Who Is This?

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2 and 19-29, Matthew 21: 1-11 Sermon Title: Who is this? Preached on April 5, 2020 The Gospel Lesson for today, and the general spirit of this today, Palm Sunday, reminds me of so many movies or books where something happens: a magic lamp is rubbed, a map is discovered, or a spaceship is boarded and it lifts the characters from their normal lives into adventure, hardship, and eventually triumph. For Jesus it was a donkey and not a spaceship. He gets on the donkey and first there’s adventure: a cheering crowd, then hardship, eventually triumph, but it all starts with this donkey. According to the Gospel of Matthew it was both a donkey and a colt. Once he’s on them everything changes. That’s what’s on your bulletin cover. On the cover of your bulletin is painted Jesus’ view as he begins his journey into the city of Jerusalem. He’s standing on the cliff. His next step sets him on a course where everything will change, for him and for the world. Now, because we have heard the story before we all know what awaits him, and considering his fate, knowing he rides toward the Cross, there’s a part of me that wishes he could right now turn around. When I was a kid, I had that same feeling watching this cartoon movie called An American Tail. Do you know that movie? The word “tail,” in the title is a homophone. Someone listening to this sermon just said, “I can’t believe he knows such a big word,” but I do, and I had to do something to redeem myself for using a children’s cartoon as a sermon illustration so I’m using this big word: homophone. In the title it’s spelled “t-a-i-l,” because this movie is about a little mouse who immigrates from Eastern Europe to America in the hopes of escaping the oppressive cats of his homeland. He goes with his family, but on the way across the sea he chases his hat out on the deck during a storm and he’s swept off the boat. He slips through his desperate father mouse’s fingers, and ends up lost at sea. I remember watching this movie as a kid over and over, and each time I watched it I asked: why did he have to chase that stupid hat? But that’s because I knew. Had he known where chasing his hat out onto the ships deck would lead him, maybe he wouldn’t have gone after it in the first place. Movies have to have adventure, so against my advice, the mouse chased the hat and fell overboard, and every Palm Sunday Jesus keeps riding his donkey into Jerusalem even though it is in this city that he will meet his death. What’s different between the mouse in An American Tail and Jesus is that, while the mouse couldn’t have known that chasing his hat out onto the deck would lead to him being swept overboard, atop his donkey Jesus knows. Jesus knows what’s going to happen to him as he rides into Jerusalem, and he goes anyway. He hears the cheers and sees the waving palms, knowing that they’ll soon be shouting, “Crucify him” and yet he goes anyway. He waves to the crowd, knowing that a nail will pierce both his hands, and still he rides on. He felt the gentle breeze on his skin knowing that soon his back would be whipped, his head would be crowned with thorns, and still, onward he goes. He knew you see, and had it been any of us, in knowing we would have turned around. That’s how we are. If we only would have known how challenging the journey we would have turned around. If only we had stopped travel out of China earlier. If only we had started the quarantine sooner. If only we had listened to the experts. If only we heeded the warnings. I wish we had. I wish we had done all those things, but now it’s too late, and as we journey into the unknown moving forward into the future which we cannot avoid, we only face one choice: will we face the future with fear or with faith? Will we accept our new reality or live in denial? Will we adapt or hide? Will we search for someone to blame or will we develop solutions? Will we blame God or will we see God at work? Many in Jerusalem were fearful: let’s just send him back home. Let’s put the genie back in the bottle. Forget about the adventure, they said, though there was no going back. So, When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” That’s what everyone asks when the unplanned happens. That’s what everyone wants to know when their world turns upside down. Who is this that causes such turmoil when all we want is peace and normalcy? Who is this that gets the crowds so up in arms? Who is this that topples the tables of money changers, gives the blind their sight, raises dead men from the grave, and tells us that a new Kingdom is coming if we only have the eyes to see it? You know who he is already. He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, and what he demands of us today is that we see him at work in the midst of one of the great moments of chaos that we’ve seen in a generation. He is the embodiment of Grace, and in the midst of this virus he invites us to recognize that when we are shaped and changed, purified and refined, challenged and broken down it is an invitation to be stronger than we were before. Because it is through adventures that heroes are born. Maybe you remember that the Wizard Gandalf said to Frodo: “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us,” or how Mikey yelled to the Goonies from the tunnel under their hometown: “This is our time.” And sure, I wish we had not been given this time. I wish you High School Seniors were not missing your graduation and prom. That you parents were not facing lay-offs and uncertainty. I wish that we all were not at risk. But my friends, the hero and the villain swim through the same water. Only one can emerge. Only one will rule this day, and I charge you to follow the One whom death cannot conquer like you’ve never followed him before. One way or the other he is going to lead us out of this, and if we walk beside him, he will shape and change us in his image. We will be made better for this, if we chose to see with the eyes of faith rather than fear. We will be closer as families. We will be stronger as a church. We will be more faithful Christians, as truly we are tested. You see, the school tests have been canceled to make room for a real one that our children might learn that they don’t have to go through life being afraid that something bad is going to happen, because all things are work together for good. Know it now. We are enough. We have enough. Because He is enough. “Who is this” Jerusalem asked, urging him to turn around lest everything change. My friends: we know who he is, and he knows who we are. So, let us follow him and be changed forever. Amen.

