A Walk to Remember and a Meal that Changed Everything

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 116: 1-4 and 12-19 and Luke 24: 13-35 Sermon Title: A Walk to Remember and a Meal that Changed Everything Preached on April 23, 2023 The opposite of faith isn’t doubt. The opposite of faith is certainty. You may have heard me say that before. I didn’t come up with it; I just like to repeat it because I think it’s true. Sometimes, we think of doubt as a bad thing. Sometimes, we think of doubt as the opposite of faith, but be more cautious of people who are too certain of their convictions. I feel you must be careful when you are absolutely certain because you may be absolutely wrong. Last Thursday, I was rushing to a 5:00 meeting, certain that the meeting would start at 5:00. When I arrived to an empty room, I wondered where everyone was, certain that I had the time and the location correct. When I finally doubted those convictions, I found that the meeting was scheduled for 5:30. Wouldn’t it have been nice had I doubted myself a little bit? Doubt gets a bad rap, while certainty does more damage. If you’ve read the book or seen the movie that inspired my sermon title: A Walk to Remember, then you might remember a preacher who was certain his daughter was falling for a no-good, lacking-in-aspiration, rich kid with only one thing on his mind. The preacher was certain about this boy. He was sure. There was no doubt in his head, and when a preacher is certain about somebody, certain that he’s no good, all kinds of damage is done. With certainty, that door is closed. There’s no chance of relationship. There’s no chance of redemption, as there was with the disciple Thomas who said, “I might believe if I just could see him.” Therefore, the wise preacher might have said, “I might like him if I had the chance to get to know him,” so there is wisdom in doubt. With certainty, it’s already over because you already know. Hope is lost. The light is out. It’s finished. That’s where the two in our second Scripture lesson were. They were unlike Thomas, who, you may remember from Rev. Cassie Waits’ beautiful sermon last Sunday, was looking for Jesus, still hoping to find Him. Once he did, he took the Gospel all the way to India. These two that we read about in today’s Gospel lesson were leaving Jerusalem because they had given up. They were certain that there was nothing left for them to discover. They tell this stranger who they were traveling along with: “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” “We had hoped.” That’s past tense. Certain that hope was lost, certain that they’d done all they should have done, certain that there was nothing left to see and nothing left to learn, they were headed back home. It was all over, of that they were certain. Therefore, certainty is a problem when it comes to faith. Certainty is a problem when it comes to faith in God or faith in people because certainty rules out new information that might change your mind or your course when you’re moving in the wrong direction. These two in our second Scripture lesson were moving in the wrong direction, certain that Jesus was dead, while Jesus was walking right beside them, for He is risen. They, like us sometimes, didn’t recognize Him because of their certainty, not because of their doubt; therefore, I hope you see that at times it’s foolish to be certain. People who are certain miss out on a lot. There’s a Dr. Seuss book about it. You know the story: A character named Sam asks Daniel: “Do you like green eggs and ham?” Daniel is certain that he doesn’t, and so he says: “I do not like them, Sam I am. I do not like green eggs and ham.” Fortunately for Daniel, Sam keeps walking with him: “You do not like them. So, you say. Try them! Try them! And you may.” Daniel, who was certain that he knew already, takes a bite, and his eyes are opened. That’s what happened in our Gospel lesson. Just when these two men are sure that Christ has died, certain that He’s gone for good, in the breaking of the bread, their eyes were opened, and they see that the Resurrected Lord had been walking with them all along. This is the power of a meal, and I want you to think about the power of a meal because you have access to this same power, but are you taking advantage of it? There’s a story Dr. Eugene Peterson tells of when his wife, Jan, went to speak to a women’s group. They were all struggling with their husbands who worked all the time and their kids who were involved in baseball, dance, art club, Karate, and church choir. “How can we hold our families together?” they wanted to know. “I challenge you to do just one simple thing,” she said. “Eat dinner together at least four times a week.” Why would that be her suggestion? It’s because when we break bread together, our eyes are opened. Jesus ate with people, and He saw them. Many saw tax collectors, prostitutes, sinners, scallywags, doubters, and betrayers, but Jesus ate with them and saw brothers and sisters. He broke bread with them and saw their potential and their beauty. This is the miracle of a meal. Sometimes, that’s exactly the miracle that we all need. Years ago, I was at a meeting where I heard a man named Andre Norman speak. This speaker, Andre Norman, went up to Ferguson, Missouri during the protests and demonstrations that raged after Michael Brown was killed by a police officer. Mr. Norman wanted to help, so he put together a panel of major players in the conflict in the hopes of spurring some dialogue that would build relationships. For this panel, he got together the police chief, the mayor, a gubernatorial candidate, and two leaders in the Black Lives Matter movement. They were all seated behind a long table in front of a big crowd. As we watched the video of this panel, we saw that people were tense and angry. It was obvious that they didn’t trust each other, and before any of them spoke, we could tell that most of these leaders had already lost hope, certain that no headway was going to be made by having this divided of a group speak to a crowd. One of the leaders in Black Lives Matter stands up. He’s a young African American man who goes by Ooops. Ooops walked in front of the panel, told everyone there that Ferguson is filled with racists, that he’s certain all the political leaders present are racists, and how he’s absolutely certain that nothing has really changed in America since the days of slavery. Then, he cussed at the crowd and sat back down. For him, whether he was right about any of that or not, hope was lost, and after he said what he said, hope of a successful panel was lost, too. After the panel meeting ended, this Mr. Norman asked these leaders – the police chief, the mayor, the gubernatorial candidate, Ooops, and Ooops’s friend from Black Lives Matter Movement – to eat lunch with him. They talked so much that lunch turned to dinner. The next day, they ate breakfast together. “These are just meals,” some would say. “What can a meal do?” some would ask, yet these three meals helped all of them realize that despite their differences or disagreements, they had so much in common. Despite the road they wanted to travel, they had the same destination in mind. Over a meal, individuals become family, antagonists become coworkers, and after eating with these politicians and learning about them, Ooops decided to try and become one. In 2016, that young man who went by Ooops was elected to the Missouri Legislature and became Representative Bruce Franks, Jr., serving district 78 in the State of Missouri’s House of Representatives. How do you explain such transformation? That’s the power of a meal, and so Garrison Keillor joked that the Lutherans of Lake Woebegone celebrate three sacraments: baptism, communion, and potluck supper. More than that, we call on people to volunteer in the kitchen, hand out family meal boxes on Tuesdays, and we train and empower men and women to become Stephen Ministers. Today, we are commissioning two who are charged with walking beside people. Walking beside people who are going through divorce, unemployment, or any of the many difficult transitions of life. Their role doesn’t sound obviously miraculous, though I assure you it is. There are few things so beautiful as reminding people who are certain that they are alone that Jesus is walking with them. My friends, faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Do not be certain that you are alone or that hope is lost. Have faith that He is as good as His word, for He assured us that He would neither leave us nor forsake us but would be with us to the end. He is never far, especially when we need Him most. Amen.

