not his spare time, but his primary time. When she died after he cared for her for 17 years, he told me that he’d not change a thing. To put off life in Arizona to care for his mother for 17 years in Madison, Wisconsin was the greatest privilege of his life, the best decision that he ever made, and you can believe that; for we are fulfilled, not when we are finally free to do whatever we want, but when we change our plans for those we love, and so I ask you: Who is getting the crumbs from your table? Who is getting, not the best of you, but the leftovers? To whom are you saying, “Stop shouting. I hear your voice, but not right now?” Is it your mother? Your kids? Your spouse? Yourself? Don’t put her off. Once you hear the voice of the one living on crumbs, be like Jesus. Make a change, for when He hears your voice, He stops to listen. That’s what fathers are supposed to do for their children. Speaking of fathers, last Thursday at the funeral of Wallace Montgomery, his daughter told the story of a day they were fishing, father and daughter, and out of nowhere she just blurted out: “Dad, I’m gay.” After blurting that out, she felt awkward. Wallace surely felt a little awkward, too, but there was nowhere to go. They were in a boat. Both were trapped, so she talked and he listened, and what I want for our world is that no child would ever be put in so precarious a position as this. What I want for all children is that they know they are loved, that they never question whether they are loved, yet one of the typical things about our broken world is that some are seated at the table while others are living on crumbs. This is the reality of our broken world, and yet the reality of God is that once the Father hears His child’s voice, He listens and He loves. Our God responds with compassion and with healing. For everyone is somebody. Everyone is worthy of love. No one deserves just the crumbs. Everyone is worthy of a seat at the Master’s Table. May it be so. Listen to the voices of those who are living on the crumbs that fall and change, that all would know the love of God. Amen.

Get Out of the Boat! A sermon based on Matthew 14: 22-33, preached on August 9, 2026

This morning, on the front page of The AJC, or what used to be the front page of The AJC, was our church. There it was, above the fold, an article with quotes, pictures, and everything about our food pantry. Not only that, the week before last, we were in The MDJ, and now that I’m seeing this ministry so celebrated, it’s easy to forget how fragile it was when it started. Do you remember? Or do you know the story of how the Pantry on Church started? Thinking this morning of Peter, the first time we leave the boat to walk out on the water, we almost always sink, and so I want to remind you that, while today we have our annual tradition of the incredible Pantry on Church fundraiser at Two Birds Taphouse, a legion of volunteers who support our food distribution every Tuesday rain or shine, a grant from the county, a space dedicated for storage on the main floor with shiny new refrigerators, and a paid program director, our food distribution ministry started with a phone call out of nowhere. It happened during the pandemic. Kim Blass of the Marietta City School system called to tell me about free food from the Atlanta Food Bank. Would we want to receive the donation to distribute the food in our parking lot? Well, that sounded fine, but we’d never done anything like that before, so, when I presented the opportunity to the church staff, it seemed like they all thought it was a bad idea. There were just too many moving parts that we were not prepared to handle. Where would we store the food? How could we give it out? How would anyone know to come and get it? Would any of our members dare to show up here to do the work of putting the food in peoples’ cars? This is how it always is with something new and unexpected, yet Cassie Waits dared to imagine that it might work. A few other staff members joined her in trying. They got out of the boat. They stepped out on the water, and of course, they started sinking. The first time they tried it, they gave out less than half the food if I remember correctly, yet here we are, six years later, on the front page of The AJC. Or what used to be the front page. The last time I read a print version of The Atlanta Journal Constitution, I remember a story about the longest-serving paper delivery man on the staff. He said that when he first started delivering newspapers, he’d drive into a neighborhood and would throw a newspaper in basically every driveway he passed. Years ago, that’s how it was. Everyone subscribed to the newspaper. It was something automatic that we all did. Even if you never read the articles, you still subscribed to the paper. Even if you hated the opinion columnists so much that you used the paper to line the bottom of your bird cage and called The AJC the Atlanta Urinal and Constipation, you still subscribed. Everyone did. Now they don’t because the boat is sinking. That’s what I want to point out to you today about our second Scripture lesson. We focus on Peter sinking, but what about the others who never stepped out of the boat? It’s easy to read this Gospel account and to focus on how Peter sinks because he tries something new and risky. How, when he stepped out of the boat and onto