Let Us Walk In the Light of the Lord

Scripture Lessons: Romans 13: 11-14 and Isaiah 2: 1-5 Sermon Title: Let Us Walk in the Light of the Lord Preached on 11/27/22 Have you ever been wrong? Wrong about a person? Wrong about a deep conviction? Wrong about directions? What if we, as a society, as a culture, as a nation, have it wrong? Looking backwards, it’s easy to see that not all society’s convictions stand the test of time. For example, up until around six hundred years ago, more or less the entire human population was sure that a ship that sailed too far west would fall off the face of the earth. A typical way to treat illness up until the beginning of the 20th century was bloodletting. More recently, in the 1920s, Lucky Strike cigarettes ran an ad celebrating how 20,679 physicians say, “Luckies are less irritating” and will protect your throat against your winter cough. They were wrong about that, just plain wrong. Today, on the first Sunday of the season of Advent, as preparation for Christmas begins in full force, I want to introduce you to the way that Church prepares for the birth of our Savior. During the season we call Advent, a time of expectation and preparation for the birth and second coming of Jesus, the Church gets ready by examining human assumptions, by placing convictions under the microscope. Advent is an opportunity for us to ask ourselves: What if we have it wrong? Speaking of having it wrong, when I was in high school, my algebra teacher swore up and down that we would use the stuff she was teaching someday. Maybe you use algebra every day, but I’m still waiting. Not all of what we believe to be true is; yet we are all capable of being stubborn. We operate under untested hypotheses. We get stuck in false assumptions and become rooted in baseless convictions. Advent is a season when we are invited to ask ourselves: What if we have it wrong? What if we really don’t know where we are going? What if what we thought was true wasn’t? We ask ourselves such questions during Advent because Jesus is coming, the only One who has ever gotten it all right. The rest of us are capable of getting it wrong, so in our first Scripture lesson from Romans, the Apostle Paul calls us to “lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light… Put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.” What does he mean by all that? He means that there is something in our flesh that keeps us from admitting when we are wrong even though we often are. Call it pride. Call it stubbornness. Call it whatever you want but know that there is this thing that keeps men from stopping to ask for directions when they’re lost and prevents women from apologizing when they were wrong, believing they must always be right. I know a woman who was so sure that her husband was overreacting that she made him walk from the parking garage to the emergency room. She wasn’t going to pay for valet parking when he was just being dramatic. Well, right before they took him for quadruple bypass surgery, she felt pretty bad about that. What do you feel pretty bad about? When were you wrong? When did you gratify the desires of your stubborn flesh but should have stepped under the true light of humility. That’s where Jesus leads us: to humility. His very birth assures us that if we could save ourselves, He wouldn’t have needed to be born to show us the way, so let Him show you the way. Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord. On this warm November morning, while snowflake lights shine from the lamp posts, and trees are decorated with ornaments, remember that: Out of Zion shall go forth instruction, And the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, And shall arbitrate for many peoples. They shall beat their swords into plowshares, And their spears into pruning hooks. For generations, the prophets have looked forward to such a day. Generation after generation has spoken of the day when the weapons of war will become the tools for peace. So ingrained is this image in the global consciousness that a statue stands outside the United Nations of a giant man, hammer in his right hand. The sword in his left is being flattened into a plow to prepare the soil for a new harvest. A harvest of peace. A new day of harmony. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? How can we prepare ourselves for such a day? How can we get ready for His coming? We must practice listening for the truth in a world where many have stopped listening. We must learn new ways of doing things in a world where many are stuck in old habits. Back to algebra. In the words of my friend Mickey Buchanan, “Math got really hard when they mixed in the alphabet.” Algebra was hard, so I expected the worksheet our teacher handed out to us as we entered class one morning to be difficult. I sat down and diligently began working like all my classmates did. I went from problem to problem all the way to the end and thought I had done alright, but then the teacher wrote the answers on the board, and I got every single question wrong. That was a new low, and the teacher seemed to be able to read my face and the faces of my classmates. She asked, “Did anyone answer these questions correctly?” Only one girl raised her hand. We all looked at her wondering what she knew that we didn’t. The teacher smiled at her, then simply said to the rest of us, “Go back and read the directions.” I did, and there, right at the top of the page, it clearly stated, “After you solve the equation, add 10 to your answer.” Now, before, I said that I’d never used anything I learned in algebra. That’s not entirely true because that day my teacher said: “Never start an assignment without reading the directions.” What are our directions? Forgive one another. How often? As many as seven times? Peter asked. Jesus said, “not seven, but seventy-seven times.” Those are the directions. What else did He tell us? He told us to love one another. What about the people who get on our nerves though? Jesus said, “You have heard it said that you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy, but I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Those are the directions. What about the people everyone else turns their backs on? Can we go and do likewise? December 1st is World AIDS day. A good friend of mine who sends me an inspirational verse of Scripture every Sunday morning and has for the last five years is HIV positive. Since 1993 when he first tested positive, he’s felt rejected by the Church and even members of his own family, yet he remembers Jesus, Who in Scripture, again and again, reaches out to touch the outcast, the leper, the rejected, and those considered unclean. Jesus reaches out to touch them. He moved toward every outcast of society. Is that what we’ve been doing, or have we been leaving God’s people out in the cold? Follow the directions, or you’ll get lost. Do you ever feel lost? If so, remember that the moral of every great Christmas movie is the same: It’s not too late to change. It’s not too late to stop and ask for directions. It’s not too late to apologize. It’s not too late to admit that we have it wrong. That’s what Ebenezer Scrooge did. Money left him cold and lonely, but it wasn’t too late for him, nor was it too late for the Grinch’s heart to grow three sizes, and don’t even get me started on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Cousin Eddie, who gets everything wrong, is the one who leads to everything turning out all right because not the boss nor Clarke has it all sorted out. No one does, and that’s OK, especially this time of year, because the thing that sets Christians apart is not that we get it right. It’s that we believe the One who got it perfect is coming, and we need only listen to His directions. Are you ready to listen? Are you listening for truth, hope, and joy? Emmanuel: God in human form is coming. Prepare yourself for His birth by letting go of old, handed-down prejudice and hatred. Discard old convictions. Put them out on the street with your Amazon shipping containers and wave goodbye. What we always thought was true may be holding us back from following Him today. Invite Him into your heart to teach you a new way to be. Let us walk in the light of the Lord. Amen.