Dry Bones

Scripture Lessons: Ezekiel 37: 1-14 and John 11: 1-45 Sermon Title: Dry Bones Preached on March 29, 2020 Every night before we eat supper, we always say one thing that we’re thankful for. Everyone has to say something. No one can eat a bite until we’ve all said at least one thing we are thankful for, no repeats and no kiss-ups. Like, no one is allowed to say, “I’m thankful for Mama.” This is not a time for kissing up, this is a time for gratitude, but while repeats and kissing up are against the rules, simple is OK. Gratitude doesn’t have to be for anything complicated. So, often, we say things like: “I’m thankful we’re having macaroni and cheese,” or “I’m thankful for my friends.” Thinking about it one night last week I realized that I was thankful for technology, and that’s what I said. “I’m thankful for technology.” Now, I’m not usually. Sometimes I hate it. I generally prefer things that I can fix without the help of an expert, or better, I prefer things that I can understand. So now, while I have often hated having a phone that’s smarter than me or a car that talks, I’m thankful for technology because it keeps me from feeling separated from all of you. Today, technology is a tool we can use to fight isolation. Technology defies social distancing. Technology can help us beat back fear with love. It daily reminds us that we’re not alone. Which is true, we’re not alone, though it’s easy now to feel that way, just as it’s always been easy to feel that way. Before this quarantine ever happened, I once felt all alone in one of the biggest, most densely populated cities in the world. I was in New York City, and there I had the chance to volunteer in a great big building where counterfeit clothing was processed and cleaned, then distributed to homeless people. I introduced myself to the man who was supervising the project and told him my name and that I was from Georgia, and he said, “Yea, I can tell.” In New York City, way up North, I felt like a pilgrim in a barren land of people who used too much diction and not enough ya’lls. I didn’t like it. But I never do, because felling alone is the worst. Worse still was when I spent a summer in Argentina as a missionary intern. I felt alone often there, not because there weren’t people around. There were, but I felt alone in Argentina because I couldn’t always understand what people were saying. I remember riding a train in Buenos Aires, the capital, and up came a Mormon Missionary who spoke English. I was so happy to talk with him in a language I could understand that I nearly converted. “Please, tell me more,” I said to this man. It was probably the first time the missionary was the one trying to get away. Feeling alone isn’t a good feeling. That’s why, in this dangerous time where social distancing and fear are combining to assail our spirits, I give thanks for everything that keeps us connected: technology, language, empathy. Empathy forges connections today, because pretty much we are all feeling the same thing. Maybe, like you, we’ve had some extra time to clean up around the house, and something that we’ve kept but keep thinking about getting rid of is a huge collection of National Geographic magazines. It’s like we have all of them, but it’s hard for me to let these magazines go because the pictures on the cover are just so powerful. The desperate mother, the hungry child, the refuge with the soulful eyes, the smiling groom on his wedding day. Regardless of the culture you can tell what each person is feeling by the emotions there on their face and regardless of the year the picture was taken you can feel a connection. The same thing is happening right now on Facebook, because people aren’t just spouting out what they think on there as usual, now they’re also posting what they’re feeling. A member of our church recently posted: How long is this social distancing supposed to last? My wife keeps trying to come in the house. Do you know the feeling? Are the people you’re quarantined with driving you crazy? Elsewhere on Facebook there are the desperate prayers of a mother turned teacher as well as reports from Day 1 of homeschooling, like: Both students suspended. Teacher caught drinking on the job. There are many others. Religious ones even. I saw that someone posted, “I didn’t expect to give up quite this much up for Lent.” Seeing and reading this kind of stuff I know what everyone out there is feeling. It’s the same thing I’m feeling. We’re in a moment of mass solidarity, for so many of us, regardless of party, race, creed, nationality, or rank on the totem poll are in this together. We are not in this thing alone. We have to remember that, because know that we’re together makes a difference. That’s why the most important lesson for us to hear from today’s Gospel reading is in just two words: Jesus wept. It’s two words in the older translations. It’s “Jesus began to weep” in our pew Bibles, which isn’t as succinct. Regardless, it’s still among the shortest verses in the Bible, and out of the 45 verses that I just read that’s the one I focus on. In our Second Scripture Lesson for this morning Jesus saw Mary’s tears. When he saw her crying, he started crying. Why? Because not only are we all in this together, God’s in it with us too. When we see the tears of Christ, we come to know that our God wipes our tears away, not with indifference but with compassion. When we reveal to our Creator the depths of our hearts and our deepest pain, we know that God is feeling that same pain with us. Mary looked to him with tears in her eyes to see that he felt the same grief. Jesus wept. He did. He was not indifferent. No, he hurt, he grieved. He just isn’t stuck in it. Do you know what I mean by that? Well, to Mary and Martha all they could see in the world at the beginning of this Scripture Lesson, all any of us would have been able to see was a dying brother and a miracle worker who was running late. Then, when they closed him up in the tomb, they were confined to their own understanding of what was possible and what wasn’t possible. What was possible? Healing. What wasn’t possible? Bringing someone back from the dead. This is how we all think. The Prophet Ezekiel wasn’t any different in our first Scripture Lesson. He saw a valley of dry bones and God asked him, “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel was far more faithful than I would have been because he said, “O Lord God, you know.” That’s right. God does know, but sometimes I think I do. “Will this Corona thing ever end?” I ask. It sure doesn’t feel like it. What started with two weeks is now stretching out to: “Maybe the kids will be back in school by May.” I doubt it. So, does everyone else. If it felt to anyone else like this was going to end any time soon half the nation wouldn’t have filled up their attics with toilet paper. We’re settling into this crisis, and it’s hard to see over the top of it. You can tell that’s the truth because the people who talk about getting past it sound like jerks. Did you hear about the Lieutenant Governor who wants to just let the grandparents die out so we can get back to normal. If that guy gets reelected our democracy is in worse shape than our economy. Still, life will go on. We will get past this. And no one need be sacrificed at the Idol of the Dow to do it. Do you know how I know? Because I’ve just heard about the God who breathed on a pile of dry bones and brought them back to life and Jesus Christ who called into a tomb and a dead man walked out. Carol Bockman painted it for us on our bulletin cover. Look and see, death is not even the end with our God, so Corona Virus will not be either. You know that. I know that, but we have to act like we know it and come out of this thing better than before rather than emerge from our caves as PJ wearing apathetic, selfish, couch potatoes. This a moment. It’s a moment, where we have to let go of so much, but don’t forget we will also choose what we’ll pick back up once it’s over. And what do I suggest you pick up now and cling to once it’s over? Your power. It was a valley of dry bones and God called on the Prophet Ezekiel to prophesy to them. That was a bold request, to use his words to do something so momentous, but God uses our words all the time to do impossible things. I was running yesterday, and I saw a banner. It said, “Marietta, we can do hard things.” I saw another that said, “This too shall pass.” Then I saw rainbows in windows because people are trying to give children something to look for as they walk around their neighborhoods. People are still connecting. Lives are still changing, and we as a church will come out of this stronger than ever before if we remember that our words can break the silence and do impossible things. You might be hesitant. Ezekiel was, but don’t underestimate what happens when you take the time to speak. Years ago, my father had a quadrupole bypass surgery. He was in the hospital, and as he had become a critic of the pastor who was serving our church then, he wasn’t interested in letting anyone here on the church staff know where he was or what was going on. The pastor came to visit any way, and after the visit my father said, “Joe, it just means something. It just means something when someone takes the time to say they care.” Use your words First Presbyterian Church. Use your words, use technology, be honest with each other about your true feelings just as those who can’t get to the salon are having to be honest about their true hair color, and watch as dry bones come to life, as broken relationships are mended once more by the power of the Holy Spirit working among us, connecting us, changing us for the better. Amen.

Surely, We Are Not Blind, Are We?