the water, he was going OK for a minute, but then he got scared and called out for Jesus to help him. “Lord, save me!” he cried out. Jesus immediately reached out His hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” yet the lesson here is not that Peter had less faith than any of the other disciples. Peter is the only one who dared to get out of the boat. Have you ever noticed that? You should. Peter may have lacked faith, yet the other disciples didn’t have any. Peter tried something new, while no one else did. Don’t you dare look down on Peter if neither of your feet has touched the water, for we all must get out of the boat because the world is changing all around us all the time, and those who are too afraid to change with it will get left behind. Boats sink. Did the disciples who stayed in the boat think of that? The AJC had to go digital because the world has changed. I still get a paper copy of The MDJ, but how much longer will that last? My friends, don’t get caught up in thinking about how Peter sinks. Notice with me how much further ahead he is of the other disciples who are stuck in that boat, stuck in the old ways of doing things, for Peter may lack faith, yet he is miles ahead of the others, and this is always the case. Those who try and fail have taken the first step, while at best, those who have yet to try aren’t going anywhere; at worst, they stay where they are and eventually the waters starts to rise and their boat sinks. I try a lot of new things and fail a lot, so I know this to be true from experience. It seems like everything I try, I fail at for the first two or three times. That’s why I wish we had a third service on Sundays. The first time I preach my sermon at 8:30, I think of all the things I should have said, and I realize how I should have told the joke, so my sermons at 11:00 tend to be a little better, but I always wish we had a 12:30 sermon because I feel like by the third try, I’d really have something worth listening to. This is life. Those who try, fail, and keep trying eventually succeed. It’s said that Thomas Edison failed 10,000 times on his way to inventing the lightbulb. Did you know that? 10,000 failures before he got it right. We can’t be so hard on ourselves for failing because every failure is a step closer to success. It’s far better to step out onto the water and to sink than it is to stay in the boat. Get out of the boat! I was telling Jim Ogburn the other day that it took me 8 years to finish my doctorate. He saw these fancy stripes on my robe and congratulated me. “That’s quite an accomplishment, earning your doctorate,” he said. I told him, “I feel like anyone could get a doctorate if he gives himself 8 years to do it,” and he said, “Maybe that’s true, but if you’d never started, you’d still be 8 years older. You’d just be 8 years older with no doctorate.” I thought that was the most wonderful thing he could say because it doesn’t really matter how long it takes us. What matters is whether or not we step out of the boat. It doesn’t matter that we sank the first time; it just matters that we got out from our comfort zone and tried. It matters tremendously that we step out in faith, no matter how awkwardly. It means something to try. It means something to take a risk. It means so little that we fail because each fall that we get up from makes us better, and each step we take towards Jesus strengthens our faith in Him. I want to focus on that word “faith” for just a moment. We’ve now finished our sermon series on the Apostles’ Creed. My hope is that you’re able to say those words with a little more understanding now than you could before the series. My hope is that you learned something and can appreciate each of those articles of faith so that you can increasingly say each word with confidence. Each Sunday, we “affirm our faith,” saying those words: either the words of the Apostles’ Creed or the Nicene Creed, but faith is not something that we say. Faith is something that we do, and we don’t have faith in a document or a creed or a set of beliefs. We have faith in a Person named Jesus. When we talk about faith, that’s just the word we use to describe our relationship with Him. When Jesus pulled Peter up out of the water and said to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” what I want you to hear is not His disappointment that Peter doubted. Instead, what I want you to hear in the tone of the Savior’s voice is the same notes of your mother or your father saying, “Why were you afraid? Don’t you know I’ll always be there to catch you?” My friends, we live in a broken world where people are terrified of making mistakes, so terrified that many never step out of the boat, never take a risk, so afraid of sinking that they never try, and their fate will be like that of the print newspaper. They will drown confined to the way things were, too afraid to step out into the future of how things will be. So get out of the boat. Try and fail. History is made by the likes of Peter, and the future of our church and our nation will be defined by those who are bold to believe that the way things are now are not how they will always be, so we must take that step towards what is not seen. We must walk out into uncertainty. Step out of the boat and onto the water. Do so trusting that Jesus will be there to catch you when you fall. Amen.

