Let Us Be Glad and Rejoice in His Salvation

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 25: 6-9 and John 20: 1-18 Sermon Title: Let Us Be Glad and Rejoice in His Salvation Preached on April 4, 2021 Sometimes people ask me about my Easter Sunday sermon. In the last week or so, a few friends have asked, “Joe, big Sunday coming up. What are you going to preach on?” “Well, I’ve been thinking about a sermon on the resurrection.” In a lot of ways, it’s easy to preach on Easter Sunday. It’s all right here. Today is the day. There’s not much left for the preacher to explain or illustrate. He is risen. He is risen indeed. Thanks be to God. What more need be said? But this is what I want to emphasize today: that what happened on Easter Sunday so long ago when Mary went looking for a corpse to bury and instead encountered the Lord, risen from the dead, changes everything. And it doesn’t just change the way we look at death, no longer with fear but hope for our own life eternal, but it must change the way we look at the everyday, from the moment we rise up in the morning to when we put our head down on our pillow at night. From the moment we sit down at our desk, bored already, or walk through the front door, not at all enthused about getting to another baseball practice. The resurrection must change our perspective on all the good plans that fall apart and all the crushing blows that have us reeling, because the truth of the resurrection colors how we understand the world around us and changes the way we understand what happens to us from our greatest successes to our deepest disappointments. Faith changes things. Faith in the resurrection changes things. Now, if you asked me to define a word like “faith,” I’d say something like what I just said, that faith is a way of looking at the world and understanding our lives so that we never fall victim to despair and avoid getting lost in temptation or heartache. Faith is like a lot of the words Christians like us use, but then, when we are asked to define them, we struggle to do so simply. When I’m searching for a good way to define one of our Christian code-words I often look them up in a short dictionary written by one of my favorite preachers, Frederick Buechner. When he defines the word faith, he quotes the book of Hebrews, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Then, referring to Sarah, who God told would have a child in her old age, Buechner says that “faith is laughter at the promise of a child… and “faith [even] dies, as it lives, laughing.” “Faith is not a noun, but a verb, more a process than a possession.” “Faith is not being sure where you’re going but going anyway.” It’s like friendship, which, should you put it to the test you’d ruin it. Ask someone to prove that she’s really your friend and watch how it hurts her. Likewise, faith can’t be proven but that hardly means it isn’t true. A life of faith is one lived expecting something good to happen, because you know good things have happened before, and it enables us, not just to look in one empty tomb but every empty tomb with the hope of people who are willing to be surprised by God despite a mountain of disappointment. What I’m trying to say here isn’t something simple, but of course it is. Simply put, faith is just a way of looking at the world and filling in what you don’t know, and so while we Christians often strictly define faith in positive terms, it also takes faith to look out on the unformed future with pessimism, because no one knows that they’ll be disappointed, but people often walk around with the faith that they will be. You see, people who are always pessimistic don’t know it all. They don’t expect surprises, though surprises come. Have you ever met someone who said, “I’m not a pessimist, I’m just realistic?” That’s not entirely true, for it’s not realistic to never expect anything good to ever happen. Good things happen all the time. For example: Mary was being pessimistic and realistic when she looked into the tomb, but it was empty. The Prophet Ezekiel went to a valley of dry bones and they all came back to life. The Hebrew people were saved from slavery in Egypt. David slayed a giant with a rock and a sling and the pessimist would have bet against him in that fight and would have lost it all because the giant fell. Christian faith calls us to take surprises into account, and real life often surprises us just as often as do the old Bible stories. Think about it. You can imagine how many people told Orval and Wilburn Wright that they’re plane would never get off the ground? Likewise, I once told my daughter that she could keep the old dryer I put on the side of the road if she pushed it up a hill. I told her that with pessimistic faith that she’d never be able to do it, and yet she did. I was even more surprised by her than I was at a ball I once attended in Columbia, Tennessee wearing just most of a tuxedo. No one even made fun of me for my lack of cummerbund though I expected someone to. I tell you that because only a fool is always pessimistic. A fool goes through life imagining everything is going to turn out bad. A fool confuses pessimism with realism. Murphy’s Law discounts the hand of God. And lacking imagination is sorry way to go through life, for miracles spring up all around us and I don’t want you to miss them. Consider faith then, the kind of faith which the resurrection inspires, which is nothing more than taking what you know God has done and daring to believe that God might do it again. Faith is seeing a church, wounded by division and decline and imagining that it might be named the Best Place to Worship in Cobb County three years in a row. Faith is planting seeds in the ground and expecting them to grow. Faith is sending kids to school and trusting that they’ll learn. Faith is driving your car into a roundabout and daring to believe that you’ll survive. Faith is taking the truth of an empty tomb and allowing it to color your vision of every relationship that feels like it’s hit a brick wall. For how many times has reconciliation happened? How many times have you said, “I’ll be she’ll never call,” and then the phone rang? How many days have you been sure that nothing would ever change and yet it did? How many mornings felt like Groundhog Day and yet a new day dawned. I tell you it’s happened plenty of times. It’s happened far too often for you or me to have the outlook of a pessimist. Easter Sunday calls on us to take the truth of the resurrection and allow it to change the way we see the world around us. It is a day for celebrating every seed that bloomed into flower though it seemed to be nothing more than a seed. Every child sent off to college who came back educated and purpose filled. Today is the day for giving thanks to God that even this season of pandemic is ending, and now we have the chance to do things differently than we did before, because it did not end us or close the book on our story. My friends, we can write a new story staring now. And we can write it with greater kindness. Greater unity. More respect and common decency. Having seen poverty and felt disease this last year, we may now dare to believe that something might be done to ensure a brighter future. Having heard the people shout for justice, we might listen and reimagine rather than get stuck in the cycle of the way things are. On this Resurrection Day, dare to believe that new life is jumping up from the ground and leaping from every tomb, for there is no power in death other than the power that we give it. Christ has concurred it, and it is not the end. Today is the beginning. For he has risen. He has risen indeed. Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation. Amen.

