Sunday, November 24, 2019

The Image of the Invisible God, the Firstborn of All Creation

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 23: 1-6 and Colossians 1: 11-20 Sermon Title: The Image of the Invisible God, the Firstborn of All Creation Preached on November 24, 2019 This coming Thursday is Thanksgiving, which makes me think about a lot of things. Especially, Thanksgiving makes me think of something that starts with the letter “t.” That’s right. Traffic. There’s a lot of traffic on Thanksgiving, but there’s always traffic here, in Marietta, GA. People have places to go, and they need to get there quickly, plus they’re usually running late. Not long ago I saw a man brushing his teeth while sitting in traffic. That’s strange, isn’t it? But people do strange things while they’re sitting in traffic. Some people listen to books, others text message, which isn’t safe. Some get uncharacteristically angry. In the heat of traffic, even kind people will honk their horn or employ the use of their middle finger. People have places to go, and they need to get there quickly, plus they’re usually running late. They’re thinking about what they have to get to, not necessarily about how low the covered bridge is that they’re going under. On the front page of the paper last Friday, once again, was coverage of contraptions being installed to prevent people driving under the historic Concord Covered Bridge with their too tall cars or trucks. So often our focus is solely on getting some place fast rather than slowing down to pay attention to the signs telling us to turn around or slow down. Worse last Friday was coverage of a teenage driver who drove too fast and lost control of his car, running head-on into a school bus. Luckily no one was hurt too badly but let us heed this warning: When the clock is ticking and the boss is waiting it seems like getting there on time is a matter of life and death. Should we be too hasty and lives may truly hang in the balance between life and death. When we see the lights of the sheriff or the police officer our priorities shift. Or pulled over on the side of the road so that the hearse can pass, all at once the meeting we were rushing to isn’t so important. Practice is back to just kids playing ball in a field. You realize all at once that you might lose your appointment with the hairdresser or doctor, but for you there will be another day. The hearse is the sign that not everyone will have that. At the sight of it in Marietta, GA everything still stops, and we show our respect to the wife, the mother, the husband, the son, who is looking straight into the reality that the world as they knew it has just ended. Stopping for a funeral procession can be a moment where no matter how important we think the meeting or the errands or the appointment is, when we stop we see clearly again. The priorities shift. And whatever we were rushing to gets back into its proper place in the grand scheme of things, because we’ll have the chance to be on time again tomorrow. For someone there will not be a tomorrow, at least not on this side of mortality. That kind of realization comes when you stop for a funeral procession. Coming to church can, in a sense, do the same kind of thing. What we’re doing now can shift our own priorities if we’re willing. Each week we have six days of being busy. Six days of thinking about ourselves and what we must do and what we need and who all needs us, and then Sunday comes, the clock strikes 11:00 and we stop. We stop to look up from whatever it was that seemed so important to focus on the giver and redeemer of life. Six days of focus on the world and this one hour to focus on the one who created it and the one who will take us from this world into the next. It’s in a moment like this that we are invited to see clearly. The priorities shift back to where they should be: God right here at the top and everything else below, only here’s the problem, while just about everyone in Marietta still stops for funeral processions, not everyone stops at 11:00. Not everyone stops to see the world clearly through the lens of hope that our Lord provides, so they go on looking through the lens of fear and anxiety. Not everyone stops so that their priorities settle back into the order they should, so they go on chasing after momentary contentment. They go on defining themselves by physical beauty or wealth or popularity. They go on dedicating themselves completely to their jobs. They go on rushing through life and wondering why they feel so empty. They go on thinking that the whole world rests on their shoulders, forgetting about the One who holds the whole world in His hands. Every once in a while, we all have to stop to think on such things. If we don’t, we’re like those who race from one thing to the next, busying ourselves with what seems important while neglecting what is essential. We’ll race through life, exhausted, yet failing in our true vocation. The first question in the Shorter Catechism in our book of Confessions is this: What is the chief end of man? The answer: Man’s chief end is to glorify god, and