The Forgiveness of Sins, preached on July 26, 2026

I’m not much of a golf fan, but I’ve been interested in the recent controversy. Have you heard about it? It happened during the second round of the British Open in Southport, England. On the 5th hole, DeChambeau’s drive sailed off the fairway and into knee-high grass, which some say he inadvertently stomped down just a little bit to make room to take his shot, while others say he did all but take a weedwhacker to the grass to make room for his back swing. Regardless of what he did to make it happen, his shot from the knee-high grass was perfect. The ball sailed from the knoll of knee-high grass onto the green, putting DeChambeau in excellent position to save his score after such a wild drive. However, hours later, the rules officials called him, showed DeChambeau a video of him stomping down the grass on the 5th hole, explained to him how his actions violated Rule 8.1a, and what I’d like to tell you happened next is that DeChambeau apologized, admitted that he was wrong, and graciously accepted his two-stroke penalty. That, of course, is not what happened. Instead, he made the officials drive him to the 5th hole where he waved his arms, argued his point, and defended his innocence, which got all the TV attention and held up the tournament for a full 90 minutes. That’s right. Bryson DeChambeau defended his innocence rather than accept his two-stroke penalty, which ended up holding up the golf tournament for a full 90 minutes, and seems to me like one of the most typical moments in sports that I have ever heard of. I have a new friend named Owen Farist. He’s a lawyer and serves as the general counsel for Tip Top Poultry, but on the side, as a hobby, he referees college basketball games. Last week, he was telling a group of us about how, after he referees a game, he often must be escorted from the sports arena to his car by security personnel, and that’s not because so many people are fighting to get his autograph. It’s because it seems that no one in sports wants to be held accountable by a referee, an umpire, or any other sports official, and that trend trickles down from professional sports to college, and all the way down to little league. I once attended my daughter’s basketball game where a father got so angry with the referee that he had to be escorted out of the gym. My wife, Sara, was so embarrassed. I’m just kidding. It wasn’t me. This angry father was escorted out of the gym for yelling at the referee. With him gone, there was peace at the basketball court until the little girl’s grandmother took up the cause, and soon enough, grandma had to be escorted out. I bring all this up because sometimes the world seems like the prison yard in Shawshank Redemption. Do you remember that movie? Early in the film, Andy Dufresne, the main character, introduces himself to the man they call “Red,” but Red already knows about Andy. “You’re the one who murdered his wife,” Red says to him. Andy says, “That might be what people say, but I didn’t do it. I’m innocent.” “You’re going to fit right in here,” Red replies, “because this prison is full of innocent men.” My friends, do we not believe in forgiveness? Do we not believe in the forgiveness of sins? Why, then, are we so practiced in denial? I tell you, so often Scripture provides us the account of normal people, shepherds and fishermen, becoming larger than life, saints of the church, but not because they defend their reputation. The sinners become saints when they confess their sins and dare to believe that they may be forgiven. You might imagine King David, who committed adultery with Bathsheba then tried to cover up the pregnancy by having her husband killed, singing the words of our call to worship: While I kept silence, my body wasted away. But when I confessed, God forgave the guilt of my sin. Do not be like a stubborn mule, determined not to change. For steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the Lord. Do you trust in the Lord’s grace? Do you know that feeling of tossing and turning, not able to sleep, until you unburden yourself by revealing the truth to almighty God, who meets your confession, not with condemnation, but with compassion? Do you believe in the forgiveness of sins? I can remember it back in high school. I got into an argument with another guy on