Seek the Welfare of the City, a sermon based on Jeremiah 29: 1, 4-7 and 2 Timothy 2: 8-15, preached on October 12, 2025

What we’ve just read as our second Scripture lesson is a personal letter. It’s part two of a personal letter that tradition tells us was written by Paul, that legendary leader of the Christian faith, who, when he wrote this letter, was nearing retirement. It was a forced retirement. He was imprisoned. He writes to Timothy, who was just getting started, and so the books of our Bible 1st Timothy and 2nd Timothy are full of advice from Paul to Timothy, and the portion of 2nd Timothy that you just heard begins with advice of the most common Christian wisdom. Paul’s admonition to Timothy: “Remember Jesus Christ” is among the most basic of Christian principals, and so I ask you: Do you remember Him? Plenty of people forget about Jesus, or maybe they never really knew Him to begin with. Remember Jesus Christ with me this morning so that we do not use His name in vain. Remember with me Jesus who spoke Aramaic, which is a language that so few people spoke in His time, so that when He traveled outside His hometown, people immediately knew where He was from. Have you ever had that experience? In college, I took a trip to New York City. There, I told a man that I was from Georgia, and he responded, “I know.” Jesus was born in Bethlehem. He was raised in Galilee. At that time and in that region, the locals spoke a language called Aramaic, which was sort of like a redneck version of Hebrew, yet not everyone remembers that about Jesus. In fact, in 1924, the Governor of Texas, Miriam Ferguson, in an effort to end the teaching of the Spanish language in public school, was quoted as saying, “If English was good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for Texas school children.” Remember Jesus Christ, who didn’t speak English, who was raised in a backwater town and spent most of His life, approximately 85% of his ministry, within 12 square miles of clay on the plains of the Gennesaret on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee in what today we call Palestine. Without any form of mass communication other than word of mouth, with no social media presence whatsoever, Jesus of Galilee became the most influential human being ever to walk the earth. What unfolded on 12 square miles of clay forever changed the world, so before you go thinking that you need to head on to the big city to really live and to expand your sphere of influence, remember Jesus Christ. Remember Jesus Christ, who was influential but did not make a career out of being an influencer. Do you all know that term? It’s possible these days to make a living by developing a presence on social media. You put your brand out there on the internet. You share your opinion or your exercise videos, and once you gather enough followers, marketing companies will pay you to promote their products, and so I tell you that this sermon is brought to you by Cokesbury preacher robes, the best robes to preach in. I’m just kidding about that. I’m not trying to become an internet celebrity. Jesus wasn’t. Remember Jesus, who spent most of His life within 12 square miles of clay. Remember Jesus, who walked around marketplaces full of people yet noticed the individuals. Do you remember that there was a crowd of people and one woman who had been bleeding for 12 years? She reached out and touched His robe, and Jesus turned towards her out and spoke to her. He called her daughter and said to her, “Your faith has healed you.” Rather than use a bullhorn to preach from, He spoke to people. He looked into their eyes. He made people feel seen and loved. Remember Jesus Christ. I’ve just read a book that Denise Lobodinski gave me called Theo of Golden. Have you heard of it? Theo of Golden is about a man from out of town who walked into a small-town coffee shop. On the wall of that coffee shop, he notices portraits of the regulars. A local artist who spent much of his time in that coffee shop started drawing the people he saw around him and was trying to sell the portraits by putting them on the coffee shop wall, only no one had bought any of them. This man, Theo from out of town, couldn’t believe it. How could no one have bought such beautiful portraits? Surely these works of art should be hanging in homes, sitting on bedside tables. They should be enjoyed by the people so beautifully captured by the artist, and so one by one, he bought the portraits and delivered them to the people whom the artist had drawn. Gift by gift, these people were changed. That’s the whole plot of the book. I won’t tell you how it ends because I hope you’ll read it. And for every copy sold this morning, I’ll be receiving $1.00 in proceeds. I’m just kidding, but I do hope you’ll read it because it’s a beautiful book illustrating the truth of how much of a difference one person can make when he slows down to notice the people in his neighborhood. Remember that Jesus spent 85% of His ministry within 12 square miles of clay. What kind of a difference can you make in this world? What kind of a difference can you make if you simply notice the people in your neighborhood? If you simply show kindness and remind them that they are forgiven and loved by God? From 12 square miles, Jesus changed the world. Remember Jesus Christ. Thinking about Jesus this way reminds me of a woman I knew named Nancy Oliver. Nancy was a local celebrity in Columbia, Tennessee where we lived and where I was a pastor for seven years before coming here to Marietta. Nancy walked up and down Church Street. She would walk into First Presbyterian Church to get a cup of coffee, and she’d always try to grab a copy of our church directory so that she could solicit our church members. These days, scammers try to cheat you out of your money through email. Nancy Oliver did it the old-fashioned way. She wasn’t perfect, but she was kind. Once, while it was raining, our church secretary put the potted plant that sat on her desk outside the church so it would get some good rainwater. Nancy picked that plant up and took it to the bank, where she gave it to her favorite teller. That was half a kindness, right? She would visit the staff and the bank. She would visit us at the church. She would also sit with the staff at the funeral home. My point here is that Nancy wasn’t particularly kind, but she was kind enough. She wasn’t educated or influential, but she took the time to talk to people, and when she died, I was one of three pastors who officiated her funeral. She had two soloists and a crowd of people in attendance because when we take the time to be present, getting to know the people in our 12 miles of clay, even if our only kindness is stealing someone’s plant to give it to a bank teller, we will make an impact. Don’t think you have to go to Washington, DC to change the world. Don’t think you have to go on a mission trip to Tanzania to be a missionary. Don’t think you have to see your name in lights to see your name in the Book of Life. Do justice. Love mercy. And walk humbly with your God right here, right now. Turn off the TV, get out of your car, give up those habits that isolate you from the world outside your doors and remember again that there are people around you whose names are worthy of remembering and whose faces bear the image of our creator God. Every single one of us has a calling. Every single one of us is called to serve the Lord, to live our lives for His glory. Do not sleep through this life when God has called you to be a blessing. Remember Jesus Christ, who spent 85% of His 30-some years within 12 square miles of clay yet He shaped eternity. He died before turning 40 yet a more complete life has yet to be lived. You don’t have to live to 100 to make an impact. You don’t have to go to a big school to be somebody. Just slow down and notice the people around you. Remember Jesus Christ. When we left Columbia, Tennessee, the home of Nancy Oliver, my friend Jim Grippo told me a story. He said that a moving truck pulled into a gas station. A man got out of the truck and started filling the tank. An old man sitting outside the convenience store asked, “Where you from?” The moving truck driver said, “We’re coming from the most wonderful place. Full of people we loved. We hated to leave. Do you think we’ll like it here?” The old man said, “You’re going to love it. This town is just like the place you left.” An hour later, a second moving truck pulled in for gas. While he filled the tank, the old man asked, “Where you from?” The man filling the tank said, “We’re coming from a place we’re so glad is now in our rearview mirror. It was full of people we’re so glad to forget. I hope this place is different. Is it?” The old man said, “I hate to say it, but this town is just like the place you left.” My friends, the Palestine of Jesus’ day was full of crooks, infidels, sinners, and the unclean. Remember Jesus, who saw them as the children of God. Avoid wrangling over words, which does no good but only ruins those who are listening. Do your best to present yourselves to God as one approved by Him. Be a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly explaining the word of truth, which is the Good News of Jesus Christ, that He came into the world not to condemn the world but that the world might be saved through Him. May He live through you, and may your spirit be lifted, remembering His power and his might to redeem and save. Amen.

For the Love of Money, a sermon based on1 Timothy 6: 6-19, preached on September 28, 2025