Leaving Home

Scripture Lessons: 2nd Thessalonians 3: 6-13 and Isaiah 65: 17-25 Sermon Title: Leaving Home Preached on 11/13/22 Today is a special day for us. It’s a special day for our church. The Methodists, Episcopalians, Baptists, nor the non-denominational churches have anything like this. We are the church with roots in Scotland, so here we are with bag pipes and drums. I’m wearing a kilt, even though my family’s Welsh. A couple years ago after this service, we were out to lunch with Jim and Martha Goodlet. I was still in this kilt, and an actual Scottish immigrant (He had only been in this country for a few months.) asked me where I was from. “We came to Marietta from Virginia Highlands,” I told him. He wasn’t very impressed, but that’s the truth. We moved out here from that Atlanta neighborhood when I was a kid. We moved to Marietta right after our house was broken into, which happened just after my dad’s car was broken into. We left our home in the city to come here, which quickly became home, and today, wearing tartans from a land across the sea, we remember the long line of people who left their homeland in the hope of having a better life, many of them leaving home under much harsher circumstances than mine. For example, Peter Marshall, the great Presbyterian minister who brought this tradition of Kirkin’ o’ the Tartan to America, left a poverty-stricken coal-mining community called Coatbridge in North Lanarkshire. Though it was his home, there, his prospects were dismal. He spent his days working in the mines. At night, he took classes. In 1927, a cousin offered to pay his way to the United States. Upon arrival, he enrolled in Columbia Theological Seminary, just down the road. While in Atlanta, he met Catherine Wood, who was then a student at Agnes Scott. While they were students, the two of them made their way to our church. He preached in our sanctuary and sang with the seminary’s choir. After graduation, he was called to New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C. to be their pastor. While there, he gained national notoriety as one of the great preachers and was appointed as chaplain to the Senate. His sermons were published and sent out across the country. He was a voice of hope during World War II. After his death, a movie was made about him, A Man Called Peter, staring Richard Todd. Last week, I asked our children who they thought would play me in a movie. Lily said, “the actor who played McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy,” and Cece said, “probably my basketball coach.” Why, Cece? “Because yesterday she ate a whole bag of chicken by herself, just like you would do.” Well, Google Richard Todd. That’s who played Peter Marshall. I’ll be played by Cece’s basketball coach. Not only was Peter Marshall played by a bright-eyed and square-jawed actor, but he could just plain preach. With his sermons, he encouraged this entire nation, yet he never forgot where he came from nor did he forget where we are going. From Scotland, he brought with him this tradition of raising tartans, honoring families, and celebrating heritage. He never lost hope during those war-torn years. As he preached sermon after sermon and prayed prayer after prayer, even while he watched the Nazi army march through nation after nation, he never lost hope. He stayed rooted in the Gospel, where God tells us where we are going. I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; For the former things shall not be remembered, says the Lord. Today, as we remember those who crossed the sea hoping for something better, as we turn to the Gospel, which promises that something better is on the way, I ask you: Do you ever feel like some are giving up on a brighter future? Do you ever feel like people are losing hope? Now, sometimes I feel discouraged, and I feel the shadows come. Yet when I do, I remember. I remember those who love me. I pray to the God who holds my future. I get up off the couch. I put down the remote. I recognize that sometimes the problem is not the world but my frame of mind. One afternoon, an old man was sitting at a gas station near the city limits of town. A moving truck pulled in. The driver got out to gas up the truck, and the old man asked him, “Where are you coming from?” The driver said, “We hated to leave. It was a wonderful place for our kids, full of friends that were so hard to say goodbye to.” The old man said, “Well, you’re going to love this place. It’s just like where you’re coming from.” The driver got back in his truck, waved to the man, and was hopeful about his new home. Then another moving truck pulled into the gas station. The driver got out to gas up the truck, and the old man asked him, “Where you coming from?” The driver said, “The worst place ever! I’m so glad to be shaking the dust of that one-horse town from our shoes. What’s this place like?” The old man said, “I’m sorry to tell you, but this town is just like where you’re coming from.” Sometimes, our problem is not with the world, but with our frame of mind. Just as it takes hope to sail across the Atlantic, just as it takes hope to leave home or march in the streets, so it takes hope for us to get up off the couch and out into the world to live our faith, or better yet, getting out into the world to live our faith is what reveals hope to us all over again. My friends, if you’re losing hope in a brighter future, but you’re stuck at home on the couch, maybe the problem is your state of mind. If you’ve forgotten what God has in store, then maybe you just need to get up and out of the house. If those incessant campaign ads are driving you crazy, then turn them off. Maybe the world is not the problem. Maybe the world is just waiting – waiting on you. Therefore, in our first Scripture lesson, the Apostle Paul wrote: Anyone unwilling to work should not eat. Those living in idleness are mere busybodies. Such a person we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly. Brothers and sisters do not be weary in doing what is right. If you ever grow weary in doing what is right, remember the Scottish ancestors who fought to the death for something better, for they would rather die than surrender. That’s the significance of this sword to my left. It’s here to remind us of the many who wielded such great swords to protect their families. They had to protect their families, for Scotland was invaded again and again, probably by my people from Wales. For years if not generations, the Scottish highlanders had to defend their way of life and their homeland. They would not accept defeat. Regardless of the obstacles ahead, they remained hopeful. They held true to faith, and they fought for a better future. What future are you working towards? Last Friday, I read a wonderful article written by an army combat veteran, Garrett Cathcart. He spoke of how it means something to him on Veterans Day when someone takes the time to say, “Thank you for your service.” Over the years, he’s learned to say, “It was my honor [to serve], and you’re worth it.” However, while “Thank you for your service” is a meaningful recognition, his new mission is to inspire fellow citizen to serve in their communities, for When we serve in our communities, we make them stronger and more resilient. When we build stronger communities, we build a stronger country. When we volunteer to deliver meals, mentor a young person, clean up a park, or help a neighbor in need, we build stronger relationships. On the other hand, when we sit in our homes watching the world burn, when we complain about our neighbors without getting to know them, when we give up before we’ve gotten started, the social fabric tears, and the light of hope flickers within our hearts. My friends, when we are isolated, the evil one has us right where he wants us. When we give up on hope, we only make his job easier. Therefore, listen to the truth. Listen to the promise: I am about to create new heavens and a new earth. For the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. No more shall the sound of weeping be heard, or the cry of distress. When you call, I will answer, while you are yet speaking, I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox. No one shall hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord. A new heaven and a new earth await. Do not settle for life here and now. Prepare your hearts for something better. Step out into the future with faith. Nurture hope within your spirit. Set your eyes on that land across the shore and let us walk towards it together. Amen.