the baseball team. He was being a jerk. I called him on it. He got mad. The next day I threw a bunch of eggs at his car. Now, what’s so bad about the eggs is that the sun hit the eggs, so the eggs baked onto the car, messed up the paint job, and his father, who not only coached the team but taught science at the high school, wanted to know who covered his son’s car in eggs and damaged the paint job. “Well, I didn’t do it.” “Who would do such a thing?” I kept that act up for a couple days, until I couldn’t take it any longer, for happy are those who do not live in denial, but freely repent. If Bryson DeChambeau believed in forgiveness, would he have acted the way that he did? If we lived in a culture that believed in forgiveness, would we rely on lawyers to work all our mistakes out for us? I’m thankful to have a bunch of friends who are lawyers, and one of them whom I respect tremendously is Chris Harrison. Do you know Chris? He’s a member of our church. His office is on the Square. If you need a good lawyer, call him, but he’ll tell you that half of all the lawsuits in this country could have been prevented with a well-worded apology. “I’m sorry.” “I was wrong.” “It’s my fault. I’ll try to do better. I hope you can forgive me.” Do you believe in the forgiveness of sins? Now, I’ve just confessed to having thrown eggs at someone’s car. I have other sins to confess as well. One of my shortcomings is that, hard as I’ve tried, I’ve failed to fulfill all my commitments lately. Two weeks ago, Gaspar Rodriguez offered to donate two beautiful paintings to the silent auction tonight at Two Birds Taphouse, raising money for our Pantry on Church, but I failed to follow-up, so Linda Spears had to go and pick up the paintings for me. Yet, because I failed, a miracle happened. You see, some weeks ago, Linda Spears, who is our neighbor and one of the most active do-gooders in our community, witnessed a car accident. A young man ran out into the street where he was hit by a car, thrown to the side of the road, and there he lay, motionless. Linda parked her car and rushed to his side. She wasn’t the only one to stop. Others did as well, including the driver who hit the young man. This young man lay motionless on the side of the road while one woman prayed over him, another held his hand, and they all waited with him until police and paramedics arrived, and he was rushed off to the hospital. No one knew whether he’d survive. As you can imagine, this image is one that isn’t easy to forget. Linda worried about the young man, and she tried to track him down. Finally, she heard from the police department that he had died. She told the whole story to Gaspar Rodriguez when she went to pick up the two paintings for tonight’s fund raiser for the Panty on Church. I did not pick them up, so Gaspar called Linda, and Linda retold him this whole story. Because Gaspar is so active in the Marietta school system, it so happened that he knew the young man who had been hit by the car and knew where his mother lived. He offered to take Linda to meet the young man’s mother. The two of them knocked on the door, greeted his mother, and while Linda was expressing her heartfelt condolences, assuring her that in her son’s last moments he was not alone, the young man Linda heard had died walked into the room, on crutches, yes, but alive and well. Thanks be to God. Linda told me all this, and then she said, “It’s amazing the things that happen if you get up off the couch,” and I say, it’s also amazing the things that happen when your pastor never gets around to picking up the paintings himself. Now, I’m not encouraging you to neglect your commitments, but I tell you this story because so often, the real key to winning in life is learning how to lose. Learning how to be imperfect and trusting that God loves us, not because we are perfect, but because we are His. God is not like the father who was disappointed when you didn’t bring home the trophy. No. God is the Father who forgives sins, abounds in grace, and loves you, not when you are at your best, but every time you call out His name. I believe in the forgiveness of sins. I believe that His love is greater than my imperfection. I believe that we are at our best when we abide in His grace and rejoice in His forgiveness. I believe in the forgiveness of sins. Halleluia. Amen.