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 23 and John 9: 1-41 Sermon Title: Surely, we are not blind, are we? Preached on 3/22/20 Do you remember when we used to go out to dinner? I do, and I’m trying to remember the bad things about going out to dinner so I don’t miss it so much. Have you ever been out to dinner with another couple and she won’t let him or her won’t let her finish telling a story for correcting some insignificant detail? Do you know what I’m talking about? It annoys me, because it seems petty, and it always really bothers me when the details prevent the telling of a good story. For example, maybe she was trying to tell you how she was walking the dog across the street and Fido was out in front and in the middle of the crosswalk when a blue Ford Mustang turned the corner too quickly and… “No, it was a red Dodge Charger,” he interrupts her to say. In this instance, the thing that drives me crazy is I don’t care what color the car was. I care whether or not the dog got run over. Do you know what I mean? It’s not uncommon for people to get caught up in details. Details are important. Many good story tellers say, “I never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” That might be too extreme. Really, what I want to point out is that details are important. We can’t ignore them. However, sometimes we allow little details to distract us from big truths. Our Second Scripture Lesson began: “As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” Jesus answers, “Who cares?” That’s not exactly what he said, but it’s close enough. What I believe he was trying to say is, “Don’t be distracted by the details. Watch what I’m about to do.” Then Jesus “spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam”. Then he went and washed and came back able to see.” That’s what’s pictured on the cover of your bulletin. Again, a member of our own community, Bill Needs, took the time to contribute his gifts that we might stand back in awe and wonder at Jesus, beholding this great miracle. He titled his work, “One thing I do know, I was blind and now I see.” That’s the main thing. He got it. What about everyone else? After the man went and washed and came back able to see, “The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him.” Why were they asking, and why weren’t they rejoicing? Well, they were caught up in the details, unable to see the miracle that had just taken place. That’s sad, but it happened. Before that the disciples, so focused on the problem, so practicing in assigning blame and debating “who sinned” to cause the man’s blindness were about to gloss right over the miracle. Then the Pharisees get involved, and when Pharisees get involved there’s always trouble. They got stuck on the fact that “it was a Sabbath day” when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes and so they boldly proclaim: “This [Jesus] is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.” Now why did that matter? Why an interrogation and not a party? Couldn’t they just be happy for this man? Where was the cake and the parade celebrating the day when the man born blind regained his sight? Instead, the investigation continues. Why? Because a culture trained to look for sin can be blind to miracles. A culture focused on details can ignore the bigger picture. A culture concerned with who did it or who is trying to do it can become distracted from what happened or what needs to happen. That’s how it happened then, and that’s how it is now. Have you been listening to all the criticism? Have you heard what should have happened and who should have done what and when? Have you heard that this whole Corona thing is just the Democrat’s attempt to get President Trump out of office? Have you heard that sales of Corona Beer have slumped? Rather than just listen to the CDC or the Governor we get caught up in debates. We trip over details. We wonder, “Is this really any worse than the flu?” Then we get into the blame part: “Why do all these things start in China?” “Shouldn’t the President have done something before now?” “Why are people still going to the beach?” It’s because they drank water out of the hose as a kid and heard that makes you immune to it. You know, the priority here should be caring for people rather than assigning blame. The goal should be eliminating disease rather than talking about what our leaders could have done better. And maybe that’s where we’ll get eventually, but to get there we have to stop acting like unpleasant dinner guests, or worse, Pharisees. I hate Pharisees. Don’t you? Unfortunately, I am one. Like them, I get more interested in whose fault it was. I wander down these rabbit trails that distract me from the real issue. I become problem focused rather than solution focused, sin focused rather than miracle focused, detail focused rather than big picture focus, and when that happens I can’t be surprised if nothing ever gets done and if life feels more like a deposition rather than the celebration God created it to be. Look again at our Second Scripture Lesson. First the Disciples want to know who sinned. Then the Pharisees want to know when he healed the man. The parents just don’t want to offend anybody. And meanwhile, Jesus gave this man sight. The Pharisees asked: “We are not blind, are we?” You better believe we are. But not all of us. This Corona Virus is a source of stress and conflict. Husbands and wives are arguing. Siblings are fighting. Stocks are declining. Employers are having to lay off staff. Last week my neighbor told me about her friend’s aunt who had to ask her maid not to come back, and because Aunt Sally doesn’t drive, she also counted on this maid to deliver her vodka, so remember Aunt Sally in your prayers this week. She’s having a really hard time. The truth is that we all have it hard right now, though some of us have it harder than others. The most challenging phone call I’ve had to make since this thing started was to Andrew MacIntosh who’s wedding was supposed to be in our Sanctuary yesterday. Friday before last I called him. “Andrew,” I said, “We have a problem.” Well, it turned out his caterers were backing out anyway and his guests were already nervous, but if a tear was shed or a harsh word was spoken, I don’t know about it. All I know is that Anna, Andrew’s bride, asked me if I could still officiate a private service, saying, “We’re just excited to be married. The particulars are whatever they need to be.” This has been a hard season for so many reasons. Some of you have had to lay off employees. Others have feared for the future as the stock market dropped. We all have had to change our daily routines. Parents have become teachers, siblings have become playmates because there’s no one else to play with, doctors and nurses are working overtime, and we all have felt the lingering anxiety of not knowing. Every day I’ve woken up to a tightness in my chest. Have you? But let me tell you what I’m forcing myself to see: that if our kids are healthy, it’s a miracle. If we have a home to be confined in, we need to give thanks to God. This service is coming to you in your home because we can’t be together, but because of the providence of God working through a team of volunteers, this service is streaming to you. We can’t be blind to what’s good, no matter how frustrating the distractions and the changes. And what are those distractions and changes really? Most of them are just details, and we can’t allow the details to distract us from the miracle for if Anna and Andrew can see it as their wedding plans collapse what’s our excuse? “Surely, we are not blind, are we?” That’s what the Pharisees asked, and they were blind. But we don’t have to be. Open your eyes to miracles. Open your eyes to God at work among us now. Amen.