A great preacher named Fred Craddock loved to eat at Waffle House. “It’s a great place to get a BLT,” he said. “You have to take a shower after, but it’s a great place to get a BLT.” One afternoon, after he finished his BLT, he asked his waitress for a cup of coffee, which she brought over with a smile. “Two creams, please,” he requested. She patted around, looking for the right pocket. “I can never find anything in this capricious apron,” she said. “Capricious?” Dr. Craddock asked. Finally finding the creamer in her capricious apron, this waitress laid six, not two, creamers on the table, which was more than Dr. Craddock asked for or needed, and so Dr. Craddock took the two he wanted, handed back the remaining four, but the waitress protested, saying, “Better to have and not need, than to need and not have.” “First capricious and now this,” Dr. Craddock responded, “Are you a waitress or a philosopher?” Then realizing he was in an important conversation with a woman capable of debating the metaphysical issues of human existence, he insisted that she take the four creamers he was not going to use, saying, “Better yet is to take what you need, and then give the rest away.” I don’t know how many times I’ve thought about that exchange. I know I’ve told you about it before. I bring it up today not to get you thinking about going to Waffle House after this worship service. Remember, today is the church picnic. Don’t go out for lunch today. I tell you this story to get you thinking about what you have, what you want, what you need, and that great quest we are all on, even and especially Mick Jagger, that is the quest for human satisfaction. I can’t get no, satisfaction. Gonna try. And I try. And I try. And I try. I love that it was Mick Jagger singing that song because he’s rich. Still, he sang the words: I can’t get no satisfaction, offering us the great irony of having enough money to buy whatever you could ever want, while satisfaction still lies out of reach. A rich man lamenting his fruitless quest for satisfaction is the perfect image to complement our second Scripture lesson from the book of 1st Timothy for, as this letter claims, those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. You can’t buy contentment. To find contentment, you must be in touch with what you need and give the rest away. From the book of 1st Timothy, we hear the warning: the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. Yet, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment. Godliness combined with contentment. We know that the perpetual pursuit of more, the inability to be happy with what we have, is a reality in our world of excess, materialism, debt, and superficiality. These issues are not new, although envy and covetousness assault us from every side, perhaps more than ever, in this 21st Century. Today, we cannot escape the billboards trying to sell us something. We are constantly exposed to pictures of people who appear to be having more fun than we are, going on luxurious vacations and sitting in fancy cars. Watching TV with my wife, Sara, every evening I see the same commercials again and again produced by drug companies that have a way of convincing me that I suffer from symptoms that I don’t actually have. Do I have restless leg syndrome? I don’t know. Maybe I do? Am I tired of living with dry and itchy skin? Maybe I am? Certainly, I suffer the plight of all of us who live in this consumer culture that wants us spending more money rather than being satisfied. Remember that the rich man sings, “I can’t get no satisfaction,” because satisfaction cannot be bought. Instead, we read in our second Scripture lesson that there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment. How can we learn to be content? We can’t while we suffer from persistent want, while we want what we can’t have, while we don’t know when to stop our quest for satisfaction, while we want what isn’t even good for us, and within those desires is the root of all kinds of evil. Of course, it’s not wrong to want. The deadly sin is not hunger, but gluttony. The sin is not intimacy, but adultery. Our God knows that we have needs and desires, yet there is a limit set, and the ability to live within that limit is the path of contentment. When was the last time you felt it? I mean really felt contentment. The week before last, I was in Scotland with several members of the choir, and near the end of the trip, someone asked me what my favorite meal had been. Now, this is Scotland. A beautiful place, known for quaint villages untouched by the march of time. A region known for majestic highlands, warm and caring people. A region known for rich Presbyterian history but not known for the food. I had some great meals there, but the meal that stuck out in my mind was not the best meal I had but the worst. One evening, we ate in a hotel. The waitstaff was small, so there were 30 of us and three of them. Everything was coming out in a rush. First, there was shrimp topped with a puddle of mayonnaise. It was so much mayonnaise that it was like mayonnaise pudding. Then came a hamburger that tasted like it had just come out of the microwave. I don’t want to complain, but that burger is seared into my memory. This one bad meal overshadows the rest of my culinary journey. I had haggis, black pudding, and a soup called Cullen Skink that might be the best soup I’ve ever had, while I could even now taste a microwaved hamburger that deserves to be forgotten. Why can I not forget about the burger? Why is it easier for me to remember the worst meal rather than the best? Along these same lines, Sara and I were at dinner with friends last summer. We talked about the opposite of pet-peeves. “We all know what little things drive us crazy. What about those little things that bring us joy? That’s the opposite of a pet-peeve.” Can you think of one? Or is it easier to think of what puts you on edge? What drives you nuts? What gets on your nerves? How far out of reach is satisfaction? Where is contentment? What can you do to find it? Is it easy for you to enjoy the trip, or are you quick to fixate on the food that was all wrong? Do you know that you love the feeling of leaves crunching under your feet? My wife, Sara, loves to crunch acorns while she walks. Once, a little girl told her that she was ruining those acorns for the squirrels who needed their shells intact, so they’d stay fresh through the winter. Sara doesn’t care. She loves the feeling of crunching them and says that this way, the squirrel can have an easy snack while he’s working on his winter stores. My point is simply this: There is great gain in godliness combined with contentment, and there is so much danger in fixating on what you don’t have, for the grass is not always greener on the other side, and those who can’t learn to find contentment will be on an eternal quest for more that never reaches satisfaction. Let our song be, “You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.” A story I love to tell is one about a woman who lost her husband. Her pastor came to visit a month or two after the funeral. From the look of the home, she had hardly left. The pall of grief hung over the place. Upon his arrival, this woman offered her pastor a glass of water. That was all she had because she hadn’t been out to buy groceries. What was the point? She led him out to the sunroom on the back of the house, which was different from every other room. While dust covered the living room and while dishes piled up in the kitchen, the sunroom was covered in sunlight, and blooming African violets covered every surface. She told him that she began growing them years before. Her husband’s mother taught her how. After the visit, she offered him one, which he accepted, but asked if he might deliver the violet to a man in the church newly widowed, whom he was on his way to visit. A week later, this newly widowed man wrote the woman a letter, thanking her for the violet, telling her that it was a bright spot during a dark time, which lifted this woman’s spirits so much that she took out her newspaper, read the obituaries, and sent an African violet to every person in the community who was mourning a loss. Step by step, violet by violet, her own broken heart was healed. She washed the dishes in the sink. She dusted the living room. She came back to life, for the way to satisfaction is taking what you need and giving the rest away. My friends, we live in a culture obsessed with more, and I’ve been the victim, thinking to myself that I’ll finally be happy when we can buy a bigger house, and a new car, and then maybe an investment property, yet if that were so then why would the rich man sing, “I can’t get no satisfaction?” I tell you, our culture has no idea where to find satisfaction. If you want happiness, true and abiding contentment, learn the discipline of keeping what you need while giving the rest away. Amen.

He Gave Himself as a Ransom for All, a sermon based on 1 Timothy 2: 1-7, preached on September 21, 2025

After spending 27 years in prison, Nelson Mandela was released. He’s quoted as saying, “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.” Hatred is at work in our nation, my friends. Hatred is at work in our world. I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it. What is there to be done about it? For a moment this morning, let us put the world outside of our minds to focus on what is going on in our hearts. If we are to follow the example of Jesus Christ, I remind you that there are two primary kinds of people according to the Bible: neighbors and enemies, and Jesus commands us to love them both. Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you, Jesus says, or risk remaining in a self-imposed prison of hatred, fear, and resentment. We’ve been singing since we were little that Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, and such love echoes throughout the ideals of our nation, and so we grew up saying: “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” How many times have you said it? I remember our daughter Lily, just three years old, proudly reciting those words that she learned in preschool. She’s now 16. How many times has she recited those words since then? Thousands of times, most likely. Every day it was for us that we said those words in school. One nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Then on Sunday, we sang, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.” That word “all” matters. The question I have for you today is this: When you say “all” do you really mean “all?” When you say “all,” do you subconsciously mean “most” or “some” or “a few?” When it comes to Jesus, we know that He really loved all people, and that He loved them to such a degree that it made scribes and Pharisees uncomfortable. Listen to this: Last Sunday, I was with several members of the choir who were on tour in Scotland. During a worship service last Sunday, they sang in a beautiful cathedral in a breathtaking city called Inverness. There, we heard this beautiful sermon preached by a retired priest, who focused on the Gospel reading for the day. His accent, his delivery, his interpretation of Scripture was Scottish, so he was speaking English, but I had to work to understand him. His words were familiar and new at the same time. As he preached from the Gospel lesson for last Sunday, the parables of the lost coin, the lost sheep, and the lost son, he referenced the Pharisees. You know how those parables start. The introduction to the parables goes: Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” The priest in Scotland said, “Pharisees are not the bad people in this passage of Scripture. Don’t read this introduction thinking that the Pharisees are the bad guys. Instead, notice that the bad guys are the ones whom Jesus is eating with.” Jesus ate with the bad guys. How could He eat with them? The enemies of our people? The ones who drive us crazy and disrespect decency? Yet when Jesus said all people, He really meant all. All those people who needed correction, He began with grace. All those people rejected for good reason, Jesus ate with them for He lived as though God wanted all people to be welcomed at God’s table. Such love can be offensive, but it is important. 1st Timothy, tradition tells us, was written by Paul the Apostle to young Timothy, who is working hard to understand and comprehend what it means to be a leader in the Christian Church. Paul writes to Timothy: God our savior, desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. That Christ Jesus, himself human, gave himself a ransom for all. When this Scripture lesson uses those words everyone and all, it means it. Likewise, we know that our country is built upon the virtue of liberty and justice for, not some, but all. Yet how often do we pray for all people? I know I’m supposed to, but I’m supposed to do all kinds of things that I don’t actually do. Are you the same way? I heard a story last week about a young Scottish minister, invited by a couple from the church to come and have dinner. The couple knew that their new minister didn’t receive much of a salary and so would likely be grateful for a free meal and a bit of warm hospitality. They polished the silver and laid out a linen tablecloth, yet when the meal was over they were missing one silver spoon. You can imagine the wife saying to her husband, “I knew he was poor, but stealing our silver is kind of desperate, isn’t it?” Over time, while they tried to forget about it, the missing spoon invaded her thoughts. She worried over it and how to confront the young pastor. What if he goes stealing from other people, and what of the money put in the offering plate? Does he just help himself to it? Finally, she spoke to her husband, and they decided to have him over for dinner again that at least the hard conversation would be had over a good meal. Perhaps that would soften the blow, so, “We’re missing a spoon,” they said after a couple glasses of wine. The pastor looked up, and said, “You haven’t found it? I left it inside your Bible.” Do not neglect the discipline of reading your Bible, for Scripture calls us to our higher virtues. Do not neglect the discipline of praying for your enemies, for in the words of that great Church Father, John Chrysostom, “No one can feel hatred towards those for whom he prays.” Do you pray for your enemies? Do you pray for those who persecute you? Do you pray for those with whom you disagree? Love your enemies, Jesus said, for we know what happens when people are willing to hate. My friends, the battle lines have been drawn. Hatred lurks around every corner, yet may the darkness of hatred be cast out of this church. May hatred be cast out of your hearts by the bright light of love. Read your Bible. Observe the discipline of praying for your enemies. Let your children and grandchildren hear you do it. Teach them how. Let it begin simply, with simple words: “Lord, we pray for our neighbors, both the Smiths, who gave us cookies, and the Bryans, who let their dog poop in our grass.” “Lord, I pray for my coworkers, even my boss who takes credit for my good ideas and the woman who ate a tuna fish sandwich at her desk and stunk up the whole office. Make me more patient. Prepare me for tomorrow.” “Bless my sister-in-law, even though she is judgmental. Heal my friend, even though her most likely diagnosis is being a hypochondriac.” “Wrestle from my mind the idea that I need to control and judge when You call me to love.” Pray for your enemies. Don’t shoot them. Don’t fire them. Don’t resent them. Don’t vilify them. Pray for them. Let the enemy you really worry about be the one turning you against your neighbor, for God, our Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer, is pulling us together, reconciling us to one another rather than urging us to declare war with the other side. In Scotland, just before the choir started singing at that Cathedral in Inverness, a woman went up to Dr. Jeffrey Meeks, asking with an American accent, “Are you really from Marietta, Georgia?” Her mother had just died, and her mother’s dying wish was for her remains to be laid to rest in Scotland, so this woman we met had brought her mother’s remains all the way to Scotland and laid her mother’s remains to rest near a waterfall in that town, Inverness, the same town where we were visiting. It was a long way for this woman to journey with her mother’s remains, and it was an amazing coincidence that we would be there singing because her mother was from Marietta, Georgia. She traveled from her home, then all the way to Scotland, and met us there, for my friends, God is pulling us together. Do not give in to the power of hatred, which pulls us apart. Will Myers, our Director of Communication, and I took a side trip to London to visit little Harriet whom we baptized two summers ago. You may remember that Harriet and her family worship with us on-line. They’ll likely worship with us today all the way over in London. We walked through the door of their house in London, and Harriet read me a psalm out of the Bible that this church gave her. She made a welcome banner, which hung in the kitchen. Her aunt made us so much food; it was like a Thanksgiving dinner-sized meal. Around the table, I said a blessing, giving thanks to God for pulling us together, and after dinner, Will took out his violin and played a concert in their kitchen. Harriet’s aunt cried at the table. She was moved to tears. I was moved as well. How could I not be? Despite all the miles that divide us, there we were, for God brings people together while the enemy tears us apart. My friends, there won’t be a separate section for the Baptists up in Heaven. Nor will there be separate sections for the Democrats and the Republicans. There will be no wall between those who have a Green Card and those who do not. Nor will there be a line to separate the saints from the sinners. Therefore, we had better start getting along together now. Pray for each other, especially your enemies. May love stretch you towards acceptance of difference and may love push you towards reconciliation. While hatred lurks in our world, may an end to the hatred begin with you. May it begin with me. Amen.