I Believe in the Holy Catholic Church, the Communion of Saints, a sermon preached on July 19, 2026

A couple weeks ago, the Marietta Daily Journal called to ask how I’d be celebrating the 4th of July. Since I had volunteered to help with our parking lot fundraiser, I told them that I’d be spending the 4th sweating in the parking lot of First Presbyterian Church selling parking spaces. They didn’t put that part in the paper. What I said that they did publish is that “the Fourth of July means a lot to Presbyterians because more Presbyterians signed the Declaration of Independence than any other religious group. Only one member of the clergy signed: He was a presbyterian minister named John Witherspoon. But I’m also thinking about how wonderful it was that 13 colonies compromised to form a nation at the signing of the Constitution. Let us celebrate, not only declared independence, but the moment when our nation compromised and composed the laws that define who we are, for what we need as a nation today is not more people declaring independence but for a divided people to come together for a common purpose through compromise and mutual respect.” I’ve been thinking about the way we celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, when maybe we should spend more time celebrating the signing of the Constitution because my friend Neale Martin planted that seed in my imagination over coffee several months ago, that there is value in celebrating independence. It’s a gift to shoot off fireworks and to remember the moment when the Founding Fathers of our nation broke away from the British Empire, but a nation was not born in that moment. No. The Declaration of Independence started a war. It did not found a new country. Our new country was born when the Constitution was signed, when a group compromised and determined the virtues upon which we would all stand. We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America. Those are the standards on which our nation was built, so while independence is wonderful and while declaring independence is noteworthy, “War is easy. Governing’s harder.” Do you remember that line from Hamilton? My friends, we are a nation of people who love declaring independence. We do not like to be told what to do or how to think. We will not be pushed around by the British Empire or by World Cup referees, but what about compromise? What about justice and domestic tranquility? What about a more perfect union? I’m thinking about these things as we continue this sermon series on the Apostles’ Creed, now focused on possibly the most misunderstood line of the whole thing. I can’t tell you how many times someone has asked me, “Why do we say that we believe in the Roman Catholic Church?” We don’t say that. Look at the words of the Apostles’ Creed printed in your order of worship and notice with me that we say, “We believe in the holy catholic Church,” which means that while, like our nation, our church broke away and declared independence 600 years ago, we’re not so bold as to believe that our tradition is the only one that matters. I’m sure you all know that the Presbyterian Church separated from the Roman Catholic Church much the same way our nation declared independence from the British Empire. The Presbyterians, along with the Lutherans, declared independence from Rome, and a new tradition was born, yet there are truths that we, along with every other church in this community and across the globe, hold to be self-evident. My friends, we are not the only Christians in this town striving to follow Jesus Christ, and that’s what we say we believe when we affirm our faith using the Apostles’ Creed. Jesus is at work, not only here, but at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church up by the hospital. There are causes that we all hold in common. We are not the same, but we are a part of the same body. In one Spirit, we were all baptized, Jews or Greeks, slaves or free, Methodists, Baptists, Pentecostals, and non-denominational. Might Christians across this globe together serve the Lord by acting more like one body with many members rather than competing and condemning each other of heresy? My wife, Sara, and her sister were both raised Roman Catholic. Sara married me, a Presbyterian minister. Her sister married a Methodist minister. We arm wrestle to decide who will say the blessing at Thanksgiving, and I love my mother and father in-law all the more because rather than say, “There is only one church, the Roman Catholic Church,” they were bold to believe that the Spirit is at work in all churches who declare Jesus Christ as Lord. “I believe in the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints.” Some people don’t say that line because they misunderstand it. Others say it without understanding what it means. The word “catholic” just means universal. That the “c” is lowercase means that we’re not talking about the Roman Catholic Church; it means we’re talking about the Church universal, the living witness to Jesus Christ, that has expanded so far that ours is the largest religion on earth. Can you believe that what started with just 12 disciples, and not all of them highly qualified, became a movement that now claims 1/3 of the global population? And it seems like the harder it is to be a Christian, the more Christians there are. There are one million Christians in Iran. There are between 70-100 million Christians in China, where it’s illegal to be a Chrisitan. I was reading about the energy shortage in Cuba last week, and do you know who’s the most worried about it? The pastors. The pastors of communist Cuba are frustrated about the energy shortages in Cuba. Did you know that Cuba even had pastors or churches? You and I need to know because they are our