to enjoy him forever. I ask you, is that what you’ve been doing with your time? There’s wisdom on this subject in the book of Proverbs. Proverbs 16: 25: “Sometimes there is a way that seems to be right, but in the end, it is the way to death.” Not everyone stops to think about such things. Few stop to question the rat race because everyone else is doing it. Still, it is good and right to step off the hamster wheel to consider whether or not we’re getting anywhere. It’s good to stop and think, and today we are called to stop and think and consider who is at the top and who is down below. Who is truly King and does he wear his rightful crown in our lives? We all must stop to think about what’s driving us. There’s a moment on the show Mama’s Family when a young man proclaimed: “I get to know God just fine from the comfort of my bed on Sunday morning. I don’t need the church to get through life.” Mama responded: “Well, you don’t need a parachute to jump out of an airplane either.” Today is an important day, and I’m glad that you’re here so that together we can stop, let our priorities shift back into the order that they should always have, and to remember that we have been thinking so much about our president and his fate that we may have forgotten that we already have a King. Today is Christ the King Sunday. It’s a day to stop and think about where we’re going, which is important for we have been walking around like we are the masters of our own lives and kings of our own castles for so long that we may have forgotten that we are his subjects. We have been rushing so quickly through it all that we might think that the future of this world is all up to us, only wait a minute. He is God and we are not, and no matter how important the appointment, ultimately our fate rests in him. Because today is Christ the King Sunday this hour in the great scheme of things has significance, for here comes from Scripture the reminder that among all the failed shepherds who have promised us the world while leading us nowhere, the Creator God raised up for us a righteous branch, the firstborn of all creation, and in him all things in heaven and on earth were created and in him all things hold together. Today is the day for us to pull over to the side of this busy life full of anxiety and false hope to recognize that we have a savior, and in him we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. On the other hand, the world doesn’t stop. Some just keep on driving, and they are like those who drive by the funeral procession unable to recognize that something important is happening. He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords, but while some bow before him, others just keep on driving. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, but while some marvel at him, there are others who don’t have time to stop. And he has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, but some of us just keep on driving as though nothing new has happened. Yet to be rescued is worth stopping the car, for to be rescued by him means something, it declares something about who you are and who I am. According to the author of Colossians, the Lord “has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.” What this would have meant in ancient times is that he has captured us, invaded our territory and taken us to a different place. To be transferred into a different kingdom is something like what happened to the nation of Israel when Babylon invaded and took so many of the people to live in exile, but here it is Christ who has invaded the world, concurred it, and has taken us as his captives into a new kingdom – the Kingdom of Heaven – and here we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. Here we are not subject to the powers of sin and death. Here all things visible: thrones, dominions, rulers, or powers are subject to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, though far too often we bow before them. Sometimes we look to them for legitimacy. Sometimes we rest our trust in their mortal hands, or worse, in our own, which means doing work that is not our to do. There was a quote from a humorist named Robert Benchley in the Marietta Daily Journal last week: Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn’t the work he or she is supposed to be doing. What work is ours, but the work of praise? What work is His? Everything else. Rest then in the security of his powerful love. Rest in the hands of the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For going through life trying to control, manipulate, and do your will on this earth is no way to spend the short time that we have. My friend Jim Goodlet quoted another pastor to me this last week. One of the great pastors, the prince of preachers he was called, Charles Spurgeon, who once said that “good character is the best tombstone, only carve your name on the hearts of those you love, not on a tombstone.” Today let us remember the one who has carved his name on all our hearts. All praise and glory and honor are His, the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. Amen.