He Entered Jerusalem

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2, 19-29, and Mark 11: 1-11 Sermon title: He Entered Jerusalem Preached on March 28, 2021 For the last five weeks, Rev. Cassie Waits and I have had the honor of talking with experts in different fields to learn more about how to practice our faith. To learn about observing the Sabbath we talked with two women, one protestant who just started really resting on the Sabbath and one Jewish who grew up doing it. Then, thinking about singing, last Wednesday we talked with two who have each dedicated their lives to music. To learn about how to celebrate our bodies as a temple where the Holy Spirit resides, we talked with a fitness instructor and an ER doc. Each week we, two of your pastors, took the seat of student to learn about things we don’t know a whole lot about, and each Wednesday Cassie assigned homework so that we all might practice doing these things we haven’t mastered and maybe get a little bit better at them. That’s what practice is for. You haven’t mastered it, so you try it and get better and better. I remember baseball practice. At the apex of my baseball career, I was sitting the bench for the Marietta High School Blue Devils, but five or six days a week we practiced, and I took that practice seriously. Why? Because at any moment Coach might send me into the game. That’s how it is with so many of us who practice at different things. Choirs practice and practice and then they sing. Some people practice their French in private but then take a big trip. On the day the plane lands in Paris, maybe they’re still not masters, but there is a difference between practicing something at home and doing it out in the open where people can hear and see you. What I want to point out to you this morning is that we have to practice our faith to get better, because on the one hand, following Jesus just like anything else. The more we practice the better at it we get, but there’s also a difference between baseball practice and practicing our faith. The baseball games are scheduled. You know when they’re coming up. When it comes to our faith, there’s no way of knowing when practice is over, and the game has begun. You just have to practice and practice for that moment, knowing that you might need the honed skills of a Christian at the drop of a hat. Scripture says these moments come like a thief in the night. Thieves don’t call a week ahead to let you know that they’ll be stopping by. Likewise, we don’t know when that moment will be that we’ll need to know how to pray, but we do know that the moment is coming. I remember so vividly this moment just before our oldest daughter was born. We didn’t know it, but the cord was wrapped around her neck and during delivery, all at once her heartbeat slowed. You can imagine what this was like. We went from anticipation to dealing in matters of life and death. Out of nowhere, my wife was being pulled from the room and into surgery. Her bed went down the hall and I wasn’t allowed to go with her. I said to mother-in-law, “What do I do?” And she said, “Joe, this is when we pray.” You see, we practice our faith because we don’t know when the big game is scheduled. We practice our faith, and when the moment comes, either we’re ready or we’re not. Either we know what to do or we don’t. Jesus was ready and this is his moment. For so long he’d been telling anyone who would listen: “I must go to Jerusalem to die.” That’s what I came here to do. These sinful people don’t understand anything. They have confused love and power, faith and laws, so I’m going to Jerusalem, and maybe if they crucify me, they’ll finally see that they have this whole thing turned upside down. That’s what Palm Sunday is all about, you see. He’d been practicing, and it hadn’t been easy for him. You remember how he told Peter that he has to go to Jerusalem to die? It was when they went up on top of the mountain, and not only did Peter try to get them to stay up on top of the mountain top, but Peter also tried to talk Jesus out of going to Jerusalem. Surely it wasn’t easy for Jesus to say to his friend, “Get behind me Satan, for you are setting your mind, not on divine things but on human things.” In that moment, Christ set his sights on Jerusalem. Likely, he had been preparing himself for it long before then, but today is game day. Today the plane has landed and he’s getting off whether he’s ready or not. The people are cheering, but you can imagine him weeping, because he’s been preparing himself, not with rose tinted glasses, but seeing right through the cheers, knowing that before him is the cross. He was ready, and he rode onward. On the other hand, we know that for so many others who claim to follow him, game day came, and they forgot everything. I’ve been thinking a lot about the two mass shootings that have happened recently. The editorial cartoon in last Wednesday’s paper said, “I guess now we know things really are getting back to normal.” Two mass shootings in one month. You know as well as I do that this is not normal. And a sobering reality of how out of whack our society is, is how so many of these murderers were raised in church. Which leads me to my point: we all need to practice this faith a little bit harder because there are some who take action in this world, who walk out onto the field on gameday and act as though they’ve never heard the words: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Render no one evil for evil.” “This is the day that the Lord has made, so let us rejoice and be glad in it.” “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, his steadfast love endures forever.” The game came and they forgot everything. Or else, they had been practicing hate instead of love, for they denied the Gospel with their actions. They mistook their brothers and sisters. They did exactly the opposite of what the one we follow exemplified, and it tears me up inside. It makes me sick to my core, and it makes me want to shout from the mountain tops: “Christians, it’s time to practice what we preach.” For what we preach is love. What we preach is freedom. What we preach is human dignity, having sung since the nursery that each and every one are precious in his sight. That’s what we must practice. That’s what we must practice until the Father’s love spills right out of us. We need to practice our faith. And let me tell you what happens when we do. A couple weeks ago Rev. Joe Brice and Katherine Harrison were talking with Cassie and me about our book. The chapter was about saying yes and saying no, and Joe walked us through a series of statements trying to prove to us how easy it can be to say no if we just practice. He says, “Repeat after me, the light is on.” You see, you can just say that. It’s easy to say. The light is on. “The wall is green,” he said next, and we said that. Then, “I don’t have time to do that as well as I would like,” which we all repeated, though it was a little difficult because we don’t all often say it. The purpose of the exercise was to prove that the more you practice saying something, the easier it is to say it, and I tell you all this so that you’ll know why what I’m about to tell you matters. Last Tuesday was Bud Tubb’s funeral, but Dr. Jim Speed said to the family, as soon as he saw them, “This is a good day,” and he said it, not as forced words, not as empty words, not as hopeful words, but as a matter of fact. He said it just as plain as if he had just said the light is on or the wall is green, because when people practice their faith it’s there when they need it and having practiced his faith since the day he was born, Jesus Christ rode into Jerusalem knowing what he was in for, ready for what awaited, that you and I might face death without fear. Because he practiced what he preached and did what he knew was right, because he rode into Jerusalem though he knew death awaited him, today we may know full well that those who die in the Lord are not lost. Instead, we trust that they are going home. Let us practice our faith so that like them, we know the way there. Amen.