Our Inheritance Among the Saints

Scripture Lessons: Daniel 7: 1-3, 15-18 and Ephesians 1: 11-23 Sermon title: Our Inheritance Among the Saints Preached on 11/6/22 I’ve heard it said that there is no sweeter sound to any person than the sound of her own name. We love to be recognized and called by name. Elaine Brennan, Doug Carter, Carol Davis, Ralph Farrar. What does it mean to you to hear those names today? We call today All Saint’s Sunday. I will read from the list of names in your bulletin. We call by name the 19 members of our church who died since last year’s All Saints Sunday, and when I say: Jeri Field, Claude Gilstrap, Tim Hammond, what do you feel? Michael Hill, Lon Jenkins, Margaret Lawless, Jim Lyle. When I say these names what do you think of? Loss? Love? Grief? Surely, but also hope. For today, as we remember the friends, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives we’ve lost, we go so far as to call them “saints,” believing that while their earthly life is over, they have not disappeared. They are not lost, nor are they gone. Instead, they remain. They remain in our hearts even while they dwell in the house of the Lord, and in the house of the Lord, there we will meet them when our time comes. This morning, among the others, when I say Hayden McLean, Mark McNabb, Andrew Peterson, Ted Ramsey, Wanda Reese, you’ll hear the bell toll. A member of the family will be invited forward to collect a white rose. When that happens, I ask you to think, not just about what has ended, but what has begun, what will last forever, and what has yet to come because, my friends, we gather today, not just to say their names or to grieve the loss, but to remember them for the gift of God that they were and to remember again what we have always known: that by rising from the grave, Christ opened the way to eternal life, and having been baptized in His name, Bill Rohner, Joan Ward, Woody Wollesen, will be united with Him in His resurrection. Here in this place, where they worshiped beside us, we remember that today. Here, in the church, where many of them were baptized or married, we remember. Here was the funeral and here we remember that death has lost its sting. This church is one of the places we come and feel close to them again, like my grandmother’s closet. My grandmother, Peggy Bivens, died 10 years ago. After her funeral, I walked into her closet. It felt like part of her was still in there, and it makes sense that a part of her would still be there in her closest as her clothes were important to her. Growing up, I’d unload her luggage from the trunk when she came to visit. She packed three or four bags whether she was staying for a week or just the afternoon. If we left the house, she’d change, so I’d be walking with her in the mall or a restaurant. She’d be wearing animal print with a giant golden belt-buckle shaped like an elephant, and people would stop her just to compliment her outfit. Very rarely did she dress down. Once, I saw her in a sweatsuit, and I remember her apologizing for it. One Christmas Eve, late at night, I saw her in her bathrobe without her makeup: It was the only time I ever saw her before she had drawn on her eyebrows. That was a surprise. Yet, more than that, much more than that, I carry with me today, not only these memories, but a million memories. The memories accumulate in making me who I am, for all her life, I was the recipient of her pride. Every nurse she worked with for the 50 years she worked in labor and delivery at Roper Hospital recognized me. They had all been forced to admire my most recent photographs and had to hear all about whatever mediocre achievement of mine she wanted to tell them about. I never felt like I had done anything to deserve her being so proud of me. As a matter a fact, I know I hadn’t done anything to deserve her being so proud of me, so her pride often embarrassed me because I couldn’t understand what it was about me that she thought was worth bragging about. She would be there to watch my baseball games, even though I rarely played. She would make the six-hour trip just to watch my middle school band performances, even though I was fourth chair trombone. I remember new student orientation at Presbyterian College. All the new students were there with one or two parents. I, on the other hand, was there with both my parents and two grandparents. I couldn’t understand it then. I was embarrassed, but today such pride as hers provides me a framework to understand God’s grace. In our second Scripture lesson, the Apostle Paul refers to the inheritance. This is an inheritance not unlike other inheritances given and not earned, and the One who gave it, He gave it not because we did anything or we could have done anything, yet in Christ, we have riches, a glorious inheritance among the saints. It is not deserved but comes to us by grace and the love of Christ, who said to the crucified man next to Him, “Today you’ll be with me in paradise.” For generations, people have been mulling over this statement. How could a thief who deserved to be punished go right to Heaven along with Jesus? That’s the wrong question. The better one is this: How could I, a sinner, be so loved by God that He would lay down His life for me? Have you ever asked yourself that question? I have. That question reminds me of one of the most embarrassing things my grandmother ever did. She took a picture of me in my baseball uniform and had it turned into a baseball card at a photo shop. Then, she had it blown up to poster size. She gave it to me for my birthday. Then, later, when we went to visit, she drove me by the photo shop where she had it made. There I was hanging in the front window. She thought it was wonderful. I said, “But you know, I’m second string.” Not to her. Not to Him. None of us are second string to Him. That’s our inheritance. It’s grace. It’s not earned. It’s like my grandmother’s love. God’s love is like the love of the one whom loved you beyond measure, beyond logic, beyond your understanding. That’s what the love of God is like. In our first Scripture lesson from Daniel, we heard it the way we too often think of it. We think of death as this great judgement, so Daniel woke up from his dream terrified. That’s not how Paul tells it. That’s not how I believe it will be. I say death is more like this: A young boy fell asleep on the way to his grandmother’s house in the backseat of his parents’ car. When they reached their destination, his dad, who was driving, gently pulled into the driveway, cut the engine as his grandmother came out to greet them. Not wanting to wake the boy, his father lifted him out of the backseat and carried him into the house. He laid the boy down in the bed his grandmother had prepared, and the next morning, having fallen asleep in one place, he woke up in another. This is our inheritance. This is their inheritance. Halleluiah. Amen.