Water at Noon

Scripture Lessons: Exodus and John 4: 5-42 Sermon title: Water at Noon Preached on March 15, 2020 This is the second sermon in a group of four based on these long accounts from the Gospel of John. I just read from verse 5 to verse 42. Rarely would I read 37 verses at one time, but to get the full story we have to read the full story. So, this morning we have another moving and beautiful moment in the ministry of Jesus for our Second Scripture Lesson. It’s not so unlike the reading from last week, nor is it unlike the reading that will be for next week in the sense that, consistent with the entire Gospel of John, there is an ongoing theme of darkness and light, a highly developed character in this unnamed woman at the well, and there’s an important but subtle detail that the author includes which we shouldn’t over-look. You might remember that last Sunday the detail from the Gospel of John was that Nicodemus, a Pharisee and leader of the Jews, went to visit Jesus at night. “Why at night?” we wondered. I believe the Gospel of John tells us that he went at night because he didn’t want to be exposed. Had he been seen at the doorstep of Jesus he would have risked all kinds of things: rights, privileges, status, or relationships. He couldn’t go to visit this radical Savior during the day, because had he been seen with Jesus, he might have lost his place at the top of his religious order. He might even have been rejected by his community. What we know about this woman at the well based on one subtle detail is that she already has been. She had already lost so much. She had already been rejected. She had already fallen down the social ladder because of who she was and what she’d done. We know that because when Jesus was thirsty, he went to this well at noon, and she was the only one to meet him there. That’s the important but subtle detail. Noon. The Gospel of John tells us what time it was because the time tells us something about this woman. That Jesus went to the well when he was thirsty at noon is not surprising. What’s surprising is that this woman was there at that time of day. Prompted by the text, we must ask why, and I tell you, it’s because in the middle of the day, when the sun was at its highest was the time when no one else would be there. That means she’s like the woman who quit going to Weight Watchers and started just weighing-in in her bathroom because the numbers were going in the wrong direction at the weekly weigh-ins and she didn’t want everyone there to see that she was gaining weight instead of losing it. It means she’s like the man who kept being criticized for drinking too much at parties. Because he felt powerless to do anything about it he started drinking by himself at home. She’s like the prepper who got so fed up with the world and trying to fit into it that he got off the grid. What happened to this woman? Why was she at the well at noon? Well, having tried and failed, she finally gave up. They whispered behind her back, but she knew what they were saying. She’s the aunt, sister, or daughter who’s been married five times and has settled for a sixth because everyone says she’s trash and she started to believe them. Without enough pride to resist but enough to know she doesn’t have to be there when they say it, she started going to the well at noon. Now, this all happened about 2,000 years ago, but still, you probably know her because the same thing still happens all the time. Do you know the woman at the well? I feel sure that you do, because while now we drink water out of bottles instead of out of wells, we still push some people outside the circle, and those of us who are on the inside keep quiet because we know what will happen if we don’t. Nicodemus was that way. He went to Jesus at night because he didn’t want to end up like this woman at the well. Her story is a classic tragedy that’s been relived and retold again and again. From High School English Class you remember Hester Prynne with that scarlet letter “A” broadcasting her sin for all to see. Everyone in town knew her story. Everyone knew what she had done. Everyone knew everything about her. Even visitors to her town knew to keep their distance because of the scarlet letter “A” she was forced to where. Unlike Hester Prynne this woman at the well bore no obvious distinction. Maybe she assumed that Jesus was too thirsty to know he shouldn’t be asking her for anything. Maybe she thought he was too desperate to know it would hurt his reputation just to be seen with her. Still, there he was, by her side, at noon. What he said to her is funny: “Give me a drink.” You would think that Jesus would say “Please,” but he didn’t. “Give me a drink,” he said, which is a funny thing to ask of a person who was widely pitied and never needed. “Give me a drink,” is a funny thing to request from a woman who everyone talked about but no one wanted to be seen with. “Give me a drink,” is a radical request when you consider that if Moses could strike a rock with a stick and make water come out than Jesus could have snapped his fingers and Perrier would have fallen from the clouds. Still, to this woman, first of all he spoke, which was something, second of all he asked her for help, which was something else. I’ve been thinking and thinking about what Jesus does here, because I understand what’s going on with this woman more than I understand what was going on in the mind of the Son of God, and I think that’s because our society is pushing all of us into this place that the woman at the well found herself in. Right now, two words well describe our situation: isolation and fear. It’s hard to know what we, as the church should do in a situation like this one. Having watched the news last Thursday night, Rev. Cassie Waits called so we could talk about it. Together we began discussing what we should do about having church today. We talked about schools closing, even the NBA closing down. After talking with Cassie, I called some other staff members. I called Rev. Joe Brice, the Sage of Paulding County. After talking about quarantine and lowering the curve he told me that this was a good Sunday to preach the Gospel, because the isolation we’re all being pushed into this Sabbath Day isn’t so different from the isolation that society is always pushing us towards. He’s right. We need to gather, but it’s always a temptation to stay home. Not just now, that’s always a temptation. So also, we need our neighbors, but we’re always fearful about reaching out to them, whether they might carry the virus or not. We crave community, but shame and anxiety are always telling us we’ll be rejected. Then we don’t like how things are but we feel powerless to do anything about it. Even without the voluntary quarantine, the well is the place that our 21st Century was already driving us towards because social distancing isn’t anything new. Neither is it anything new for the future to feel so uncertain, nor is it a new feeling to feel like we must walk the lonesome valley by ourselves. Only wait and listen. Wait just a minute, for along comes Jesus saying, “Give me a drink.” For her, after that request, a theological discussion ensued. What their discussion came down to was that the Lord told the woman he knew who she was. He wasn’t talking with her because he was naïve. He knew where she had been, what she’d done, and how many men she’d been married to. He told her that he knew how she worshiped at the wrong place and was looking for salvation in the wrong places. She couldn’t hide anything from the people of her community because they already knew, and this new guy knew it all and went to her any way. It wasn’t because he was ignorant that he spoke to her. It was because he was different. Then she said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes he will proclaim all things to us.” Having already done that he said, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.” After that the woman left her water jar and went back to the city, and listen to what she said, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” You know what changed with that announcement? The woman who had been all alone ran towards the city. The one who had nothing to offer brought her people the greatest news that’s ever been heard. And the Lord who came to the well thirsty, asking for water, never even got a sip. I feel sure that was just fine with Jesus, because he’s never so concerned with his own wellbeing so much as he’s concerned with the wellbeing of our whole world. For the Lord was thirsty, but he’s calling on us to offer to the world a sip of water, and like her we must be convinced that we have any right to do it. That’s why I wrote you last Friday. It’s because her life was changed. She became someone different. Not confined by what the world said about her but transformed by the power of Christ she became, not the one who everyone talked about, but one who changed her entire village by what she had to say. She wasn’t alone. Christ was with her. And she wasn’t powerless, but powerful. The change that happened within this woman at the well reminds me of the words of Marianne Williamson: Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. I heard that quote in a movie Lily and I were watching yesterday morning. Hearing it I was reminded that Jesus is all the time interrupting our solitude, hopelessness, and fear to remind us that our most basic words and most simple efforts bring to the world faith, hope, and love. In these strange times, will you tell his story? Will you live his truth? Amen.