Reverent Submission

Scripture Lessons: Hebrews 5: 5-10 and John 12: 20-36 Sermon Title: Reverent Submission Preached on March 21, 2021 On more than one occasion, I’ve made fun of the great early 20th Century governor of Texas Miriam A. Ferguson. Though she was the second female governor in United States history, the first female governor of the great state of Texas, a college graduate and was by most accounts, a great leader, a populist, a fiscal conservative, and a great opponent of the Ku Klux Klan, she is perhaps most famous for saying, “If English was good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for Texas schoolchildren.” Jesus, you see, did not speak English. He spoke a language called Aramaic. But seminary students, trained to read scripture, in the language scripture was first uttered in, learn to read, not Aramaic but Hebrew and Greek. I knew why I was supposed to learn Hebrew, but on my first day of Greek class when I first started seminary, I had no idea why we were being forced to learn Greek and I couldn’t figure out why we weren’t learning Aramaic. I was too embarrassed to ask anyone why we were learning Greek however, so I just went on learning it, not knowing why I was learning it, until one day I overheard a conversation on the subject: “Greek was the universal written language of Jesus’ world.” So, the Gospels were not written in Aramaic as it was not much of a written language, not Hebrew as pretty much only Jews learned to read that, but Greek, which was at the time was the language of pretty much everyone. It was the language of Asia Minor, Ethiopia, and Spain. It was at the time of Jesus, the written language of the Roman Empire. At that time, Greek was what Latin was to the world for much of the Common Era during the great expansions of the Roman Catholic Church, and what English is to much of the world today. In language schools in Tokyo and Paris children learn English because their parents want to give them a leg up. Bands from Germany, Afghanistan, and Singapore sing in English to appeal to a wider audience. English might be the closest thing the world has today to a universal written language. It is the language of the most powerful nation on earth. It is the language used in the most exciting movies anyone can see; it is the language of President Joe Biden, William Shakespeare, and Wall Street. People who have something to say to the world today are saying it in English, just as people who had something that was worth saying in the ancient world wrote it in Greek. It was the language that people who were educated enough to be literate learned to read, it was the language of Homer, the language of democracy, power, empire, and influence. So, these Greeks go to Philip, we assume that something about living in Bethsaida in Galilee meant that he could understand their Greek or that they all could speak Hebrew, these Greeks go to Philip in the hope of seeing Jesus but it’s important to think about why. Why would these Greeks go to see Jesus? Not only was their language the one that everyone spoke, but what did the Greeks need from anyone else? Athens was the peak of culture and wisdom at the time and is still one that many societies hope to emulate, so what did these Greeks need from Jesus? These Greeks didn’t need Jesus the teacher. They were Greek and they already had the greatest philosophers of the time. As we still learn from them today, you might argue that these Greeks had the best philosophers of any time. They had Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, and Diogenes. They had the philosophy of the Stoics, so you can’t imagine they needed Rabbi Jesus to teach them. But not only that, these Greeks had Hippocrates and the most modern medicine available to help them avoid suffering, illness, and disease. Did they need Jesus the healer and miracle worker? Nor did these Greeks need Jesus the Prince of Peace as they already had democracy, they trusted the voice of the people, and were able to avoid the tyranny of leaders too powerful through election. I believe that we can safely assume that they didn’t need any of the things that people often go to Jesus looking for, so we should wonder why they went up saying, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” What did the Greeks need with any other culture? Why did they want to see Jesus? It would be like a French Chef from the Cordon Bleu traveling to New York City to learn how to cook. It would be like our NASA, calling up the Soviet Union, in the heat of space race, asking for a little help getting a rocket off the ground. The great cultures of the world don’t go across boarders asking for help. It’s hard for me to imagine even people from regions of the same country asking for help from their fellow countrymen. Last week I was thinking about the TV show, Hee Haw. One episode had grandpa announcing to his family, “Well everyone, I’m moving up north.” The family couldn’t believe it. “Why, grandpa, would you ever do something like that. You don’t even like people from up there. You call them yankees and complain about them all the time.” “Well family,” grandpa says, “I’m getting up there in years, and I figure it’s better for one of them to die than one of us.” There it is. Would Grandpa go up north asking for help? Never! But notice, not the South nor the North, not the Greeks nor the Romans, has figured out what do with death. Certainly, we don’t have it figured out. I’m reminded of that every time I hear the number of COVID-19 deaths. Last time I looked it was 535,997, and I have to go and look it up. It’s a number so large that we don’t really put it in the headlines. It’s more than half of Cobb County. That’s almost nine times the population of Marietta. It makes number like 2,977, the number of people who died on September 11th, or 2,403, the number of US troops killed at Pearl Harbor, look like a drop in the bucket. It’s more than we lost in World War I. It’s more than we lost in World War II. It’s more than we lost in Vietnam. It’s more than we lost in all those wars combined. But we can’t talk about it. Maybe, because to lose one is so much to bear. We’re talking about grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives. We’re talking about people who are gone, some without a funeral. Others, who breathed their last without a hand to hold. This is one of the great struggles for all of humanity in all of human history. Not just how to live, but how to deal with the reality of death, a reality that every facet of our culture wants to avoid. When they go to see Jesus, he offers them something that no other culture, not Greek culture and not our culture could have offered. When the Greeks want to see Jesus, he gives them this: Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies it bears much fruit.” He gives them a reverent submission to the reality of death rather than an urgent denial or even a miracle cure. “Now my soul is troubled [he said] and what should I say, ‘Father, save me from this hour? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” You see, the way of Christ is not the way of our culture, as Christ does not fear death. In fact, he submits to it. He doesn’t run away from it. He looks it in the eye, for in every needless death is a lesson to learn and in every sacrifice is the seed of new life. Like these Greeks, we too must learn from this teaching, for as we look over this earth as the champions of the space race and the greatest military power the world has ever seen, we are slow to face the glaring frailty that half a million deaths reveal. But might each one be a seed that pushes us to create a more noble health care system. Might each one be a seed planted that sprouts in us a desire to eliminate misinformation, for propaganda and denial costs human lives. Furthermore, as this virus has spread the world over, person to person and place to place, we are invited to see that our borders hardly mean anything. There is no wall we could built that a virus would not pass through, and so let us hear from the Prince of Peace, let us hear it in the deaths of so many sisters and brothers the world over, that Christ invites us to share more than an infection, Christ invites us to reach across the boundary lines, the rivers, the fences, and the lawns to create a better world, better neighborhoods, better communities, a better future, by learning the lessons that death has to teach. Today, as we struggle to understand how eight people were murdered, six of them Asian Americans, let us recognize that the way we talk, the way we see people, that just calling something the China Virus, can have divisive and dehumanizing effects. In death there is a lesson for us to learn, and despite everything that we have, everything we’ve done, and this great nation that we’ve built, we’ve been dealing in hatred and division for too long, so let us learn now what death has to teach. For Rome took our Jesus and nailed him to a cross, trying to preserve power and maintain the order of the way things had been, yet his blood changed everything. His sacrifice changed everything, because death has its own enlightenment to offer us. Let us embody enough humility and reverent submission to learn. Amen.