He Is Risen!

Scripture Lessons: Jeremiah 31: 1-16 and John 20: 1-18 Sermon Title: He Is Risen! Preached on April 9, 2023 I’ve just read a Scripture lesson that I’ve read a lot, pretty much every year. Every year on Easter Sunday, we read an account of Jesus, risen from the grave, but this year something new has my attention. What jumps out to me this year is how surprised everyone is. Why would anyone be surprised that Jesus did exactly what He told them He would do? He told them He would four different times. Four different times in the Gospel of John, Jesus told His disciples that He would die and rise from the dead. He said it in chapter 12, 13, and twice in 14. In chapter 11, He basically spelled it out by raising Lazarus from the dead, even rolling away the stone from the tomb’s entrance and saying, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Still, here we are in chapter 20: They go into an empty tomb and can’t believe that He is risen. The stone was rolled away from the mouth of the tomb, and they assumed someone stole His body. The cloth that had been on Jesus’ head is rolled up by itself. He rolled that cloth up the way I roll up my PJs after getting out of bed, and rather than trust that He’s up and moving, they saw all this and (reading in verse 9), “did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” Now, it’s bad enough that they didn’t understand after He tried to tell them. We’re supposed to listen to Jesus when He says something to us. We ought to listen and believe, only it gets even worse. After they saw these things, “the disciples returned to their homes.” They go where? What? Why? How could they possibly just go on back home, as though nothing life-changing had happened? How could they go on home to make breakfast or fold laundry after the Lord of Lords had done exactly what He told them He would do? A miracle took place, and they went back to reading their newspapers. I can hear them walking through the door, sitting down to a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. They take a sip and pick up The Jerusalem Gazette, “Different day, same bad news.” Sound familiar? I tell you, when we get used to reading the bad news, the good news gets harder to believe. This kind of thing happens all the time. Think of what happens to us. We watch the news constantly, so we think we know what’s going on. We see that another bank has closed, and we expect economic disaster. Another school shooting, and we’re no longer disgusted that the politicians won’t do anything about it. We are used to the bad news, so it’s more than just not listening. The disciples being surprised that Jesus did what He said He would do is caused by more than not paying attention. This is more than the classic Far Side cartoon with the boy pushing on the door to get into his school for the gifted even though the sign says, “Pull.” It’s not obstinance. It’s not ignorance. It’s not stubborn bullheadedness. It’s called getting used to disappointment and letting go of hope. Now that’s an important message that I hope you’ll hear today. It’s a relevant message. Are you used to hearing relevant messages from preachers in black robes reading out of the ancient Scripture? Did you come here today to hear an important message, or are you just here so people can see you in your new Easter suit? If you haven’t been to church in a while, or if you’ve never heard a sermon from this pulpit, I want you to know something about the Easter service in which you are sitting. This service isn’t about peeps or Easter egg hunts. This is not about bowties and Easter bonnets. I am not here to drone on about what you should or shouldn’t do. I didn’t get up this morning to wag my finger at you while you fall asleep, biding time before Easter lunch at the club. Friends, sometimes we feel as though the Bible was written so long ago that it can’t have anything relevant to say to us today, or maybe you’re used to having a preacher who just tells a couple jokes and then says, “He is risen.” That’s not what I’m about today because the Gospel is so much more than that. This resurrection message speaks to a culture where the politicians argue with each other while the people suffer. This resurrection message speaks to a culture grown used to disappointment. This resurrection message speaks to a culture that has stopped expecting solutions. This Jesus will help those who have forgotten what it means to believe. This sermon is about living in a culture that has seen an empty tomb and assumed that someone stole His corpse because our hopes are so minuscule, and our expectations are so tiny. Some days, we’re just trying to scrape by in this life. We’re just hoping to go home from the service and have a nice slice of ham and maybe a Bloody Mary, but I want you to raise your glasses of champagne this afternoon and say to your friends that He is risen and know what that declaration means. I want you to believe it. I want you to dare to see the world differently knowing that He has done it. I want you to regain the courage to hope because this man, Jesus, does what He says He will do. I heard about a church that wanted do something special on Easter, so they put out all the Easter eggs in the lawn, had a plane fly over the church, and the Easter bunny jumped out and parachuted down. Pastor said he wanted to make Easter a little more exciting this year. Easter doesn’t need to be any more exciting than it is already, if you can just understand what Jesus has done. He is not dead for He is risen, and that truth changes everything, but for us to change, we must first identify the pattern we’re in, and I believe we are in a pattern not unlike those ancient disciples. We are stuck in a pattern of expecting to be disappointed, while we need to learn that we can expect Jesus to do what He said He would do. Do you remember that one of the first things Jesus told them was to cast out their nets at the end of a day when their nets kept coming back empty? They had already given up. They were on the shore, washing their nets, and He got into one of their boats, the one belonging to Peter, and He asked him to put out into the deep. Now, Peter barely knew this man. Peter had only met Him the day before, yet for some reason he put his boat out into the deep water, and when Jesus said, “Let down your nets for a catch,” they did it, though we must remember that at first, they were reluctant. “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. If you say so, I will let down the nets,” is what they said. When they did, there were so many fish that their nets were beginning to break, but it was not their nets but our bad habits of pessimistic thinking that must be broken because He is risen. My friends, this is the God we serve. The God of Joseph, the dreamer. The God of Moses, who led the people out of slavery in Egypt. The God of Miriam, who with tambourines, sang of the God who triumphed over Pharoah. The God of David, who slayed a giant with a rock and a sling. The God of Ezekiel, who went to a valley of dry bones and watched as they all came back to life. The God of Jeremiah, who brought the children of God back home. The God of Mary and Joseph, Ruth and Rahab, Ester, and Lydia. More than that, we live in this modern age, years beyond Orville and Wilbur Wright, who surely heard that their plane would never leave the ground, and yet they flew. An age where Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. An age of electric cars, phones smarter than us, and artificial intelligence that can write term papers for students and sermons for preachers, yet we no longer expect to find a solution to poverty. We are used to politicians grumbling with each other rather than finding a solution to children getting shot in their own schools. It’s ridiculous to get used to disappointment. It’s ridiculous when you consider that He is risen. Likewise, because He has said, “It is finished,” I need never say, “I am finished.” Because Scripture has said, “He is risen,” I need never say, “I am beaten.” I need never say I am tired, or I am worn. Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart be lonely? And long for heaven and home? When Jesus is my portion? A constant friend is he. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me. He is risen from the dead. He has conquered death. He has won the victory. So we will never be defeated. We need never crawl up into that little ball, under the covers, wallowing in the darkness of our own defeat. My friends, do not get used to giving up. Do not become accustomed to grief. Do not make your bed in the valley of the shadow of death. For He is our Shepherd, and He is risen from the dead to lead us from a place of despair to that place of constant rejoicing. He is risen and so the setbacks will not define us. We know that the hard times will pass. Sorrow may last for the night, but a song comes in the morning. He is risen. I can’t help but think about all this on this Easter Sunday because I am preaching in a church that hit rock bottom in 2016 but has won “Best Place to Worship” in Cobb County for 5 years in a row, so don’t talk to me about managing expectations. Don’t talk to me about getting used to disappointment. Talk to me about hope fulfilled. In the last week, pastors and congregations from different churches, who typically segregate on Sunday mornings, joined for worship here, so don’t talk to me about getting used to division. Talk to me about unity. 110 volunteers showed up to make it happen. 110 in a culture that many have called selfish. 110 came together in a culture that many have said is giving up and turning in on itself. Don’t talk to me about selfishness. Talk to me about service. Talk to me about love. Talk to me about faith. Talk to me about hope. For He is risen. My friends, everything will change. Everything will get better. Miracles happen all the time. You’ll miss them, though, if you expect to be disappointed. Don’t expect to be disappointed. Expect victory. For He is risen. He is risen, indeed. Halleluiah! Amen.

Open the Gates

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2 and 19-29, Matthew 21: 1-11 Sermon Title: Open the Gates Preached on April 2, 2023 Today is Palm Sunday. Our second Scripture lesson describes it from the perspective of Matthew’s Gospel. Two scholars, John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg, have done some important work in imagining what Jerusalem was like on that day so long ago. On that first Palm Sunday, when Jesus’ rode into the city on a donkey and a colt, He was sitting on the cloaks of His disciples, which made His saddle, and the crowds around Him swarmed rejoicing. According to the scholars, we should pay particular attention to the size of the crowd. Jerusalem at that time had about 40,000 permanent inhabitants. However, on that day, when Jesus rode into the city, the population swelled. According to the scholars’ estimates based on historical records, on that first Palm Sunday so long ago, the population reached as high as 250,000. Think about that. A city of 40,000 welcomes more than 200,000 visitors. That’s like Athens on game day. Athens, Georgia, according to census data from 2021, has about 125,000 residents. On game day, they’ll welcome about 160,000 visitors, so the population more than doubles. In Jerusalem that day, the population more than quadrupled, which makes me wonder if anyone had the bright idea to sell palm branches the way the venders sell t-shirts in Athens, only first let’s ask: Why were so many people there? What was the big deal? To observe Passover, plenty of people were in town, which was expected. Passover is that ancient Jewish holiday remembering the moment when God led the Hebrew people out of slavery in Egypt. Jewish people celebrate Passover today just as they did then. Last Wednesday evening, I was honored to be a reader at the Passover celebration at Temple Kol Emeth in East Cobb. That synagogue was kind enough to invite me in for the celebration, just as Jerusalem welcomed all kinds of people from all over the Empire to celebrate the most important holiday of the year. However, more than these religious pilgrims, there were also crowds of people who came into town just to follow Jesus, waving Palm branches as they went. Why were they there? What was the big deal? To put it simply: Jesus is the One they had been waiting for. So, yes it was Passover, and every Jewish grandmother in Jerusalem was hosting her children and her grandchildren, but Jesus makes the big holiday even bigger. It’s like how plenty of people go to Athens for Georgia games every year, but it’s different when the national championship has been won. For the last two years, the Bulldogs did it, and crowds mobbed the streets to celebrate. Double that. Triple that. For Jerusalem to quadruple in population, it was four times the celebration. Four times the anticipation finally met. Four times the hope fulfilled, and all because one man rode into town on a donkey and a colt. That’s what today is all about. Jesus rode into Jerusalem, and the city went wild. They saw Him as an answer to their prayers. Having heard of the miracles, they imagined what He might do next. Having suffered under the oppression of the occupying Roman government, they imagined that He would bring their long-awaited independence and freedom, so they welcomed Him into the city, and they cheered as He rode by. They opened wide the gates of Jerusalem for salvation was at hand. The crowds waved palm branches and laid their coats onto the road making a kind of red carpet so that His steeds’ hooves did not touch the ground. “Hosanna to the Son of David!” they yelled. “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven.” These cheers mean, “Here He is. The One we’ve been waiting for.” “Open the gates! He’s finally here!” they cheered, and in He went. The crowds went with Him so that Jerusalem quadrupled in size. But wait, there’s more, for we read from the Gospel of Matthew verse 10, “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?’”. That’s what critics ask whenever the crowds swell with anticipation. “Wait just a minute. Who is this?” They asked that question of Stetson Bennett. Do you remember? Who is this? Those who believed, answered: “He’s our quarterback.” “But he’s 5’11 and 42 years old,” the critics responded. They asked the same of Jesus. “Who is this?” “This is Jesus, the Messiah,” the crowds answered, but the moment the critics open their mouths, damage is done, even with so simple a comment. When hope is fragile, sometimes all it takes is one question and the celebration stops in its tracks. It happened to me last Friday. There I was, getting ready for the most relaxing hour of my week. Every Friday morning, I take our dog, Izzy, for a run down the trail that starts at Burnt Hickory and goes on past the Illinois monument. That peaceful trail crosses two creeks, is covered by tree limbs, and being there always helps me relax after the end of a hard week. Last week was a hard week, and last Friday, I got out of the car ready to relax and recharge. I walked up to the start of the trail, but my shoes came untied. I’m holding the dog leash as I try to tie my shoes, and Izzy takes this opportunity to relieve herself before we get started. A man steps over what she’d left behind, and as I’m trying to tie my shoes while holding the