There's More Than Meets the Eye, a sermon based on Jeremiah 18: 1-11 and Philemon, preached on September 7, 2025

Up until his funeral last Thursday, I’d only really gotten to know Dr. Nelson Price from reading what he wrote in the Marietta Daily Journal, but reading what he wrote in the paper was one thing. Hearing the eulogies given by friends, colleagues, and family members was another that gave me a fuller appreciation for this man who served the Lord at Roswell Street Baptist Church for 35 years. My favorite was the first eulogy given by the Rev. Dr. Ike Richard of Piedmont Church and CEO of MUST Ministries. You may have read what he said; it was reprinted in the paper last Friday. Ike began his remarks saying, “Dr. Nelson Price called me on the darkest day of my life. On March 1, 1983, I watched my wife and my child die in front of me during childbirth at Piedmont Hospital in Atlanta. I have no earthly idea how he found out in so short a space of time, but he called me at the hospital, and he said these words to me, “Brother Ike, Cindy is now with the only One who loves her more than you do.” This is 2025, but when Ike told this story about a phone call he received in 1983 at the funeral of the man who took the time to call, the memory was fresh. The difference that call made to him was obvious. Are there phone calls or letters that you received at just the right time that you’ll always remember? Today, our Scripture lesson is a letter sent by Paul to a man named Philemon: a letter that meant so much to him that he never threw it out. If he hadn’t saved it, we wouldn’t have it to read today. While it’s now a book of the Bible, know what we’ve just read was a personal note written from Paul to Philemon about a man named Onesimus, who is the subject of the letter. It’s the well-being of Onesimus that gave Paul a reason to write. You see, Paul knew that Philemon saw Onesimus from one perspective, while Philemon saw Onesimus from another. Knowing that there’s always more than meets the eye when it comes to people, notice verse 11 and see that Paul viewed Onesimus as useful, while Philemon viewed Onesimus as useless. Philemon saw Onesimus as a useless runaway slave, a disobedient headache, while Paul saw Onesimus as his son, his own heart. This difference in perspective reminds me of something we mortal human beings often do. Despite our limited viewpoint, we sometimes mistake our opinion of a person for the truth about a person. Sometimes, we boldly believe that our narrow judgement has authority. We imagine that we know, yet when it comes to people, there is almost always more than meets the eye. Sometimes, parents learn that lesson the hard way at the parent teacher conference. I’ve been to parent teacher conferences where the teacher spoke so glowingly about my children, saying things like, “She’s a delight in class. She’s always smiling and following directions the first time I give them, so I never have to tell her twice.” “Teacher, maybe you’d like to see how she cleans her room after I’ve asked her to clean it four or five times.” You may have had the same experience. We all get so used to seeing people in the light we’ve always seen them in that we can’t see them for who they truly are. Philemon called Onesimus useless, yet Paul called him useful. Why? Maybe because Philemon knew him as his slave, his property, while Paul knew him as his son, his own heart. This is the way it often is. There’s always more to people than meets the eye, even if it’s your husband of 40 years that we’re talking about, or your children, or the guy who cuts your grass. Later today, I’m presenting research for my doctorate, but I still remember the sting of a woman’s words when I was her lawn maintenance man. I was bagging up grass clippings in the driveway of her Buckhead mansion, and I overheard her addressing her children, “Do you see what that man is doing? That’s why you go to college kids, so you don’t have to do that for a living.” I’d like to invite her to my graduation, but there’s no need for that, for while some people in this world may not see me clearly, God always does. God sees me and knows me. He is the Potter, and I am the clay. While I may have at times been nothing more than a lump, I know that God is at work in my life, shaping me towards my infinite potential. God is at work in your life, shaping you towards your infinite potential. God is at work in your neighbor’s life, shaping him towards his infinite potential, so don’t you dare limit him with your understanding of what he is capable of. Has anyone here ever been the victim of some narrowminded assumption? Who here has ever been damaged by a judgmental word? If you know how it hurts to be judged by someone else, then give up judging your neighbor. With all God’s people, there is always more than meets the eye. Take, for example, the crew I worked with cutting grass. In another life, one had been a ballroom dance instructor; another had been a dentist. The circumstances that led to them crossing the border and taking a job cutting grass were stories seldom heard. To many of those we worked for, we were hardly more than Onesimus was to Philemon. Immigrant is a derogatory word in the mouths of some people these days. It carries with it all sorts of misunderstanding and false assumption. Likewise, to Philemon, Onesimus was an enslaved man, useless and disobedient. However, Paul saw Onesimus as a beloved child of God, and so he wrote, “I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you,” and “I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love.” Paul doesn’t tell Philemon what to do or how to act. He doesn’t demand that Philemon set Onesimus free, but he does tell him how to decide what to do. In a time when slavery was legal, and Philemon had every right under the law to discipline Onesimus through corporal punishment; in a time when the law allowed for Philemon to sell him or have him thrown in prison, Paul writes to Philemon and to us, urging us to believe that the path to the right decision is informed by love. I appeal to you on the basis of love. Not on the basis of the law, but on the basis of love. While it may be that compassion and empathy sometimes need to be pushed aside by logic, reason, lucidity, and cold hard facts, Paul appeals to Philemon on the basis of love. While we live in a world of law and order, politics and policy, do not forget that ultimately, we will be judged by the only One who loves us more than those who love us most. Grant your neighbors the same grace that you have received in Christ Jesus our Lord, and may the world become a better place through your love. Amen.

Better with Age, a sermon based on Exodus 19: 16-19 and Hebrews 12: 18-29, preached on August 24, 2025

In both our Scripture lessons for this morning, we learn that Moses, a great hero of the faith, a symbol of faithfulness and dedication, was less than confident when he approached God high up on that mountain where he received the Ten Commandments. We read from the book of Exodus: Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet God. They took their stand at the foot of the mountain. Now Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke, because the Lord descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently. As the blast of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses would speak, and God would answer. Our second Scripture lesson alludes to this moment and tells us that as Moses approached God, he trembled with fear. Why wouldn’t he? After all, our God is, according to the book of Hebrews, “a consuming fire.” “A consuming fire,” that refines us so that our impurities go up in smoke. The work of a silver smith is one of refining. Do you know anything about how silver is refined? I’m glad because I want to tell you about it. Silver comes out of the ground full of impurities. You can’t make fine jewelry out of silver fresh from the ground. The impurities must be burned out of it. The silver ore is melted, and the heat of an intense fire burns the impurities so that what remains is pure silver. The silver refiner knows that the silver is finally pure when he looks into the melted silver and can see his reflection looking back at him. Now that’s refining, which is not the same as aging. Birth leads to childhood. Childhood to adolescence. Adolescence to adulthood. Adulthood to old age, but getting old is mandatory. Growing up is optional. Many people resist the whole process and would rather stay young. The comedian Lucille Ball said that the secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and to lie about your age. The continual process of refinement calls us to embrace hardship and to face challenges with courage until our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer looks at us and sees His own reflection looking back. I’m not sure that’s how our youth-obsessed culture thinks about aging. What do we know gets better with age? Wine? Whiskey? Cheese? People? I don’t know that many in our world today believe that people get better with age. If we believed that we could get better with age, we might not spend so much money trying to look young. In 2016, men and women in the United States spent a total of $16 billion dollars on cosmetic treatments to defy ageing. We spend that money because when our skin sags, we want to keep it tight. When our hairlines recede, we resist baldness. To avoid atrophy in our muscles and to maintain bone density, we exercise in weighted vests. When varicose veins appear or unsightly hairs spring out from chins, we do something about it. We pluck and dye. We diet and apply creams. But what if instead we were bold enough to believe that with age comes refinement? That aging makes us better. One of my favorite sayings about aging is that a child becomes a teenager when he can see that his parents are not perfect; a teenager becomes an adult when he forgives them; and an adult becomes wise when he forgives himself. That sounds like refinement. Which requires courage. When I was a pastor in Tennessee, I would often visit Mrs. Jean Love, who would get upset with me whenever I was late for our appointment. Once, she called me to visit because she wanted to plan her funeral. I asked why she wanted to plan with me her funeral when she wasn’t sick and was still living on her own, and she said, “Pastor, getting old is awful, but it’s so much worse if you’re afraid to look it in the eye.” There is so much in this life that I’ve been afraid to face. I’ve feared getting older. I’ve feared looking older, and some mornings I’ve even feared just looking in the mirror, but last Wednesday night I had to. Did you hear that last Wednesday night at the Glover Park Brewery there was a Joe Evans impersonation contest? I was nervous about it, for I feared looking in the mirror. How am I being perceived? When people dress like me, will I be ashamed of how I look? Matt Sitkowski was the winner. There was no question from our daughters, who served as the judges. Matt Sitkowski was the best. He wore a robe like the one I have on. He found some glasses that look like the glasses I’m wearing, and he started out his impersonation talking about growing tomatoes in the basement, which is something that I do, and how I grew the perfect tomato, but went upstairs to make a tomato sandwich, only the Duke’s Mayonnaise jar was empty. How many times have I mentioned Duke’s Mayonnaise? Several. Finding the jar empty, I was at first, “happy, and hungry, and hopeful,” yet the “jar was empty,” Matt said. It was like looking into a mirror only it didn’t make me self-conscious. I didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. I only felt thankful because this church, every year, is getting better and stronger and is reaching out into the community with a greater dedication for service, and if I have something to do with it, then I simply want to say, “Thanks be to God” because I just want to be useful. I just want to be found faithful. I just want to serve the One who created me, who sustains me, who gave His life for me, and for Him to look at me and see His image looking back. In this culture of isolation, narcissism, and selfish ambition, let us all get better with age, focused less on looking younger and more on the needy. Focused less on the car that we drive and more on the widow, the orphan, the immigrant, and the unhoused. This morning, if you were in Holland Hall, then you had the opportunity to get involved in something new: a new Bible study, a new fellowship group, a new way to serve the Lord in this community. If you missed it, it’s not too late: Just pick up one of these catalogs and find a new activity. I promise that every opportunity listed is more fulfilling that staying at home and watching the news, and each one provides the opportunity for you to get better with age because all these opportunities keep us focused on someone other than ourselves. Let us all be refined to love our God and our neighbor more deeply. There is a world outside our doors calling for us to pay attention. Let us shape and change this world as we are refined by the power of God. Amen.