Step Into the Light

Scripture Lessons: Numbers 21: 4-9 and John 3: 1-21 Sermon Title: Step Into the Light Preached on March 14, 2021 There are some figures in Scripture that I find it so easy to relate to. I hope that’s true for you, because the heroes of our faith, especially when we can see ourselves in their shoes, help to make Scripture and the journey of faith come alive. For example: When we think about Peter and walking out onto the water, I can just about feel myself sinking, because I know what it is to take that first brave step and then to become immediately terrified. When we hear about Thomas wrestling with his doubts, I think about every question I’ve ever had but was too afraid to ask. Dropping off our girls at their first day of school I was so glad not to be Moses’s mother, but still there was a feeling of helplessness as they walked away from me and into their new classroom, and my prayer was probably much like hers, that God would watch over them as they left me standing there, helpless and afraid. At different times of my life, I’ve felt something like all of them, even the villains like Pilate or Pharaoh. However, it’s hard for me to think about Nicodemus because I know what it’s like to be in his shoes just a little too much. He’s just a little too familiar. A little too much like me, or I’m a little too much like him, and this struggle of his is my own struggle. Maybe it’s yours too. Do you know what it’s like to only feel the freedom to admit that you need something when you’re sure that no one else is listening? Do you know what it’s like to not have anyone else to talk to about what your struggles? Do you know what it’s like to feel the pressure of presenting yourself as whole, self-sufficient, strong, impenetrable, and flawless in the light of day, while falling asleep every night exhausted from pretending that you have it all together when you know you don’t? Nicodemus. This Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of John comes around every year, and I dread it, because in dealing with him I have to deal with me. I have to look again into my own heart, and it’s hard, because every preacher thinks he’s supposed to be perfect while knowing that he isn’t. Every father feels insufficient underneath his suit of armor. Every husband wants to provide more for his wife and must struggle to believe that his spouse could really love him for who he is. Not a single one of us wants to live in a glass house, because there are insecurities which we want to keep hidden from the neighbors who are watching and judging us. So, at night Nicodemus goes. You know why. He goes at night to see Jesus because he can’t show the world that he needs a savior. In the day he can’t appear to need a single thing, so there is some security in the darkness that enables him to be vulnerable. He can only reveal his need when he won’t be seen. It was at night 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.” Another way to say the same thing is like this: “Rabbi, you can do what I can’t.” Do you know how hard it is for some people to say something like that? Do you know how hard it is for a grown man to say something like that? Do you know how hard it is for a working mother trying to juggle raising kids and a career to admit to the world how impossible her life feels? It’s hard for every person who is like Nicodemus. It’s hard for all of us who are supposed to know where we are going to stop and ask for directions. It’s hard for all of us who are used to helping people to ask for a little help for ourselves. When you think you’re the one who’s supposed to know everything, you think you can’t be seen asking too many questions. There’s a great Jerry Clower story that Nicodemus kind of reminds me of. It’s called The Chauffeur and the Professor. Now, brother Clower can tell it better than I ever could. I encourage you to listen to his version as soon as possible. The just of the story is that a genius level professor has been going around the nation making an incredible speech with the same chauffeur listening the whole time. The chauffeur tells him that he’s memorized the professor’s speech and can probably make that speech better than the Great PhD ever could, even though he hasn’t graduated from the great school of minds, he’s an unlettered chauffeur but he’s sure he can make that speech. The Professor, wanting to put this too big for his britches chauffeur back in his place agrees to let him try. They swap clothes on the way to the next venue, so before this huge university audience is the chauffeur wearing the professor’s clothes and the professor is in the back wearing the chauffeur’s clothes. Brother Clower goes on to say that the chauffeur made that speech. In fact, in Clower’s words, “he forever shelled down the corn. He shelled the corn all the way to the cobb.” Translation: he made the speech really well. The crowd, so amazed, throwed their books on the floor, screamed in jubilation, gave him a standing ovation. Once they had been calmed down, the university president invited the crowd, if they would like, to ask any questions. Now, that meant trouble. The chauffer had the speech memorized, but hadn’t thought about the Q and A. A very intelligent young man lifted his hand, asked the most detailed question you’ve ever heard. Something about carbon dating, stratospheres, and the layers of the earth’s crust. The chauffer dressed up like a professor listened to the question. You would imagine that he was sweating, but he kept his cool, took off his glasses like this and said, “Young man, as long as I’ve been giving this speech throughout North America’s most prestigious universities, that’s about the simplest question I’ve ever heard. I’m surprised this university let in someone who would ask a question that simple. In fact, it’s so simple, I’ll just ask my chauffeur to stand up here and answer it.” Now this story is funny because the professor is wearing the chauffeur’s clothes, but the truth is, that to some degree or another, the professor always feels like a chauffeur in professor’s clothes. The truth is that, to some degree or another, the preacher always feels like a sinner in preacher’s clothes. The truth is that, to some degree or another, we all feel like imposters, fakers, travelers, just on the way to perfection, while the world seems to want us to have made it there already. Who among us is truly a self-made man? Who among us is self-sufficient? Who among us knows what we’re doing and has it all together? We point our fingers at entitlement in the world, while knowing that we all depend on so much help that just the idea that we’re doing fine on our own is a mirage. Knowing that he must keep such an image, such a mirage intact, Nicodemus goes to see Jesus at night. You know why. It’s because the world wants to put him up on a pedestal that he would love to come down from. It’s because the act that he’s keeping up is wearing him down, but he can’t get off the hamster wheel. It’s because he needs help but is afraid to ask for