St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC: Recent Episodes
St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC
Sermon podcasts of St. Patrick Presbyterian Church in Collierville, TN (from 2017 forward). Check out our old podcast for sermons prior to 2017 - https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/st-patrick-presbyterian-church/id860820566?mt=2
I am not much for throwing out Latin terms. Long ago I took Latin and was not very good at it, but sometimes an old term just needs to be used, and if we don't know it, we just need to. Sola Gratia is the name of a new series we are starting this week and will run for the next five weeks. Sola Gratia means grace alone. It was one of five solas that came out of the Protestant Reformation—like battle cries, or things we hold dear and must never forget, or we will lose something that must not be lost.
If you have been around here for a while, it will sound familiar to you, because it is one of our four core values—"Grace is Everything." It's not just a core value; it is, we might say, the core value which makes all our other values possible. Grace alone is what the gospel is all about. For the next five weeks we will look at the gospel and ask the question, "Why is grace everything?"
Sunday we will look at what we might call a biblical anthropology, or who we are as human beings before God—what is our essence as image bearers of God, and how has sin affected us. It is a bleak picture, and one in which, if we do not understand it, grace will just be something, not everything.
I hope you will join us Sunday!
I have thoroughly enjoyed the World Cup this summer, and I hope you have as well. The celebrations, the underdogs, the brilliance, the world stage, it's an incredible experience. There's a deep sadness creeping in with the thought of it coming to a close this Sunday and having to wait another four years for the next edition.
Forty-seven teams from this World Cup will go home and face reality. They will be forced to acknowledge that they were not the best, they could have been better, and they have work to do and four years to do it if they want glory in 2030. But they also must acknowledge the incredible blessing of getting to play in the World Cup, a dream of billions of children across the globe.
The tension between acknowledging our own weaknesses and acknowledging our great blessings can be tough. It forces us to admit we didn't earn much of the good we experience. There's a word for that in the Bible and it's used over and over again, especially in the Psalms. And in that word is the better story of the Gospel. So before watching the World Cup Final on Sunday afternoon, let's consider the good news together on Sunday morning from Psalm 107.
Most of the conversation around generations these days, particularly among those who are “terminally online,” revolves around what are actually micro-generations: Silent, Boomer, X, Millennial, Z, and Alpha. I’m told there’s now a Beta designation. As is the case with most online discourse, the general tenor is one of negative comparison and resentful competition. Generational prosperity and cultural dominance have become a zero-sum game for the living only. The losers haven’t even been born yet.
When we log off and enter the Biblical world instead, we see a better story unfolding. It’s all an expression of what is sometimes called “The John 3:16 of the Old Testament.” Exodus 34:6-7 is the most internally quoted and referenced revelation of God in all of Scripture. When Moses asked God to show him his glory,
“The Lord passed before him and proclaimed, “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children's children, to the third and the fourth generation.”
And that’s exactly what we see is driving this whole plot: God’s desire to show favor to those who draw near to him in such a way that has generational consequences.
What if the things we think of as our generations’ greatest strengths are actually iniquities incurring debts that our children’s grandchildren will be forced to carry? If you know your genealogy back that far, I’ll bet you’ve already traced some of your brokenness to the choices of a quarter century ago. If you could cast your eye (and some of you can) to your great grandchildren, you’ll notice that some of your own failures already have compounded interest for their lives.
What can we do? That’s what Psalm 145 is all about. The Psalmist places his allusion to the mercy of God from Exodus 34:6-7 in the center of our text, between an impossible standard and a childlike faith. It’s enough to make us gratuitously glad!
Late Monday, I stood in my garden in sadness and consternation as I looked at my tomato plants. I had only been gone four days, but as anyone who gardens in the heat and humidity of Memphis knows, you can do everything right, and things still go wrong. Good soil, proper watering, spacing, sucker to give room for circulation, and spraying regularly —and suddenly you look at the bottom leaves, and they begin to yellow and spot—blight. It can mean you lose your tomatoes and have to pull them up.
But with care, ruthlessly stripping the dead leaves off, until there is not much left, spraying with fungicides and proper feeding, the plant revives, and by August you have a crop above the blight line, and by August you are rewarded with great ripening on the vine.
This week, we have a Psalm written from the perspective of the blight. The Psalmist is totally honest about the conditions around him; all is bleak, the throne thrown down, the wall breached, the line of promise to human eyes cut off. The promise of God looks as dead as my tomato plants. I won’t lie to you, this Psalm is not for the faint of heart, but it is for those who hang on to God even and especially when it doesn’t look like it will ever resolve.
This Sunday we will talk about it. The Psalm is jarring, and it is meant to be. It is honest about the conditions in which spiritual formation takes place, and I, for one, am glad we get to experience this together in worship. That is where all honest lament takes place, or should take plac
Our High Schoolers just got back from a three-day mystery trip, and I applaud their courage and eagerness. They are incredible! It's no easy thing to enter three days without a phone, without a plan, no idea where we're going or what we're doing until we're actually doing it. When's the last time you had a moment like that? When you were three years old maybe? It's a rather terrifying and counter cultural way to live. All our high schoolers were left with was the present moment, the present place, and the present people around them. The power of the mystery trip is you have to be present, and that's where God is at work. It was such gladness for me to see our students enjoy that.
A mystery trip, much like a mystery moment in life, is disorienting. It's a liminal space where we've left one room but haven't yet entered the next. We've left stability, and we're floating over the threshold waiting to move forward. This time of disorientation is waiting for not just a return to the old way, but a new orientation, a new perspective, a new way of living.
The Psalm we're looking at this Sunday, Psalm 30, is all about the gratuitous gladness found when we've gone through disorientation and God has given us new life on the other side. And this new life, as well as this Sunday's sermon, might just include some dancing.
I’m just aware enough of sports to know that North America has been hosting the World Cup. I catch little snippets of cultural celebrations on restaurant TVs and wonder at the way a team can represent and stir national pride. I don’t follow the games or standings much, but there’s a lot to affirm in the effort. It’s a pure and joyful expression of what it means to be from somewhere. We do our best to set aside the geopolitics of state and focus on the indelible glory of a unique people. That’s a tall order these days, but I do think these athletic events help.
It can be hard to separate our understanding of what the Bible calls “the nations” from the way we’ve been shaped by the modern idea of the nation-state in a global economy. We’ve developed polar ways of thinking about these things. On one side, there’s the view that each nation is equal and that tolerance is the highest good. On the other end of the spectrum, there’s a belief that one kind of government is best, and all others should conform. Often we toggle back and forth between these convictions depending on which seems more advantageous at the moment.
When we read in the Psalms about “the nations,” or in the New Testament about “the gentiles,” it’s clear that the authors are speaking from the particular reference point of Israel among and even above the other peoples of the earth. There’s a kind of exceptionalism on display for sure, and if we’re not careful we can miss the purpose and heart of God’s plan in blessing his “special possession.” What does the Bible teach about the future of the nations, and what does all that have to do with us? Let’s talk about it this Sunday.
When I was a child, the entirety of human knowledge was contained on the bottom shelf of my parents’ bookcase, in alphabetical order. It was basically the internet printed out, bound in 26 volumes, and called The Encyclopedia Britannica. The problem was, you could familiarize yourself with most of it and still not know what it was like to have a girlfriend. Not that I’m speaking from experience; I’m just saying there’s more to know than knowledge.
I’m meditating on T.S. Eliot’s “Choruses from ‘The Rock’” this week, thinking about how much truer this is in the so-called “Information Age” than it was a century ago.
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.
Psalm 111, like the Britannica, is presented as an acrostic: the A-Z, (or, if you like, Alpha to Omega) of Wisdom. Yet it presents a very different vision of understanding than mere trivia recall, avoiding all the fascinating details and diving instead to the whole heart of the matter. Knowledge can be downloaded, transferred, quantified. Wisdom is not like that. Wisdom is relational, contextual, and fruit-bearing. Knowledge measures matter, but wisdom measures meaning. What does it all mean? Let’s explore it together this Sunday.
When I was in my late teens, my grandfather invited me to bring my girlfriend over for “Sunday Dinner.” He was going to grill us steaks and sit down with this young lady he’d heard about. I loved my Pop and was proud to show off this gorgeous girl I’d snagged. So, we went to worship in the morning, grabbed a light lunch, and hung out for a bit before making the drive down to the farm in Germantown. We planned to get there around 4pm since we knew old people like to eat a bit early and we didn’t want to be rude.