Seeking the Light by Night

Scripture Lessons: Numbers 21: 4-9 and John 3: 1-21 Sermon Title: Seeking the Light by Night Preached on March 8, 2020 This is the first of four Sundays where the Second Scripture Lesson is from the Gospel of John. As you know, each of the four Gospels tells us the same story, that of the life and ministry of Jesus Christ, just in slightly different ways. The Gospel of John offers us a beautiful perspective all its own with developed characters like Nicodemus in today’s Second Scripture Lesson, as well as important but subtle details. For example: Nicodemus went to see Jesus at night. Why would the Gospel of John include this detail? It’s as though we’re meant to ask: Why did he go at night? Why was it that he went, not during the day when people would have seen him, but at night, when people wouldn’t have noticed? This detail is important, and it makes me think how people often do things at night that they would rather not be caught doing during the day. Now, what we do in private is not necessarily bad. Think about it. What do you do in private that you’re too self-conscious to do in the light of day? How many sing in the shower, but not in the choir? How many painters are among us who would have to be forced to put their artwork on the cover of the bulletin, not for lack of talent, but for some other reason. How many of you only paint or sing or dance when no one is looking? How many students only ask questions of the teacher once the class has left the room? How many are glad to talk about sports, economics, or movies with whomever, but will only speak of matters of the heart in private with those whom they trust? Nicodemus went to see Jesus at night. He wouldn’t have told his wife where he was going. He waited until he could just slip away. Why? Why was it at night that he went to see the Lord? The answer is there in Scripture: “Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews.” That’s just one sentence but it’s plenty of information. I’ve been asking, why was it that a Pharisee named Nicodemus who was a leader of the Jews went to Jesus at night? That’s just one question which we need to ask. The more precise question is, if he went at night what was it that he stood to lose had someone seen him at the doorstep of the Lord? The answer to that question is obvious when you think about it, for a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews could no more go and see Jesus than an orthopedist could be seen in the office of a chiropractor. How would it look if Lindsey Graham or Lamar Alexander were spotted at a Bernie Sanders rally? It would look about the same as when we were introduced to Segregationist Senator Strom Thurmond’s African American daughter Essie Mae Washington. There are lines drawn to divide society. What we don’t always realize is that those lines often divide our own souls in two. Nicodemus was a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews, who snuck off to see Jesus, and he had to decide which version of himself would go out in the light of day the following morning. That’s how it is for so many of us. To me, the saddest place in Atlanta is a parking lot that overlooks Piedmont Park. When we were first married, we lived there. We had a small dog in a small apartment on Briarcliff. Sara and I would often take the dog on walks through Piedmont Park and we’d always park in this one parking lot where men sat waiting in their cars. I have an idea what they were waiting for, and I have an idea of the lives that they would leave the parking lot and go back to. They were probably bankers with families and wives. What were they doing in that parking lot then? Well, they were one person in the light of day and another in the shadow. They were one person when people were looking and another when they snuck off by themselves. Who were they truly? That’s one of the great questions of human existence. Another is: what would it take for them to be their shadow selves out in the light of day? You’ve seen that kind of coming out before, often after someone has had a few too many drinks. There’s a Latin expression: In vino veritas. Or “in wine lies the truth.” Another way to say it is, “I’m one drink away from telling everyone what I really think.” Social Scientists tell us that we’re not necessarily more honest because of what we’ve had to drink, we’re just less likely to process the consequences of our being honest. We’re not always honest. No, we’re not always honest with ourselves or our neighbors about who we truly are because our standing in the community sometimes matters more to us than even our own happiness. We worry about what people think, always. We worry about what people will say, most of the time. We worry about being exposed, constantly, because we don’t want to lose our place in our families, our churches, our clubs, or our neighborhoods. Nicodemus was a Pharisee, a leader of his people, but he was drawn to the light. He just couldn’t seek it out when people were looking. Why? That’s easy. He didn’t want to jeopardize his standing in the community. He didn’t want to lose his corner office, his pension fund, or his membership at the Pharisee Country Club with the best golf course that overlooks the Jordan River. It was at night then that he said, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Was that good enough? Was that honest enough? By saying this was he stepping out of the shadow enough to benefit from his proximity to the light? Maybe. Maybe not. Do you remember that movie, Dead Poets Society? It’s a great teacher movie. The teacher, Robin Williams, is the hero. I like it when the teacher is the hero. I prefer when the preacher is the hero, but I’m glad when the teacher is. What’s funny about this movie is that during the day the students at this school wear ties and jackets because they go to a fancy, all boys, private, boarding school where they are being prepared to live as upstanding socialites. A few of them, at night, sneak out of their dorms to read poetry. You can think of all kinds of things boys at a boarding school might sneak out at night to do, but this group sneaks out to read poetry. That’s what they did, and feeling some level of liberation from this experience, one of the members of the Dead Poet’s Society takes things farther than the rest of them. He doesn’t just read poetry at night while preparing to be like his father during the day. He wants to be who he is at night all the time and tries out for a play knowing that his father, who forbid his passion for acting, might find out. That’s a risky thing for a young man to do. It was. And this young man, in perusing this one thing, depending on how you look at it either lost everything or gained everything. Nicodemus was the same but he wasn’t a young man. On the cover of your bulletin is this perfect original painting of Nicodemus by our own Jeff Surace. In it, Nicodemus is an old man with a beard. He is as I imagine he was at the time of our Second Scripture Lesson. That’s the probable reality of the situation: an old man, experienced, respected, upstanding in the eyes of his people, sneaking out of his house to glimpse the light of the world. What that was costing him? Possibly everything. So, when Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above,” it must have made perfect sense while being completely confusing. Born. Did he say born? Nicodemus can’t again be born, can he? Nicodemus asked him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Every mother who ever read this has always thought: “Oh gosh I hope not.” But that’s not what Jesus means. This isn’t like the first time you were born, because it’s not the mother who’s in pain this time. It’s the child. The child who must be ready to step out into the light leaving behind his honors and titles, security and high standing, to become again like an infant dependent on the grace of his Savior. Counting the cost, Nicodemus had to ask, “How can these things be?” So, Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these [most basic] things? [Let me teach you something you should know already.] Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” We read about that serpent in the wilderness in our First Scripture Lesson. Moses had to raise up something that his people might step out from the shadow and be healed. In the same way Christ was willing to be raised up on a Cross himself that his people would live. That they might live finally giving up their relentless pursuit of trying to earn the love of the world, which we will never gain, to accept the love of God, which we don’t have to do anything for. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” There it is. Can you accept it? It’s different, because the world is always telling us what we must do to gain love. The world says that to be loved we must have money, power, status, and acceptance. On the other hand, God is always saying, “You already have it. Stop trying so hard. Just step out into the light.” The Great Reformer, Martin Luther, called that one verse the Gospel in miniature, because this is all you really need to know, “God so loved the world that he gave his only son.” You’ve heard it before but listen to this: it’s really all about light and darkness. “And this is the judgement, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light.” Why? Appearances. Power. Control. Because sin is not so different from the Corona virus. It thrives on denial and fear. It grows in the shadow. It thrives when people hide from the light of day. So, I charge you today to step out into the light, for he is everything he says he is and more. And love is yours if you’ll just accept it. Grace is yours. Forgiveness is yours. Just step out into the light and see that what you stand to lose is nothing compared with what you stand to gain. Amen.