According to the Grace of Our God

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 1: 10-18 and 2 Thessalonians 1: 1-4, 11-12 Sermon Title: According to the Grace of Our God Preached on 10/30/22 Inspired by that reading from 2nd Thessalonians, I’m focused today on grace, even though we just heard a very angry word from the Prophet Isaiah in our first Scripture lesson. Our beadle read this passage from Isaiah, where God is saying to the people: I cannot endure your solemn assemblies. My soul hates your festivals. They are a burden to me. I am weary of bearing them. [So], when you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen. Why would God say these things? [Because our] hands are full of blood [God explains]. [Because we must] wash [ourselves]; make [ourselves] clean; remove [our] evil deeds from before [God’s] eyes. Learn to do justice, rescue the oppressed; defend the orphan, plead for the widow. On and on, God says to us through the Prophet Isaiah: “If you expect me to listen to you, you’re going to have to do better.” What does such a message of judgement have to do with grace? Let me tell you that there is a difference between grace and cheap grace. Have you ever heard that term before? Cheap grace? The great theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a hero worthy of celebrating today, on this Sunday we call Reformation Sunday, wrote that: Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate. On the other hand: Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock. It is costly because it cost a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. In other words, cheap grace is accepting that God loves us despite our imperfection, which is true, God does, but not being afraid of doing something about the imperfection. Cheap grace is settling for mediocre. It’s entitlement. It’s going to bed without ever flossing your teeth. Speaking of dental hygiene, the last time I went to the dentist, the hygienist asked me if I had been flossing. I told her that I had just flossed last night, which was true. I had. I had not flossed the night before that nor the night before that. Immediately upon walking into the dentist office, I wanted to hide what I haven’t been doing. I was taking comfort in what I had going for me: the strong teeth I inherited from my dad and the fact that I brush them twice a day. So what if I floss sparingly? So what? Why hide what is broken from one who can help us? Why rely on what we’re doing right while ignoring what could be better? If we’re saved by grace, we can’t be afraid of sin. Sin is holding us back from abundant life, and grace can give us the confidence to deal with it without fear of condemnation. Everyone fears condemnation, so we hide what needs to be healed. We must get over that. That’s why, in this place, we try to work against the tendency to hide what is broken by standing together to boldly confess, and we do it Sunday after Sunday. This morning we said before God and one another: Imagining that you are weak, I confide in my own strength. Imagining that you are distant, the worries of the world threaten to undo me. Imagining evil’s power is greater than yours, I tremble before the prince of darkness. I write these prayers each Sunday I preach. People ask me where I get the inspiration to write the Prayer of Confession Sunday after Sunday, and I tell them, “I just look in the mirror and try to be honest with myself about what I’m struggling with,” and in this prayer, you can see what I’m struggling with: confiding in my own strength instead of relying on God’s power. That’s a bad habit. Bruce and Fran Myers gave me a plaque that says, “Pray First,” quoting Philippians: “Don’t worry about anything. Instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank Him for all he has done.” That plaque is such a good reminder for me. I love it because when I face a trial, my first inclination is to try and fix it myself. I confide in my own strength, which is foolish. I worry over everything. I tremble before the evil in the world, rather than asking God for help. That’s what confession is. It’s asking God for help. Today, I get the truth of my struggle out in the open. That’s hard to do, but it’s also wonderful because when I tell God the truth, His grace washes over me. Grace is what enables confession. We can confess because we trust in God’s grace. When we rely on God’s grace, we just might gain the courage to be honest about what’s broken inside us. That’s something we must do as individual Christians, and that’s something that we must do as a church, so Paul wrote our second Scripture lesson to the church in Thessalonica saying: We always pray for you, asking that our God will make you worthy of his call and will fulfill by his power every good resolve and work of faith, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ. That’s what Paul wrote, but how? How are we to be made worthy of God’s call? How might we live according to the grace of our God? We must remember that God is ever ready to forgive, but we must be ready to confess. We must look in the mirror and remember that we are simultaneously saints and sinners, inheriting a legacy from our foreparents, which is both their virtue and their sin. Can we hold onto the virtue while confessing the sin? Of course we can, and we can do it by following Martin Luther’s example. Today, on this Reformation Sunday, we remember Martin Luther, who in Germany more than 500 years ago, broke from the Roman Catholic Church. In doing so, he tried to hold onto what was virtuous in his tradition. He valued the Scripture the Church gave him, and he felt connected to God through the sacraments. On the one hand, the Church gave him gifts, yet he hated the idolatry the Church passed down to him on the other. That was the sin he was trying to get rid of. He didn’t deny that it was sin. He faced it. He called it by name. Boldy, he wrote that the Church was guilty of idolatry, and he nailed what he wrote right on the side of the church door in Whittenburg, Germany, getting sin out in the open. We are called to do the same thing by examining ourselves and the patterns our foreparents passed down to us, for we cheapen grace when we never deal with sin. We punish ourselves when we never confess. We sell ourselves short if we never examine the way we live or the tradition we inherit. On this Reformation Sunday, I remind you that God doesn’t expect us to be perfect. Instead, God calls us to rely on His grace, and so, we examine the history of our church founded by 12 families in 1835 just as Martin Luther looked on his. From them, what do we keep? What sin do we confess? On the one hand, our foreparents deserve our admiration. The first members of this church broke ground when this was a frontier town. Later, just 96 of them built a sanctuary to seat 400. Many dispute that number saying, “You can’t fit 400 people in that sanctuary.” Given the size of rear ends in 1854, you could. Yet while we are called to follow the example of that handful of people who built a sanctuary to sit 400, we must also remember that most likely in 1854, the ones who laid the bricks, plastered the walls, and raised the steeple were among the oppressed people who labored without pay. That’s their sin. What do we do with their sin? We take the virtue and confess the sin. We confess that what they did was wrong, and we promise to learn from their mistakes, knowing that grace, costly grace, enables us to look ourselves in the mirror, honest about what is good and what must be better. Part of Reformation Sunday is freely admitting that about our heritage: Not all of it was perfect. We are not perfect either. For this reason, Martin Luther confessed that the idolatry he inherited was sinful. We confess that slavery was sinful, and not all of what we inherit is worth holding onto. Speaking of inheritance, last week, which has been full of funerals, I heard Ken Farrar tell a story about his father, Ralph. On a long car ride, his dad, Ralph, once told his son, “Ken, I’m afraid you’re not going to inherit much from me, and I’m sorry about that.” To that, Ken said, “From you, Dad, I’ve inherited character, integrity, strength, yes, your temper, but also your heart and especially your faith.” Hearing him say that got me thinking about my own father, from whom I’ve inherited good teeth and a hair line. He also has a heart of compassion, which I’ll always aspire to. Like all of us, my father had to think about what he would inherit from his father. There was a lot he let go of and tried to do differently than his father did. Growing up in Atlanta, my dad was the kid in the scout troop whose father never showed up, yet to me, he became the father who was always there. He was at every baseball game, and he led my scout troop. My friends, today we stand in a long line of Christians. We stand in that great line of faithful men and women, but as we think of them, let us remember that faithfulness is well embodied by those who live according to the grace of God and know how to confess and be changed. We are not perfect, so let us wash ourselves and be made clean. Let us remove evil deeds from our lives. Let us learn to do justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow, and while we’re at it, let us floss our teeth. Let us live according to the grace of our God. Amen.