So Great A Cloud of Witnesses, a sermon based on Hebrews 11: 29 - 12: 2, preached on August 17, 2025

The seminary where I was a student was attempting to build relationships with churches in Jacksonville, Florida. Along with four or five others, I was asked to represent the seminary. I had the idea that the development office asked their best and brightest to go on this trip to preach well, reflecting the quality of education at Columbia Theological Seminary, but as the congregation left the sanctuary after my sermon, one man asked me, “What year are you in the seminary?” Proudly, I said, “I’m in my third year, sir.” “Three years? Well, they should have taught you something better than that by now,” he said. I still hear his voice some days. Although, I also hear the voice of Jim Hodges. I’ve told you about him before. A picture of his thumb sits by my desk. He chaired the committee who interviewed and called me to my first church. After each sermon I preached, he’d give me a thumbs up, telling me I’d done well. As he lay dying in the hospital, he took a picture of his thumb and gave it to me so that I’d feel his encouragement even after he was gone. These two and many others whisper in my ear as I stare at the empty page attempting to write another sermon or nervously walk the steps into the pulpit. On the one hand are the critics and on the other, the encouragers. My confidence wavers between the two. If my hands are shaking as I walk into the pulpit, it’s because each Sunday morning, I ask myself the same questions: “Is this sermon any good?” Do I have a word to proclaim? Or am I still that seminary student waiting to learn something better than that sermon I preached in Jacksonville, Florida? Can anyone here relate to what I’m saying? When you step out in faith, which voices whisper in your ear? Is there one saying, “You can do anything” and another saying, “You’ll never amount to anything?” The voices from our past come sneaking back to our consciousness, and for some, the negative voices are the easiest to believe, yet I had a grandmother who thought I hung the moon. When I was 10 or 11, she got a hold of a picture of me in my baseball uniform, and she took it to the photo shop where they blew it up into a three foot by five foot baseball card. That I rarely got on base and mostly sat the bench was of little importance to her. In her eyes, I was going to the major leagues. Did you have a grandmother like that? My friends, there is a great cloud of witnesses cheering us on while we run this race. Can you hear them? A verse from our second Scripture lesson reads: Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us. I love those words. I appreciate the thought of sin as a weight we carry that we are invited to lay down. I love that image of a crowd of people who love us, who are cheering for us as we journey through the ups and downs of life on our way to glory. That image reminds me of a man I heard about who collects pictures of baseball players as they’re rounding third base after they hit a walk-off home run. Do you know what a walk-off home run is? A walk-off home run is the term used for a home run that wins the game. When a player hits a home run that wins the game, it’s traditional for his teammates to clear the bench and to gather around home plate to welcoming him as he seals the win. When asked why he collects these pictures, the man said, “It’s because that’s how I imagine it will be when we get to heaven.” That great cloud of witnesses, having cheered us through the ups and downs of life, will welcome us to our eternal home. Can you hear them cheering you on now? Do you listen to their voices? And are their voices loud enough to drown out the critics holding you back? Our second Scripture lesson mentions Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel, and the prophets. If you haven’t been to Sunday school in a while, you may not know all their names or all their stories. Let me just tell you what they all have in common: They all suffered but never lost faith in the Promise. The odds were against them, but God was on their side. They overcame hardship. They had faith amid despair. Even in times of conflict, they expected peace. They remained hopeful for the rising sun even though the night was long. Their lives pointed to Jesus, who is the Pioneer and Perfector of our faith. He faced the cross, disregarding its shame, and now sits at the right hand of God. In the last two weeks, three members of our church were added to their number in that great cloud of witnesses. Cam Jones died last week. When Cam Jones first visited our church after trying out several churches in the area, during the worship service, he looked at his wife, Darcy, and said, “This is the place.” Harry Vaughn died last week. When Harry was the greeter at the front doors of our church on Sunday mornings, he wore his best chartreuse blazer and seasonally-appropriate tie. The week before last, Bob Brown died. When Bob Brown was recovering from any of his age-related injuries or setbacks, his physical therapists would ask him, “What goal are you working for, Mr. Brown?” “I just want to get back to church.” My friends, they’ve joined that great cloud of witnesses, and when we get there, I look forward to hearing Cam say, “This is the place.” I look forward to Harry welcoming me through the pearly gates wearing that chartreuse blazer. I look forward to Bob telling me, “Getting here was worth working for, but you made it, not of your own strength. You made it by the grace of God.” Bob Brown died at the ripe old age of 98. He loved his country so much that he enlisted in the Navy. A few years later, he reenlisted in the Army. Then a couple years ago, he heard our choir sing a patriotic anthem during a Veterans Day event. Bob walked up to the lectern and declared, “I’m more than 90 years old, but after that, I’m ready to enlist a third time.” One bright morning, our battle will be over. When that day comes, you’ll be welcomed into the Kingdom by that great cloud of witnesses who have been cheering you on all the way through. Listen to them today. Learn to hear their voices, so that you might run without growing weary. Walk, but do not faint. Let us all run this race in faith until we make it to our eternal home. Amen.

Faith: the Assurance of Things Hoped For, the Conviction of Things Not Seen, a sermon based on Hebrews 11: 1-3, 8-16, preached on August 10, 2025

Faith is one of those elusive religious words that we use freely but which is difficult to nail down and define succinctly. That’s one reason I love the first verse of this Scripture lesson from the book of Hebrews: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith is something like saving for retirement in your 20’s. Do you remember what that was like? Some of you remember what it was like to start saving; others are starting now. I remember being in a meeting with a representative of the Board of Pensions for the Presbyterian Church. I was 25, and he was telling me to prepare now for being 65, which at the time seemed to have so little relevance to me because in that moment I didn’t have enough money to pay the bills that were past due. Why should I worry with bills that would come 40 years down the road? We plan for the future because the future is coming. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Aesop tells the story of the grasshopper who lived only for the day. It was Spring. Why worry about Winter? Yet the ants were filling their storeroom while the grasshopper was enjoying the sun. Winter is coming. Plan for what is not here yet. If you think about faith as something like saving for retirement, then more or less, you are acting on faith all the time. We good Presbyterians don’t just live for today. We’re always preparing for tomorrow. We are all convinced that what we see right here is not all that there will be. We know that change is the constant, so we live today with bright hope for tomorrow. We send our kids to school to prepare for careers that are far down the road. Faith isn’t so complicated a thing. You’re living this way all the time but remember that faith is on the one hand while fear is on the other. When you think about the future, are you acting in faith or out of fear? As you raise your children, which impulse guides your decisions? Listen to this passage from a classic chapter book that my mother read to me: Ramona’s day was off to a promising start for two reasons, both of which proved she was growing up. First of all, she had a loose tooth, a very loose tooth, a tooth that waggled back and forth with only a little help from her tongue. It was probably the loosest tooth in her whole class which meant that the tooth fairy would finally pay a visit to Ramona before long. But not only did Ramona have a loose tooth to make her feel that she was finally beginning to grow up, she was going to walk to school all by herself. Do you remember this book? Those Ramona books were popular years ago, but they’re showing their age now because the scene that I just described, it unfolds as Mrs. Quimby, Ramona’s mother, takes Ramona’s older sister, Beezus, to the dentist. With Mom taking Beezus to the dentist, little Ramona must wait in the kitchen by herself until it’s time to walk herself to school. Her mother tells her to wait in the kitchen watching the clock until it’s a quarter past 8. It’s not a digital clock she’s watching, but a clock with the hands moving around in a circle that some adults have a hard time reading. Mrs. Quimby tells Ramona to leave the house a quarter past 8. Ramona understand 8 but isn’t sure about how many minutes are in a quarter of an hour. She remembers that a quarter coin is worth 25 cents, so she leaves the kitchen at 8:25 when she should have left at 8:15. She misses the chance to walk with her friend Howie, who was waiting at 8:15 but went on to school without her. By the time Ramona left the house, the sidewalk was empty, the crossing guard had gone, and Ramona made it to Kindergarten late. That’s right. Kindergarten. My friends, I was still walking our girls to school into their 5th grade year because in our culture, it’s not just faith that guides our actions, it is also an overwhelming sense of fear, worry, and anxiety. I looked back at a sermon I preached on this passage in Hebrews that we’re focused on this morning from six years ago. In that sermon preached in 2019, I told you that I had just walked Lily to her first day of 5th grade, and I told you that I stood there waving as she walked into Westside Elementary, saying a silent prayer for her safety and her success. I was worried standing there, but I felt better because just before she made it into the school she turned around and waved back to me. It was a wonderful moment that warmed my heart until that afternoon. Lily came home from school and told Sara, “Mama, dad just stands there for so long when he drops me off at school. I finally had to wave him away. Go on to work, Dad. Please tell him to stop standing there for so long.” My point here is that faith is on the one hand while fear is on the other. The Bible speaks to this reality. The phrase “fear not” appears in some form 365 times in the Bible, once for every day of the year, because our lives as Christians must be defined, not by fear but by faith, and when I say faith, I’m not talking about your acceptance of doctrine or dogma. I’m not so worried about how well you’ve memorized and digested the essential tenants of the Creeds and Confessions. What I want is for you to walk out these doors every Sunday assured once again that the One who holds us in His hands is not going to let your foot slip. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for. The conviction of things not seen. What do you hope for? What have you not seen, but you dream of? I’ve been reading a book that Dr. John Knox wrote. In addition to being a long-time member of our church, John’s been working in the emergency room at Kennestone Hospital for years, and he wrote a book that you can buy on Amazon.com in which we follow the exploits of a surgeon operating on wounded soldiers fighting in the Civil War. It’s a gruesome account. Dr. Knox describes these surgeries, some of which we know took place in our Sanctuary after the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. Back then, there was so little that anyone could do for a gunshot wound other than cut off the whole leg or arm, whichever had been shot. The surgeon had to sand down the bone so it wouldn’t poke through the skin once the wound had been stitched closed. Reading this book helped me gain a new appreciation for the suffering of those boys who laid on the floor of our Sanctuary. Can you imagine what it would have been like to be among them? Moreover, could they have imagined what it’s like to be us? Could the 12 families who donated their savings so that our Sanctuary could be built back in 1850 have imagined this church as it is today? Moreover, can you imagine what it will be like to be a member of this church 50 years or 100 years from now? Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen, and the future is coming, but do you believe that tomorrow will be better than today? My friends, we all know that we are living in this 21st century, where the influence of the Church is waning, where faithfulness appears to be in short supply, but my greater concern is that in the absence of faith comes fear, and I see fear at work all over the place. Fear is making our minds closed rather than open to the promise. Fear is making our hearts small, rather than filled with compassion. Too many are living without knowing where we are going. Too few make wise decisions because they are so fearful for what lies ahead. Those articles covering the decline of Roswell Street Baptist Church have haunted my dreams. Have you seen them? A church that declined in membership from 9,000 to 450. My friends, such reports are staggering, but I’m not afraid today. I’m done with fear. The only way we’ll fail is if we give up. God is with us, working His purpose out. Our lives are defined not by fear but by faith, which is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen, so while you might look out on a world today marked by bloodshed and scarred by division, the future we are promised gives us reason to be ever hopeful. We are walking towards the Kingdom of God. Be convinced that love always wins, and that our God is working against injustice for the betterment of all His children. Scripture promises that we are moving towards a tomorrow that is brighter than all our yesterdays. Halleluia. Amen.