it, and so he goes to see the savior at night, and this is what the savior says: “You have to be born again.” Nicodemus asks, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” What’s going on here is Nicodemus is resisting the idea of starting over. He’s resisting the thought of being as helpless as a newborn. Having made it this far, how can I begin again? Having built up so much respect, how could I bow before this Jesus from Galilee in need? It’s as though he’s asking, “I’ve built up a life for myself, and you want me to give it away?” The answer is yes. We see it again and again. The rich young ruler must walk away from the life he has to gain eternal life. Later in John’s Gospel Jesus will say, “Those who love their life will lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” What does all that mean? It means that if you’re so afraid of losing what you have that you won’t admit that you need some help, you’re going to lose it anyway. It means, that if you’re so consumed with appearing perfect to this world that you won’t ever show vulnerability, than your dirty laundry will expose you sooner or later. It means that people like Nikodemus, people like us, may as well risk being a little more real than we have been, because that’s the only way we’re ever going to get right. In our really strange Old Testament Lesson with all the snakes, we heard how people were hiding in the shadows with their snake bites, but in order to be healed, they had to come out into the light of day, revealing their wounds. Doesn’t that sound like a good word for us today? We who present to the world a polished image that says, “We’re doing just fine,” though really we’re drowning in debt, our kids drive us crazy, and we sure could use some help. Guess what: we’re never going to get any until we’re willing to cry out for it. We’re never going to be saved until we admit that we need to be saved. We’ll never be able to be found until we admit that we’re lost. We are covered up in shadow, so step into the light. Step into the light instead. In the light there is no condemnation, but only healing. In Christ is life and not death. Show him your wounds and find healing. Confess to him your sins and receive forgiveness. Kneel before the savior of the world and live. Amen.

Braid the Whip

Scripture Lessons: Malachi 3: 1-7 and John 2: 13-22 Sermon Title: Braid the Whip Preached on March 7, 2021 One of the shortest verses in the Bible, “Jesus wept,” and another like it, “Jesus laughed,” despite brevity tells us so much about this savior of ours whose emotional life we are prone to reduce down to some kind of warm, solemn, piety. You can see what I’m talking about in art. Some of us grew up in Sunday School rooms with paintings of Jesus on the wall which only told us part of the story. One of the most famous is by an artist named Warner Sallman. In this one Jesus is bearded, white, and looking off in the distance, neither stoic nor emotional, just serene. That painting doesn’t tell us the whole story. Even those other popular images of Jesus welcoming the little children, which of course he did, or rescuing lost sheep, which he also did, don’t tell the whole story because he wasn’t white, nor was he just nice. He also wept, he also laughed, and he also got angry. He had emotions, just like we do. He was sometimes sad, just as we are. He often laughed, just like we do. And he sometimes got angry, just like we do. But the difference between him and us is in how he expressed his emotions. That’s something we don’t all know how to do in a healthy way, even though Mr. Rogers tried to teach us. During this pandemic I’ve become even more of a fan of Mr. Rogers. I have my own red sweater and a Mr. Rogers coffee mug, plus I read his biography and saw two movies about him. But a while ago, I came across a video where Mr. Rogers walks towards the camera and he says, “I’m angry.” Of course, he doesn’t look angry. I’ve said it before, that it’s hard to look angry in a cardigan. Then he starts singing, What do you do with the mad that you feel, when you feel so mad you could bite. When the whole wide world seems Oh, so wrong, And nothing you do seems very right. I can relate to that song and maybe you can too, because we all get mad, but what do we do with the mad that we feel? What did Jesus do with the mad that he felt? We read from the Gospel of John that Jesus told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” We see here that Jesus felt the same anger that we feel, but he did something different with it. First of all, he can say what he’s angry about. Not everyone I know can do that. In fact, I know a whole lot of people who won’t even admit that they’re angry. I’m one of them. It’s hard for me to say that I’m angry, because I think I’m always supposed to be nice. When I was a kid my parents would ask me, “Joe, what’s wrong?” I’d tell them “nothing.” These days, Sara will ask me, “What are you so mad about?” And I’ll say, “I’m mad about you always asking me if I’m mad.” That’s not true of course, but that’s what I say, because just that simple thing: saying what I’m angry about, is hard for me to do. And I’m not alone, so let me say that in taking a lesson from Jesus, we first have to accept the reality that being angry is a part of being human. Then we have to come to terms with the truth that sometimes our anger is telling us something important that can’t be ignored. Anger isn’t always so unreasonable. Most of the time we are justified in our anger, but we get all messed up in coming to terms with what it is that we’re really angry about, and then deciding what it is that we’re going to do about it. The most wonderful detail in our Gospel Lesson for today is there in verse 15: “Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle.” In all four of the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry he storms into the Temple kicking over tables, scattering the coins of the money changers, and setting free the animals, but only in John does he first make a whip of cords. Do you know how long it takes to braid a whip of cords? I don’t. And I don’t know, not only because I’ve never done it, but also because when I get angry, I don’t stop to do anything that might help me calm down or process my thoughts. Instead, I either just start talking without thinking or go silent and brooding. Hardly, if ever, do I stop what I’m doing to sit down to think about why it is that I’m angry and what it is that I’m going to do about it. Jesus is different. Jesus gets angry and then he braids a whip of cords. Do you know how counter cultural that is? There’s an old cartoon I remember where the boss yells at dad in the office. Then dad comes home and yells at mom in the kitchen. Mom goes upstairs to yell at their son, who then walks out into the yard to kick the dog. Anger. It can destroy a family like a virus that gets passed on from one to the next. Another thing we do with anger is keep it inside so that it rots our guts and hollows our spirit. Some try to drown it with liquor, numb it