From the Mountain to the Valley

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 24: 12-18 and Matthew 17: 1-9 Sermon Title: From the Mountain to the Valley Preached on February 23, 2020 Last week I had the great opportunity to spend some time in Montreat, North Carolina. Montreat was once the headquarters of the Presbyterian Church in the South. It’s a special place for a lot of people for several reasons, but it’s special for this church because a lot of us went to either family camp, a youth conference, or some other conference there. Kelly Dewar, Janice Wolfe, and I were in Montreat last week to attend a small conference on Stewardship, but because it was Montreat it was also kind of a Presbyterian reunion. Janice and I were attending the second year of this conference so we were reuniting with the friends we had made last year. Kelly and I both went to Presbyterian College so we were catching up with other graduates of that same school. There were others we knew, and it seemed like even those we didn’t know, we at least knew someone whom they knew. I met Bill Sibley of Greenville, South Carolina, who I didn’t think I knew but then I learned he was married to our former pastor, Dr. Holland’s daughter, so there were all kinds of connections. That kind of connectional, reunion type environment is fun to be in because it feels like a family. And that kind of connectional environment is also a little dangerous, because some people remember things, I’d rather they forget. We were sitting at the dinner table with the Rev. Morgan Hay, pastor in Peachtree City, and her husband Robert. Kelly Dewar and I have known both of them since High School. Robert Hay Jr. now works for the Presbyterian Foundation, a financial institution which serves Presbyterian Churches, but more relevant to us, he is a child of this church. His father, Robert Hay Sr., was the Associate Pastor for Youth here, and if I were to name the top five people who shaped and changed me to become the person I am today, Rev. Robert Hay Sr. would be in that top five. That’s what I was telling the man sitting next to me as a way of explaining how Robert Hay Jr. and I knew each other. Then Robert said, “And if we were to look back on that time and name the top five kids from that youth group who we thought were least likely to become a Presbyterian minister, I’m not saying that Joe would be at the top of that list, but he would certainly be in it.” Like I said, the environment at Montreat kind of feels like family. There are people there who remember what I was like growing up and what I was like in college. In some ways since then I have changed, and it’s wonderful to remember those people who have helped me change. It’s a wonderful thing to have friendships that have lasted through those changes, so I’m thankful that Robert and I, who have known each other since we were teenagers, now can see and respect each other as adults, and the adults we knew then who nurtured us and helped us to grow up, see us now as peers and partners in ministry. That’s a big deal. It’s a gift, because not everyone who knows your past will ever let you live it down and not everyone loves you enough to help you change and really become who God created you to be. Our Scripture Lessons for this morning are all about that kind of change. The kind of change that is infused with profound love. From the beginning of his life, Moses was being shaped and changed by such love. You know the story. I once saw a bumper sticker that read, “Even Moses started out as a basket case.” That’s true. He did. Born into a family of enslaved Hebrew people, Moses was placed in a basket by the mother who loved him so much that she made every effort that he be spared from an early death by the hand of his people’s oppressors. He floated down the river in that basket and was saved by Pharaoh’s daughter. Through a series of other changes, twists and turns, he became a leader of his people. In today’s first Scripture Lesson he was up on a mountain with God for forty days and forty nights. Maybe you remember that he came down from the mountain changed by this experience as anyone would be. His skin was glowing because of his proximity to the God of love. Only then he had to interact with his people who had not changed for the better but had reverted back to the kind of idol worship they’d learned back in Egypt and wanted Moses to revert along with them. Do you have any friends like that? Friends who love you, only they won’t let you change. Their love drags you down with them. Thinking of Jesus, there was definitely something about him and his destiny that required him to grow and change, which sometimes made the people who loved him nervous in that same way. His family took a trip to the Temple in Jerusalem, but Jesus went missing because he had left his family to spend time with the learned teachers in their court. He needed to be with those teachers because of his love of God, but his biological family wanted him to come with them. All the time that’s how it was. He was coming into his own, changing every day, which sometimes required disappointing or worrying the people who cared about him. That’s life, however. Love changes us. Our journeys require change in us. When we change, sometimes the people who love us have to change along with us, and today is all about that kind of love. Today is Transfiguration Sunday. It’s the last Sunday of the Church Year before Lent begins on Wednesday. It’s a Sunday when everything changes for Jesus. He begins to look toward Jerusalem and his death. Before he does his disciples can see that something has changed. That God has changed him, and our bulletin cover illustrates it, but what does transfiguration mean? That prefix, “trans,” is a loaded one. Transfiguration, transformation, transubstantiation, there are all kinds of things that change right before our eyes in miraculous ways. The guidance from Scripture regarding change is this: love changes us, and if it’s love that changes us then go with it. Let me tell you what I mean. The Second Scripture Lesson we just read from the Gospel of Matthew tells of how Jesus walked up that mountain seeming to his disciples as fully human. Then at the top he proved himself fully divine. He was transfigured before them. In the case of Jesus this was so dramatic a change that it terrified the disciples who saw it. That’s understandable because every time someone changes before our eyes we treat it with awe and wonder, but also fear for what that change is going to mean. It’s Peter who I focus on in this Second Scripture Lesson. I love Peter. I’m sure you do too. It’s clear that he loves Jesus, but he also is very human, which makes him endearing. You remember how he walked out on the water but started to sink. Later he promised that he would never betray Jesus, but he denied him three times. Peter must have loved Jesus, because once he put it all together: that his friend Jesus really would go from that mountain top down into the valley where he would meet his death, he offered to build three dwellings, one for Jesus, one of Moses, one for Elijah. Why? Because Peter wanted to keep Jesus there. In seeing Jesus standing there with Moses and Elijah Peter realized that this friend of his was far more than a normal prophet or teacher. In fact, he had been walking around with the very Son of God who had been one thing but now would become another. He would not just be preaching sermons and healing the sick. He would also be crushed under the harsh fist of Rome that he might rise again concurring sin and death. If that was his destiny you can understand why Peter wouldn’t want him to go through with it. Because Jesus was his friend you can understand why Peter wanted to keep Jesus in one of those dwellings where he could try and slow down some of the changes that were