Mary and Martha, Followers of Jesus, a sermon based on Isaiah 64: 6-8 and Luke 10: 38-42, preached on July 20, 2025

It feels good to be back here. I’ve been gone for three weeks. During my time away, I completed a 117-page draft of my final project for my doctorate. I’ve been a student in the doctorate program at Columbia Theological Seminary since 2018. It’s about time I made some progress, considering how this program is meant to last three years, and I have been in it for seven. Thanks to this study leave, I’m well on my way. I’ll turn in my 117-page paper to my first and second reader in early September, editing between now and then. Should my advisors approve, I’ll defend my thesis in October. The defense is public. If you would like to attend what may turn into my execution, you are welcome, but seriously, several of you have asked about my progress and what I’ve been writing about. I’m honored by your interest, and I’m especially thankful for your support and encouragement. No one made me feel guilty for taking so much time off, which was very nice because not everyone gets the luxury of taking a break. Before I felt comfortable to take so much time off, I just floated the idea to the Clerk of Session, Lisa Fanto-Swain, and Susan Palacios, my executive assistant. I nervously mentioned taking three weeks off, and in response, they said things like, “It’s about time” and “Of course you should. Stay away from here and finish your degree.” That was so good to hear because like you, I live in this world of tremendous pressure to keep going and to keep doing. It’s hard to give myself permission to stop. To get focused. To walk away from busyness to prioritize, but they encouraged me to do it, and so I did. I took three weeks off, wrote 117 pages, then I came back here last Monday, and sitting on my desk was a thank-you note from Denise Lobodinski: a thank-you note that said, “You taking a break to focus on something important gives us permission to take a break.” My friends, I did not expect this result and neither did Martha. We are now on the eighth Sunday of another summer sermon series. For the last several years, your pastors have focused on something special for the summer, a theme or a particular book of the Bible. This summer, we’ve been focused on followers of Jesus, be it John Mark who was our focus last Sunday, or the women of the Gospels from the Sunday before. (I loved how Cassie said that we might think of some of them as the real housewives of Jerusalem). One of the many benefits of me being gone was that my absence gave other members of the staff the opportunity to step forward. Pastors who don’t often preach had the chance. Church Administrator, Melissa Ricketts, was the acting head of staff. Some might say that Melissa is always the one who really runs the church, but while I was gone, it was official. My point is that in a world of busyness and activity and anxiety over what must be done next, I ask you this morning to take a lesson from Mary and Martha. Martha was busy. We are all busy. Notice that Jesus said, “Mary chose the better part.” Why would Jesus say that? It’s important for us to understand what He means, for we live in a world of doing; however, we were created to be human beings, not human doings. Why do we try to do so much? Why attempt to do two things while achieving neither? I can’t listen while looking at my phone, but I keep thinking I can. Multitasking is an illusion for most of us, so we must stop doing to worship the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Does the need to do ever keeping you from the most important part? It happens all the time with funerals. In the Gospel of John, Mary and Martha’s brother dies. Before Jesus raises him from the dead, there must have been a funeral. The funeral is not described, but I can picture it. I can picture Martha busy, and I can see Mary crying, and if Mary was crying at the funeral then she chose the better part because while there is so much to do in the wake of death, while there are so many details to attend to, it’s possible to take refuge in the details to avoid the point of the funeral. The point of the funeral is grieving and receiving comfort from friends and family. Yet Martha stayed so busy attending to the details that she wouldn’t stop to let anyone comfort her. No. When she finally let herself fall apart, no one was around for her to lean on. My friends, it is good sometimes to be busy, but you also must stop to weep. If you never stop to weep then you will never receive the comfort of a community. That’s why Jesus said, “Mary chose the better part.” We must stop trying to do everything in order to slow down and do the one thing. Otherwise, we’re just spinning our wheels. It says that, more or less, right in the Bible. Take out your Bible and look up our second Scripture lesson because I want you to notice something. Look on page 844, the page right before our second Scripture lesson, and notice that the Parable of the Good Samaritan is followed by the story of Mary and Martha. Why would the Gospel writer place them side-by-side? It’s because this message of Jesus is so important that he gives us the same lesson twice in the hopes that it will sink in. The message of the Good Samaritan simplified is this: In a world of tragedy, where there are so many bodies lying by the side of the road, stop to help just one. Do good to just one. Put aside doing everything and caring about everything. You can’t help them all. You can’t stop the Texas dam from breaking. You can’t bring peace to the Middle East. But if you see a child crying, slow down. If your friend is in pain, take time to listen. Notice the pain of the people in your neighborhood. Don’t waste your empathy on problems you can’t do anything about when you have the power to do something good for somebody today. In our world, I wonder if the devil wants us overwhelmed by tragedy that we give up hope and so distracted by all that needs doing that we never do anything to make a difference. Jesus says, “Mary has chosen the most important part.” Listen to what Jesus asks us to do: Give the thirsty a cup of water, give the hungry a meal to eat, visit the isolated in jail and in the hospital, don’t be overcome by evil. Overcome evil with good, and if you start to feel like you’re ready to give up, slow down and remember the words to the hymn: My Shepherd will supply my need, and his name is Jehovah, not Martha. Do you know a Martha? I knew a Martha who went to visit the Vatican, and someone asked about her visit saying, “Did you get the Pope straightened out?” My friends, there is work for us to do. There is a calling on your life, but sometimes you must stop to remember that while something needs doing, you were not called to do everything. Do something, but if you try to do everything, you never will. Don’t try to save the world, for the world already has a Savior. While I was out, I went to the optometrist because I can be one of those people who thinks he’s too busy to go to the doctor. It’s ridiculous. I know that, so I went to the optometrist. I hadn’t been for two years. He was updating my prescription, and he asked me if I ever used optometry as a metaphor in my sermons. I was like, “Who does this guy think he is?” He said, “Sometimes, all you need to do to see clearly is to change your lens.” When you look out on the world and see all the problems, do you use the lens of “I’ve got to do something about that,” or do you say to yourself, “Thanks be to God who is working His purpose out?” I was gone for three weeks, and for those three weeks, I had to write a paper, but I wrote about the good that God has done in this place. I reflected on what’s changed because of the pandemic. God was doing a new thing in 2020, so we came out of the pandemic a different church from the one who went into it. Before the pandemic, we didn’t have the Pantry on Church feeding 400 families. Before the pandemic, we had no presence in the Cobb County Jail, but just last month we distributed 432 Bibles and helped the men and women there check out 450 books. Did you know that we run the jail library now? It’s true. That wasn’t happening before the pandemic, and that it’s happening now helps me to realize that even in a moment when we were all stuck at home quarantined, God was at work. Just because we didn’t do it, that doesn’t mean that nothing got done. That’s the lesson Mary teaches. Her story helps to teach a bunch of Martha’s like us to stop and watch as the Potter shapes this broken world by the power of His hand. Slow down long enough to notice that, while we are called to serve, we are simply joining God, the Potter, who is always at work shaping and changing creation, “making all things new.” Halleluia. Amen.