with drugs, either of which is destructive, and few take the time to sit down and really think about it. What am I mad about? Then, what am I going to do about it? The knee jerk response to slam a door, throw a punch, get somebody fired or lock somebody up so frequently does more harm than good. Impulsivity isn’t the answer, so look to Jesus: We must learn to braid the whip. Especially given the year we’ve all had. We all have good reason to be angry about something, but we have to stop and listen to our anger for it to do us or our world any good. A hero of mine was Harris Hines. He was a member and officer of our church. He also served on the Georgia Supreme Court as the Chief Justice. In his farewell address to the judiciary as he prepared for retirement, he reminded those listening how he worked to fight the old “lock him up” order from the bench to get to a better solution, and urged those who follow in his footsteps to do the same, for just filling up our prisons is not achieving that higher goal of rehabilitation, even if it feels like it’s doing something. When I’ve visited prisons and jails, I’ve seen angry, frustrated people who were put behind bars by angry, frustrated people. That’s a lot of misused anger if you ask me. So, as a culture. As a nation. We have to learn what to do with anger, because it will tear us a part if we misuse it, but you know what it’s supposed to do? Purify us. Significant background for understanding what it means for Jesus to storm the Temple is found in the Old Testament book of Malachi. There it’s written: “the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple.” And when he gets there, he won’t just be nice, walking around shaking hands and kissing babies. No. According to the Prophet Malachi “he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness.” Jesus, fueled by anger, purifies the Temple so that it might no longer be a marketplace, but a Temple. No longer a den of thieves, be a sanctuary for the hurting. No longer a place where money is exchanged, and debts are paid, but a place where debts are forgiven. Now, how did he do it? Through anger. Through an anger that is frustrated with what is and directed towards that which stands in the way of a better future. Our world could use that kind of anger. Our nation could use that kind of anger. Even our church could use that kind of anger. In just a couple of hours we’ll be ordaining and installing a group of new church officers on a big church zoom call, but before they’re ordained and installed we’ll ask them a series of questions. One of my favorites is this: Will you seek the serve the people with energy, intelligence, imagination, and love? Now you can imagine using these good things to serve the church, but I tell you this, we also need their frustration, because we are not yet the best church we could be, so do not grow satisfied with who we are today. We also need their irritation. Patience is good, but too much patience enables us to comfortably settle in where we are. We need their anger, because there is so much wrong in this world that we just cannot be OK with any longer. It’s time to listen to our anger. That feeling we feel when we see abuse and consider all the ways people are not valued, are looked over, and are made to feel like they’re less than human because of the color of their skin, who they love, or where they come from. In order to value all God’s people, we have to kick over the structures that maintain things as they are. Now I’m not talking about recklessness. We’re a church, not a mob, so we must learn from Christ to braid the whip. We must be bold to do as the Savior taught, to slow down and listen to what your anger is telling you. Stop and listen it, for even through anger the Spirit may be speaking, calling us away from the ways of death that we have grown used to, and towards new life. Amen.

Divine Things and Human Things

Scripture Lessons: Genesis 17: 1-7, 15-16 and Mark 8: 31-38 Sermon Title: Divine Things and Human Things Preached on February 28, 2021 Last Thursday, the front page of the Marietta Daily Journal featured the headline, Kennesaw church expelled. Such a headline made the front page because the Towne View Baptist Church was (quote) “kicked out of the Southern Baptist Convention.” This was a painful article to read, for a number of reasons. One of those reasons being quite self-centered, for as a pastor, I felt sorry for the pastor of that church who said, “this is kind of like hearing from your family that you don’t belong anymore.” But I felt sorrier for the family who found themselves at the center of this controversy. They are a couple with three adopted children, who just wanted a church to belong to and not a denominational schism. Then, at the same time I felt pride and admiration because this church exemplifies the Gospel call in a particular way. Maybe like you, I know that sometimes a church must make a hard decision. And whenever a church chooses to embody the love of Jesus Christ over the approval of a governing body, I rejoice because I believe in doing so, they make the cost of discipleship plain. Following Jesus costs something. Doing the right thing, often costs something. And the Lord himself makes the cost of discipleship absolutely plain in this Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Mark. For any who struggle to see that the Christian faith promises a cross and not a Cadillac, listen to this: Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. Why did Peter rebuke him? Why did Peter take Jesus aside? Because Peter didn’t want Jesus to be that kind of messiah. Peter didn’t think that suffering and rejection had anything to do with being the messiah. In a world of comfort, quick fixes, and simplified solutions, who would follow a messiah who suffers. Peter wanted a nice, quiet Messiah, who would be everyone’s hero. He wanted Jesus to be that someone everyone could cheer on in a great parade. A savior and friend who would one day retire with him to the beach and together Peter and Jesus could look back on all their years of ministry and Peter would say to his friend in the beach chair next to him, “Jesus, it’s been a wonderful life, hasn’t it?” Maybe there was a part of Jesus that wanted this kind of life too, so he must rebuke Peter just as he rebuked the devil back in the wilderness: “Get behind me, Satan! [he said to his friend] for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Isn’t it easy, to set your mind on human things? Isn’t it easy to get all caught up in what everyone thinks? But not everyone does, or not everyone does all this time. When the great evangelist Rev. Billy Graham died, I remembered one of his most famous quotes: “My home is in heaven. I’m just passing through this world.” That was him, maybe on a good day. For the rest of us, it’s easy to get stuck in this world. Isn’t it easy, to set your mind on human things? A Puritan prayer book that I love says it this way: “O Savior of Sinners, raise me above the smiles and frowns of the world, regarding