I'm All In

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 3: 1-15 and Romans 12: 9-21 Sermon Title: I’m All In Preached on October 23, 2022 A seminary classmate of mine, the Rev. Sara Hayden, once told the story of how her family came to join their church. A new Presbyterian church was under construction right outside their neighborhood. When the construction was finished and the opening worship service was scheduled, her father suggested that they go and check it out. They had been like a lot of families: Her parents, raised in the church, fell out of the routine in college or early adulthood. They’d been meaning to get back to it when the kids were born, but raising babies, work, and soccer practice got in the way. This church under construction right outside their neighborhood made them feel like God was trying to tell them something, so the family walked in on the first Sunday the church was open. A man they didn’t recognize approached them by the door into the sanctuary holding a stack of bulletins, which seemed normal enough, until, instead of handing each member of the family a bulletin, this man handed Sara’s father the whole stack, saying, “You must be the one who’s supposed to hand out the bulletins.” “Actually, no, I’m not,” her father said. “We’ve never been here before, and we just wanted to check it out.” “Well,” the man said, “you hand out the bulletins.” That’s how it started. They joined the church not long after. Sara’s now a Presbyterian minister. She’s married to a Presbyterian minister. I think her family is still members of that very church, and that’s what can happen in a place like this one. You wander in here, curious about what this church is all about, and next thing you know, your life goes in a direction you never could have expected. Maybe wandering in here is the first step to take in finding your way home. Maybe you wander in here, curious, and the next thing you know, you’re standing in the presence of God. That’s how it was for Moses. Way out there beyond the wilderness, he got curious, and at the sight of the burning bush, Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight and see why the bush is not burned up.” He was just a curious shepherd. Next thing he knows, he’s answering a call from God. That’s how it happens sometimes. That’s how it was with me. Maybe that’s how it was with you. When I was a kid, we just went to this church. Do you know what I mean by that? We liked it. It was nice. My parents taught Sunday school. On the way here on Sunday mornings, I’d read the funny papers in the back seat of our minivan. When we got here, I’d sing in Sunday school and listen a little bit to my teachers. During the worship service, we’d stand up and turn to the right hymns in the hymnals. I’d bow my head and close my eyes when I was supposed to, and I knew the service was almost over and I’d soon get to go and eat lunch when Dr. Jim Speed stood in front of us with his arms up saying words that remind me of our second Scripture lesson as his benediction: “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good, render to no one evil for evil.” He’d say those words, and one day I realized that he was saying them as though we were actually supposed to do them. Have you ever felt that feeling? Have you ever been going through the motions when suddenly, you feel called to something more, as though what you believe must turn into action? Do you know what it feels like to hear God’s call and realize that He’s talking to you? It might start with such a small thing. Maybe a man turned to your father and insisted that he hand out the bulletins. A preacher stood up and called you to live your faith out in the world. A burning bush got your attention, and the next thing you knew, you were headed back to Egypt to lead your people out of slavery. Do you know what that feels like? It’s a scary feeling. It’s a wonderful feeling. If you’ve felt it, maybe at first, you just wanted to dip your toe in the water, but next thing you knew, you were in. You were all in. I feel like it happened with Ginny Brogan. You might know that she’s our youth director now. She didn’t apply for the job. She didn’t go to seminary. I was just sitting in a room with a group of people thinking through how to respond to the needs of our church’s youth group, and we all said that same thing at exactly the same time: “We need to call Ginny Brogan. She’d be perfect.” Of course, she didn’t know that. At least, she didn’t know that right away. When I called, she had to think about it. When two elders on the session, John Knox and Chris Harrison, called, she had to think about it. Then, she had to talk to her husband, Justis, about it. She had to talk with her kids about it, but something kept tugging at her. Something about it was compelling. Since she started, the youth group has grown by 65%. That’s what happens when we say “Yes,” when we accept God’s call, when we dare to walk into His presence saying, “Here I am. I’ll go if You lead me. I’m scared, but I’m in. I’m all in.” The same thing happened with our church’s food outreach ministry. It was the most random phone call. I’ll never forget it. I offhandedly said to a couple staff members, “Marietta City Schools called me. They’ve been distributing food from the Atlanta Food Bank using their school buses. They’re about to break for summer, and they want to know if we would accept the donation and give out the food in our parking lot.” This is a strange request. Will we become a food bank - without any knowledge of how to do it or where to even store the food? The staff and some incredible church members agreed to give it a try. Next thing you know, we’ve distributed 1.5 million meals. How did that happen? I’ll tell you: When we accept God’s call, when we dare to walk into His presence saying, “Here I am. I’ll go if You lead me. I’m scared, but I’m in. I’m all in,” anything can happen. Anything. It’s just like the story of Club 3:30. It’s just like the story of how a Georgia Tech engineer came to be our Associate Pastor. It’s just like the story of you and me and 12 Presbyterians who dared to believe that Marietta, Georgia needed a Presbyterian Church back in 1835. Now, here we are today, and I’m looking at you. Are you in? That’s what this pledge card is to me. That’s what it means. It’s the chance for us to respond to God, to say “Yes” and answer His call. To say, “Yes, I’m scared because I’m busy, and I’m stretched already, and I’ve never done this before, but if You need me, if You can use me, I’m in. I’m all in.” I’m going to fill this form out, tithing ten percent of my salary. Ten percent. That’s where we are in answering this call, but I want you to know that there was once a man in a small church in rural Tennessee who didn’t give ten percent of his salary. Instead, he tithed to the church one pig. Have I told you this story? Some of you know it. The Presbyterian Church in Lynnville, Tennessee was like a lot of Presbyterian Churches. They were small - too small to hire a full-time pastor. A Nashville banker had just retired, though, and felt the call to preach. He took some classes and got certified as what we call a “commissioned ruling elder.” The two of us became friends. He’d sometimes ask me for advice, but when it came to finances, as a banker, he felt like he really knew what he was doing, so he was overly excited to kick-off his first stewardship campaign at about this time of year. For the first time, they had pledge cards at that church in Lynnville. Some people knew what to do with them, but a new member who had been riding his bike up to that small church from his farm wasn’t exactly sure, so he pledged to the church one pig. He wrote that right on his pledge card. The next day, this Nashville banker-turned-pastor called me asking for advice. I told him that had never happened to me before; however, there was a man in my church who raised pigs. Maybe he’d like to buy it. Well, the Nashville banker had already sold the pig for $2,000 to a friend of his, only this friend didn’t want it. “Could you come get this pig?” the Nashville banker asked me. I called the pig farmer I knew. I put on my overalls and my boots. We drove down to Lynnville with the animal trailer on his truck. We eventually got that pig into the trailer, which was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life because that pig knew where he was going and didn’t want to go. Despite his objection, once he was big enough, we had a church BBQ and invited the young man from Lynnville and his pastor. In that moment, I realized that he had given his church $2,000 and had given my church a church-wide BBQ, all because he answered God’s call. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He just knew he had to do something. He said, “Yes.” He said, “I’m in.” “I’m scared, but I’m in.” “I’m nervous, but I want to know what You might do through me if I’m all in.” My friends, this is the time for you to be all in. For the first time in my experience as a pastor, thanks in large part to the leadership of Rev. Cassie Waits and the committees she works with, adult Sunday school attendance has increased. Moreover, it’s increased by 40%. That’s just one number. I’ve seen all of them. In every area of our church, attendance is increasing by large margins. The impact we are making on this community is increasing every day. While many churches are still struggling after the pandemic (Some studies say that 1 in 4 churches have closed or will close.), our church is growing, having gained more than 200 new members in the last five years, and having increased worship attendance every year since 2017. Today, our average in-person attendance has increased over last year, but our virtual attendance each Sunday basically doubles our congregation. Everything is growing. Our church is growing. God is at work among us, so I’m asking: Are you in? Are you all in? Now, I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want to guilt you into doing something you’re not comfortable doing. When the NPR annual campaign comes on the radio, I just turn the dial. I don’t want to have that effect on you this morning. Instead, I want to invite you to answer God’s call that leads to abundant life. Moses could have lived out his days tending the flocks of his father-in-law, Jethro. Instead, he answered the call of God and changed the world. Will you answer the call? Will you say, “Here I am; send me”? Are you in? Are you all in? Then take this form. Fill it out. Be ready to make your commitment to the God who is always committed to you. Amen.

Even Moses Was a Basket Case

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 1: 8 – 2: 10 and Romans 12: 1-8 Sermon title: Even Moses Was a Basket Case Preached on October 16, 2022 One of my favorite pictures of my dad with our two daughters is one of all three of them in the kitchen rolling out yeast rolls, my grandmother’s recipe. In the picture, my dad is smiling, Lily and Cece are wearing aprons. Too little to reach the countertop, the girls are standing on chairs to roll, cut, and fold the dough. Flour is in the air and on their faces. My dad, who mastered the art of his mother’s yeast rolls, is passing the technique down to them. That’s a special thing to do. It makes those rolls more special to me than they were already. My grandmother made them for me when I was little, so I remember eating them. She liked to make them for me because I hummed while I ate them. I enjoyed them that much, and I remember her making them in her kitchen. There was something about the flour in the air that dried out her nose, so she’d stick Kleenex up each nostril. Even though she’s been gone for nearly 30 years now, I can see her in the kitchen with Kleenex up her nose making me her famous yeast rolls, and now my dad teaches our daughters how to make them. Isn’t that wonderful? It is to me. To me, it’s wonderful to remember the people who fed me, raised me, made me who I am, who loved me into existence, and to feel connected to them even though I can’t call them on the phone or hold their hands any longer. More than that, it feels wonderful to me to connect our girls to someone they never even met. My grandmother’s name, the one who first made the yeast rolls, is Lilly. Lilly Sibley Evans. Whose names would you remember no matter how many years it’s been? What still connects you to them? Is there a recipe that lives on in your kitchen, or a sweater that you can’t let go of even though it’s full of holes? None of us was born complete. We were all knit together by loving hands. We were all born helpless, and even now, all of us are falling and trying and stammering and failing. Who picked you up, brushed you off, and offered you grace? Who wiped your tears, fed you a yeast roll, and helped you get back up again? What was her name? Whose name would you remember no matter how many years it’s been, and what is it that still connects you to him? For Moses, there were five women. We remember them all in the first chapters of the book of Exodus. This book was written in the time of pharaohs and pyramids, yet the names of those who loved Moses into existence have not been forgotten. No matter how many years it’s been, when we read the book of Exodus, we remember that even Moses was a basket case, fed, loved, raised, defended, and loved into existence. Even Moses was a basket case. I saw that on a bumper sticker, and I’ve never forgotten it because it’s true. Moses didn’t get anywhere on his own. We think of him as a hero of the faith, but the Bible remembers five women who made him who he was. No doubt, the names of many women who should be included in the Bible have been lost but consider this miracle: The book of Exodus in our first Scripture lesson refuses to tell us Pharaoh’s name. Still, to this day, we’re not sure which pharaoh the book of Exodus is referring to. In The 10 Commandments with Charlton Heston, it’s Ramses, but that’s Hollywood and not the Bible. The Bible doesn’t remember Pharaoh’s name; however, we know exactly who was there as Moses was born. We remember their names: Shiphrah and Puah. They’re right there in the Bible. When the king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live,” the midwives did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them. They saved Moses when he was helpless. He couldn’t save himself. No one can. Shiphrah and Puah saved him. More than that, once he’s grown too big or gotten too loud for his mother to hide safely, she put him in a basket, and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. Even Moses was a basket case, but he was loved into existence by two midwives and his mother. Then, as he floated in the water, his sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him. Pharaoh’s daughter came down to the river to bathe. She saw the basket among the reeds, saw the child, and wanted to keep him. Moses’s sister suggested to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” and so, Moses and his mother were reunited. Because of this story, I imagine that every time he saw a basket, Moses said to whoever was around, “My mother saved me by putting me in one of those. I was a basket case, but five women saved me.” Who saved you? Whose names would you remember no matter how many years it’s been, and what connects you to them still today? Last Sunday, I saw it happen when I gave blood in the Red Cross Blood Drive in Holland Hall. Joanne and Jim MacDonald always joke about this. In-between services, time is short, so they let me skip the line. They give me so much special treatment so I can donate before the 11:00 service starts. Then, after I donate, they make me sit and drink water and eat Cheez-Its, always saying, “We can’t have