Allie and I were bewildered by his unusually gruff greeting. Honestly, he seemed a little put out to see us! It didn’t take long for us to realize that he had finished his cold “dinner” hours ago without us. He must have really leaned into his Silent Generation status by stewing instead of following up when we failed to appear at what was to him a clearly appointed hour! We apologized and explained the confusion, that we were used to the word “dinner” meaning the evening meal. Pop wasn’t one to hold a grudge against his grandchildren, so it was quickly forgiven. But I haven’t forgotten.
We do something similar with the word “Sabbath.” We’ve adopted the word from another generation and culture and adapted it to serve our own ends. For all practical purposes, a Jewish Sabbath and a Christian Lord’s Day have very little in common. So, it can be a bit of a feat for us to connect the dots between Biblical teaching on the weekly sundown rituals and what we do with our Sunday morning worship. A lot of assumptions are being made that might make us miss our precious appointment. Hopefully, Psalm 92 can help us bridge the gap this Sunday morning at 10:30am.
At the top of my list of summer goals this year is to eat way too much ice cream. There's nothing like a delicious frozen treat on a hot summer day.
Put me in an ice cream shop, and I start to get a little impatient with the people in front of me, sinfully so if they're a Sampler. You know the type, maybe you are the type. "Oh my, so many choices, flavors I've never had before, how many miniature spoonfuls can I get you to scoop for me to try..." Come on now, did you really need a taste of 'Triple Chocolate Fudge' to know what you were getting? Step aside, some people came prepared.
Sorry, I better stop before I have to repent.
It's the desire behind these misdirected people that's actually the encouragement of our Psalm this Sunday. David is calling us to bring your senses to attention, take a taste of the goodness of God, and savor it until it results in praise. Join us this Sunday as David calls us out of senselessness and to a new experience of the glory of God.
Embody
I enjoy rollerblading. And I enjoy getting made fun of for enjoying rollerblading. So do your worst. I'm not that good at it, but I'm trying to get better.
There's a strange disconnect in me when it comes to rollerblading. I watch so many YouTube videos on how to rollerblade better. And every time I watch one, I strap on my rollerblades with 110% confidence that I can do it. If you ever want to see me fall hard, the five minutes after watching rollerblading videos is the prime time to do so. If I fall, it must be because I didn't watch enough YouTube or I didn't have the right wheels or the right socks or the right surface.
That same disconnect happens in many areas of my life, perhaps most often in the way I live out my faith. I walk out of the Soul Room with 110% confidence that I can do it. If you want to see me fall hard, find me in the five minutes after reading the Bible. My expectation is that reading good truths about Jesus or thinking good thoughts about the Gospel is enough for me to live it out. But the disconnect remains. I feel like the Apostle Paul, "Who will deliver me from this body of death?"
After years of watching this happen, it's easy to give up, to move towards apathy, or to think some secret knowledge can help us escape this fleshy prison. How can the truth of the Gospel go from my heart to my hands? How can I not only know the love of Jesus but embody it? May Scripture be our guide on this as we consider the word "embody" from our Lexicon this Sunday morning.
I was on the phone with my eldest son yesterday, and we were talking about a passion of his—frisbee golf. I called him to invite him to come to Black Mountain, North Carolina, where I will be at a Church Planting Conference. One of the things I do when I go to this conference is cook and set a lavish table in the evenings, an immersive experience in hospitality and a place for church planters to just be.
I used frisbee golf to sweeten the deal, as many of these church planters are devotees of the game. His comment was what interested me, as I had just put the wraps on a sermon on discipleship. He said, “Yeah, I need to play with some guys better than me. I am sort of plateaued. YouTube videos are just not the same. I need to actually see someone do it right and who can point out what I am doing wrong." I said, “Yeah, you just described my sermon on discipleship.”
Abide. That is what Jesus said to his disciples. The word is rich in meaning and captures the heart of discipleship. To abide is much more than getting a little more knowledge, whether in a classroom or on a screen. To abide is much richer; it suggests dwelling with, being with, making yourself at home. It means a disciple spends time with, and is deeply attached in a loving relationship with both God and his people. It is a necessary corrective to the rationalism that endlessly chases more Bible information yet neglects the more difficult task of abiding. Interested? We will talk about it on Sunday.
Last weekend, I had the privilege of participating in my nephew’s wedding. It was a cross-cultural event in many ways, as his bride is a Vietnamese American from a large and traditional family. I beheld with wonder the union, not only of husband and wife, but of two very culturally distinct households. Most of the wedding mass was in Vietnamese, and the day was filled with succulent foods, tea ceremonies, and exotic rituals I’d never even heard of. Often there was translation into English and idioms for the sake of us bewildered white southerners, and often there was not. Most of their overwhelming hospitality was nonverbal, but there was never any doubt that we were honored and valued guests and witnesses to another world.
Toward the end of our celebration, the father of the bride approached, and we continued the chat he and I have been having off-and-on for almost a year now. He knows I’m a pastor and a student of culture and it’s been such an education for me to get to ask questions and bounce ideas off of him. But in this moment, the conversation had been fully eclipsed by experience. I had spent nine hours of full immersion, eating nine courses of unbelievable food, with his nine siblings and their own branches of the family. I commented on how elaborate and extravagant it all was, full of gratitude and awe. He poured me another glass of champagne, looked into my eyes, and then said something I will never forget: “There are no shortcuts to culture.”
This week, we’re talking about the word “covenant.” A covenant, as you’ve heard me say many times, is a promise that makes a family, where lonely people can belong and matter. It is the institution of a culture. For Israel, from calling to constitution to calendar, all the elements of God’s covenantal action toward His people are a slow building of a culture from generation to generation, culminating at last, in a final and glorious consummation. There are no shortcuts. There is only faithfulness. And it’s something worth celebrating.
So, join us this Sunday as we step back and try to take in the better story!
Over twenty-seven years ago, in the very first worship service at St. Patrick, the very first day we went public, if I asked you to tell me what I preached on, those of you who know me would, without hesitation, answer, “Jim, that’s easy, you preach on the gospel.” And if you said that, you would be right. That was a statement and an announcement of what St. Patrick would be about! The reason is simple—the whole Bible is about the gospel. The word gospel actually means "good news.”
This week, as we continue our exploration of the St. Patrick Lexicon, we are talking about a word you hear every Sunday, in every small group, or anytime we meet. The reason is simple: you never outgrow the gospel; you only grow deeper into its depths. To gather and not hear the gospel would make us no different than any other self-help or religion, because the gospel is the true story of the time when the true king of the world entered time/space history as one of us, and what he did in order to heal all the brokenness of the world. And what a time for us to hear this good news. If you are like me and our staff, we will gather as broken, weeping, angry people and ponder our posture and positions in the midst of the kingdoms of the world we find ourselves in—so yes, we need some good news!
Thankfully, Jesus, though dead, has been raised from the dead and is still on this throne. He still rules and reigns through his broken children and is not ashamed to call us his own. I can’t wait to gather with you on Sunday and talk about it!
Have you ever walked into a place you are really excited to be, but also fearful because you really don’t know anyone? You look around and it seems everyone knows each other's name and are chatting amiably, and seems to know everyone. I remember the most alone I have ever felt was when I uprooted my family from Greenville, Mississippi, to come and plant a church in Collierville. I left a place where I was deeply embedded in a community of which, with God’s help, I had helped create, and it was the most life-giving thing I had ever experienced. There I was known and embraced, and my large and unwieldy family was taken in and loved.
When I came to Collierville, I really didn’t know a soul. I was at Second Presbyterian Church while I figured out what and how to go about planting a community of believers in Collierville. Staff meetings were lonely, and Sunday mornings were really lonely. I would walk into a Sunday School Class and everyone knew each other, in a sense belonged to each other, and I just stood and felt like a stranger. I was a novelty because I would be introduced as someone planting a church, so no one was really getting to know me beyond, “How is it going in Collierville?”
I remember telling Teri, “What have I done? I am so lonely.” I realized, as I pondered this, that if you lose your community, you lose a part of yourself, and you lose your rhythm. But that same realization helped me see, if you don’t have a community, just how lost you feel.
This week, we are talking about loneliness and how, because of the fall, we are all lonely. But loneliness really is a gift. As Chip Dodd says, “In truth, loneliness is the gift that speaks to how much is right with us while also pointing to how much has gone wrong.” (Voices of the Heart) We were built to know and be known, belong to a people and a place. We will talk about our condition of loneliness and also God’s gracious provision!
Not only that, but we will conclude our worship in our backyard as we take a few moments to give thanks to God for his gracious provisions of helping us build space for real community to take place. The fence is up, an excavator is in the backyard, and we are about to break ground! Join us as we give thanks together for God’s goodness to us!