taking place. I imagine he was feeling like the mother who watches her son go off to college, knowing that when he comes back, he’s going to talk different, he’ll have new ideas in his head, and maybe he’ll even be embarrassed of the Appalachian home he was raised in. “Maybe you should just stay here,” she says. Or like the girl who hears that a boy wants to ask her twin sister to the dance but doesn’t yet have a date herself and fears her twin will move on without her. “Maybe we should just stay home and watch a movie instead of going to the dance,” she says. No one wants to lose their son, their sister, or their friend when change comes to them. That’s why we used to write in each other’s yearbooks, “don’t ever change.” We wrote that because sometimes love means wanting everything to stay the same. “Can’t we just stay here Jesus? I’ll build three dwellings. One for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” That’s the feeling parents feel when they want kids to stay where they are and as they are, close by, little, and safe. No one wants their kids getting too big for their britches. Do they? Or better yet, no parent wants their kids getting hurt. That sounds a lot like love. I saw a scene on a TV show on Netflix about teenagers that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. One of the teenagers realized that he’s not like his friends at school. He’s never felt exactly like the other boys he knew. In fact, he’s not sure exactly who he is. Still, he wants to go to the school dance and he wants to wear a head dress like the one his West African mother wears to church, along with eye liner and lip stick. Walking out the door dressed this way his father clearly doesn’t want him to go to the dance. Still his son rushed out. His father rushes toward him and says, “I don’t want you to go like this because I love you and I don’t want you to get hurt.” His son says, “But dad, this is who I am.” The father must decide what to do. What would love have him do in this world full of change and transformation, hatred and fear? After a pregnant pause the father finally says, “How is it that my son could be so brave?” Was Jesus brave? Yes. Was he loving? Yes. Was it love for God and his people that caused him to change up on that mountain top and to come down from it ready to face his death? Absolutely. “Why can’t we just stay here Jesus? I’ll build three dwelling places, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter asked. Why can’t we stay here? We all ask. It’s because sometimes love demands that we change, and if it’s love that’s calling us to be transformed than we must be bold to listen. I enjoyed so much an article that came from Dr. Nelson Price this morning in the paper. Dr. Price was quoting all the statistical data on demographic changes in our county. We are more diverse than ever, but less religious. Why? 1.4% of our county is Presbyterian. And I bet most of them only come to church on Christmas and Easter. Why is that? Is it because God has called us down from the mountain and into the valley that we might make his love for all people plain, but we still busy ourselves building dwelling places? Could it be that God calls us to be shaped and changed by love, but we resist it? Could it be that love is transforming us, but we want to stay the same? If so, we have a friend in Peter, but like him, we must listen to the voice of God. According to Dr. Price, “change is the only constant in life,” and according to my father-in-law, it was love which transfigured Jesus, and it is love which must transfigure us. Even if it’s in the valley that he will be beaten and nailed to a cross. Still Christ went and we must go. Why? Because “Love is being committed to the growth of another.” That’s how a man named Bob, who led our conference defined it, and I think he’s right. While sometimes love looks like being committed to making sure that nothing ever changes, no one ever gets hurt, and the one we love stays right by our side that’s not always love. Sometimes that’s control. Today is Transfiguration Sunday. I’ve seen transfiguring love. I saw it in my mother on the day she dropped me off at college. She left all of a sudden saying, “If I stay another moment I’m going to start crying and I don’t know when I’ll stop, so I’m leaving.” I’ve seen it in a husband whose heart was breaking as he told his suffering wife it was OK for her to go. I’ve seen it in Jesus who went down from the mountain to the valley that you and I might live. Amen.

Choose Life

Scripture Lessons: Deuteronomy 30: 15-20 and Matthew 5: 21-37 Sermon Title: Choose Life Preached on February 16, 2020 Scripture is easy to misunderstand. I don’t understand a lot of the Bible, but there are parts that I do understand, other parts that I’m trying to understand, but there are many who misunderstand most of it and that’s probably because misunderstanding is easy to do. It might be easier to misunderstand than it is to understand. That’s how it is with people, so why not with Scripture? When we encounter strong moral admonitions like that of the two Scripture Lessons we’ve just read, it’s possible to misunderstand the intention of our Father in Heaven just as children misunderstand the intentions of their parents on earth. Parents, has it ever been the case for you, that when attempting to save your children from harm, self-inflicted or otherwise, they’ve reacted as though you were not trying to save them at all, but instead, as though you were trying to ruin their lives? Last Sunday afternoon we were on the way to the Cub Scout Troop 252 Blue and Gold Banquet. That’s an annual event for our Scout troop which celebrates the birth of scouting. Because our Scout Troop, like many others, has gone co-ed, our 8-year-old daughter Cece has joined the troop that both my brother and I were in, and which our father, Cece’s grandfather served as a leader. While Sara went to the grocery store, I took both girls to the Blue and Gold Banquet along with our covered dish, but coming out of the house they beat me to the car. Locking the door to the house then walking towards the car I could see that Lily, who is now old enough to sit in the front seat, was there in the front seat, already buckled, and when I opened the door, I found Cece, though only 8-years-old, in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t see her until I opened the door because she was lying down so that her feet could reach the pedals. From that position she said, “Daddy, I’m tall enough to reach the peddles. Why don’t you let me drive us to the church?” That’s a fair question. I responded with a couple fair answers: 1. Because you don’t know how to drive 2. Because if you’re laying down in the driver’s seat to touch the pedals you can’t see over the steering wheel 3. Because you don’t have a driver’s license and so it’s illegal for you to drive the car These are only three of the logical reasons why I couldn’t allow Cece to drive us to the Blue and Gold Banquet. A more emotional one: Because I love you and don’t want you to wreak this car and get hurt. Regardless, my logic was met with complete and utter indignation by both of them. Our children reacted to me as though I had suddenly mandated that no children in the Evans household would ever be allowed to eat, smile, or drink water again. Though I was standing on the moral high ground they lashed out at me, saying: “Gosh Dad! You never let us do anything!” Consider that experience and reflect for a moment on your relationship with God. Or think for a moment about someone else’s relationship with God. It is a common thing to begin our prayers, “Our Father,” and so also, it is a common thing for us and many others to encounter God’s law with the same indignation as children to their parents. “Why should I let God tell me what to do,” some say, as though the