The Ethiopian Eunuch: A Follower of Jesus, a sermon based on Acts 8: 26-39, preached on June 22, 2025

Friends, today is the fourth Sunday in our summer sermon series. Each sermon this summer is focused on a particular follower of Jesus, and today I call your attention to the Ethiopian eunuch. The Ethiopian eunuch is not named in our Bible. He’s only described, and there is a significant quality of his that has nothing to do with his being Ethiopian, which I’ll simply allude to without going into detail. Should you be wondering, “Now what exactly is a eunuch?” I’ll echo the response my Sunday school teacher, Dr. Ken Farrar, gave when I was 8 or 9 and asked him about circumcision. “That’s a question you’re going to have to ask your father.” Without getting into the specifics, let me say that being a eunuch made this man neither a social outcast nor a social insider, which might be the loneliest place of all. He was on the fringes of two worlds, fully accepted by neither. On the one hand, he operated in the world of wealth and privilege. He worked among the polite and the powerful, and yet he had no family, and he would leave no heirs. He was respected, but people made jokes about him behind his back. He was wealthy but had no one to share his wealth with. He was powerful but lonely. He was an insider and an outsider. He owned his own chariot, had made the journey from Ethiopia to Jerusalem, and was now on the way back. We read in our second Scripture lesson that this was no business trip, for he went to Jerusalem to worship. He didn’t write the travel expenses off to his business account but paid out of his own pocket. Remember that it took the Israelites 40 years to travel from Egypt to the Holy Land, and that was only one way. How many horses did he have to own to pull that chariot from Ethiopia to Jerusalem and back? The long journey points to his desire to know God and to his substantial wealth, but he could afford it. He just didn’t have anyone to travel with, so Philip found him as he was sitting alone, reading his own copy of the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah. Today, Bibles are not expensive. Members of our church give out hundreds of them in the Cobb County Jail each year. The Gideons have given out 2.5 billion Bibles worldwide, yet there was a time when Scripture was so rare that an entire synagogue might only own two or three books of the Bible written on scrolls and locked up in a cabinet so that no one could steal them. To own his own scroll of the book of Isaiah was rare. It points again to his desire to know God and to his wealth, and so I imagine that when he walked into Jerusalem, as a wealthy representative of the Queen of Ethiopia, he was shown into the shops where scrolls could be bought. Surely, the scribe who sold him his scroll treated him the same way that the salesperson at the car dealership treats the man waving around an Amex Centurion Card looking to buy a Bentley. “Yes, sir, right this way. Can I get you a coffee, sir?” “Would you like that scroll gift-wrapped?” Yet the minute the Eunuch said, “I am here to worship. May I go into the Temple?” he would have run right into verses like Deuteronomy 23:1 or Leviticus 21:23. Look one of those up. I’m not going to read them. Not every verse of the Bible should be read in polite company. Just know that this man who traveled to Jerusalem to worship, who spent a considerable sum so that he might own his own scroll of the prophet Isaiah, was not allowed into the Temple, for he was wealthy but also considered impure and unworthy. He was invited into the community, but only so far. He was permitted to explore his faith, yet, left to linger in his heart was the feeling that there was something wrong with him. I imagine that someone in here knows what it would have felt like to be the Ethiopian eunuch, for the Church still causes people the feel this way. I’ve told you before the story of Flora Speed, who, with her four children, walked into this Sanctuary the first Sunday her husband, Jim, was to preach from this pulpit as the new Senior Pastor at First Presbyterian Church. They were dressed to make a good first impression. They were surely nervous and excited, for it was their first Sunday in their new church. They walked right into this Sanctuary and took a seat on the fourth pew from the front, which they found out was where someone else always sat, for this someone stood at the end of the pew and said, “You all are sitting in my seat.” After that show of hospitality, they walked up to the balcony and never came back down, for while all are welcome here, not all are made to feel welcome. There are all kinds of ways that the children of God are made to feel as though they would not be at home in God’s house. So it was for the Ethiopian eunuch, and so it is for all kinds of people in all kinds of churches every Sunday morning, even here. The good thing about being in this Sanctuary for the summer is that at 11:00, we nearly fill this room up. The bad thing is that those who walk in from the back can’t tell that there are plenty of seats up front or in the balcony. At 11:00 on a Sunday morning, from the back it looks like the school bus scene in Forrest Gump. “Can’t sit here.” Remember that? No one here would ever say that. I’m just talking about the way it feels walking into the back of a room where back pews fill up first, as though everyone feared sitting too close to the preacher. I get self-conscious about the back pews filling up first. It makes me worry about what people are saying about me out on the street. Is it because I yell? I do yell. I only whisper to my children when I want them to fall asleep. I don’t want you falling asleep. I want you awake to the reality that people walk into this Sanctuary looking for love and acceptance, hoping to encounter God, and trying to figure their faith out. Unless they’re welcomed in, unless y’all make some room for them in your pew, unless you make them feel at home in God’s house, they may wander back out that door with the words of Mahatma Gandhi ringing in their ears, “I like the sound of their Christ, but I’m not so sure about those Christians.” After trying to worship God in Jerusalem, the Ethiopian eunuch left that city and was on his way back home when Philip found him sitting in that chariot, reading the scroll of Isaiah with his head full of questions, asking “How can I follow Jesus unless someone guides me?” That’s what the Ethiopian eunuch says to Philip, and this is where I admire his faith. Rather than walk away, this man kept seeking Jesus, asking, “Might Jesus know what it’s like to suffer?” Might Jesus know what it’s like to be a lamb silent before its shearer? Might Jesus know what is like to have justice denied? Might Jesus know what it’s like to be me? Now I want to stop right there and ask you to think about that because in the 21st century, there are all kinds of reasons given by all kinds of people not to come to church on a Sunday morning. Many people feel rejected as the Ethiopian eunuch did. Many feel left out, or only half included. Sometimes, that’s my fault. Folks wander out from the fold quietly, which I hate. Far better is to speak up. Silence can be bad. I’ve just bought an electric car. It’s a Nissan Leaf. The biggest challenge I’ve faced in owning an electric car is that it’s so quiet, more than once I’ve walked away while it was still running. I’m not kidding. Just last Sunday morning, I pulled into my parking space in the west lot across the bridge, talked to Parker Gilbert, who was out walking around, got out of my car, started walking towards the church, and couldn’t figure out why my headlights were still on. It was because my car was still running, but it made no sound. How many people have been hurt by the Church, but suffer in silence? We would pay attention, I would pay attention, but unlike the Ethiopian eunuch, they’re not boldly asking the questions. They’ve already given up or they’re waiting for us to prove to them that we care enough to listen, which some among us are bold enough to do. It happened just last Tuesday. Hundreds of cars were lined up for our food pantry. Each week, hundreds of families drive through our parking lots to get a box of food, diapers, and dog food. Our volunteers even hand them a prayer card. They can write on that card their prayer request with the assurance that we’ll pray for them. Last Tuesday, one woman in the line took the card from one of our volunteers and said, “Knowing that you’ll pray for me matters more to me than the food.” When you think about people who aren’t in church this morning, I want you to know that some of them just love baseball more than church right now. They think their kids are going to play for the Braves or something. Don’t worry about them; they’ll be back when they finally realize their kid isn’t Dansby Swanson. But there are a whole lot of people outside the walls of this church this morning because someone at some time made them feel as though they weren’t good enough to sit in here. The Ethiopian eunuch dared to question that feeling. Might Jesus know what it’s like to be me? And what is to prevent me from being baptized? The answer to that question: nothing. Nothing would have prevented him from being baptized, so don’t you dare stand in his way, for we know that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Theophilus: A Follower of Jesus, a sermon based on Acts 1: 1-11 preached on June 1, 2025

Back in Columbia, Tennessee, where we lived before moving to Marietta in 2017, older men were notoriously witty, if a little morbid. “How are you this morning?” I’d ask. “Glad to be upright,” some would reply. Around here, Greg Brisco of Mayes Ward Dobbins Funeral Home will often say, “Better to be seen than viewed.” My favorite from Tennessee was, “I’m doing great. This morning, I opened the paper and didn’t see my obituary.” In 1888, an obituary for Alfred Nobel was published by mistake. It was his brother who died, but there in the newspaper was Alfred’s name, his picture, and his date of death, but what most disturbed Alfred Nobel was that his obituary referred to him as a merchant of death. Making his living selling explosives, according to the obituary, Nobel “made it possible to kill more people more quickly than anyone else who had ever lived.” Disturbed to learn how he would be remembered, upon reading this obituary and still being alive, Nobel determined to live in such a way that his obituary would need to be rewritten. Therefore, today, rather than dynamite, when I mention the name Alfred Nobel, you likely think of a prize given to those who contribute to peace, and his story illustrates the power of considering the legacy that we will leave behind while we still have time to do something about it. This morning, I ask you to consider the legacy that you will leave behind, specifically by learning from those who sponsored, funded, subsidized, and underwrote the great awards given, the works of art we see in museums, the theaters that celebrate music and drama, and the literature that we enjoy. You may not know who the 3rd Earl of Southampton was, but without him, we may never have heard of William Shakespeare, for the 3rd Earl of Southampton subsidized the meager salary c earned as a poet and a playwright. Andrew Carnegie made his fortune in steel, yet he gave so much of his money away that his contributions led to the creation of over 2,800 libraries. Because of Dolly Parton, our daughters received a book in the mail every month until they turned five, along with every other child in the state of Tennessee. I add to this list of great philanthropists one name from our second Scripture lesson: Theophilus. Each Sunday this summer, we will focus on a specific follower of Jesus from Scripture. As we follow Jesus in the 21st century, there are lessons for us to learn from the first followers of Jesus, and today I ask you to consider one who caused the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts to be written: Theophilus. We just read: In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven. Who was this man, and why is he mentioned? He didn’t write Luke and Acts. He wasn’t the one who gathered the account of Christ’s birth, researched His genealogy, was an eyewitness to His miracles, or recorded His parables. Theophilus was the one who gave the author the resources to do it. Now, it’s not often that the one who funds the project is remembered, and so while several of the letters in our new testament are addressed to particular people, only Theophilus is listed as a book’s benefactor. That makes sense. Often, we forget that what we have was paid for by somebody. Sick people on the way to surgery at Kennestone hospital don’t slow down to notice the historical plaques that list the names of donors. We don’t know the names of those who donated the $7,000 that enabled our community to break ground on Marietta High School back in 1886. This Sanctuary was built by human hands, but we don’t know the names of the masons, and though we do know the names of the 12 families who funded the construction of this Sanctuary, their names are all listed on a plaque that I often walk by without giving it a second look, for we go on living, often too busy to slow down and consider those who laid the foundation that we have built our lives upon. We sing out of hymnals that someone bought for us. We read out of Bibles donated by one of my 3rd grade Sunday school teachers, though I hesitate to call her name, for the great benefactors don’t give for recognition. They don’t give in the hopes of being celebrated or seeing their names in lights. We read right past the name, “Theophilus,” without a second thought, and I imagine that this is the way he would have wanted it because he didn’t sponsor the author of the book of Acts in the hope of recognition. He sponsored the book of Acts because he wanted to know Jesus. Think with me about Theophilus this morning, not just because his generosity has given us the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts. Think with me about Theophilus because he wanted to know who Jesus was. He wanted to know, and so he paid someone to go and find out. Maybe he was searching for something. Maybe there was a hole in his heart, an emptiness that couldn’t be filled with a better palace or a faster chariot, and he hoped that this Jesus he kept hearing about would provide him the secret to abundant life. My friends, I’ve been watching a new show on Apple TV. Until Ted Lasso season four comes out, I’m not sure exactly what to watch, so I’ve been watching this TV show with that handsome guy from Mad Men. The new show he’s in is called Your Friends and Neighbors. I’m not recommending that you watch it. It’s not an uplifting or spiritually nurturing show. It’s about a man who lives in a neighborhood of mansions, who drives a car worth $200,000, who had a family and a wife, then lost everything. Finding himself unemployed and too proud to sell his assets, he resorts to stealing expensive watches from his friends and pawning them to a pawn shop owner who won’t ask too many questions. Some of these watches that he steals cost $300,000. And all they do is tell time, which is a limited resource. No matter how fancy the watch we can afford, no amount of riches can buy us any more time. No matter how much you have, the clock is still ticking. How do you want to be remembered? When it comes to Theophilus, who we know was a wealthy citizen in the Roman Empire, I imagine that one Sunday morning, he got out of bed. His wife had already gone to church. The house was empty, and he walked down the driveway to collect his copy of the Rome Daily Journal. I can see him spoon another mouthful of Ceaser Flakes into his mouth as he saw his obituary there printed by mistake and didn’t like what it had to say. Some have said that Theophilus was the secret name of the Roman Emperor’s cousin, Flavius, whose wife, Domitilla, was an early follower of Jesus. They lived during the rule of Emperor Domitian, a time when every misfortune the empire faced was blamed on the Chrisitan community, and we know that eventually Flavius was executed. His wife, Domitilla, was banished. Might they be the ones we have to thank for the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts? Should Theophilus be a pseudonym for Flavius, then by funding this book of Acts that we now read, he risked his life. Or did he find it? What I’m trying to say is that money can’t fill the hole in our hearts that Jesus was meant to fill. Thinking only of ourselves can’t fill the hole in our hearts that only service can fill. Having a lot of everything will never get anyone out of bed in the morning the way that living your life for a higher purpose will, so as Theophilus died, I imagine that he was thinking to himself, “It cost me a little something to finance those books, but thanks be to God I now know that my death is not the end of my story, for the One who came to earth to save me also ascended into Heaven, and so will I.” My friends, right now, there are people shopping at Home Depot, spending hundreds of dollars on plants to put out in their yard. Right now, some are boating out on Lake Allatoona, and I’m happy for them, but I wonder if they know that unless they learn to serve the Lord with their lives, that unless they find a meaningful use for their treasure, then something will always be missing. I don’t want my obituary to read, “Joe Evans sure had a pretty front yard.” I don’t want it to read, “He sure had a nice boat.” I want to leave a legacy that blesses the generations who will follow me, and from the example of Theophilus, I know that it is better to live and to have died for something that matters than to fade off into the sunset counting the minutes as they pass on a $300,000 watch. Thanks be to God for Theophilus. May we all follow Jesus as he did. Amen.