I remember well all seven of my children when they were infants. When they were born, they couldn’t really say anything, but that didn’t mean they were not communicating! It just sounded like gibberish, and yet these sounds that pass from parent to infant, though not articulate speech, are rich in meaning. There is no lexicon for this speech, and yet what is happening in these screams of frustration being answered by soothing words is incredibly profound—trust is established, faces are seen, and the foundation for a life of love is established.
Soon names are known, categories are learned, and slowly a child learns to make sense of the world through language—words and vocabulary. Each family will develop its own lexicon of formulary words that are particular to their little tribe, and what is important to the family will be established—the words will shape them and be shaped by them.
I use the word lexicon because that is the title of our new series starting this fall. A lexicon, simply put, is the set of words used in a particular language or field of knowledge, or profession, or subject—a vocabulary. This is true of the Bible and the story of redemption we find ourselves in. There is a vocabulary particular to the believer. These words have incredible meaning to shape our souls. This is true also of each particular family of God’s people, like St. Patrick. We use certain words often because they express our heartbeat and passion about the gospel and our mission in the world.
They are so important that we will spend the next twelve weeks looking at 12 words that shape who we are as a community of faith. They are so important that our children will be looking at them in Sunday School and Sonshine—for them, we made twelve videos from our pastors. For our Community Groups, we have written questions that will be discussed and reflected upon at our scattered tables. This week, we will look at the word you hear all the time around here: Grace. We will ponder the question, “What is so amazing about grace?”
Also, to aid in preparation for our worship time on Sunday, we have linked the songs that we will be singing in worship on Sunday. Check it out, it might be a new song you are unfamiliar with, and now you will have a chance to learn and rehearse it before worship.
I hope you will join us this Sunday as we kick off a new semester of worship and ministry!
I was in Destin, Florida some years ago when a Category 1 hurricane was headed our way. We were in a condo, right across from the beach. We had stayed there a few times, as it was owned by a member of our church. It was not an aesthetically beautiful building, but it looked like it would withstand a nuclear bomb. What it lacked in external beauty, it made up for by providing the secure feeling of being in a bunker. The inside was a different story—plush furnishings, a huge kitchen, and a balcony that went on forever with a charcoal grill. We were faced with a dilemma: should we leave or stay?
These days, about the worst thing for us to imagine when going to Florida is a hurricane coming and ruining our yearly trip to the Redneck Riviera. I mean, if you are from Memphis, you dream of this hallowed ground all year, and so, to get canceled because of a hurricane or have to leave once you get that is almost unbearable. I know this is a first world problem, yet I suspect you know what I am talking about.
Anyway, back to my story, we debated whether to pack up and leave or stay, and my wife (who is a lot more cautious than I am) agreed that, since it was only a Category 1, we should be okay. So we, along with the other residents, sunk the pool furniture in the pool, secured the grill with bungy cords, and hunkered down to ride out the storm. I admit, I was sort of looking forward to it! There is a romance about a storm that brings a certain fascination—until you are in it and can't leave. Reality has a way of correcting fanciful notions.
When the lights go off and the roof starts leaving, you begin to wonder if the windows will blow in. Children are terrified and wonder why they didn’t get to choose wiser parents. It is a completely helpless feeling because there is literally nothing you can do. The real terror hit me when I opened the door, just to get a feel for the storm, and almost had the door ripped out of my hands. It was raining sideways and sounded like a freight train might come through the building any second. All I could think was when would it be over. Storms are terrifying!
That is where we find the disciples this week—in agony, fighting for their lives, rowing into the teeth of a storm. In the Bible, storms are both real and metaphorical—places where even the most resourceful and powerful are drained of self-sufficiency and find themselves totally helpless. Storms are also where we meet Jesus. We will talk about it this an
My favorite part of summer? All the extra time I get to spend with my kids! They're always around!
My least favorite? . . . Look, I love them, but they're always around!
As I was studying our passage this week, Fiona interrupted me, and I didn't respond as I should. In my ideal world, there's no such thing as interruptions. Everything is planned. I know, I've still got some growing to do. Henri Nouwen said, "My whole life I've been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work" (Reaching Out).
As I turned back to the passage, I was convicted to find Jesus responding very differently than I to a fatal interruption. And it only builds the wonder of His actions and attributes in our story this week. In Mark 5, we get to sit on the front row and marvel at Jesus in all of his power, authority, and glory. But we're also confounded by His incredible compassion. Let your jaw drop this Sunday at the wonder that is Jesus Christ.
-Greg
The Gospel of Mark is often called the most dramatic, and this Sunday's flabbergasting episode is no exception. Among a big crowd in a small house in a modest village, Jesus performs not one but two miracles. It would have blown the roof off the place if four audacious guys hadn't already razed it to lower their friend - a crazy story! What we find, though, is more than just a remarkable story. This scene presents a claim to an eternal throne, lights the spark that would lead to Jesus's murder, and displays a model for the church's mission. Join us on Sunday and we'll talk about it!
I suppose wonder always takes you by surprise. Wonder, being the sort of experience that takes your breath away. It is rational, in that you take it in and process it; but it is more than rational, in that it is emotional and beyond your understanding. It is a mixture of fear, curiosity, and delight—kind of like joy on steroids. It challenges your categories and forces you to ask questions. Often you feel humbled because it feels too vast for your present understanding. It is uncontrollable and yet you are drawn deeper in as you try to get to the center of things. It arrests your full attention and causes you to feel like, if I can understand this, it will change me. Like, if I could get beyond the surface of this thing, I would be more fully alive and present.
We are going to spend this summer talking about wonder. Why? Because we were made for it, even in our fallen condition. The world is full of God’s glory and to live a life without wonder is to be dehumanized, but don’t just take my word for it. This summer, we will be looking at passages in the book of Mark. Over thirty times in this book, we come across instances of Jesus doing something astounding, and everyone is just flabbergasted. Of course, they are—what they are seeing is a new world breaking in!
For us today, it is no less amazing and shocking than it was over two thousand years ago, but perhaps we can’t see it. Articles abound about the loss of wonder, and this, ironically, when technology has granted us perhaps even more opportunities to marvel. As we will discuss, this is not for lack of information, but for lack of ability to see. I can’t wait to talk about it with you.
It has been a whole week of wonder here at St. Patrick, with scads of children learning about Jesus in wild and creative ways. The halls have rung with laughter, and the sanctuary has shaken with the worship the least of these. (We will be showing some of this, as well!)
I'm typing this on a keyboard that can blast opinions to the world with reckless abandon in an instant. With this keyboard I can hide behind a virtuous front and say all the right things about conflicts around the globe. But on this keyboard and online, I'm disembodied, excarnational, placeless, and all my good will is scattered to the four winds with no real effect.
In the internet age, it's pretty common for people to have opinions on things far away that they believe are virtuous. In our culture of efficiency, ironically, we don't have time for the mundane, the proximal, the local. In order to find significance in our lives, we say, "Step 1: Change the World. Step 2: Repeat Step 1." I don't know about you, but I've felt the weight of this and wonder if God expects this of me.
And at the same time, I kind of like it. Not changing the world is so massive it feels excusable. So if I focus all of my good will there, a failure's not really a fail. In the meantime, I have no good will left for the people around me. I'm willing to cross the ocean, but I'm not willing to cross the street. This kind of efficiency crushes our souls and distorts the Kingdom of Heaven for our neighbors. This Sunday morning, Jesus is going to show us a better way. Join us for worship, then we'll live it out at VBS.
Only a couple centuries ago, it would take 7 weeks to cross the Atlantic. Now it takes 7 hours. And yet, we're mad if our plane is delayed 20 minutes. Your plane could get delayed 45 days, and you'd still be faster than our recent ancestors!
On average, Americans will wait:
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32 minutes for a doctor's appointment
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28 minutes in the security line at the airport
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21 minutes for their wife to get ready
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13 hours a year on hold for customer service
We don't like to wait. It feels like a waste, an unnecessary pause, a hitch in the giddyup. I hate waiting because it feels inefficient. I imagine the Apostles were no different. Israel had waited thousands of years for the Messiah, hundreds of years of silence, 33 years for the plan to come to fruition, and three days for Jesus to resurrect. So when Jesus appears to them and tells them, "Wait," I can't imagine it was an easy command to stomach. I want to see some efficiency here; get to work!
But waiting was important for the Apostles, and it's important for us. In fact, God has baked it into our very design and redeemed us with it in the Gospel. It can often be the hardest part, but God will not waste it. So before we talk about the mission of God for the world, we're going to wait and talk about the mission of God for our hearts. It's what I like to call an inner mission intermission. Join us for it on Sunday.
