And in Jesus Christ, His Only Son, Our Lord..., a sermon based on Matthew 10: 9-23, preached on June 14, 2026

Last Tuesday, I was honored to have lunch with Rabbi Steve Lebow, the founding Rabbi of Temple Kol Emeth in East Cobb. I was honored to have lunch with the good Rabbi because I admire him so much, even though getting out to East Cobb for me is a pain. You can’t get there on a bicycle, and I like to ride my bike to stay out of traffic as I did to the church this morning. I can’t get to Roswell on a bike, yet this tip was worth it in more ways than one. He invited me to an authentic middle eastern restaurant. Rabbi Lebow studied in Israel, and so he knows what middle eastern food is supposed to taste like. He also knows something about the amount of middle eastern food that is supposed to be served to reflect the hospitality of the region, and so he took me to this place with a name I can’t pronounce where there was a menu, but the menu didn’t matter because they just bring you everything. To start, they brough to the table bowls of salad. Then came buttered pita bread and more bowls filled with delicious dips to spread on the bread. Following the bread came the meat, lamb, chicken, and beef, presented on skewers fresh from the grill. At the insistence of the staff, we tried freshly-squeezed lemonade with mint leaves. I ate everything I could, and still, there was food left on the table. Then Rabbi Lebow decided it was time for some theological conversation. “I have one more question for you before we leave. Which Gospel is your favorite?” Now, my answer to this question doesn’t matter for this sermon as much as the question does. There are four Gospels in our Bible. To describe Him, to record His words, the ancients who wrote and compiled what is today our Bible saw fit not to limit but to expand. Not one Gospel but four, and yet when we stand to say what we believe, the life and ministry of Jesus Christ is summarized with just a sentence fragment: “And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontious Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried.” That’s it. There’s nothing about the Sermon on the Mount. There’s no mention of His disciples. There are no beatitudes or parables. There’s no statement on the miracles, the number of His followers, where He traveled, or what He said. If we Christians stand and say the Apostles’ Creed every week during this worship service, why isn’t there more about what Jesus said and did? Or is this sentence enough? That’s what I ask you to think about today as we ponder this one line of the Apostles’ Creed. Today is the third sermon of ten in which we focus on the Apostles’ Creed. Having thought about God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth last Sunday, today we come to Jesus, but it’s just a little bit about His birth, “conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary,” nothing about His life, then we skip straight to His death: “suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried.” Just His birth and His death, it reminds me of a tombstone. On each tombstone, there is a date of birth and a date of death. In between the two dates is a dash, but there’s so much in that dash. A whole life is lived between a person’s date of birth and her date of death, and yet on a tombstone, it’s just a dash, and in the Creed, we only hear that He was born a miracle, then He suffered and died. What about all that happened in between? What would you add to tell His story? I wouldn’t dare to add anything before considering that so simple a statement contains within it a multitude of wisdom. Think about this with me: Is it not important to consider how we are all born a miracle and yet we suffer and die? I was standing around with my friend Gray Kelly at the Glover Park Brewery last week. It was for a fundraiser. I feel like I have to tell you that it was for a fundraiser because I just told you that your pastor was at a brewery. I was at Glover Park Brewery talking with my friend Gray Kelly, who told me a story about Michael Jordan, the great Chicago Bulls basketball player. A couple weeks ago, Landon Coleman from our youth group ran into Michael Jordan at a vacation resort, and 35 years ago, the same thing happened to my friend Gray Kelly. He was on vacation with his family. He was 10 or 15 years old. Stumbling onto a basketball court, he started shooting around, when onto the court walks the man some say is the greatest basketball player of all time, Michael Jordan. Gray stops shooting and starts rebounding for Michael Jordan. After a while, Gray introduced himself to Michael Jordan, while Michael Jordan needed no introduction. The two of them shot basketball for a while longer, and later that afternoon, Gray and his father walk by Michael Jordan at the pool. His dad says, “Look Gray, there’s Michael Jordan,” and Michael Jordan says, “Good to see you, Gray.” To hear Gray tell the story is a beautiful thing. At this point in the story, he told us how great it was that this interchange happened in front of his dad. It’s as though his dad were thinking, “I knew my son was special, but I didn’t know that Michael Jordan knew who he was. Everyone knows Michael Jordan’s name, but Michael Jordan knows my son’s name.” This is how many fathers think of their sons because we are all born miracles. We are all precious in the sight of God. This was most abundantly obvious when it came to Jesus. Jesus was such a miracle that His Father was God, not in a figurative