brothers and sisters in Christ. They follow the same Lord you do. The Spirit is at work in them as the Spirit is at work in us. They are not your enemies, but are part of the same body, the body of Christ. That’s what we mean when we say, “I believe in the holy catholic Church.” Christianity is spreading across the globe. Followers of Jesus Christ are multiplying. Today, there are more Presbyterians in Seoul, South Korea than in the entire United States. Even if we’re divided by borders, we are one in the Spirit. We are one in the Lord. Yet, there’s a story I love to tell about a man who was shipwrecked. For years, he was on this deserted island all by himself. Thanks be to God, one afternoon he was saved. A team of rescuers came to save him, but before he left the island, he wanted to show them around. There were three dwellings built on the island. “That first one is my home. That’s where I’ve lived,” he said, “and that second one is my church.” “What’s the third one?” the rescuers asked. “That’s my old church. I don’t go there anymore. I couldn’t stand those people.” Friends, I want you to know that it brings me joy when I go to lunch with my friend the Rev. Brandon Owen, the pastor at First Baptist Church. Every time we go out together, he’s in a golf shirt with a collar, while I always wear a jacket, so his members compliment my outfit, and then I get to hear them say, “Brandon, why can’t you dress more like Joe Evans?” I love that kind of stuff. I love a little competition between the churches, but we are one body, for there is one Spirit and one Lord. Jesus Christ is the One we all follow. While there may be a time to declare independence, while there are moments in life when we must set off on our own, and while there are divorces in marriages and within congregations that have benefitted individuals, when churches declare war with each other, communities crumble. Conflict is inevitable, yet the righteous work towards unity and compromise so that people are not left isolated, but are welcomed into families of faith. I believe in the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints. I believe it is more important that the Gospel be proclaimed than whether the proclaimer has on a black robe, or whether the preacher is a man or a woman. I believe that while Christians are busy criticizing each other, the devil sits back laughing as we tear the Church of Jesus Christ apart. Did you notice in our second Scripture lesson that Jesus said to Peter, “On this rock I will build my church and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it?” That’s what Jesus said, and in his sermon on this line of the creed, Dr. James O. Speed calls attention to the reality that it is the Church that is marching right up to the very gates of Hades. The defensive gates of Hell are under attack because the Church of Jesus Christ is on the move. Stamping out injustice. Overthrowing tyranny. Bringing light to the darkness and hope to the afflicted. My friends, the hymn goes, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love,” not by our theological purity. Not by crosses we wear around our necks. Not by which church we attend on Sunday, but by the love that we have for one another. When we finally recognize our brothers and sisters in Christ as our brothers and sisters and not our enemies, nothing can stop us. Should the Church of Jesus Christ model unity to this divided nation, then perhaps our nation would follow our example. May it be so. Amen.

The Third Day He Rose Again From the Dead. He Ascended into Heaven. Preached on June 28, 2026

Outside a small Tennessee town is a cemetery filled with old tombstones. On the stones are names, dates, and verses of Scripture, but one unique tombstone bears the inscription: the fat lady has sung. Some think of death this way. As the end. The shadow falls. The light goes out. The fever of life is over. Our work is done. Once the fat lady sings, our bodies are laid to rest in the ground; six feet under we lie. It’s not over until the fat lady sings, yet once she has sung, we rest from our labor in the darkness of death. Death is permanent, some say. Final. At death, it’s over, many claim, and yet each Sunday, we stand in defiance of death’s power, boldly proclaiming aloud and together, “On the third day, He rose again from the dead. He ascended into Heaven.” That’s what we say each Sunday when we affirm our faith. Today, we are in the middle of a ten-week sermon series on the Apostles’ Creed. We recite these ancient words Sunday after Sunday, yet if we say the words without understanding what they mean, what’s the point? Today, let me tell you that when we say together, “On the third day, He rose again from the dead. He ascended into Heaven,” we rejoice in the truth that the grave could not hold Him. Up from the grave he arose. With a mighty triumph o’er his foes. He arose a victor from the dark domain, And he lives forever with his saints to reign. He arose. He arose. Hallelujah. Christ arose. That’s what we believe, right? There’s is a story about a man who took his wife and mother-in-law on vacation to the Holy Land. It was an expensive trip. It was a once-in-a-lifetime trip. It was a sign of just how much this man loved his wife that he included his mother-in-law in this trip and agreed to pay for her every expense, and yet his mother-in-law complained the whole way through. The food was too spicy. Outside it was too hot, yet because of the air conditioning, it was also freezing indoors. This mother-in-law went from way too hot to way too cold, and she let her son-in-law know about it. She also let him know that the linens on the hotel beds were too scratchy. The accents of the staff were too heavy to understand. It was hard for this man to endure