The word “ordinary,” if it is used at all, usually seems to be used in the pejorative, implying something negative. I bring this up because in our Godspeed series this word seems to resurface often. We referred to “Three miles an hour” as the speed at which God works, and it would seem to be a little below average. “Ordinary means of grace”—isn’t that a little pedestrian? And now, “Ordinary people”. It might seem to some that we are trying to set the bar exceedingly low. Who wants anything that is ordinary! Not when we can go viral, not when we all seem to be infected with “main character syndrome,” where the majority of our social media posts portray us or our family in only our most glorious moments. It is almost like we are scared of the ordinary, the mundane, and the humdrum moments of life, as if they are something to be shunned or hurried through to get to the really good stuff.
We find ourselves resenting the ordinary stuff like raising kids, cooking meals, or going to our ordinary jobs. Heaven knows, our nosy neighbors are such an interruption because they need help with this or that or need us to watch their child for a bit. We are anxious to get past the mundane stuff to get on to the really exciting stuff, the novel stuff, the stuff we see influencers and our friends posting about, or what we see glamorized on TV.
Yet, what if this view of life is perhaps the bleakest myth to ever capture the imagination of the human mind? What if the ordinary stuff is really where God meets us? What if the most hallowed space we inhabit is in the mundane and commonplace? What if the stuff we rush through mindlessly is the very place that both veils and reveals the holy and sacred to us? I tell you, I would want some of that because, try as I might, most of my life is ordinary.
We need look no further than Jesus who, in his resurrected body with serious upgrades, has every chance to throw off the mundane, dazzle us with novelty, and tantalize us with the spectacular; and yet, he meets his witless, cowering disciples in a familiar room and calms their fears. In doing so, he reinforces the notion that the eternal kingdom he is inaugurating is going to move forward with ordinary people doing ordinary things, things not reserved for the gifted but that really turn on the necessities of life. They are the kind of things we often rush through to get to “real life,” whatever that is. We will talk about it on Sunday. I hope you will join us!
Many of you know I am taking this summer as a sabbatical, in large part to make significant progress on my doctoral dissertation. Maybe you even know that the focus of my work is on C.S. Lewis. What you might be wondering is how all this ties directly to my ministry with St. Patrick. Well, to put it simply, what I love about Lewis is what I love about St. Patrick.
If you’ve never dug deeper into Lewis’ thought and writing than his children’s stories and popular theology, you might be surprised to learn that he was primarily a literary scholar, focusing on Medieval and Renaissance literature. The thing that fascinated him (and me!) about this era of time is the way people still believed that every jot and tittle of creation was a part of a well-ordered and beautiful picture of God’s love for humanity – a cathedral of the grace in which we live, move, and have our being. He was concerned about what kind of discipleship would be required today to invite “modern” people out of the cold, dark, and chaotic infinitude of the myths they’re believing, and welcome them into the marvelous light and warmth of God’s true story.
Unsurprisingly, the answer for Lewis, and for St. Patrick, has largely been that the better story features at its center a kind of symbolic participation. As we continue on the scenic route along our “Godspeed series,” we stop today to consider the profound fact that the post-resurrection appearances of Christ feature a disproportionate number of episodes involving Jesus sharing meals with disciples. In a world where we often think of meals as logistical interruptions in our workflow, Jesus redirects our attention to the central priority of the table in his own kingdom.
It is unsettlingly revealing that the disciples on the road to Emmaus got a 3-hour Bible study from the Word of God Himself and didn’t manage to recognize Him until they stopped for dinner. I can’t wait to unpack that with you all!
I have to admit, I am obsessed with speed. I time how fast I can walk, in an attempt to get back to my pre-knee replacement speed. I always time myself. I just bought a new side-by-side, and on the first test run, it would only go 12 miles an hour. I was devastated. I kicked the tires, called it bad names, and then called the dealer to come pick it up. Then I read in the owner’s manual—of course, going too fast to bother with that—that the seat belt had to be fastened before it would go any faster. With shame, I called the dealer and told them I would keep it. (To alleviate some of my shame, they hadn’t known that either!) I drive my wife crazy on trips. I time restaurant and bathroom breaks to keep us on track in order to beat our previous record time to the beach. All my long cooks and short cooks on my grill are timed, as well.
It is totally ironic to me then that a God who is timeless would make his creatures such that we are bound by time. But I take great comfort in the fact that the same God would enter into our time-bound reality to save us. Jesus, the full radiance of the Godhead, was bound by time and place. He walked everywhere. Though he had just three years to save the world, he was totally inefficient with his methods and use of time, at least by our reckoning. He was always “wasting” time being alone with his Father. He got large crowds, yet shied away from going “viral”. He didn’t seem as interested in getting “followers” and “likes” as he did with connecting with twelve guys—guys who didn’t believe he would be resurrected, even after he told them repeatedly he would suffer, die, and come back to life.
As we consider the post-resurrection Jesus, it seems he didn’t wise up in his use of time. I mean, a dead man walking and preaching—well, what could a good publicist do with that? Talk about getting a crowd! And yet, we find Jesus, with forty days to make a splash and get his eternal kingdom off the ground, walking at three miles an hour with two guys—one so insignificant he is not even named—on a dirt road to a town only remembered because of this seven-mile walk.
What is God saying? A whole lot, especially to us caught up in a cultural moment obsessed with speed and efficiency. I hope you will join us as we talk about it this Sunday. There is so much to celebrate this week, it is astonishing. We have seniors to celebrate, kids to baptize, members to receive, and lots of good news to share with a world obsessed with shock and bad news—all ordinary, all glorious, all at the heart of what it means to be human.
Glory!
As we enter a new series this week, we’re going to consider what it means to slow down a bit, to Godspeed. In our zeal for the Kingdom, we often run ahead of the gentle pace of Jesus, or else, we resign to sit the bench and pout. But life with Jesus is a lot like taking a walk with a child. It’s taking the scenic route, with a lot of maddening side quests to consider the lilies.
When I was first beginning in full time ministry, I found myself partnered with a very charismatic and thoughtful pastor who was in charge of our young adults’ ministry. He was thirty, so I of course supposed that he was in the very prime of his wisdom: he was experienced and educated but still knew all the cool music. Youthful naiveté aside, it truly was a great gift for me to have access to him and I took advantage of every opportunity to annoy him with all the robust curiosity and angst of my 24-year-old self.
If you think I’m an idealist now, you should have met that kid. I was constantly feeling frustrated by the immense gap between the vision I was convinced the Bible had for gospel-centered church life and the realities of parish ministry in the suburban south. Probably the greatest gift Robbyn gave me was to insist on a distinction that I still live by today. He told me I had to figure out how to lower my expectations while maintaining and even increasing my longings. This, he knew, would do three things: lowering expectations would keep me from discouragement; increased longing would keep me hopeful for the future, and the internal tension of that widening gap would keep me on my knees.
- js
P.S. This Sunday, Aida from Take Heart will be with us. She will give a brief update during the worship service but will also be sharing about their ministry to persecuted Christians during the Sunday School hour in the Youth Room. Everyone is invited!
A great weekend is before us! Whether you are Christian or not, it is incredibly human to mark days that are significant to us. We celebrate days that are monumental to us, both as individuals and as communities (large and small). Often the celebrations are about people and events that are dear to us like birthdays, anniversaries or deaths. They are reminders of how important these people are to us. Sometimes we set aside days to remember what story we are in: Israel had seven such times of the year that told their unique story as the people of God. Why? LEST WE FORGET! The watershed of Christianity is what we celebrate this Easter weekend. A dead man got up out of the grave and defeated death!
Easter Vigil: On Saturday night, we will have our first ever Easter Vigil. We have never done this before as a congregation, but we have added it this year for a specific reason—a better remembering, you might say. As Will has pointed out to our staff over and over in our discussions about this, there is no service where we sit as a congregation in the moment of, not just the death of Christ, but also the resurrection. Here is what I mean…Usually on Maundy Thursday, we witness the death of Christ and see it symbolized by the Christ candle being snuffed out and placed behind the pulpit. Then we come on Sunday morning and we hear the glorious liturgy—He is risen! He is risen indeed! Yet we missed the miracle of the actual moment in time when “air became breath.” A corpse actually breathed again. That is what the term Easter Vigil means—we are waiting for the resurrection.
In an Easter Vigil, the story of redemption is told from key texts with music and prayers, much like our Tenebrae Service, but this time we not only see Jesus’ life snuffed out and the light of the world darkened, as the candle departs the sanctuary and all is darkness and gloom, but—wonder of wonders—we will also see, through sign and symbol, the darkened sanctuary again become illuminated with light as the Light of the World turns darkness into light. I do hope you will join us on Saturday evening at 7:00pm for this special event.