sense but in a literal sense, and His mother was the absolute picture of faithful obedience, so much so that she was called a virgin though she bore a son, and yet Jesus suffered under Pontious Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried, for while we are all miracles and while Jesus is more a miracle than any of us, still He suffered. Still, we suffer. Right now, my friend Gray’s father is dying, and so he told us this story about meeting Michael Jordan not only with humor, Not only with joy, but also with bitterness. Not only with laughter, but also with tears because while there is joy in our lives, there is also suffering, and that reality makes us more like Jesus, not less. Now I want to get back to my lunch with Rabbi Lebow. I ate so much that day, I feel like I’m still digesting. I told you that if I can’t get somewhere on my bicycle, I just have a hard time getting there. That’s in part because I drive an electric car, but not the good kind of electric car. I bought the cheap kind with limited battery life. Even with the limited battery life, I still thought I’d be able to make it out to Roswell and back with a full charge. I was wrong about that. There were too many hills. I made it to Roswell. I just didn’t have enough juice in my battery to make it back, so after lunch, I located a charging station, plugged my car in, and the dashboard told me that I’d be ready to get back on the road in four hours. That was frustrating. I was angry about that. It was also embarrassing. I had to call my 2:00 appointment to tell him that I wouldn’t be able to make it. I was having car trouble. To get to my 3:30 appointment, I decided I’d call an Uber. While in the Uber, I received a phone call from our General Presbyter, Andy Casto-Waters. For those unfamiliar with the organizational structure of the Presbyterian Church, effectively this was the bishop calling. You always have to pick up when the bishop calls even if you’ve been stranded in Roswell and are riding in the back of an Uber. “Why are you in an Uber?” Andy asked me. “My car wouldn’t make it to Roswell and back,” I told him. “You have to get a new car, Joe,” Andy said. Then he laughed at me, and yesterday, he gave me this gift (a “For Sale” sign). When I hung up with Andy, the Uber driver said, “You have to get a new car.” Then he laughed at me, and after that, he said, “You’d be better off with an electric scooter.” My point in telling you this is that immediately after eating like a king at the middle eastern restaurant with Rabbi Lebow, I was stranded in East Cobb and ridiculed by, first, my bishop and then my Uber driver. Had I been conceived by the Holy Ghost and born of the Virgin Mary, my self-esteem might have remained intact for the ride home, but had I next suffered under Pontious Pilate, and been crucified like a common criminal, I would have started to wonder. I would have begun to wonder about who I am. I would have questioned my worth. I would have descended into the darkness of depression. I might have called out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Did you know that’s what He said on the Cross? In this one sentence, we hear so much of what we need to know for us to live our lives without coming apart at the seams, for while Jesus was born a miracle, and not just a miracle but the miracle of all birth miracles, still He suffered. Still, He died. Still, He hurt. Still, He cried, so when you suffer, don’t you think for an instant that God has left you behind. Don’t you think for a moment that your worth is diminished. Suffering is not always punishment. So often, suffering is leading to salvation, but you won’t get there if you give up or give in. I want to end this sermon by telling you two more stories. The week before last, I was honored to chaperone our high school youth mission trip. During that trip, we all walked across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. You know that bridge. John Lewis walked across it twice, but the first time, a police officer cracked his skull. That day is called Bloody Sunday. It was an important day during the Civil Rights Movement, but it was important not because it went well. Instead, it was important because the suffering of that day was foundational for the victory. After people heard about the suffering on Bloody Sunday, they rushed to the cause. Clergy and politicians heard the cry. The suffering of that day was not punishment. It was not failure. It laid the foundation for victory, and I got to walk across that bridge with our two daughters, who are miracles, who are perfect, but last Wednesday, one of them wanted to suntan in the driveway, and she texted my wife, Sara, and me, “I’m suntanning in the driveway. Please don’t run me over.” Why would they send their parents, who love them more than anything, a text message such as that? It’s because we are precious. We are miracles, that does not mean we are immune to suffering. That does not mean our lives will be roses and middle eastern feasts and sunny days. In this life, there is suffering. There was suffering in the life of Jesus, but His suffering leads to our salvation, and so we call Him, not the Prince of Sorrow but the Lord of the Dance. Will you dance with Him? Will you rejoice in sorrow beside Him? Will you remember that you are precious in the sight of God, despite the trials and tribulations of this day, for He leads us beyond the valley of the shadow of death and to the bright hope of tomorrow? Thanks be to God. Amen.