the pastor passing out in the pulpit.” I always say the same thing: “If I do, one of you has to preach.” We said all that last Sunday like we always do. Then, one of them pointed out Julia Rutledge. She was standing by, ready to donate, though she hadn’t given blood since her girls were born. Her father, Tim Hammond, donated blood at every blood drive we ever had. Last Sunday, Tim wasn’t here to donate. Julia was. Whose names would you remember no matter how many years it’s been, and what do you do that reminds you of how you will always be connected to them? The Apostle Paul was right. As he wrote in our second Scripture lesson, we are “one body. Not all the members of the body have the same function,” and not all the members who were here when we first began can we still see so clearly, but we are still connected. What do you do to remember that connection? Do you bake yeast rolls? Do you donate blood? What do you do that reminds you of how connected we all are? This week, our connection became so obvious because I heard this story. I lived part of it, but I had to hear the rest. It started when I was sitting in Kat Cherches’ barber chair, talking to the man who was waiting. He was a pilot during the Vietnam War, he told us. He’s been going to Kat’s shop for years, but this was the first time I’d met him. Kat told him that I was her preacher and that he should come to our church sometime soon. He said he hadn’t been to church in years, but he’d think about it. Then, I got up from the chair to pay, only the Internet was down, so the credit card reader wasn’t working. I didn’t have any cash. This man I had just met paid for my haircut. I told him I was grateful. He told me he’d think about coming to church sometime so he could collect on the loan. The next Saturday, this same man was in Home Depot, but he forgot his reading glasses, so he was holding a jug of pesticide right up to his face, trying to read the label. An important member of our church, Clyde Grant, saw him and asked him if he needed any help. Clyde read the label and helped him find the right pesticide. The man asked Clyde if he’d been in the service. He told Clyde he seemed like a service-oriented man. Clyde has been in the service. He’s a navy veteran. They swapped stories and talked about memories that are hard to forget. The man said it felt good to talk about these things. Not everyone understands. Clyde said he sometimes talks with his pastor about it and said his pastor’s name is Joe Evans. The man said, “I just paid for his haircut,” and “It looks like God is trying to tell me something.” God is trying to tell us something. God is trying to tell us all something. We are connected, to the living and to the dead. “We, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another,” but what do we do, in a world of division, discord, isolation, and individualism to remind us of how connected we all are? The Israelites, every year, long after Moses was gone, took the first fruits of the year at harvest time and went to the temple priest, declaring to him: A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me. What’s more, do you know what they put their first fruits in? A basket. Moses was a basket case. We are all basket cases, but we will make it if we stay connected. What do you do to remind you of that? Next Sunday, I’ll take this pledge card, and I’ll fill it out, making a commitment to God, giving back a portion of what He provided, just as my foremothers and forefathers in the faith have done. When I do, I’ll remember that when my ancestors were afflicted by hard labor and harsh treatment, we called out to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil and our oppression. And He raised up a basket case named Moses, who led us out of Egypt, following God’s mighty hand and outstretched arm. Years later, God appointed a woman named Lilly Sibley Evans to make me yeast rolls. They were so good I hummed when I ate them, and she is still with me. When we moved to Marietta, here was this church, formed by 12 members in 1835. They are my ancestors. God has been faithful to us, so I will be faithful to Him. What about you? Are you in? Are you all in?

For the Glory of God Alone

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 56: 1, 6-8 and Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32 Sermon title: For the Glory of God Alone Preached on October 9, 2022 I grew up here: not just in Marietta, but in this church, which means that the verse quoted to me often enough is Luke 4: 24: “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.” Truly, it can be a scary thing coming home as a pastor to the community that remembers me as a teenager. A couple weeks ago, I attended a meeting of local pastors and the Marietta City Mayor, Thunder Tumlin, at the Marietta Housing Authority. The director of the housing authority is Pete Waldrep. I grew up with his son and daughter, so he remembered me and included in his opening remarks, “I know that Joe Evans is a leader in this group. I’ve known him a long time, so let me just say, he’s come a long way.” This kind of thing happens about once a week. This week, I had a lunch meeting with Doc Harvin. Doc is an elder on the session. I grew up with his son Glenn. When we were in high school, Glenn asked me to drive his car home from a concert in Atlanta. I wrecked the car at an intersection in Buckhead. Therefore, I ask you: Why would I try to come back here? Why would I return to this place where I cannot escape my checkered history? I’ll tell you. It’s because I thought it might make a difference. Do you know how good it feels to make a difference? John Kueven invited me to lunch the week before last. You may have heard that John, Maggie, and their son, Chance, will be moving to Gainesville at the end of the school year. John has been asked to run several hospitals there in Northeast Georgia, and in telling me how he made his decision to pick up and move, he said, “Healthcare in this country needs reform. Hospitals need help. Patients deserve better care than they’re getting, and I want to be in a position where I can improve things for as many people as possible, so I’m taking a job where I have greater influence and can help more people.” That’s how he made the hard decision to move. He framed the decision considering his span of influence: whether or not he might make a greater difference. Do you know how good it feels to make a difference? Those who live for a higher purpose know that there is no greater joy than living for the glory of God alone. “For the glory of God alone” is the fifth of the five solas or “alones” of the Reformed Tradition, and so this is the fifth sermon of the series. You’ve now heard sermons on grace alone, faith alone, Christ alone, and Scripture alone. Today, it’s “for the glory of God alone,” and I believe it’s this one that pulls it all together because by His grace we have been saved. By faith, we’ve been shown the way to live. In Christ, we know the Savior. Through Scripture, we see the example. Now, we put it all into action. How will we live? What will we do? I’ll be talking about it today, as well as next Sunday and the Sunday after that because it matters. It matters how we live and how we spend our days and our hours. It matters not only to the world, but to us, to our souls. Do you know how it feels to live for the glory of God alone, or are you wondering “What does that even mean?” When I was interviewing for this position here in Marietta, we weren’t sure if we were ready to sell our house and leave our friends and community in Columbia, Tennessee. We didn’t know if we were ready to uproot our two girls and move here. Yet, we came to interview and toured what would be my office upstairs, which has a private bathroom. My wife, Sara, will still say, “That’s when I knew we were moving, when Joe found out he’d get