Easter Morning: On Sunday morning, we will gather at 9:00am and 11:00am to celebrate Easter and ponder what it means to be “People of the Resurrection.” Nothing can account for the sudden rise of Christianity across Israel and beyond, throughout the whole Roman Empire, unless a singular event happened that had never happened before—Resurrection. This Easter we will consider what this means and why resurrection is not just a concept but a power that came into the world, and also why resurrection is not just a distant hope for when we die but a living reality within the people of God—a hope for today.
I hope you will join us for each of these celebrations because, as Anne Lamott says, "Christians are Easter people living in a Good Friday world.” We await resurrection, true; but it is equally true that we have experienced it already and without that power in us we have no hope of living well in this broken world.
Tonight, my wife closes her production of Shakespeare’s, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at Westminster Academy. It’s been a whirlwind of late nights, spilled paint, and teen tears, to produce a couple of hours of magic that will be almost completely erased by the time we worship together on Sunday. In some ways, it feels like an extravagant waste! All those hours and all that effort for something that happens so gloriously yet so briefly before it vanishes. There are traces and artifacts that litter our lives with nostalgia long after the events – a creature, or structure, or set-piece haunting the halls or garage – but as for the magical thing itself, it’s here today, and gone tomorrow.
Allie calls most of her art “ephemera,” things like parade floats and VBS hallways and, yes, lots of plays. As she points out in the program for this piece, it’s a good reminder of what Isaiah 40 declares to those who listen for voices in the wilderness:
All flesh is grass,
and all its beauty is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades
when the breath of the Lord blows on it;
surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
but the word of our God will stand forever.
That’s the very word Isaiah tells the people to declare from Mount Zion, where we find Israel in our text this week at the absolute pinnacle of their own glory and power and beauty. The Kingdom will never again be this united and formidable. And yet, in just forty short years they will be torn in two, and after a couple of centuries of languishing, ultimately exiled. Basically wiped off the planet.
So, how do we delight fully in the fleeting glory of our lives, with our eyes fixed on eternity and our feet planted firmly in the present? 1 Chronicles is here to speak encouragement to all of us exiles, as we also celebrate together the triumphal entry of the King of Exiles back into the capitol city!
As Americans, we don’t often think about the fact that it is practically a miracle the United States even exists. As children, we were born into a story of stability and prosperity, the likes of which the world has never seen. As we grew older and read history, we began to wonder that it actually did happen. Thirteen colonies, each with their own ideas of what government should look like, and also vastly different perspectives on slavery, taxation, and states’ rights (verses a more centralized form of government). There was a lot of fear, if you were in the middle of it. I suppose the old saying is true, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Then, to overcome a superpower in battlefields drenched with blood to form a new nation—amazing.
It really gets fun then: how do we now live in solidarity together? Lot of fear there, as well. If you wonder why chapter 22 in I Chronicles (which we looked at last week) and chapters 28 and 29 (which we will look at this week and next) keep repeating the same things, with variations along the way, it is because there must be a lot of fear. Israel has no experience at nationhood. They have a king that has brought stability, unity, and economic and social stability like never before, but he is about to die. The heir, his son, is young and inexperienced (the words of his own dad). What could possibly go wrong?
So here we are, and King David confronts this fear as he assembles all the leaders of Israel together with his son and gives them a commission to build the temple. He is, in essence, securing the throne and temple. As we come to the conclusion of this epic portion of scripture, it all comes together.
I hope you will join us. It will be a great Sunday of celebration, as we receive new members to our family and also put the sign of God’s covenant love and membership on our children. If that is not a recipe for joy unspeakable, then it is all lost on me!
I love Steven Pressfield. Years ago, I read his book, Gates of Fire about the Spartans who, with just three hundred men and their battle slaves, held the Gates of Thermopylae against an overwhelming Persian army. Not one man survived, but their sacrifice gave time for Greece to prepare for the coming invasion. Pressfield wrote several other books about antiquity, but later he turned his attention to books on writing, work, art, etc. One of his books, called Do the Work, is about overcoming what Pressfield calls resistance—that is, the thing we face when launching a business, starting a diet, overcoming an addiction, planting a church, or doing anything that entails passion and commitment from the heart.
This thought didn't occur to me until I was finished with my sermon and thinking about writing this blog. Sometimes creative thoughts come easy but other times one does face resistance, when nothing is obvious to write, and it easier to just scroll through emails or engage in some other time-wasting endeavor. I was thinking about David and Solomon, as preparations were being made to build the temple. I mean, David has set the table for his son by assembling artisans and materials, and even organizing the elaborate liturgical elements that will be the heartbeat of Israel’s life of worship and make them a joy and delight to the nations. I mean, what can go wrong? Everything is laid out for him.
And yet, David, knowing his own heart, specifically prays that his son would have God’s presence and, specifically, the virtue of courage. Here is why: In any endeavor of the heart that requires sacrifice and effort—like writing, parenting, marriage, helping others, living in community, etc.—you will face resistance, both internally and externally, and all the virtue you think you have will begin to crumble under these onslaughts.
Arise and work! It’s a nice sentiment, easy to say, but without God’s help and courage you will be lost. Hope to see you Sunday as we talk about it.
One would think that once all the external adversaries are put to rest, things would get easier for the Israelites, but as we see in our text this week (and in other texts throughout the Bible), the real adversary is usually not out there—some external threat—but rather the real threat is internal. I tell people all the time that I sleep with the devil, and I don’t mean Teri! As G. K. Chesterton said years ago in response to a question posed by a newspaper, What is wrong with the world?, Chesterton wrote back, "Dear Sir, 'I am.' Yours, G. K Chesterton.” While that might be an apocryphal story, the sentiment rings true. Woe be unto anyone who thinks differently.
We really see that in our text this week. David seems to do quite well when the threats are around him, external and obvious—a lion, a giant, a deranged king hunting him, large armies seeking to devour his people. Yet the real threat to David (and to us) is not the giants he (or we) must face, but dealing with the desires and motivations of our own heart.
David takes a census of his fighting men. We might ask, what is wrong with that? I mean, there is precedent for such actions in other places in the Bible. Some might consider it a move of wisdom at some new provocation by an adversary, but here it kindles God’s wrath against David. David is even warned by Joab, who is himself no paragon of virtue, not to do this. So while David’s sin with Bathsheba doesn’t get press in I Chronicles (leading some to accuse the writer of whitewashing David’s sin), here we see the man after God’s own heart with his own heart laid bare.
There is a lot here, in this rather dramatic passage: sin, grace, angels, devils. It reads like a dramatic movie; and yet, at the end of the day, if we can see ourselves in the story, it is an amazing story of grace that is greater than all our sins and the God who uses even our sin to make a dance floor for his own glory.
I can’t wait to talk about this with you, but first, I must go cheer on the Tigers (and also ponder my smashed bracket!).
I love it when I get a passage like this week’s sermon text. Chapter 20 is by far the shortest in 1 Chronicles, (only 8 verses), and we sort of covered the first three last week already! What remains is a sparse rundown of three battles with giants, in what feels at first like a sort of wild side quest to the main narrative. But with some study, I think this little list becomes a hyperlink to a whole area of misunderstood Biblical theology, which in turn has the power to unlock the whole book for us.
Giants are a favorite feature of mythology for many, even today. The conspiracy theorists have covered the internet with rare sightings and archeological discoveries (and cover-ups!). Our Genesis Sunday School class had a blast with chapter 6, which features those mysterious Nephilim. Aside from being an element in nearly every ancient literary canon, they also make major appearances in Disney films, the Lord of the Rings, and the Harry Potter series. Heck, I’ve seen enough of the NBA height statistics to be somewhat of a believer myself.
But is there a reason they loom so large in the shadows of a book given to us to reveal the ways of God to man? Most certainly there is. It’s not hard to see how giants are a representation of the kinds of overpowering darkness humanity faces in a fallen world. If giants are less than one percent of the population, then the rest of us are in the vast majority of people standing on the sidelines, cowering before their taunts. Surely, you know what it feels like to be outmatched with high stakes on the line. It brings out the child in us, surrounded by big people and big problems.
Fortunately, the purpose of 1 Chronicles, like all the rest of the Old Testament, is to open our eyes to the power of Christ. I look forward to seeing Him among you this Sunday!
We are really suspicious of grace these days. And kindness and forgiveness. Maybe in a more civil world these would not be outliers. But then again, people have always had a hard time with grace. Centuries before Jesus came, we see this play out when one king (David) offers an overture of kindness and condolence to the son of an old king who had shown him love when he was an outlaw and outcast.
The son, being aided by his echo chamber of fools and sycophants, can’t even conceive of this act of kindness. Instead, he assumes (looking at his own heart, I suspect) that David’s men are spies and David is preparing to level them. To add to the humiliation, he shames David’s men by shaving them and cutting off their robes.