Sunday, November 10, 2019

The Splendor of this House

Scripture Lessons: 2 Thessalonians 2: 1-5, 13-17 and Haggai 1: 15b – 2: 9 Sermon Title: The Splendor of this House Preached on November 10, 2019 This reading from the book of Haggai, a book we don’t often take the time to read, is about a Temple renovation. You probably know a lot more about renovations than I do. This is about all I know: renovations take imagination. They take vision. And if you get too deep into the reality of the situation you probably won’t ever start, much less finish, so you need people around to protect the dream of what could be. The easier thing than renovating a house is just buying a house that doesn’t need to be renovated. That’s an attractive option for a lot of people, but for many people that’s just not an option. It wasn’t an option for us when we went to buy our first house in Decatur, and so we bought a dump. I’m sure you know about Decatur. Decatur is now a very nice place to live. When Sara and I were looking for our first house many parts of Decatur were very nice, but houses in those parts were out of our price range. A house that was in our price range wasn’t in on of those nice parts and wasn’t in great shape. There was no washer or dryer. There was no dishwasher. There wasn’t even a place to hook such appliances up. There was a vent over the gas range that sucked up smoke from the frying pans, but that vent didn’t take the cooking fumes too far. In fact, I remember trying to figure out why there was grease on the adjoining bathroom wall. Then I removed the mirror and there was the back of the range hood. It just sucked up whatever came off the range and moved it to the bathroom. That wasn’t ideal. I guess if you like to come out of the shower smelling like you slept at the Waffle House, this was the bathroom for you, but for most it wasn’t ideal. Yet here’s the thing. We could afford it, and we were crazy enough to believe that we could make something of it. I had learned to tile floors in a class at Home Depot. Sara can do anything she puts her mind to. My Dad’s cousin was married to an electrician who offered to donate his labor. There were friends around who offered to help us. Plus, the potential was there. Across the street from the house was a creek and greenspace. There was a Chinese chestnut tree in the front yard. Love is all you really need anyway, so we buckled down and gave it a try. That was our first house. Maybe that was something like your first house. What about the Temple? The prophet Haggai gathered the people around what remained of the temple and asked, “Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now?” I like this question. Most people there probably didn’t think there was much to see. The truth is that most likely there were only one or two there that day who could remember what the Temple looked like before the Israelites were taken into exile. Scholars who think about this kind of thing say that only a person in what you might call, “the fourth quarter of life” would have remembered seeing it. The First Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians, and now they stand at the ruins, sixty years later, most in the crowd having only heard about the Temple’s splendor from their grandparents. Now, sixty years later, what did they see? The gold that decorated the place had been taken to adorn the throne rooms of kings in faraway places. The Ark, that held the remains of the 10 Commandments and what remained of the manna was missing. The walls, once painted, were rubble. The Priests, who officiated in the room they called the Holy of Holies had been killed. “Who can remember the former glory?” is one good question. Another is, “who can imagine that such glory will ever return?” The first night we spent in our house in Decatur, I remember how Sara cried. And I wanted to. What were we doing in that place? Would it ever be fit to live in? Would it ever be the kind of place where we’d want to raise a child? Yet, in our minds was an idea of what it could be, and together, relying on each other, and the expertise of friends and real professionals, it became our home. That’s what it takes of course: 1. Enough imagination to see beyond what’s there to what might be 2. The knowledge that you’re not in it alone. So, the prophet Haggai does assure the people of both those things: Take courage, says the Lord; for I am with you. My spirit abides among you; do not fear. For thus says the Lord of hosts: once again, in a little while, I will shake the havens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all the nations, so that the treasure of all nations shall come, and I will fill this house with splendor. You can’t renovate without a dream. Without a dream of what could be you won’t even start. Nor can you renovate if you’re all alone. I had lunch with an old hockey player last week. He was a defenseman. I asked him what his primary responsibility was as a defenseman on the hockey rink, for being born and raised in the south I don’t know anything about hockey other than that it sounds too cold to be much fun. He told me that his job was to protect the little guys who skate fast and score the goals. “They can’t play scared, those little guys. So, my job was to watch out for them.” Does our Father in Heaven not make the same promise? Has our Father in Heaven not done the same for us in this place? Has our Father in Heaven not restored the splendor of this house? Today is the day of the annual meeting. It’s one Sunday a year when we hear about numbers and budgets, reports from the church officers. It’s not typically something that I look forward to, but today it is. I’ve been so excited to look through the annual report that you’ll receive today, because it is the story of what God has done here during our renovation. It is an accounting of splendor restored, lives changed, and smiling faces. It is an accounting of the glory of God. Like the Ancient Israelites, many churches in this country have a memory. Some call it a Camelot memory of full rugs at the children’s sermon, a full choir loft, a full preschool, a full youth program, a full Sanctuary on a Sunday morning. I call you to take inventory of what God has done and is doing here. To take a good long look around this place and to rejoice, for our God has honored His promise to us. He has sustained us by His grace. He is restoring this house to its former glory, and giving us yet an idea, that “The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former.” So then, brothers and sisters, what will you do? How will you respond? What do you say? I say, “If God is for us, who could be against us.” And I will listen as He calls on me, as He calls on us all to continue the work to the glory of His name. Halleluiah! Amen.