The City of God, a sermon based on Genesis 2: 4b-9 and Revelation 21: 1-6, preached on May 18, 2025

Our Bible begins in the garden, but it ends in a city. According to the book of Revelation, when we come to our end, we will be welcomed into a holy city, the new Jerusalem, the City of God. In that place, death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more. Jesus tells us that in that city, there is a mansion with many rooms. There will be a room for me and a room for you, and when we get there, we won’t have to worry anymore about cancer or poverty, death or taxes, crime or inflation. We won’t spend time worrying about when the next shoe is going to drop, for God will be with us, making all things right and all things new. This is the promise of Scripture, that some bright morning, when this life is over, I’ll fly away, to that home on God’s celestial shore, where joys will never end. We anticipate that day, not with fear, but with faith. We live as those expecting the world to be put together perfectly. We are not the kind of people who fear that the world will go to hell in a handbasket, for we know that the day is coming when sin will be no more. In that city, our God will heal what’s broken. We will be so filled with the love of God that there will be no more room in our hearts for selfishness or greed. We will be made new, as our God puts right all that’s gone wrong. My friends, Scripture promises, the book of Revelation promises, that this fallen world will be made new, yet Christians have never been satisfied just waiting for that to happen. For 2,000 years, Christians in every nation under heaven, while taking heart in the promise of what is to come, have worked to make this world cloaked in shadow just a little brighter. We are called to be healers of the breach. We are called to be a balm for a wounded world, to be salt and light. We were created to be a blessing to the nations. While we wait for justice to come rolling down, we also work for justice. While we wait expectantly for redemption to come, we’ve also built schools, hospitals, and orphanages. Some even went so far as to leave their homes behind in the hope of creating a more perfect union built on the love of God and the love of neighbor. In 1630, Rev. John Winthrop preached a sermon in a boat among fellow settlers just before they reached the Massachusetts Bay Colony. In that sermon, he called their new colony to be “as a city upon a hill. A light to the nations,” and I’m not going to say that those colonists achieved their goal of bringing heaven to earth, but they didn’t sit around waiting for this world to get better all on its own. They got to work. They stepped out in faith. They tried to start a new country that was built differently than their old one. They attempted to create a new nation defined by decency and order, mercy and justice. They longed for a nation where the politicians were honorable, where hard work was rewarded with a fair wage, and no one went into debt after buying a week’s worth of groceries. My friends, in so many ways, we are living in a blessed city. We live in a place that often seems to me to be pretty close to Mayberry, or to the bar in Cheers. Marietta can feel like a place where everybody knows your name. For example, last week, I walked into a restaurant on the Square for lunch, and at a booth in the back was a table. Nearly every woman seated there to celebrate a birthday, I knew by name. One was a former teacher at the elementary school I attended. Others were members of this church. After greeting them, I joined the pastors of First Baptist Church and Zion Baptist Church and the director of Mayes Ward Funeral home for lunch to discuss the future of our parking lots. The waitress came and introduced herself. Rev. Brandon Owen of First Baptist Church invited her to his church because that’s what Baptists do, but notice that we all had lunch together because that’s what pastors in this town do. I give thanks to God for such a close-knit community. I’m so thankful that we live in a town where the pastors of the churches don’t compete with one another, but work together for the common good, and yet, there are newlywed members of this church who are trying to buy a house in which to raise their family, and they can’t afford much closer than Acworth. Our city’s elementary schools offer food pantries because so many of their students live in homes where the cupboards are bare. Too many of them have no address, for they live out of their cars. Too many of them have parents who work but can’t make ends meet. We live in a society of wealth and poverty. Some have savings accounts and others are drowning in debt. On the one hand, I think of Marietta, Georgia as a city on a hill, a bright light in a world of shadow; however, we are not yet the community that God calls us to be. My friends, the call of God is not to wait until we make it to those Pearly Gates to live in a city of justice and peace, but to walk towards such a reality today. Now, maybe you’re thinking: What can I do about the brokenness and injustice of our world? I think that way sometimes. Last week, I had breakfast with a representative of the Presbyterian Foundation. The Presbyterian Foundation is this big, well-funded organization responsible for managing the endowment entrusted to the Presbyterian Church. Because they have so much money, I asked the representative if she thought the Presbyterian Foundation would get our denomination moving in the right direction again, and she looked at me and asked, “Why are you waiting for us, when the light of Jesus Christ is shining in you?” Why are you waiting for something to come along to make a change in this world when the light shines so brightly in you? My friends, don’t wait for someone else to do what you are more than capable of doing. The light shines in you, so reach out your hands in love to your neighbor. Walk into the jail. Visit the sick. Use the gifts you’ve been given to the glory of the Lord. When you do, you make our community a little more like the City of God. Amen.

The Lord is My Shepherd, a sermon based on Psalm 23 and Revelation 7: 9-17, preached on May 11, 2025