What is interesting to me, and you might miss it, is that David does nothing. He doesn’t render insult for insult, he doesn’t seek revenge or to give it back with interest. He forbears. If we read the Bible correctly, this story (and all stories in the Old Testament) Jesus says is about him. How, you ask? Well, we will talk about it this Sunday!
Remember to “spring forward” and set your clocks ahead one hour. It is that time of year again when the time changes, and I can’t wait. The weeds in my yard and garden are calling for order, and the Lenten season comes alive for me when I start the hard task of weeding and digging out the old dead stuff to make way for new growth and new life!!
I can still remember the realization that settled on me, as I sat in my study in Greenville, Mississippi, three months after moving my family there to plant a church. I was in a miserable office with no windows in the top floor of a bank building. My second child had just been born, so I was sleep deprived, and it was dawning on me that I had no idea what I was doing. It was not for lack of prayer, I assure you. Church planters are desperate people. I was praying for revival, for a moment of God’s grace; they were lofty prayers, good prayers. Church planting is a precarious vocation—you are only guaranteed a job for a short period, and, if things don’t work out, you polish up the resume.
At that time, I didn’t have the theological categories, as I do now, to articulate what I was wrestling with, but I did know a few true things. I knew I couldn’t save anyone—that was God’s business. I also knew that, if all I did was pray like a monk in a monastery of silence, it would not move the needle, at least for my calling. I was paralyzed and scared to death. Then I realized another thing, and it was from both an observation in the Bible and also from reading church history: God blesses effort. In other words, I couldn’t achieve the promise of seeing the gospel spread and people thrive by sheer force of will and personality, but nor could I plant a church by passively praying for God to convert sinners.
This Sunday we walk into another mystery—how God moves the Kingdom forward, both in small places like our homes or in larger places like a church that is seeking to bless a town. We see a glorious model of this as we see David’s response to God negating his will and instead giving him a bigger promise that He will build David a house. David prays in humble thanksgiving, and then he moves out to participate in the promise God has given him.
Most of Christianity involves learning to pray and seek God’s face, but that is not all; we are then called to participate in our frail flesh with the promises God has made. As one man put it, “…it’s impossible to know God through private prayer without equally participating with God in public mercy.” (Tyler Staton, “Praying like Monks, Living Like Fools,” YouVersion, 10 Day Bible Reading Plan) Simple, but hard and risky. That, or something like that, is where we find ourselves in our text in I Chronicles. I can’t wait to explore it together on Sunday.
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Who Builds the House?
This week we walk into a mystery. Not like the mystery that is seeking to be discovered Sunday night in Youth Group as our youth try to figure out who-do-it in classic Clue-like fashion, but a mystery you never get to the bottom of. A mystery that presses the intellect to the point of throwing up your hands in wonder, love and praise. A mystery we still walk in, hundreds of years after the fact.
I mean, on the one hand, David wants to build God a house, a temple. That is fashionable. Ancient kings did this sort of thing. They had military success and then they would build their god a temple, which was sort of in gratitude of his/her help, but also sort of a guarantee that the god would continue to bless them. God tells David he really doesn’t do that sort of thing; he would rather wander about with his people—imminent and close with them.
Then God turns around and says David’s son will build him a house! Which is it? Did God change his mind; or do we, in this hallowed chapter, get a window into the heart of things to see how God’s promises and presence really works. I am hoping God gives us new eyes to see into this mystery because we still walk in it every day, though I suspect we rarely see it and thus live a lesser life than we are granted.
I can’t wait to talk about it this Sunday. And then, if you are interested in classic Clue-like mysteries, ask a youth about Youth Group that night. Yes, Sunday is a day of mystery at St. Patrick!
Funny how one little phrase will send you on a rabbit trail…or perhaps sometimes take you into the heart of all things. In our text this week, the coming of the Ark of the Covenant—ascending through the smoke of incense and burnt offerings to its proper place in Jerusalem—ends with a feast in which all participate. Meat, bread, and raisin cakes are given out to all the participants in this hallowed occasion.
I don’t know if I have ever really thought about raisin cakes before this week (It’s certainly nothing I am interested in!) but, upon further investigation in the Old Testament, I found it was about the most decadent thing you could have. Here is what I mean. On Thursday, I went into Dinstuhl’s. Now I only go into Dinstuhl’s about twice a year, not because I don’t love everything in Dinstuhl’s but what it represents to me is simple—luxury and love. I have four ladies in my life that get that. Even my 9-year-old. I asked her on Wednesday, “What do you want for Valentine’s day?”, she replied, “Oh, you know, Dad, like really good chocolate…something like chocolate-covered strawberries from Dinstuhl’s and, of course, flowers.” A raisin cake in the Bible represents, in our terms, something like that. Not just chocolate, but luxurious chocolate.
Ironically, in the Bible raisin cakes are mostly referred to in the pejorative. They actually became a metaphor for idolatry. To long for or lust after the raisin cakes was in a sense to long for the gift and not the giver. A key example is found in the book of Hosea: And the Lord said to me, “Go again, love a woman who is loved by another man and is an adulteress, even as the Lord loves the children of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love cakes of raisins.” (Hosea 3:1)
And yet here, in the culmination of this most holy time of worship, there is the indulgence of the most luxurious of fare in feasting and celebration. How do you square this? Our chapter is instructive. Join me Sunday and we will talk about it. It is indeed at the heart of all things!
It’s been good to have Jim back in the office this week. He assures us that this knee has been easier to replace and rehab than the last one, and even the occasional wincing when he moves it is always accompanied by that trademark twinkle in his eye. But that’s his story to tell. Mine is about how much joy I’ve had in getting to preach from the life of David for four weeks. By the time you’re reading this, I will (Lord willing) be done with this week’s sermon. However, I’m writing this on Wednesday, mid-process.
By midweek, I’m usually done combing through the text and commentaries for patterns and have begun shifting into composition. I’ve got a good sense of what the passage is saying and how it points to the good news in Jesus. This week is not much different – there are a lot of fun connections in this episode of David’s life. I have what feels to me a resonant and moving insight about how this story is a type and shadow of what God has done for us in Christ Jesus. I even have a sense of how this relates to the everyday embodiment of his life in ours.
But I’m still haunted by last week, where David displayed the habit of humility in his constantly inquiring of the Lord even when things seemed so obvious. I keep thinking about how little detail David actually knew about the profound level of participation he had in reflecting what was to come. He knew that he’d been graciously set apart as a small, symbolic representation of God’s throne, and he faithfully muddled in that direction. To the assembly of Israel, David was the very picture of confidence and strength, even if we readers have more inside knowledge of the self-doubt and struggles he held tighter to the vest. We’ve seen him experience some of his victories as failures and several of his triumphs as setbacks. If only he could have seen with the benefit of hindsight and the full revelation of Scripture, would it have eased the burden for him?
I’m not so sure. You see, I know a lot more than David did about what God is doing in the world. I know a lot more about what the Temple and Throne symbolize and how the Church carries this mantle throughout history. But I still wrestle every day with whether what I’m doing is actually accomplishing anything. And it’s what I don’t know that keeps me inquiring of the Lord, pressing in for deeper levels of attachment and intimacy.
It's the mystery of it all, the small snatch of light five inches in front of me, that becomes the occasion for my utter dependence. It’s the little lessons learned and a great yearning for his gracious glory that keep me pressing on, ascending the hill to the place where God meets us. I’m not sure that if I could see further up than that, to all the cost and the pain that awaits toward the apex, that I would have the courage to keep it up. So, maybe this is enough. I do look forward to receiving with faith our small foretaste of the Kingdom together with you this Sunday.
- js
Allie and I were in our early 20’s when we had our first child, Cecily. It was a lot of fun and truly exhausting, but I got the sense after a while that I may have “hacked” parenting. Surely all babies were the same, and now that I knew “The Method,” it was time to add another. When Eloise came along, I learned that there are actually two different kinds of baby. Whereas Baby Type A needed structure, Baby Type B needed a bit more flexibility. It was like yin and yang. Two different kinds of baby. Yep, definitely just two kinds. When Donovan came, I ditched my grand theories for a little more humility. Parenting is impossible.
There are areas of our lives that are pretty simple. We figure out a system that works and we work it. Once you get a morning routine up and running, that’s pretty much that. We may need to make tweaks here and there, but for the most part, the center holds. Then there are areas of our lives that are in constant flux. These are the most human parts, requiring our constant attention and intimate attunement. Relationships are the foremost of these. They cannot be maintained without continuous contact and personal adjustments. It’s almost as if some of our life is designed to be auto piloted so that we can focus our best attention on these more worthy matters.