Father’s intention were to keep us from happiness or fun rather than ensure that we enjoy the benefits of an abundant life. Too many have rejected the Church because they believe that a life of fulfilment will be found outside of it, and too many inside the Church validate such an assumption by living miserable lives that no sane person would ever want to imitate. Last Sunday Jesi Allers preached a beautiful and vulnerable sermon on Jesus’ command that we be salt and light. I remember talking with my barber about the passage as few years ago. He told me that salt is good so we need to be salt. “Without it, food tastes boring, and I sure have been to some boring churches.” Why would Jesus tell us to be salt? Why would Moses tell us that in God’s law is life? Then considering today’s Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Matthew: why would Jesus call us to watch, not just our actions but our thoughts? Some say it’s because God doesn’t want us to have any fun, but I say it’s because God wants us to choose life and not death. The Choir just sang so beautifully: “If you love him, keep his commandments,” but don’t forget, it’s because He loves us that He gave them. God’s intention in giving us rules to live by is not to rain on our parade but is simply to ensure that we avoid hurting ourselves and the people around us. God gives commands for the same reason that loving parents stop their 8-year-olds from driving the car. It is for love that God does it. Still, so many, when reading a list of moral admonitions like the ones we’ve just read from the Gospel of Matthew, would say, “Why follow those rules? I’d rather live a little!” Live a little? As though a life of sin were a life of freedom. As though a life indulging the flesh led to fulfillment. As though breaking the rules insured happiness, when in fact, to quote the worst hymn to sing but my favorite one to quote: We are not free when we’re confined to every wish that sweeps the mind, but free when freely we accept the sacred bounds that must be kept. And what are those sacred bounds? We just read them. These moral admonitions from the very mouth of our Lord do not abolish the law but fulfil it. His word for us today is one that requires self-examination, change, and repentance, for Christ does not just call us to refrain from murder, but even the thought of it! It’s true. He does. Is there forgiveness in our Lord? Of course. Is there love? Absolutely. In him is all compassion and goodness, for he is one who loves us too much to allow us to stay as we are. As he opens the car door of our inner thoughts to see us trying to drive without seeing over the steering wheel of our lives he says simply, “Get out of the front seat and listen to what I have to say.” “Your thoughts are dangerous,” he says. That’s the point of this entire Second Scripture Lesson, and when we really think about it, we know he’s right. They are. Our thoughts are dangerous. I’ve been using an app on my phone to meditate every morning. In addition to reading a short devotional, then praying through my personal list and the list that Rev. Joe Brice provides, I use this guided meditation app to spend time in the presence of God in quiet for too often my prayers are too much talking and not enough listening. The guided meditation suggested to me last week that I notice my thoughts, then label them. That I think about what I’m thinking about. That’s a strange concept, but it’s helped me. If I’m at home and my mind has wandered, just noticing what that thought was about tells me something. So, I ask myself, was that thought about my children, my wife, my parents, or much more likely, my church? In labeling my thoughts I begin to notice where my mind is, for my mind is not always in the same place as my body, nor are my thoughts always bringing me closer to the people right beside me. I was thinking about changing the title to this sermon to more accurately reflect what I’m trying to say this morning, and so I came up with the alternative title: “your phone is from the devil.” I don’t really think that. Not exactly anyway. Because your phone, like so many other things: money, guns, anger, sex – can be used for good or for evil, depending on how you use it. The intention of course is to provide connection, and indeed it does. Because of technology and the power of the internet our worship service reaches all the way to our friend Kay and her family in Australia, but sitting next to my wife on the couch, my phone can also take me right back to my study at the church, it can distract me from my family with Facebook where bridges are burnt between me and all my Facebook friends once I learn how they really think, it can threaten my most important relationships because my phone can take me anywhere and it can show me anything. Be careful with that thing. Why? Because if you’re mad at someone you need to go and tell them why your mad, you don’t need to vent on Facebook. God created us to love and put us in relationships. God gave us feelings of attraction, sexual and otherwise, and if you get used to watching other people through pornography you won’t be able to do it right with the person who you’re supposed to be doing it with. What did Jesus say? He quoted Moses and the Law. Moses said, “You shall not murder.” Good. Don’t. But don’t think about murdering people all day either because hate will rot you out from the inside. Moses said, “Don’t commit adultery,” and he was right. Don’t. But thinking about adultery all day is going to mess you up too. Then, “it was also said, ‘whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’” OK, but if you think you can end a relationship with a piece of paper then you’re crazy, because the hate you feel towards him or the resentment you feel towards her will still hurt your kids even after the separation. They can feel it. Watch your thoughts. But have you ever been afraid that God was watching them? I have. And whether you think of God as a loving father or a judgmental one matters tremendously in this way, for whether God wants to help us change that we’d have joy or wants to see our thoughts so that He can judge us and reject us makes all the difference in the world. Know this then: Jesus isn’t talking about thoughts because he’s a member of the thought police. Jesus isn’t calling us to look inside our heads so we’ll be consumed by guilt or shame. Jesus doesn’t call us to monitor what we’re thinking so we’ll know whether we are among the righteous or the unrighteous. Instead, he gives us these instructions because the choice is always ours: abundant life or death and like Moses, he calls us to choose life. Stop worrying about what other people are doing and recognize where your thoughts are leading you. Just stop. That’s what this is about. Just stop hating, lusting, gossiping, coveting, and being jealous, and live. So often our society points fingers at the ones who dance during the Super Bowl. Don’t worry about how they dance or what they wear. They can’t hurt you. Worry about the thoughts in your head, because they can. It’s time to stop worrying about who can go in which bathroom and what happens in other people’s bedrooms, because Christ calls us to consider what happens in our own bathrooms, our own bedrooms, and in between our own ears. Everyone knows that the grown-ups in Washington can’t get along, but don’t worry so much about it that you fail to worry about how what you say about them is affecting your relationship with your friends and your family. What matters so much to Jesus here is how we get along with the people we actually know, not how we view the people we see on TV. “I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgement… So, when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift and go; be reconciled [!]” And if you do, you will live. Choose life. Amen.