dog, I hear him ask with true resentment, “You going to clean this up?” Now this is a reasonable question. There’s nothing wrong with asking, “You going to clean this up?” There’s nothing wrong with asking, “Who is this?” but hope can be a fragile thing, and I just needed a second to tie my shoes. Therefore, those words said in such a way sent me backwards into a week that started with a school shooting at a Presbyterian Church in Nashville where the pastor’s daughter was killed along with five others. “Who is this?” “You going to clean this up?” “Can we really do anything about gun violence?” Sometimes it doesn’t matter how many people have joined the crowd or how confident they are that the time has come for redemption, if the wrong question is asked, it can be the beginning of the end. “Who is this?” they hear, and the crowd starts to wonder. Their aspirations become ensnared by the cynics. The movement comes to a halt because the most negative, the most pessimistic, the most questioning voices can pull the hopeful in the wrong direction. Sometimes that happens. It’s happening now. However, today, I call on you to open wide the gates in hope, for the cynics were wrong then, and they’re wrong now. Here we are, 2,000 years later, and the crowds so large on that first Palm Sunday would be dwarfed by the crowds who gather to wave their palms in churches throughout the world today. Though cynics doubted, the fragile hope came to fruition. The One the crowds hoped in has changed the world already. So if you are discouraged, if you’re hope is running dry, or if the questions of the cynics resound in your hearts this morning, open the gates of your hearts wide this morning. Open the gates of your hearts wide to believe that things will get better. Open the gates to hope. To peace. To change. To reform. To faith. Open the gates, and let Him come in, for He has changed the world, and He’s doing it again even now. He is the One to save us all. We need simply to believe. Amen.

Blinded by the Light of the World

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 23 and John 9: 1-41 Sermon Title: Blinded by the Light of the World Preached on March 19, 2023 Has anyone here ever dreamed of having his own fire truck? On Monday morning, I pulled into the parking lot, and there was an antique fire truck parked in the church parking lot. I got out of my car, took a picture, and thought to myself, “How amazing is this? Someone left a fire truck in our parking lot!” Only here’s the thing: There it was, an antique fire truck, but I don’t think everyone noticed it, or, if she did, she stayed in her car and just looked, without getting out to make a big deal of it. It was parked in the lot where a lot of preschool parents line up to drop off their kids, and I can imagine many of the preschoolers noticing the fire truck. Surely, they wanted to get out to climb on it and couldn’t because I can also imagine that many of the parents who were dropping their preschoolers off had other things on their minds. I want you to know that the only reason I dedicated so much attention to the fire truck was because I don’t have a preschooler in the car anymore. Back when I did, I didn’t have time for fire trucks. I wasn’t getting enough sleep, I was always rushing to get to work, feeling like I was mediocre at everything. I felt mediocre at my job because every other week I had a kid home sick, so I couldn’t dedicate as much time as I felt like I should to work. I felt mediocre at exercise because I always had middle-of-the-night wake-up duty, and after staying up late to rock a sick or scared baby, I couldn’t always make myself get up early to go on a run. I even felt mediocre in marriage because for that season of life, Sara and I were more like nannies or drivers than husband and wife. However, today, with 11- and 13-year-old daughters, I’m getting plenty of sleep, I have time to notice the world around me, and with older kids at home, I love seeing little kids and stopping to talk with them. My favorite part of my weekday is 12:00. I’m on my way out to lunch, and I walk through the gathering area out there. All the preschool kids are lined up ready for pick-up. Little Kate Callahan sometimes stops me. One day, she noticed that I had cut myself. “What happened to your face, Mr. Joe?” she asked me. “I’ve been shaving for years now, but sometimes I still cut myself shaving,” I explained. One of her classmates, Colt Carden, said, “My daddy shaves with a mirror. Do you have a mirror to shave with, Mr. Joe?” I told him that I’d think about getting one and walked away with a smile on my face because the light just shines so brightly in those kids, but we must slow down to notice it. We don’t always have time to slow down. We are all sometimes too busy to slow down. None of us has enough time to notice the whole world around him. Our minds are focused on other things. There are plenty of things in this world to worry about. There are some seasons of life when it feels like all we can do is tread water, hardly aware of the world around us. Sometimes the light shines, and we are blinded by it, rather than rejoicing in it. That’s the theme in our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of John. It was a long Scripture lesson. In case you got lost in it, allow me to briefly summarize: Jesus healed a man of his blindness, but this miracle made the religious authorities of the day anxious because he healed the man on the Sabbath. In those days, you didn’t work on the Sabbath. Everything was closed. Everyone rested. A healing sounded like work to the religious authorities, so they tried to crack down on Jesus, who didn’t observe the rules and customs of the day, and they went after the formerly blind boy’s parents. When they went after them, his parents felt attacked. They didn’t want to get into trouble, so they told the religious authorities to ask their son about it. “What can you tell us about the man who healed you?” they asked him. The boy who had been blind said, “One thing I know, that though I was blind, now I see.” That seems to me to be the main thing, yet the religious authorities didn’t see it that way. They looked right over the miracle as though they were blinded by it, so Jesus said to them, “I came into this world so that those who are blind might see, and those who think they can see would know that they are blind.” The religious authorities, “heard him say this and said to him, ‘Surely we are not blind, are we?’” This is a wonderful question for anyone to ask him or herself, “Surely, I’m not blind, am I?” Of course, I am. We all are. When I was a father of two preschoolers, I was at least 50% blind. I had to be to survive. You can’t go walking around like Mr. Rogers at the pencil plant, leisurely taking it all in and appreciating every detail if you have diapers to change, two kids to get to preschool, a job to do, and a spouse to take out to dinner at least once or twice a month, bere’s the word I have for you today: If you are going to be 50% blind, don’t be blind to the miracles. Don’t be blinded by the Light of the World. Don’t be blind to the good all around you. That’s what happened to the religious authorities. They were blinded by the Light of the World. The miracle overwhelmed them, so they went back to analyzing the intricacies of the Sabbath laws. They huddled up and started saying to each other, “He was working on the Sabbath.” “Can you believe it?” “Isn’t it horrible?” “He should have more respect.” No! All that they were worried about is beside the point. If you have the choice between paying attention to Sabbath laws or a blind man receiving his sight, always pay more attention to the miracle