Mother’s Day is today, and I’m celebrating because our daughters have received the great gift of a wonderful mother. My wife, Sara, is a particularly wonderful mother. Among other things like feeding them, paying attention to their grades, and taking them to the doctor, when our girls need her to hold them, she holds them, and when they need her to let them go, she lets go. Think about that skill with me for just a moment. When we hold onto our children too closely, we call it coddling. When we push them out of the nest too early, we may break them. When we dropped Lily off at Kindergarten, she was ready, and Sara was excited. Sara could see how excited Lily was to go to school, so she celebrated with her little girl. She cheered her on in taking that step of independence into her Kindergarten classroom, while I, soon after dropping Lily off, cried in the car. Likewise, as Lily passed her driver’s test and drove off into the world on her own, Lily was happy. Sara was happy with Lily, while once again, I cried, only this time it wasn’t the car, because now my car is Lily’s car. I cried in the house instead of crying in the car, and I cried because I felt like I was losing our little girl, while Sara was proud and excited, for motherhood is, at its best, the mastery of two movements which are at odds with each other. A mother holds her baby close to her chest and then encourages her to fly. Today, on Mother’s Day, I’m focused on flying and those who have nudged us out of the nest. This movement begins as soon as the umbilical cord is cut. From the moment that cord is cut, babies are learning to move out into the world. They roll over, learn to crawl, stand up, and start to walk. From walking, they run, and the best mothers cheer for them. The best mothers nudge their chicks out into the big scary world, which becomes a little less scary the more we trust the community to watch out for them. How wonderful that there would be a baptism today, for in baptism, mothers are reminded that they are not their children’s lone caregiver. In the Presbyterian church, the baptism is a public event. It takes place during the worship service so that the parents can hear the congregation promise to help them raise their child. In every Presbyterian baptism, the congregation is asked two questions: “Do we, the people of this congregation, receive this child into the life of the church?” and “Will we promise, through prayer and example, to support and encourage her to be faithful in Christian discipleship?” We Presbyterians can’t have private baptisms because the parents must hear the congregation say: “We do,” and “We will.” Parents need to know that their baptized child has this incredible advantage of community. Not only is there mom, but there is also a congregation, so faith, for us, is not the promise of an easy life without trial. Faith, for us, is instead the promise that amid all the trial and tribulation, we are not alone. There is a community, both human and divine, for our fellowship includes the Good Shepherd, who promises, not to watch from a distance from the clouds up in Heaven, but to walk with us, leading us beside the still waters from green pasture to green pasture. The Presbyterian church continues in this celebration of relationships with the wedding liturgy. I’ve had the honor of officiating many weddings, maybe 200 weddings. The most memorable include one with a medieval theme held at a botanical garden that started one hour late because the mother of the groom was making all the dresses but hadn’t finished in time, so the groomsmen were killing time, just wandering around the botanical garden with swords on their belts. They scared a few people with those swords, although the most terrified of all was the father of the bride. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He didn’t. Still, I’ll never forget that wedding. Another wedding I’ll always remember is the wedding of my wife’s sister. Sara’s sister Ami married a Methodist minister, so my wife, Sara, and her sister Ami both married protestant ministers, which is ironic because they were raised Roman Catholic. The Rev. Lyn Pace, my brother in-law, is a chaplain at Duke University. The two of us arm wrestle over who will pray at Thanksgiving. My daughters, Lily and Cece, will have the option of their uncle or their father to officiate at their weddings. I’m thankful for the honor of officiating their Uncle Lyn’s wedding, both the first and the second time he married Sara’s sister Ami. Upon their engagement, Lyn and Ami set their wedding date and put the invitations in the mail. Then Lyn’s father got sick. When his father’s death seemed eminent, Lyn and Ami asked me to officiate a small wedding service, just family, so that, should Lyn’s father die before the publicized wedding date, he wouldn’t miss the chance to see his son marry the love of his life. The small, family wedding was beautiful. A picture of Lyn’s father giving his blessing to his son on that day is etched in my memory, but the invitations had gone out. The original date had not been canceled. On the day their guests showed up, I asked them, “If they’re already married, what are we doing here?” “We are here because they need your love and support,” I said. Then I asked the congregation: “Do all of you promise to uphold this couple in their marriage and strengthen them in their life together?” This is an important question that is asked at every Presbyterian wedding, for like the congregation at the baptism, the guests at the wedding are not there just for the open bar at the reception, but are a group of people who create a community of love to support and encourage newlyweds as they step out into the world together, making our big scary world just a little less scary. In addition to the people is a Shepherd who promises, not to watch from a distance from the clouds up in Heaven, but to walk with us, leading us beside the still waters from green pasture and even through the valley of the shadow of death. Do not fear for He is with you. Think with me this morning about what it means that our Bible would again and again use this image of a shepherd to describe who Jesus is, for what does a shepherd do? If we are His flock, and if the Lord is my Shepherd, then what does a shepherd do but help me move from where I was or am to where I will be? On this Mother’s Day, think with me about the ones who held our hands while we learned to walk, but in helping us to walk, enabled us to move from one stage to another. Those stages continue on far past childhood and adolescence. The young look forward to turning 16 so they can drive. Then 21. Then, we stop looking forward to the next birthdays, yet the stages continue. We move from one pasture to the next one until we reach the final destination. Be not afraid, for you are not on this journey alone. The road is not easy, but He will not let your foot slip. Think with me about that gentle Shepherd who leads us to lie down in the green pastures, beside the still waters, and through the darkest valley because we were not created to settle in and make our permanent residence until we stand before the throne of God. My friends, we are pilgrims in a foreign land. We are on a journey to our final destination. We travel through this mortal life. Do not be afraid. Do not get stuck where you are, for our journey through life requires we move from our mother’s arms out into the world. Yes, we may get hurt along the way, and yes, we may not all make it from adolescence to adulthood. From early adulthood to middle age. From middle age to retirement. From retirement to that age when we are not testing to receive our driver’s license but testing to determine when we must relinquish it. We are on a journey from one pasture to the next. It’s not easy to keep moving, so I implore you: Trust the Shepherd who guides us to our final destination. Do not neglect your relationship with Him. Learn to hear His voice. Learn to trust Him. Learn to follow. For until we stand before the throne, we cannot settle in. We are on a journey of maturing, a journey of rising, a journey of falling, a journey of learning and understanding, rejoicing and weeping, winning and losing that will be far too terrifying to embark upon if we do not trust the One who leads us. Follow Him until you stand before the throne of our Creator and hear that loud voice saying, “Salvation belongs to our God.” Trust Him, until He wipes every tear from your eyes. Last week, I was back on the Presbyterian College campus because now I’ve been graduated long enough to be considered wise and experienced, wise and experienced enough to instruct recent graduates in how to be a Presbyterian minister. It was a gift to be there, for that was the place I first fell in love with a young woman, who was raised Roman Catholic who has now become my wife and the mother of my children. While I was there, I saw two of my professors, who now live at the Presbyterian Village Retirement Community. They did not resist retirement. They did not fight it but embraced the journey because they trust the Shepherd and know where He is leading them. The Lord is my Shepherd. And I will trust Him, too. Amen.

Those Who Ask Questions Receive Answers, a sermon based on John 20: 19-31, preached on April 27, 2025

Late one night, having had a nightmare, our young daughter cried out. I hurried to her bedroom and rubbed her back. Then, I fell asleep next to her, and I know that she did not fall asleep because I woke up to the feeling of her pulling her finger out of my mouth. A salty taste lingered on my tongue, and so I asked her, “Did you just feed me a booger?” She had fed me a booger. But I don’t regret being there. Every child needs to be able to reach out and touch her mother or her father when she is afraid. We all learn that everything is going to be OK, not because someone told us it was, but because when we cried out, someone with flesh and blood was there. Love must have flesh and blood. Otherwise, it is unbelievable. A lasting image of Pope Francis, who died last Monday, will be him kneeling at the feet of incarcerated men, washing their feet. How are incarcerated men to comprehend the awesome love of God unless such love is wrapped in flesh and blood? The Gospel, to be understood, must come down from the pulpit and to the people because so many understand kinesthetically. How’s that for a big word? Kinesthetic learning means to learn by doing or experiencing. Think of going to the part of the museum designed for young children, where they get to touch a fossil or gently pet the back of a stingray. One of my earliest childhood memories is going to the High Museum of Art and walking across a giant tongue. The taste buds lit up under my feet as I walked over it. We know this about kids, that they learn, not just by listening to us talk or reading about new things, but by doing and touching, feeling and smelling, and we learn about the love of God the same way. We don’t just believe because someone told us, but because someone walked into our lives and made the love of God real. Do you remember that scene in Ted Lasso when Coach Beard goes to Nate’s apartment? Nate is afraid that Coach Beard is there to head butt him. Instead, Coach Beard turns his hat around, gently places his forehead against Nate’s, and forgives him. Jesus said to the disciples, “forgive the sins of any and they are forgiven,” for no one believes in forgiveness until forgiveness comes in flesh in blood. Likewise, Thomas said, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” because the good news is just too good to believe until it takes flesh and blood. Until the Gospel takes flesh and blood, we cannot believe it. The love of God can’t just be learned by listening or reading the Bible but is comprehended kinesthetically. We believe because we have known. Because we have touched His wounds and felt His grace. This is how we learn the truth about people, who they are and whether they can be trusted, not just by reading their resumes, but by shaking their hands and going into their homes, so the great author Mark Twain is famous for advocating that people travel, saying, Travel is fatal to prejudice. It’s fatal to bigotry. Travel is fatal to narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and women and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime. But that is what we are too often doing. I read about the nation of Haiti. Then I went on a mission trip there, and I tell you, it is one thing to read about the poverty, the mounds of plastic floating in the coves, the lack of sanitation and prenatal care. I tell you it’s one thing to read about a lack of sanitation, and it’s another thing to smell the lack of sanitation. It’s also one thing to read about overwhelming poverty, and it’s another thing to witness the strength of human resilience in spite of it. We learn the truth through touch. We come to believe in miracles once we’ve witnessed one. How does anyone ever come to believe that the alcoholic can recover from his addiction, but to see it? How can we comprehend the miracle of the healed broken heart but to see the woman broken by grief lifted and restored? We believe that the light shines despite the darkness because that light has shined upon us, so Jesus doesn’t question Thomas’s motives but says to him, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe,” because this is the way it always is. God who created the heavens and the earth is not some figment for theologians to describe. God is no faceless theory to ponder academically, but is a reality to be experienced. Jesus Christ is God’s love in flesh and blood, which is the way people learn what love is, and so when this city drives by our church, seeing a line of hundreds of cars on Tuesday afternoons, and dozens of volunteers providing those families with food to eat, they know that hope is alive. When the world reaches out and finds Christians here that they can touch, lives are changed. Through ministry here that they can feel, people come to know that this place is not a den of hypocrites, or a country club for casual believes, but the Church of Jesus Christ. For we all learn by touching, smelling, hearing, and witnessing in person, so Jesus calls the disciples to forgive so that His grace takes on flesh and blood. Jesus calls on Thomas to touch His wounds, that he might believe that life has victory over the grave, and I tell you that it’s one thing to read about it in book, and it’s another to experience hope for yourself. I’ve read a book called The Anxious Generation. It’s a book full of incredibly bleak statistics that point towards a concerning reality. Many kids are addicted to their smart phones. They’re not playing outside as much. They’re not on the playground so much. Instead, they’re inside, which seems to many parents as though they’re safe at home, yet so long as they’re on their phones, they’re at risk for exposure to child predators, unhealthy images, and all kinds of other bad influences. That’s the reality that I read about, and in reading this book, I wanted to destroy our daughters’ iPhones. I wanted to destroy your children’s phones and your grandchildren’s phones, too, but then, the week before last, our girls had some friends over, and one friend brought with her a phone basket. She demanded that all in attendance place their phones in the basket so that they would all be present in the moment, talking and interacting instead of staring at their screens. Everyone complied with 16-year-old Birdi Dixon. I put my phone in the basket, too, and I tell you this story because the night is not necessarily so dark as you have heard, but to see the light, you’re going to have to open your eyes and reach out your hands. Death will not have the final word, but you may not hear that on the evening news. He is not dead, for He is risen, but to believe, you’re going to have to go out into the world to find where God’s love has taken on flesh and blood. Don’t take their word for it. For prejudice and racism thrive when people stop searching for the truth. Don’t just read about it. Evil in this world grows when good people give up on finding hope. And please don’t let the talking heads tell you what’s really going on, for ignorance thrives when good people stop asking questions. I’ve heard a lot of concerning news in recent weeks, but when God’s love takes on flesh and blood in us, it changes things. I was invited to lunch by a new banker in town. Before we ordered, he started telling me about his Easter, how he spent the weekend with his daughter, a student at Florida State. You may know that there was an active shooter on the campus of FSU. Two were killed, and several others were injured, and upon hearing the news, he called his daughter right away. She was safe, and he told his wife that she sounded fine. His wife told him to drive to Tallahassee to make sure. “What did you do once you got there?” I asked. “All she needed was a hug from her dad,” he told me. My friends, we all learn that everything is going to be OK, not because someone told us, but because when we cried out, God provided us One to touch. Will you let your faith become action, that those who do not yet know or understand might gain a sense of God’s love through your flesh and blood? Amen.