After a season of military successes, Israel was in danger of putting their regular skirmishes with Philistia into an auto pilot mode. The problem with that plan was that Israel’s interaction with the nations was not simply a matter of national security. It was one of the primary arenas of their personal covenant with God, irrevocably connected to the very mission for which they had been established and set apart. Israel’s dealings with their neighbors weren’t simply battles to be won. They were opportunities to develop an increasing dependence upon God, that he might involve them in His larger, un-hackable purposes. Fortunately, the commander in chief of their military forces had a habit of “checking in” with his Superior Officer. And it’s a good thing, too.
- js
As many of you know, I’m a little over a year away (Lord willing) from completing a Doctor of Ministry degree on spiritual formation in the works of C.S. Lewis. That’s why you may have been thinking to yourself, “Man, that guy talks about C.S. Lewis a lot.” Yes, I do. About as much as psychic chai farmer talks about tea leaves, I would imagine. There’s a reason I chose Lewis studies, despite my fear that it was a little too “on the nose” for someone like me, and possibly a bit overdeveloped a field anyway. The reason is, I usually can’t think of anything without either having read it in one of his books, or else, having thought that I came to it independently, eventually realizing it was there in his works all along. He’s a presence in my thought life I can’t escape. At some point, you just have to admit that Mr. Miyagi knows karate and start waxing his car.
It was Lewis who introduced me to the idea of the Numinous. It’s what “awesome” used to mean. It was uncanny before The X-Men. It’s not fear, exactly; more like the source of fear. We fear whatever we know to be dangerous. We stand in awe of the Numinous: that terror which we cannot possibly comprehend. Often, we sense that by studying doctrine and behaving ourselves, we can avoid “upsetting” the Numinous and thus avoid dealing with it all together. As if we could tame the ocean itself and send it off on our errands! No, the great beast won’t do our bidding, and besides, fear alone doesn’t exhaust our experience. There’s also a sense of humble gratitude at our invitation to behold the sublime beauty of the thing-which-cannot-be-named-or-otherwise-tamed. What are we to do in the presence of such things?
The crisis of our text this week is a failure to reckon with the Numinous. You can be beloved, and brilliant, and on your way up in life, and forget this one thing, and the entire world will crumble around you. David messed around and found out: God is not your little mascot. He is holy. The most radical truth in the world is that He is for you, but this is his idea, not yours. And he’s doing it in his way, not yours. I could use an encounter with the Numinous this week. How about you?
I’m sure that my first introduction to Robin Hood was Disney’s charming fox. It’s honestly a pretty faithful telling of the myth, (maybe even more so because of all the talking animals). But in the Year of our Lord 1991, when I was a mere second grader, there was just one Robin Hood: Kevin Costner as the Prince of Thieves. We were not a movie-going family, but the theaters advertised their hopeful blockbusters on broadcast television, and they really sold this one. The trailer ended with a shot from the point of view of an arrow racing through the forest to split another and claim the bullseye. Pull back and behold the shooter: The Field of Dreams and Dances with Wolves guy! WHAT!?!? I had to see it.
I actually did watch it eventually on VHS at Preston Jones’ house with the GIANT 36 INCH TV. I became obsessive, begging my parents for a real bow and arrow that I would absolutely not shoot my sisters with (denied). But the thing that sticks with me still is the killer ballad featured over the end credits. “Everything I Do, (I Do It for You)” by Bryan Adams forever changed couples’ skating and slow dancing in Cordova, Tennessee and probably across the whole dang world. I didn’t know it then, but these compelling twins of honor in romance and warfare were interwoven as the DNA of the genre that birthed the very first tales of Robin Locksley. This was a chivalric romance, and I was hooked.
I think this is connected to how much I love the stories of King David and his Mighty Men. No doubt the setting and cultural dynamics are hundreds of miles and centuries apart. But for me the common themes trigger all the trappings of a good medieval adventure. A noble warrior and rightful heir becomes an outcast in his own country because of the oppression of an unjust authority. In his exile, he finds the love of the people is on his side, and the most formidable of these band together to see him installed in his rightful place, where he can best care for the poor. Only the return of the High King, (who knows when?), will end this conflict. Until then, the most tragic episodes will occur inside the camp. What's not to love?
This week we're really going to dial in on the band of merry mighty men and how their friendship to David becomes an indispensable part of his ascent. It's a model for our own friendships for those who have ears to hear. Looking forward to it.
I looked at my phone as it hung on the magnetic charger the other night, before I turned over to go to sleep, and thought something was off. It sits there in this miraculous thing that wirelessly charges my watch, phone, and AirPods. A glorious invention, a three-in-one. No plethora of wires hanging out of the drawer like snakes getting all tangled up. I love it so much I bought a new one over Christmas because my other one, while it worked, had a crack in the arm that held the phone, and so it sort of smushed my watch. I sent it up to the guest bedroom, plenty good enough for there. This new one is marvelous: it just works with an economy of effort and folds up to nothing.
When I woke up the next morning, I looked at my watch and it was not charged. In fact, nothing was charged. I could feel my anger rising as I opened the drawer where it was plugged into a power strip and immediately saw the problem. I saw my charger unplugged to make way for Addy’s iPad charger. This is not the first time this has happened, and I was ticked. Addy and I had a little heart-to-heart, and I feel quite certain that this will not happen again—at least, until the next time she is on my bed watching her iPad and it needs charging!
I was thinking about that as I finished up studying the text this week, staring out the window of my study, longing for the snowpocalypse, and wondering why we haven’t spent more time in Chronicles. I suppose it is because we feel like we got all this same stuff in Samuel and Kings; or maybe it’s because, if this were like a movie, it starts with 9 chapters of credits before we get to any real action. But when the action starts, it is full throttle.
The reason I was thinking about my charger is because—as good as it looks—without a power source, it is worthless. Last week, we saw Israel’s first king was the epitome of form: he looked the part, for sure. But the huge problem was, he was not connected to the real Source of kingly power and authority; he refused to bow to a greater King. This week, we burst into the story of David, kingship and covenant. David is connected and humble enough to know that the source of his power and authority is not found in himself. So this week we see a new king of kings, one that not only looks the part but is the kind of king Israel has longed for and needed. What is interesting is, the rest of the book will chronicle David’s life, ironically demonstrating that he (in himself) is not enough and the thing that dominates his imagination is pondering the mystery of what God is doing in the tabernacle and temple. David is great, but he is not enough. The rest of the book will scream that.
I hope we have lots of snow and, if so, I hope I can walk by Sunday. It looks like we will be good for having worship, as we are taking precautions to make sure our parking lot is clear. But who knows? We will keep you posted if anything changes before then. Have fun in the snowpocalypse! I sure will!
It is abrupt, to say the least. When reading I Chronicles, after slogging through nine chapters of lists of people, suddenly and unexpectedly you are whisked away into a narrative about the death of the king. I mean, you have been lulled to sleep by names you can’t pronounce, skimming over the names at times, glancing to the bottom of the page to see how long it will go on. And then this?!—The king is dead. Make no mistake about it, chapter ten is about one thing: the King is dead. (It reminds me of the way A Christmas Carol starts off, but more on that Sunday.)
Maybe that is the point, to rouse your slumbering soul to wake up and pay attention. This word of God comes to a people who, after wandering through the exile, find themselves back in their land and utterly lost. They don’t know who they are or how to form a community shaped by God’s Word. So God sends them a story of who they are—a story that connects them to their ancestors, who have been formed by God since the dawn of creation. The story might also serve as a cautionary tale, a word of hope, or both. In the death of the king? Yep, it is all there in our text this week, and we will talk about it this Sunday.
I look forward to getting back into normal rhythms again. Make no mistake, I do love the chaos of the holidays but there is something satisfying about stepping back into the same ole patterns and habits—yet refreshed. Or you get may back into them just to catch some rest! Either way, I can’t wait to see you all Sunday.
Also, don’t forget our Epiphany Brunch in this Sunday at 9:15. The church will provide smoked ham and rolls. If your last name begins with A-M, bring something savory to share. Last names N-Z, bring something sweet. Happy New Year to all!
Greetings from the calendar-less abyss of the week between Christmas and New Years! I’m excited to share that St. Patrick is going to spend a significant chunk of 2025 in a single book of the Bible. Most of us are just familiar enough with the Bible that we know that 1 Chronicles is a book that begins with nine chapters of tedious genealogies and then peppers in several more along the way, just for good measure. It’s one of the places people simply give up on their chronological reading plans. Most of its juicier content is largely just reruns from 2 Samuel anyway, right? So, why on earth would we choose this of all books!?