rather than the Sabbath law. Pay more attention to the laughter than the pain. Spend more time discussing the light than the social conventions. Parents, you don’t always have the bandwidth to live up to the standards set by society, so drop what is unessential and rely on His grace so that you see what matters most and don’t worry so much about all the other stuff. That’s what I want you to hear this morning. We’re all running on these hamster wheels in this life. Someone was asked to describe what it was like when her second child was born. She said, “Well, it was like I was treading water in a pool while holding a baby. Then someone handed me another one.” If life is that overwhelming, like treading water while holding two babies, stop worrying about how you look in your bathing suit. Let go of somethings to hold others more tightly. Be blind to the insignificant and pay attention to what matters. Let go of paying attention to what’s happening in Washington, D.C. to pay more attention to the people in your neighborhood. Notice that a fire truck is parked in the parking lot and stop worrying about where your rich friends went on vacation. We all get distracted by the main thing, but don’t be blinded by the Light of the World. Focus on the light and don’t worry so much about all the shadows. Do you know what I mean by that? Focus on the miracle. Listen for the good news. Don’t sweat the small stuff. The worst thing that happens in this Scripture lesson is what happens to the boy’s parents. Did you hear what the disciples asked Jesus? “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Don’t you know they had been asking each other that question since the day he was born? Whose fault is this? Whose side has the genes that did it: yours or mine? Parents can test for this kind of thing now, and I wonder if that’s good or bad information to have because while we want to know whose fault it is, having the right person to blame is not the main thing. Don’t be blinded by the Light of the World. See Him. Trust Him. Follow Him. Amen.

Thirsty

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 17: 1-7 and John 4: 5-42 Sermon title: Thirsty Preached on March 12, 2023 My friends, the woman went to the well because she was thirsty, but she didn’t just need a sip of water. Do you know what I mean by that? As she walks into our second Scripture lesson encountering Jesus, all that we need to know about her is encapsulated in one subtle detail. Our second Scripture lesson began: “Jesus came to a Samaritan city, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.” Therefore, we know that Jesus shows up at the well when the sun is at its highest point. The sun is beating down. It’s hot, and he’s thirsty. Who else was there? No one. Why? Well, think about it. In a world without indoor plumbing, everyone goes to this well early in the morning or after the sun has set. It’s cooler that way. Plus, people need water for baths and breakfast. The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup. But you can’t have Folgers without water from the well. Everyone in town goes to the well in the morning, yet as Jesus comes to the well at noon, sun beating down; he’s hot, tired, and thirsty. Here comes this woman who is thirsty, too, but, my friends, the woman goes to the well because she’s thirsty, yet she doesn’t just need a sip of water. Do you know what I mean by that? If all she needed from the world was water, there would have been a bucket full in her house already. She would have gone to the well when her community gathered there, in the cool of the morning. It wasn’t the cool of the morning when she walked up and found Jesus there; it was noon. Why was she going to the well at noon? She’s thirsty, yet she doesn’t just need a sip of water. She also wants acceptance from the world, and because she goes to the well at noon, we know she doesn’t have it. Imagine her showing up in the cool of the morning before the sun rose. That’s when everyone in town went to the well. If you go to the town well at noon, it’s because every time you showed up there in the morning, someone said something that hurt too much to hear. I can see her walking up to the well in the cool of the morning and overhearing a conversation between the ladies of the town: “Did you hear that it didn’t work out with her husband?” “No, Gladys, I hadn’t heard that.” “Wasn’t that her fourth one?” “I heard it was her fifth.” “And who is she living with now?” “I don’t know the man’s name, but they’re not even married. Can you believe it?” You must be thirsty to walk into that environment. You’d have to be dying of thirst to go to that well to face such gossip. I’d rather lay on my back with my mouth open and pray for rain than face a crowd like that one. Can you imagine what she was feeling? Do you know what it means to be thirsty for more than a sip of water? If you’ve ever been the new kid at school, then you know what it’s like. Think of going to the well in the morning as walking out into the playground at recess. The new kid at school wants to play basketball with the kids who play basketball. Or maybe she tries to fit in with the group looking for four leaf clovers in the field. Do kids do that anymore? I don’t know what kids do at recess these days, but I do know that every child knows the feeling of trying to break into a group that’s already been formed, and if you’ve tried to break in and have been rejected too many times, you stop trying. To save yourself from the pain of rejection, you go to the well at noon instead of in the morning. You sit with the teachers during recess instead of trying to get the boys to pass you the ball. You feel the sun beating down, so you feel thirsty, but you don’t just need a sip of water. You need something else. How many here know that feeling? At one time or another, we’ve all felt it. I remember being the new kid at Hickory Hills Elementary School. I was 8 years old. My parents sent me down the street to wait for the school bus, number 89-03. Ms. Elrod was our bus driver. Do you know the feeling of walking onto a school bus for the very first time? Who do you know? Where will you sit? Your muscles tense up. Your throat gets dry. Do you know the feeling of being thirsty for more than a sip of water? That’s what this woman was feeling. She had felt that feeling so often that “thirsty” is who this woman was. She had walked to the back of the bus and back to the front without finding a seat to sit in so many times that she told her mom and dad she’d rather walk to school, and along the way, she met five men who made promises to her that they wouldn’t keep. Then one day, she met another man who asked her for a drink. It’s noon. Jesus is at the well. Here comes this woman, thirsty for far more than a sip of water, and what does Jesus do? Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” Did He even say please? If He did, it’s not in there. What’s the magic word, Jesus? Nope, that’s not how it went. Just, “Give me a drink,” He says to the woman. Shouldn’t Jesus be the one to give her something? Shouldn’t He be giving her acceptance? Forgiveness? Love? Respect? Instead, Jesus said to her (The Bible doesn’t even say, “asked her.”) “Give me a drink.” What do you make of that? If this passage of Scripture sounds a little crazy to you, then I’m doing a good job as your preacher this morning because it is a little crazy. The Gospel always should sound a little crazy to us because it’s a message that only the Savior of the World could deliver. His is a word that only He could speak. He is doing something new among us by saying to the victim, “Give me a drink,” for sometimes, when we treat the victim like she’s helpless, we push her deeper into victimization. Sometimes, when we give too much to people, treating them as though they were helpless, we perpetuate a cycle that leaves them in a worse position than they were in before. Sometimes, when we do something for people when they needed to do for themselves, they never discover the strength that is within them. When Jesus says to this woman, thirsty for more than a sip of water, “Give me a drink,” I want you to hear in His voice the words of President John F. Kennedy: “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.” I want you to hear the words of Mr. Fred Rogers, who asked a dying man to pray for him. I want you to hear the reminder that sometimes, those who are looking for the world to give them acceptance need to stop asking the for it. They need to see that they never needed the acceptance of the world in the first place. “Give me a drink,” He said, which is a funny thing to ask of a person who was widely pitied and never needed. “Give me a drink,” is a funny thing to request from a woman whom everyone talked about, but no one wanted to be seen with. “Give me a drink,” is the most countercultural thing the Savior could have said, the most unnatural thing Jesus could have requested, for we know that if He wanted water, He could have spoken the words and the heavens would have poured down rain. We know He could have turned the spring into a fountain of fine wine. We know He could have walked on the water from that well, but instead He said to the woman, whom the community saw as having nothing to give, “Give me a drink,” and suddenly, she was the source of something that the King of Kings needed. I want you to hear something out of my mouth loud and clear. Right here in this passage, Jesus is showing us what we must do to have abundant life. He is teaching us a lesson that the world is not teaching us. By saying to this woman, “Give me a drink,” He is showing us that sometimes, the way to heal the brokenhearted is by seeing what they can give. I heard about it once from a pastor. A pastor went to visit a woman who had lost her beloved husband. She was brokenhearted and had turned inward. She rarely left the house. She was angry at God for taking him. She was angry at the church for not supporting her more. She was angry at her family for not coming around. She was angry at her husband for leaving her all alone. The pastor went in her house, and she led him to the sun porch in the back. She sat him down and went into the kitchen to fetch a cup of tea. While she was in the kitchen, the pastor looked around and noticed that the sun porch was like a jungle of African violets. Do you know African violets? I had one once, and I killed it after a couple weeks. The sun must be right, but if you can get it right, then they grow and reproduce, so if you know what you’re doing, you can wind up with a sun porch full of African violets, and this woman knew what she was doing. The pastor drank the tea, then said to her, “May I have one?” She thought about it, wrote down the care instructions on a scrap piece of paper, then reluctantly gave him one. Strangely enough, it made her feel good to see him smile. A week later, the pastor called this woman to report that the African violet she had given him was still alive. In fact, it was blooming, and there was another woman in the church who had just lost her husband. Would she consider sending this newly widowed church member an African violet to care for? She dropped it at the front door of this newly-widowed woman’s house, with care instructions written on a scrap piece of paper, and it felt so good to her that the next day she read through the obituaries in the local paper and delivered an African violet with care instructions to every widow or widower in their small town. Why did she do it? Every time she gave a violet away, her own grief started to lift, for it is not always by receiving that we are healed. Sometimes, it is by giving a drink to those who thirst that our own thirst is quenched. This woman at the well was thirsty, but she was thirsty for more than a sip of water. How was it that she went from being the woman who went to the well at noon to being the evangelist who, leaving her water jar behind, rushed into a town full of people who had rejected her, proclaiming to the community, “Come and see a man who has told me everything that I have ever done. He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” I’ll tell you how: Jesus showed her how to quench her thirst. He showed her how to never be thirsty again, for it is by giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. It is by dying that we are freed from shame and born to eternal life. Amen.

I Heard the Voice of the Tempter

Scripture Lessons: Genesis 2: 15-17 and 3: 1-7; Matthew 4: 1-11 Sermon Title: I Heard the Voice of the Tempter Preached on February 26, 2023 Yesterday, Chick Freund sent me a video of the Rev. Joyce Meyer preaching at a women’s conference. She said that there’s this new store in New York where women can shop for husbands. The store has six floors, but once you’ve gone up a floor you can’t go back down. One customer started on the first floor, which featured men who have jobs. “That’s pretty good, but let me keep shopping,” she said to herself. Second floor: men with jobs, who also love kids. Third floor: men with jobs, who love kids and have all their teeth. Fourth floor: men with jobs, who love kids, have all their teeth, and clean up the house. “Should I keep going?” the woman asked herself. She did. Fifth floor: men with jobs, who love kids, have all their teeth, clean up the house, and have a strong romantic streak. She kept going, now thinking, “How could this get any better?” It couldn’t. Sixth floor: You are customer 6,857,943, proving once again that women can’t be satisfied. Neither can men. You may know this song: When I’m drivin’ in my car And a man comes on the radio He’s tellin’ me more and more about some useless information Supposed to fire my imagination I can’t get no satisfaction. Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try What is it that all of us, from the fictional woman in Rev. Joyce Meyers’ sermon to Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones, have in common? The search for satisfaction goes all the way back to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. However, while we go searching for satisfaction, we don’t know where to find it. We long for more and go searching for what we’re looking for in forbidden fruit, and still we sing, “I can’t get no satisfaction.” Isn’t it something that Mick Jagger sang those words? I mean, that guy’s rich. Today, his net worth is estimated to be 370 million, so he’s not the richest rock star in the world, but certainly he can afford to buy everything that you’ve ever dreamed would make you happy. He’s done all the things that many people imagine would make them happy, too. People go to all these extreme measures to become as famous as Mick Jagger is famous, and still the words of his song are, “I can’t get no satisfaction.” Now, enter the voice of the Tempter, who tells us where to find it. We read in our first Scripture lesson from the book of Genesis: Now the serpent was craftier than any other wild animal that the Lord God had make. He said to the woman, “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’” Then, the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die; for God knew that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” You know what happened next. By reaching for satisfaction in the place God told them not to go, the first man and first woman were exiled from Eden, that garden where