it as a light thing to be judged by humans.” Do you know anyone who needs to pray that prayer? I know I need it. Maybe you do too. In this strange time of COVID-19, isn’t a prayer like that one what we all need? Parents have to help their children make even more difficult decisions than ever, because now, when your son finally makes the basketball team you have to decide whether or not to even let him play. Is loving our kids letting them do something that makes them feel normal or is loving them better embodied in going lengths to keep them safe and behind a mask? In every single decision we must weigh options like these. We must constantly ask ourselves: “How do I protect myself; how do I protect my children; how can I keep them from being social outcasts when I’m constantly faced with mollifying one group of people but disappointing another?” How can we even speak any more? These days, obvious statements like, Black Lives Matter, carry with them not just the undeniable value of human life, but allegiance to a particular group and a particular way of seeing the world. You know this struggle. It’s a fool’s errand to try and walk the middle path, agonizing over appearances, working to appease everyone, though I’ve been that fool again and again and again, and I bet you have too. You lean one way and you’re someone’s hero but someone else’s enemy, and it sure does feel like you’re dying a slow death if you are unable to rise above the smiles and frowns of the world. If it’s impossible for you to regard it as a light thing to be judged by humans, because your mind is set on human things. Jesus said to Peter: “you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things,” and if that’s the way we choose to live, persistently attempting to gain the approval of the crowd, the denomination, or the neighborhood, then it’s going to be nothing but torture from here on out. It was that way for me in my first year of ministry. I began my ministry at Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church out in Lilburn, GA, and I was going to be everything to everybody even if it killed me. Someone asked me if I liked to listen to the Fish – that Christian radio station, and so I started to listen to it, even though I hated it. A group wanted to start a Bible study, and so I helped them get it going, then another group wanted one, then another, and before long I was leading a Bible study every day of the week, listening to the Fish in the car. There was no place of solace. I was trying to please someone everywhere I went. So, basically, the hardest thing about my first year of ministry was that I was trying to be, not the pastor who I was, not the pastor God created me to be, but the pastor who I thought they wanted me to be. Then one morning I woke up with a rash on my stomach. It started out red and itchy, and it wouldn’t go away. Sara finally sent me to the doctor. He told me that is was hives, and that he could give me some medicine for it, but really it was just from stress and what I needed to do was find a way to relax. “You’re a preacher, right?” my doctor asked. I told him that I was, and so he said again, “What you need to do is find a way to relax. Have you ever heard of prayer?” What is prayer, but the opportunity to remember again that our identity and our value comes not from humans but from God. That our primary relationship must be between us and our creator. To quote that great prayer for illumination: “Lord, among all the changing words of this generation, speak to us your eternal Word which does not change.” We pray this prayer because it is God’s voice that defines us, not the whispers of the gossips or the pressure to conform. Jesus did ask his disciples “Who do they say that I am?” though the difference between him asking this question and us asking the same is that he didn’t really care who anybody said he was. He already knew. For us it takes a little more work, and a constant willingness to try and remember. We all have to slow down and accept it. We all have to listen for it, because it’s right there for us. Rather than speed up to try and earn it or buckle down to feel like we’ve gotten there, we have to silence the crowd whispering in our ears that we might listen to his voice, because we’ll never get there and none of us find rest until we rest in God and who God says we are. In our baptism the Lord told us all about who we are: “You are mine, my beloved, and with you I am well pleased.” The difference between all of us and Jesus is that he never forgot it. He was always bold to believe it. And he never depended on humans to tell him who he was or how he should live. Let our prayer be: “O Savior of Sinners, raise me above the smiles and frowns of the world, regarding it as a light thing to be judged by humans.” And may our song be like that great but lesser known hymn, “How Clear Is Our Vocation Lord”: If worldly pressures fray the mind and love itself cannot unwind Its tangled skein of care; our inward life repair. For how will we make it to the Kingdom of Heaven, if deep in our hearts we long for the approval of this broken world? We must set our minds, not on human things. But on divine things. Therefore, as you wrestle with the great balancing act of life in the 21st Century, know that those who choose love, no matter what it costs, live with far more joy in their lives than those who have gained the approval of this world. That preacher who is no longer a Southern Baptist, said it like this, “This little church in Kennesaw, we paid a price to do it, [but I’m not willing to tell people], ‘God made you, but God hates you because of how you are,’ so I’m not going to do it anymore.” I wish we all could be so brave, because with such willingness to face rejection in the name of love we choose the path that Christ chose for himself. In order to really live, we all must rise above the smiles and frowns of the world to follow him. To truly follow, we must leave the approval of this broken world behind. We must live so that in us they catch a glimpse of the reign of love and mercy that is to come. Doing so has ever been easy. And it won’t ever be easy. But listen to this: while most preachers settled into a society of segregation there was one who gave his life for the cause, and this is what he had to say: For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" This "Wait" has almost always meant “Never." [So] we must come to see, that "justice too long delayed is justice denied." Likewise, love too long delayed is love denied. We all must be so bold as to risk what we have to love people better. For who was Abraham but one who gave up his present circumstance to be a part of God’s great plan? Who was Dr. King but one who gave his life for the sake of a dream? Who was Christ but on who chose to be rejected by the powers and principalities of Rome that he might open his arms wide showing all generations that there is a power strong than fear or death, it is love? Let us follow him, risking something, but gaining everything. Amen.