his own bathroom if we moved to Marietta.” However, a life lived for bathrooms alone isn’t much of a life. A life lived for money alone isn’t either. A life lived for convenience, entertainment, any of that has been tried and tried again. He who lives without a worthy goal or a higher purpose often finds that his life feels empty. He is like a ship without rudders, for no one lies on his deathbed thinking, “I sure would like to watch one more episode of House of the Dragon on HBO,” or, “If only I had splurged on a nicer car.” All of us, when we lay on our deathbeds, will ask ourselves: “Who will remember me when I’m gone?” “Have I made a difference?” “Did my life matter?” Of course, money matters. Even bathrooms matter, but those who choose careers thinking only of money and convenience are missing out on the feeling that comes from making a difference. Are you making a difference? As you may know, I ride my bike to the church when I can. The car that I drive, I never wash or clean it out. It’s gross. Our girls hate to ride in it. My wife hates to drive it. When I’m in a funeral procession, I always ask to ride with the funeral director because I don’t want my car to be seen in a procession out to the cemetery. Because of this habit, I get to know the funeral directors, and one back in Tennessee, his name is Matt, and he was only about 25 years old. His father, Tony, ran the place, but I wondered why such a young man would be interested in running a funeral home, so I asked him about it. Matt told me that when he was in high school one, of his friends died, tragically. His friends’ parents were distraught, yet there was a funeral to plan. There were details to consider. Matt watched his father sit with his friends’ parents, gently walking them through all the steps, and in that moment, Matt knew that in a time of death, people can be taken advantage of. Were it not for his father meeting with his friends’ parents, they might be dumping money into a casket they didn’t need and services that weren’t necessary. In that moment, Matt knew that he could make a difference just by being an honest and compassionate funeral director, and so he chose his career. He knew his purpose. Now I’m sure he makes plenty of money. I’ve ridden in his car, and it’s nice. But Matt lives for the glory of God alone. Do you know what it is to live for the glory of God alone? The Apostle Paul said it like this: “Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy…, so they have now been disobedient in order that…they may now receive mercy” from you. Now that’s big. It’s a big deal for us to share mercy. To change lives. To live, not for self alone but for the glory of God alone. Paul nudges us to live this way, and we need to be nudged for too many of us receive God’s mercy and keep it to ourselves or treat the Gospel like the best kept secret in Marietta. That’s why my favorite Presbyterian joke will always be: What do you get when you mix a Jehovah’s Witness with a Presbyterian? You get someone who knocks on your door but doesn’t know what to say. When I’ve told that one too often, please let me know, or once we change, I’ll stop making the joke, for every one of us forgets that we are called to share the love and mercy of God that we have received. We can all do that, and none of us needs to change her career to do it because opportunities to share God’s mercy, to live for the glory of God alone, open up all around us all the time. You don’t have to become a pastor to do it. You just must remember that your job is just your job, but your calling is to glorify God. I witnessed it once in a grocery store in Decatur, Georgia. You know those lines where you can check yourself out without the help of a cashier? I was at Kroger years ago when those things were first introduced. That morning, I was in a hurry but not too much of a hurry, so I thought about the self-checkout line because it was empty. In the line with an actual cashier, a couple people were already there, but, like I said, I wasn’t in too much of a hurry, so I went to the line with an actual Kroger employee. I remember that the man in front of me bought cigarettes, cat food, and a newspaper. How did I know that? I’m a nosy person. Not only was I nosy enough to notice what the man was buying. I also eavesdropped on his conversation with the cahier. He was telling her about a book he was reading. “It’s a work of science fiction,” he said, “It will probably take me six weeks to read it. You must have a physics background to understand it. I sit and think awhile after I’ve only read five pages.” The cashier nodded. Then, the man said, “Could you also give me change for a ten? Two fives, please. I’m taking my mother to get her hair done, and if I only have a $10 bill, she’ll want to tip the stylist the whole $10.” “It looks like you got a haircut, too,” the woman at the register said. “You look nice.” “Not too nice though,” he replied. “I lost another tooth, so I’m scared to smile because when I do, I look like I’m from Appalachia.” That was a mean thing to say about people from Appalachia, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I just kept eavesdropping. “I’m getting a new tooth though,” he said. The woman at the register looked pleased. “Come in here smiling once you do,” the woman said. He covered his mouth, “I’m smiling now, but don’t look. You may hear the theme song from Deliverance.” Then he left. The cashier looked to me. “I love seeing that man. He makes me smile every time I see him,” the woman at the register said, and I want you to know that God was smiling, too. That’s what happens when we live for the glory of God alone, for we give Him glory when we pay attention, show mercy, and spread kindness. It’s not hard, and it can be done anywhere, in any job, in any place, at any hour. Those who live for the glory of God alone do so anywhere and everywhere. Therefore, I invite you to do it. Now, maybe you don’t know about that. Maybe you don’t have time to do one more thing. I get that. Like all of you, sometimes I wish my life were less busy and less stressful, yet what I really wish for is for my life to have more meaning. A busy life is not the same as a meaningful life, so Christian theologian Miroslav Volf, a professor of theology at Yale, said in an interview recently, “It is possible that we are suffering under burdens that are too light.” When our lives lack meaning, we suffer even more than when we run ourselves ragged. That’s why we all must ask ourselves: What am I living for? Who am I living for? To live full, satisfying lives, we must live for the glory of God alone. Of course, I have this amazing privilege of having that as my job description. Still, it’s not always easy. I often get confused and distracted. I intended to visit Van Pearlberg in the hospital last Tuesday morning. I walked into his room, spoke to his roommate and his roommate’s wife, and saw that I had missed him. He’d already been taken to surgery. Disappointed, I went to visit a couple other members of our church, then came back by Van’s room. His roommate’s wife asked me if I was Van’s son. I told her I was his pastor. “Where is your church?” she asked. That’s when I started to understand what I was doing there. I told her that I’m proud to be the pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Marietta, right on the Square. She told me she’d driven by it. I asked her to come in next time she drives by. Then I asked her husband’s name. It was Stanley. “May I pray for him?” I asked. We prayed. After I said “Amen,” I opened my eyes to see that she was crying. Do you know what that feels like? Do you know what it feels like to have made a difference? Do you know how good it feels to live for the glory of God alone? I tell you there is no greater feeling, so I urge you to go and do likewise. What do you think? Are you in? Are you all in?