all their needs were met if they would just trust God to show them how to live. This is the human condition: We want satisfaction. As we go looking for it, we listen to the voice of the Tempter rather than the words of our Creator. We’ve been provided with a manual by our Manufacturer. However, like a stubborn father on Christmas Eve trying to put a playhouse together, we threw the directions out with the box, and now we’re stuck with four screws that have no place to go. We were born with these desires. We desire connection and community, but where do we go looking for these things? We go to the internet, where we are told that satisfaction is just one click away. Easy and accessible and risk-free. We go to the credit card companies who promise to fulfill our grandest material dreams. Again, easy, accessible, and risk free. We listen to the voice of the Tempter who calls us to want more, yet the more likely result of us listening to him is debt and shame rather than satisfaction. “I can’t get no satisfaction,” we sing. The voice of the Tempter tells us where to find it, but Jesus knew not to listen. We read in Matthew that Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the Devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards, He was famished. The Tempter came and said to Him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” Can you imagine how hungry He was after 40 days of fasting? I can’t. Even when I’m not starving, I still think that satisfaction might come from bread, or a donut, or a slice of cake. However, Jesus said, “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” because in the end, bread can fill our bellies, but it can’t satisfy our souls. For satisfaction, we must go to the Word of God, which might tell us where to find it, though it’s not so simple as just reading the Bible. I say that it’s not so simple as just being able to read the Bible because next, the Devil took Him to the holy city and placed Him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to Him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” That’s straight out of Psalm 91. Did you know the Devil can quote Scripture? He can. Plenty of evil people can quote Scripture, and they use it for their own gain. We go looking for answers in Scripture, but be careful because we don’t get to the heart of it unless we understand love, sacrifice, and humility, so Jesus says: “Again it is written, do not put the Lord your God to the test.” Not relenting, the Devil took Him to a very high mountain and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and he said to Him, “All these I will give you, if only you fall down and worship me.” Now, this is the great temptation. How many believed they could put the world right if only they had the power to change things. Yet Jesus says, “Worship the Lord and serve only him” because power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. We all go looking for satisfaction. These days I believe we go looking for it in having more, not realizing we will only have satisfaction when we learn the meaning of enough. We go looking for satisfaction in power, not realizing we will only have satisfaction when we learn the meaning of humility. We go looking for satisfaction in safety, not realizing we will only have satisfaction when we learn the meaning of sacrifice. While the voice of the Tempter is all around us today, peddling satisfaction in the form of excess, comfort, power, and pleasure, hear instead the voice of Jesus who says, “Take up your cross and follow me.” My friends, the voice of the Tempter is all around us. He whispers to us, day in and day out. We’ve given him entrance to our homes through television commercials and the internet. We’re always being seduced into thinking that satisfaction will come with the next click or by ordering the right product. Celebrities tell us where to find it, but look at their lives and see that they don’t know where to find it either. Yet, the Savior of the World offers us another way, and this is what He says: It is better to give than it is to receive. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind and love your neighbor as yourself. Take up your cross and follow Me. This is the way. Follow Him and know satisfaction. The world may not understand because the world is convinced that satisfaction will come through having more: more food, more safety, more power. On the other hand, I call you to look to Jesus on the cross and to hear the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr: A man who doesn’t have something for which he is willing to die is not fit to live. Hear the words of Dr. William Sloane Coffin, “Up on a cross he breathed his last breath, and so ended the most complete life ever lived.” The voice of the Tempter sneaks into our lives to tell us where to find our satisfaction. If you haven’t found it, then try listening to the voice of Jesus. Amen.

Peter Didn't Want Him to Go

Scripture Lessons: Exodus 24: 12-18 and Matthew 17: 1-9 Sermon Title: Peter Didn’t Want Him to Go Preached on February 19, 2023 Many of you know Robert Hay, Jr. He is a child of this church who now works for the Presbyterian Foundation, a financial institution that serves Presbyterian Churches throughout the Southeast and helps them finance building campaigns or plan for their next stewardship seasons. He is also one of Rev. Robert Hay, Sr.’s two sons. Many of you know Robert Hay, Sr. He was an associate pastor here, working with our youth group for several years back in the 1990’s. If I were to name the top five people who shaped and changed me so that I became the person I am today, Rev. Robert Hay, Sr. would be at the top of that list because of the influence he had on me while I was in this church’s youth group. That’s what I was telling a man sitting next to me a few years ago at a conference that Robert Hay, Jr. and I were both attending. I wanted this man to know how Robert and I knew each other and that we’ve known each other for a long time. Then Robert said, to introduce me to this man, “If we were to look back on that time and name the top five kids from that youth group who we thought were least likely to become Presbyterian ministers, I’m not saying that Joe would be at the top of that list, but he would certainly be in the top five.” Now, how could I go from Robert’s list of the top five least likely to become Presbyterian ministers to becoming one? Well, people change. I’ve changed. You’ve changed. The revival in Kentucky happening right now reminds me that God acts in our lives, and if we step out in faith, we may move away from the people we were and toward the people we’re called to be. Remember, though, not everyone wants us to go. It’s been said by old country preachers that “God loves you as you are, but God loves you too much to want you to remain as you are.” God’s love calls us to change. God loves us too much to allow us to stay right where we are, and this morning I want to preach about the problem this change causes in our relationships, for the minute we start changing, we often hit a wall in the form of people who are afraid they’ll lose us if we change. I remember Rev. Robert Hay, Sr. once saying that sometimes for high school students to turn over a new leaf, to get out of trouble, and to get away from drugs or alcohol, they must change their playmates and find a new playground. Surely their old playmates didn’t want to see them go, but this is the cost of change, this is the cost of discipleship, stepping away from people who don’t want us to grow and change. I’ve told you before that years ago I would skip confirmation class. My friends and I would get dropped off by our parents, walk