all the complaining, considering how he had paid for the trip, and how he just wanted to take his wife, not both his wife and his mother-in-law. Why didn’t he want to take his mother-in-law? Because this is how his mother-in-law had always been. She complained. She nagged. She wined. Midway through the trip, just when he was sure he couldn’t take it any longer, the husband, his wife, and the mother-in-law were on a tour bus. Amid a fit of complaining about the driver’s inability to navigate the bus safely, this mother-in-law keeled over and died. The man tried to look disappointed. In a sense, he was. His wife was distraught. His wife was far too distraught to handle the details of death and burial with the funeral home. Meeting with the funeral home in Jerusalem, the man heard the estimates. The numbers were large. The largest number was the fee to have body shipped back home to New Jersey. That cost of transporting the body was so high, the funeral home director suggested she be buried there, in the Holy Land. “It would be too expensive to ship the body back home,” the funeral director advised, and yet this man insisted his mother-in-law not be buried in Jerusalem. “Why not?” the funeral director asked. “I heard about a man who was buried here. Three days later, He rose from the grave. I can’t risk that happening with her.” Death was not final with Jesus. The fat lady sang, and yet, it was not over. The shadow fell, and yet, the light was not extinguished. “On the third, day He rose again from the dead.” 40 days later, He ascended into Heaven. Notice the tense with these two verbs: rose and ascended. These verbs are past tense. After these two past tense verbs, the tense of verbs in the Apostles’ Creed shift to present. Jim Speed pointed that detail out in his book. We modeled this summer sermon series on a series of sermons our predecessor the Rev. Dr. James O. Speed preached on the Apostles’ Creed. Those sermons of Dr. Speed were published in a book that I’ve been rereading, and he makes this important point in his sermon based on the lines we focus on today. “He rose. He ascended.” These are the last past-tense verbs used in the Creed, Dr. Speed points out, because what our Lord does now is not confined to the past but impacts the present. That He was raised and that He ascended must impact our present as well, for this knowledge, this conviction, that death did not have the final word, changes the way we live and breathe in our daily lives. The truth of His resurrection and ascension changes the way we think of funeral services when those we love die. Many are in the habit of steering away from calling that service a funeral. Many prefer to call it a celebration of life, and yet, what life are we celebrating? The life lived and now over? Is the highest purpose of the funeral remembering the pleasant moments? Paying respect to the memory of a light now extinguished? Or is the funeral our opportunity to remember again the hope that we have in the Lord Jesus Christ, that death has lost its sting, not only for Him, but also for us? That in the coming Kingdom, all our tears will be wiped away at the great reunion of generations passed there reunited? My friends, at every funeral service, we do more than grieve. We do more than mourn. We do more than weep at the life now ended: We rejoice in the promise that as Christ rose from the dead, so will we, and so we live, not as those who have no hope, but as those who know that the Savior broke the power of death and paves our way to the Kingdom of Heaven. Yet, we not only die with such hope; we live with such hope day in and day out. Last week, I stood next to Neill Blake to cut the ribbon of the new NAMI Cobb Drop-In Center. Have you heard about that? For years, our church has been proud to host support groups for those who deal with the reality of mental illness. There are groups for parents of children who are diagnosed with mental illness, as well as groups for those individuals who are in treatment for mental illness. Starting last week, should one of those people need a little support in the afternoons, they can drop by our church to meet with someone specially trained. Neill wondered aloud whether if her son David had known about such a place, things might have turned out differently. Some of you will remember that tragedy. Some of you helped look for David when he went missing. Others of you were at his funeral. To stand next to Neill as she cut the ribbon on the drop-in center, I knew that his death did not have the final world. No, hope did. Moreover, if death doesn’t have the final word, then why would failure? Why would disappointment? Why not pick up and try again? Why not stand up after falling down? Why not anticipate a tomorrow brighter than all your yesterdays? If death doesn’t have the final word, then why would the fat lady? I don’t care if you’ve heard the fat lady sing over your marriage, your job, your dreams, or your aspirations. Why listen to the fat lady singing when, after three days in the tomb, Jesus Christ rose again from the dead, ascended into Heaven, and sittith on the right hand of God the Father Almighty to remind you and all creation that the light may flicker but it will not go out, for death has lost its sting. So has failure. So has heartbreak. No matter how far you’ve traveled down the road of bitter tears and broken hearts, today is a day of resurrection. Today is a day of hope and of promise. Never give up. Never give in. Your strength may fail, but the Lord of Heaven and of earth has risen from the dead and ascended into Heaven, and He is the One who has a say over you, not the fat lady. Let her song be the background music to your victory in the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.