One Foot In Front of the Other

Scripture Lessons: 2nd Kings 2: 1-12 and Mark 9: 2-9 Sermon title: One Foot In Front of the Other Preached on 2/14/2021 Both our first and second Scripture Lessons take place on top of a mountain. Both are momentous occasions, which makes sense to me, because some of the momentous occasions of my life have also taken place on mountain tops. The first time Sara kissed me, we were up on top of a mountain. I proposed to her a couple years later on that same mountain peak, and because she said yes, even more so, I think of mountain tops as meaningful places. As you can imagine that day, I was nervous on our way up, working up the courage to ask. At the top, I felt relief and joy when she said yes. But then, as we went back down it was clear that I suddenly had a whole new set of things to be nervous about that I haven’t even really considered on the way up. I hadn’t really thought about how much growing up is required of making that step from being someone’s boyfriend to being her husband. Maybe this is true of mountains: that we’re expecting the challenge of getting to the top of them, only what about the coming down? Sometimes mountain tops change us, so going down the mountain, I remember how she was talking about telling our friends and her family. Dates and location of the ceremony. Where would we live? What would happen next? Nervous the whole way up that mountain, I expected to be more relaxed coming back down, but I wasn’t because on top of that mountain everything had changed and now, we were on our way to some place new that I’d never been to before. Do you know what that’s like? Finding yourself on the way to some place new? Imagining yourself differently, so differently that you can’t really ever go back home. You have to rethink who you are closest to and which relationship are the most important? Thinking about mountain tops, how do you come back down? How do you re-integrate yourself into the world as a changed person? I suppose one way to do it, is to learn from people who have done it before. You noticed that Jesus isn’t alone in our Second Scripture Lesson. Moses makes his way into this event that we call the Transfiguration from the Gospel of Mark. You know all about Moses, and this is what occurs to me about Moses today, as he appears, dazzling white, beside Jesus up on top of that mountain: he’d already led the people out of Egypt and across the sea, but it’s only when coming down from a mountain top having received the 10 Commandments from Almighty God that we see how he’s changed, while the Hebrew people are busy building an idol out of gold, as though they’d never really left Egypt. Has it ever been this way with you? Have you ever noticed that something was different inside of you? That something had changed? That you were not the same, and you no longer fit in with those you used to fit in with, because suddenly you’d been transformed? In this season of mask wearing and physical distancing, surely, we’re all feeling a little of that still. I preached a funeral for a long-time church member, Joan Young, last Saturday, and the funeral home staff member said that they’ve had four times as many funerals last month than they did January of last year. For some of us, everything has changed because of this virus, but then you get around certain people who act as though nothing’s changed. How do you handle that? How do we handle the change that takes place within us, even as the rest of the world is slow to change? Moses knew what it was like and so did Elisha. There are two prophets in our First Scripture Lesson with dangerously similar sounding names: Elijah and Elisha. Elijah is there with Moses in our Second Scripture Lesson up on top of the mountain with Jesus, so maybe you know a lot about him already. What about Elisha? In our First Scripture Lesson Elijah and Elisha make their way up a mountain. On their way to the mountain Elijah took his mantle, rolled it up, and struck the Jordan River so that the water was parted to the one side and to the other. Together they walked through the water on dry land as Moses and the Hebrew people did through the sea, but then they went to the top of the mountain and Elijah was taken up into heaven by a whirlwind. Elisha had to go back down the mountain as a changed man, walking into an unchanged world, now without the person who’d always shown him the way. Do you know what that’s like? Taking a most important step, without anyone to hold your hand? I feel sure that you do. Last week we had a special church-staff lunch to celebrate Alesia Jones and her ministry among us. Her parents were there, and her father told me that he still remembered how brave she was walking across the stage at a large auditorium, nothing on the stage but his 10-year-old girl and a grand piano she intended to play in front of this huge crowd. This is how it is. To grow, we take steps into the unknown, without always having someone by our side, and sometimes it’s even taking a step into the valley of the shadow of death. Jesus led the Disciples up the mountain, then started back down. Where was he going? You know, and so did Peter. Peter didn’t like it. Of course, he didn’t. Something that’s funny to think about is how many leaders we know of will do anything to hold onto their power and influence. Some will fight tooth and nail to be re-elected, or they keep going to the office long after they should. They can’t pass leadership to anyone new, while Jesus spends this huge part of his ministry trying to get Peter to lead and Peter won’t do it. Peter doesn’t want to come down from the mountain. He’s not ready to take the next step. He says to Jesus, up on top of that mountain, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” There’s no reason for us to go back down. Let’s just stay right up here. It’s just us. We’re fine. We’ll make some dwellings, James will start a fire, and John will gather some pinecones or something for us to eat. Let’s just stay right up here for a while, because I’m not ready to take the next step. I’m not ready to leave this place. I’m not ready for us to go any further. I’m fine where I am. Do you know that feeling? Sure, you do. Everyone does. It’s the feeling we’ve been having since we were babies. We took our first step, and as soon as it’s done being exciting, we wanted to be back in our mother’s arms. We remember how Peter wants to walk on the water, only then he looks down and starts to sink. “Help me Jesus!” he yelled, and Jesus did. But what’s going to happen when Jesus isn’t there to bail him out? For Peter, this moment up on top of the mountain brings with it this horrible realization: that all the time Jesus has been talking about being the son of God, he was serious. That when he said he had to go on the Jerusalem to fulfill his purpose, he wasn’t joking. And that when Jesus had been talking about his death, he meant it. What that means for Peter is that his old life is over. His true purpose is right on the horizon, and any doubts he has within himself might as well be left behind on the mountain top. The time for playing at being the Rock of the Church has come to an end and the time to be the Rock of the Church is coming because Jesus is going to Jerusalem to die. How do you cope with that? How do you become someone new? How do you walk into the unknown without the person who’s always been there? That’s an important question for us to ask ourselves today, as Alesia Jones, who’s been on that rug for our kids all through this pandemic, and for so many years before that, is moving on to make a difference in this world in new and different ways. She’s made a difference to our kids, and now she’s leaving. How do we cope with that? I ask that question as a parent. You might imagine that our daughters have received several Bibles in their lives. They have. People give Bibles to preacher’s kids, but the only Bibles I’ve seen them read voluntarily are the Bibles Alesia Jones gave them. She’s been leading all our children on their journey of faith for 22 years now. And because she’s retiring, I call your attention to this truth: that the very best leaders are those who teach us how to stand on our own. The journey is long. The path is rarely easy. But God gives us companions on the journey, and the best of those companions aren’t always there to hold our hand. The very best are those who show us that we have the strength within us to step out on our own, because that’s what it takes. Step by step we walk down the mountain, not always to the sound of applause and a supportive crowd, but sometimes to shouts and jeers. When that happens, we cannot cease being transformed though the world remains the same. We must be a part of the transformation of this entire world. Challenge after challenge. Change after change. Doing, not what’s easy, but what’ right. Not what’s popular, but what’s true. Moving towards the Promised Land, not like sheep without a shepherd, but like disciples, who have made the faith of their mothers and fathers their own. Thank you, Alesia Jones, for walking with my children, and for helping them along their journey. Thank you, on behalf of so many parents and so many children of this church. We are all better because of you, and we will continue on. Amen.