through the glass doors, wait for them to drive off, and walk back out of the church to socialize along the railroad tracks. There wasn’t much to do, but it was fun to be with my friends. In fact, at some point, I started to feel guilty about not being in confirmation class; however, going to class would mean risking my friends’ acceptance. If I walked away from them and went to class, would they still like me? If I walked away, would I still have a place in their circle? Likewise, Peter didn’t want Jesus to go, and surely there were some of my friends who didn’t want me to go either, so I told them I was going to use the bathroom and would be back, only then wandered back into confirmation class. Bob Bomar, one of the confirmation class teachers, welcomed me in, no questions asked. I’ll never forget that. When he died just weeks ago, I thought about how he had been there to help me make the hard choice to be changed, to be transfigured, to do something different from what my friends wanted me to do, and to be someone different than who my friends knew me to be. I want you to know that Peter didn’t want Jesus to change; Peter wanted Jesus to stay the same, but God provided Moses and Elijah to help Jesus become who He was called to be. Jesus was up on top of a mountain with Peter and James and His brother John. While there, Jesus was transfigured before them, His clothes became dazzling white. Next to Him were Moses and Elijah, both known to be long dead. I heard a Sunday school teacher ask, “How did the disciples know they were Moses and Elijah?” And someone from the class shouted out, “Maybe they had on nametags.” I don’t know that they did, yet while this story is supernatural, and while you may have never heard of Transfiguration Sunday before today, think with me about how many movies have copied this exact scene where the hero must do something that takes great courage. In Harry Potter, right before our hero goes to face the evil Voldemort, do you remember who shows up to help him? He’s all by himself, prepared to turn himself over to the Dark Lord in the hopes of saving his friends. Alone in the woods, he says the words, “I’m ready to die,” and out from a golden ball comes the resurrection stone. His mother, long dead, appears to say, “You’ve been so brave, Sweetheart.” He asks the godfather who slipped away right in front of him, “Does it hurt, dying?” He hears his father say, “You’re nearly there, Son.” One final look at all of them, he pleads, “You’ll stay with me?” and one points to his heart, saying, “We never left.” The same thing happens in Star Wars. Do you remember? Before Luke Skywalker goes to fight Darth Vader, who shows up to encourage him? Dead people. Obi-Wan Kenobi, long dead, shows up glowing and dazzling white, but before I go on to reveal how many more sci-fi/fantasy movies I’ve paid too much attention to, let me get to the point: When heroes face impossible tasks and the encouragement comes from people long dead and dazzling white, remember this moment from the Gospel of Matthew, this Transfiguration. That’s where the authors and directors got it from, for just before Jesus takes His first steps towards Jerusalem, Moses and Elijah show up to encourage Him. Why them? Why Moses and Elijah? I tell you, someone had to help Jesus because Peter certainly wasn’t going to do it. Peter didn’t want Him to go. Something about the whole experience made Peter say, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, up on top of this mountain, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Why would Peter say such a thing? What I assume is that suddenly it became obvious to Peter that Jesus was even more than a teacher, even more than a miracle worker, and perhaps He would even have to do what He just said He would do: go to Jerusalem to be crucified. If you notice, our second Scripture lesson began: “six days later.” Six days later from what? If you look up this passage and read just two paragraphs up, you’ll read that the Transfiguration occurs six days from the moment Jesus told them He’d have to go to Jerusalem to be crucified, and they, if they were really His disciples, would take up their cross right with Him, so suddenly, it seems to Peter that Jesus is who He says He is, that He will be going through with this plan to be crucified, and if he, Peter, is really one of the disciples, he must go face death along with Him. Whoa! Wait a minute! Peter didn’t want Him to go. Once Peter realized that Jesus was serious, Peter didn’t want Him to go. It was about the same with Moses. Moses takes center stage in our first Scripture lesson. I once saw a bumper sticker that read, “Even Moses started out as a basket case.” That’s true. He did. Born into a family of enslaved Hebrew people, Moses was placed in a basket by the mother who loved him so much that she made every effort to save him from an early death by the hand of his people’s oppressors. He floated down the river in that basket and was saved by Pharaoh’s daughter. Through a series of other miracles, he became a leader of the Hebrew people, leading them from slavery and into the Promised Land. In today’s first Scripture Lesson, he was up on a mountain with God for forty days and forty nights. Maybe you remember that he came down from the mountain changed by this experience. His skin was glowing. He was transfigured. The way he looked was different just as it was with Jesus. However, maybe you remember that while Moses is changing, so many of the Hebrew people are staying the same. Will you be changed? Peter wanted Jesus to stay, asking, “Why don’t we just stay right here? I’ll build three dwellings: one for You, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Come on, Peter. No one gets to stay on the mountain top, do they? No. We all must be changed. I have five friends from college I get together with for one weekend every year. One is a lawyer. One is a counselor. One is in sales. One works for BMW. Two of us are Presbyterian ministers. Every time we get together, I remember sitting in our old townhouse for the very last time. We had just graduated. We had to clear out, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same. Peter didn’t want Jesus to go. Do you know why? My dad told me that he remembers the moment I drove out of the driveway at 16 years old. He said he thought to himself, “There he goes.” Peter didn’t want Him to go. Do you know why? My mother helped her father move from his house to independent living at the Presbyterian Village, then from independent living to assisting living, and then from assisted living to memory care. Every move, there was less stuff to take. Every time he moved, he was closer to the end. Peter didn’t want Him to go. Do you know why? I remember at the end of the school year having friends write in my yearbook, “Don’t ever change.” Do you remember that? Do you remember wishing that nothing would ever change? Yet everything changes. Change is the constant. We cannot make for ourselves and the people we love shelters on mountaintops because the world keeps on spinning, the Spirit keeps on calling, and our hearts push us onward, so Jesus walks down from the mountain. Peter didn’t want Him to go. Yet Jesus walked down from the mountain, and every step He took from this point on brought Him closer to His death. More than that, every step He took brought Him closer to His purpose. While Peter didn’t want Him to go, Peter needed Him to go. As He moves toward the cross, He proves to us that the death we fear is not the end, but our destiny. Our salvation. Our redemption. Forward and not behind is the pathway to eternal life. But will you have the courage to go with Him? Amen.