Sunday, November 3, 2019

In the Company of the Faithful

Scripture Lessons: Luke 6: 20-31 and Ephesians 1: 11-23 Preached on November 3, 2019 Sermon Title: In the Company of the Faithful All Saint’s Sunday is today, and soon I will read from the list of names printed there in your bulletin. This is the list of all church members who died in the last year, yet, to you and to me it is much more than a list of names and we will do more than read them. Because these are our people, we cannot read their names without acknowledging their significance. They are husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and fellow church members, and by saying their names we see their faces, we hear their voices, and remember who they were. More than that, today we even go so far as to confess that they are saints. Knowing that while their earthly life is over, today we boldly proclaim that they are not gone. They are not here as they once were but they have not disappeared. They have passed away but they are not lost. They have breathed their last but we will meet them again. Today is a chance to see and know that Steinbeck, in The Grapes of Wrath, pointed to the truth when he wrote that great Tom Joad speech. This is the speech where Tom, rather than say goodbye to his mother tells her to keep watch for him: I’ll be around in the dark – I’ll be everywhere. Wherever you can look – I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry and they know supper’s ready, and when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too. We’re doing more than remembering today, you see. We’re acknowledging that they’re still here if in a different way. That’s more than legacy, what we’re talking about this morning. Of course, legacy is important and meaningful. Every time I cross the Harris Hines Bridge, I think about his legacy etched across this state. There’s a mark left on this place by AD Little that will last forever, just as every name of this list that we’ll read has left a legacy that will be felt for years to come, but we’re not just remembering today. We’ll name them all, and with their names spoken we acknowledge that they are not here where we can see them but neither are they gone. On days like today we remember that the great cloud of witnesses draws near and we are in the company of the faithful. That’s what inspires the cover on your bulletin. Those aren’t aliens landing. They’re saints drawing near. Last week I read a story about a young English clergyman who served a small congregation. It was his custom at evening services to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to any parishioners who remained at the conclusion of the service. One night so few stayed that he questioned whether the sacrament should be observed, but he did. In the midst of the liturgy, he read part of the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving, a prayer that we will pray this morning too, though ours is a different version: “Therefore, with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious name.” He paused and read that line again, “With angels and archangels and all the company of heaven…” Then he prayed, “God forgive me. I did not realize I was in such company.” Most of the time we don’t. We forget who is with us, and we ignore what they call us to do. It’s so easy to ignore or to look beyond, not just the Saints who draw near to us, but the entire company of the faithful. Today I think of Helen Jones, who died just last Saturday. She should be here with her cute red car, parked illegally right outside our doors. It’s because of her that we’re now looking into valet parking. If you think that would be good for us to have, there’s a survey to take on the church website. This effort really did start because of her. When we told her she couldn’t park her car in front of the bike rack, she said, “Fine!” and handing her keys to the nearest Deacon, “If I can’t park here, you do it!” We’d now like to maybe formalize that process a little bit. Helen Jones was something. If we could hear her speak today I wonder what she would have us do. If today we remember how the Saints draw close, that we are in the company of the faithful, what do they want us to know? Do you remember that moment from the Thorton Wilder play, Our Town? When Emily, who so recently died, is in her home as a spirit. Having drawn close to her family she wishes they would “really look at one another.” It all goes so fast [she says]. We don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. So, all that was going on and we never noticed… Wait! One more look. Good-bye, good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover’s Corners… Mama and Papa. Good-bye clock’s ticking… and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths… and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it… every, every minute? In the company of the faithful I realize that we spend too much time worrying and fail to enjoy. We spend too much time working and forget to love. We spend too much time thinking that we’ll have tomorrow but then tomorrow doesn’t always come. A close friend of mine was in a car accident last week. It was bad, but he walked away without a scratch, as did everyone else involved, but this friend who was recently named the President of the Fort Worth, Texas Chamber of Commerce took his time getting to his office the Friday after this accident. We often talk, but usually about what meetings he’s going to or what meetings I’m going to. Lately there have been many meetings regarding the Fort Worth police officer who shot an unarmed African American woman in her home. Yet, on that Friday after this accident I was telling him how cold it was. Maybe it was 32 degrees, only in response I heard my friend say, “It’s 14. 14.” “No, it’s cold, but not that cold, and what do you know about the weather in Georgia when you’re in Texas,” I responded. He said, “Sorry Joe. I wasn’t talking to you. My son just asked me what two times 7 is, and after this car accident I’m all about that. That’s what I want to be doing. Stopping everything to tell my son that two times seven is 14.” Isn’t that what they’d be telling us all to do today? Isn’t that what they all would want us to do? To enjoy the smell of coffee, and new ironed dresses, and hot baths? To stop to answer multiplication questions? To rejoice in these moments that we have, trusting that they who have gained their crown do not need our tears, but only wish us happiness? Today I wish that we had figured out how to valet cars a little sooner. We’ve been focused on many things, but how important it is to really see each other the way one police officer in Fort Worth failed to. Today, remember that we still have the chance to see each other a little more clearly. Encouraged by the Saints around us this day, we might spend a little more time doing, not what is urgent, but what matters. Not what seems important, but what Christ and all the company of the faithful would have us do. Amen.