First, a word on genealogy. My mom is one of those who’s obsessed with family trees as a kind of historical research. She lights up when she gets to tell stories and unveil charts littered with names of people most of us have never even met, with whom we just happen to share bloodlines and surnames. I don’t share the vigor, but her interest has caused me to consider that it made a big difference to my interest level about the Huguenots when I discovered they were my ancestors.
That’s one of the many reasons why the author of Chronicles includes these lists. He wants the people to know that they have a part in the story he’s telling. 1 Chronicles was written for the returning exiles to connect them on a personal and spiritual level back to the city they were trying to rebuild and the purpose for which they labored. That’s important motivation when things get hard, as they inevitably do.
But rest assured, we’re only going to spend one week in the genealogies of 1 Chronicles. I’ll cover the broad strokes this Sunday, and then we’ll get right into the life of David, the main character in this book. Although, I guess technically the main character would be the Temple of God. That’s why we’re calling the series Temple and Throne. You see, 1 Chronicles is a book about the centrality of worship to the life of the people of God. David is a warrior-poet: the King of Singers. The way he’s depicted here is all about his job as the chief worship leader of a great nation, called to lead all other peoples in the praise of our God and King.
So, this year, we’ll be dialing in on the same vision: we’re a people who tell a better story – who sing a better song – than the world has to offer. This is not simply to compete for our supremacy among the voices of the world, as though we’re on an international version of one of those televised singing competitions. We sing a better song (the story of Scripture worked out in our lives) in order to tune the whole earthly choir for our climactic moment in God’s magnum opus. There will come a day when humanity outshines the angelic host, and we’d better be busy in our rehearsals until then!
Join us this Sunday as we dig into the prologue to this story and see that there’s a lot of gold to be found in that valley of bones.
On Wednesday afternoon, I blew in later than expected to get ready for our Community Group to arrive at our home. It was pouring down rain, buckets of rain. (My weather app said to expect flash flood warnings.) I was thinking about the three large packs of chicken thighs I was planning to grill and staring at the quart of heavy cream, chicken stock, white wine, a stack of sage leaves from my garden and shallots, all on the counter by my stove, that would make up the quasi-French sauce (a sage cream sauce). Also, the patio still needed work before it would be ready for guests. Ben Weir was coming to help cook, and yet I could feel anger and self-pity threatening my joy. I love to host, but let's face it, hospitality is hard work. Then, looking at the rain, Teri commented, “If we were not hosting, I don’t know if I would get out in this rain." “Great," I thought. "And God, you are no help. I am sort of doing this for you, and you are raining on your own parade!"
Then I recalled a story, a story I will share with you Sunday, that lifted me out of my despair and into the realm of love and joy. Just recalling it made me look around and see things with new eyes—to really see! After all, I had a good friend showing up to help prepare a delicious feast, a beautifully cleaned house because of my bride, and, on top of that, a German Chocolate cake she had worked on in the wee hours of the morning, just to bless me. And I saw a grander vision of, not just this endeavor, but all the mundane endeavors we do that make up a life. I can’t wait to talk about it with you on Sunday.
Another thing I can’t wait for is this: Sunday is when we bring our gifts, our investment—our pledge—to further the work of God’s kingdom in Our Big Backyard. We have talked, dreamed, and challenged ourselves for a few months, and now we have the privilege to invest in future glory. I can see kids playing on this playground—my own child, some of my grandchildren, and yours, as well. I can see parents idling close by in the pavilion to make sure no one gets hurt too badly. I can easily imagine that one day the children on the playground are now the ones in the pavilion, watching their own children play and telling stories of grace, wonder, and joy—and giving thanks that their parents and others had invested well.
It may feel a bit jolting to shift our focus from national politics back to mundane life in the local polis, to our own homes. Yet, as Samuel Johnson famously observed, “To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavor.” Even in 1750, this was not a new or novel idea. “The return home” forms the basic premise of the book of Genesis, Homer’s Odyssey, Virgil’s Aeneid, and just about every other story you can think of. “Domestic tranquility” is even at the heart of our Constitution.
So, why do we pretend that joy is somewhere “out there?” Why do we expend so much time, energy, and money on our questing and conquering and other ambitions? Well, in part it’s because we are not yet home, and we know it. Even at our “permanent” addresses, we are, as the Bible puts it, strangers in a strange land, foreigners and exiles.
As I read a very appropriately timed Psalm 137 in the Soul Room on Election Day this week, I was arrested by how the Psalmist would rather be cursed to lose his gift of song than fail to direct its powers toward the vision of Jerusalem. It would have been so easy to assimilate to Babylon, or even to harden his heart against wistful longings for deliverance. Only the persistently stirred vision of Zion could prevent him from taking those easy outs.
As we look this weekend to a passage that talks about “no greater joy,” it’s important to have in mind that there’s something even “above [our] highest joy.” It’s the thing to which we point all our work and longing and ambitions. Jerusalem is not merely a city. It is rather the fulfilled promise of God’s dwelling richly with us, in a place overflowing with the harvested fruit of all our well-directed joys. It is a place where our children might peacefully walk in the truth together, welcoming the stranger and exile home again, and for the first time.
I sometimes wonder if joy is not the new apologetic for a world that no longer believes in rational argument. I read this week a story about David Barrett. He was an Anglican missionary who studied evangelism globally. He was giving a talk to a group of influential businessmen. During his talk, a gentleman raised his hand and asked, “Professor Barrett, can you tell us what’s the most effective missionary tool the church has.”
Barrett replied, “Based on our research, I’d have to say the answer is martyrdom.”
There was a long silence, then another man asked, “Professor Barrett, can you tell us what the second most effective missionary tool would be?”
I suppose what Barrett is getting at is that, while history is full of stoics who would die for their country or for a person, only the Christians have died with joy. This was unprecedented. It was because of hope!
This week we are looking at joy as it relates to hope. Hope and joy are bound up together in the Bible. Hope in the Bible is not a wish that something in the future would come true, though that has power as well. But hope in the Bible is a certainty not just that all will be well in the future but that all will be restored! It is so powerful, it actually is fuel for our lives when things are hard, not in spite of the hardship but in the midst of it, and can actually color our lives with joy.
There is a “way” to joy. Psalm 98, while an unabashed celebration of joy unspeakable, also offers a way out of bitterness and self-pity. As we know, “pain is unavoidable, but we can miss joy.” (Tim Hansel, You Gotta Keep Dancin’) What a story we might tell if we were the people of joy even and especially in the difficulties of living in a fallen world. We will talk about this and more on Sunday.
Also, as we move into our third week of raising money for our place of joy, Our Big Backyard, begin to prayerfully consider what investment you can make in future joy at St. Patrick. Then, in faith, fill out a pledge card and drop in the offering plate or in the collection box in the Narthex as you leave.
There is this incredible scene in our text in Ezra this week. It is about God’s people coming back from Exile. Home! They are finally back to their own land. The first thing they do is to begin spiritual formation, which means they reinstate the annual feasts God commanded. The first one is the feast of joy, The Feast of Booths, a week-long remembering of God’s faithfulness to them in the wilderness. The crescendo of the celebration is the laying of the foundation of the new temple. Can you imagine? A people forbidden to sing the songs of Zion in a strange land are now home and about to cut loose in song. Song that has been absent in their ruined homeland for seventy years. Song that will celebrate God’s goodness in keeping his promise to bring them back to the land.
And celebrate they do! The joy is so great, it must have felt like revival, but then we hear another sound—weeping. The text seems to indicate that, as loud and joyful as the people got, the ones weeping in sorrow were trying to drown them out. It is kind of sad, really. The ones in sorrow were older folk who had seen the former glory and were weeping at this paltry beginning. I wondered at that, and then both Haggai and Zechariah both in their letters rebuke them! Straight up, telling them not to despise the day of small things because the real point is, God is at work!
The Apostle Paul says something instructive to the Corinthians, and I think it helps us understand why the Israelites’ sorrow was rebuked: “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death.” (2 Corinthians 7:10) Their sorrow was not godly sorrow but more like self-pity or nostalgia—a mourning of “the way things used to be.” Much like happiness and joy look similar on the surface, so sorrow and self-pity look similar in the external presentation. This Sunday we will talk about it. And then we will feast like there is no tomorrow at our Annual Fall Festival at 4pm. Hope to see you there!
A couple of weeks ago, I (like many of you) packed my van and headed to the beach. At other places around the state Tennessee and in Mississippi, others were doing the same thing. Our destination was a hallowed beach in Florida where all my children and their children make an annual pilgrimage to be together for a week. It is a lot of work but, really, we do this for joy. We do nothing productive while we’re there—we build sand castles, lay out on the beach and read, swim, eat delicious food, play card games, make signature drinks, and just talk and be! It is sort of a celebration of God’s goodness to us that produces nothing of value, as the world counts value. But as I look around and see all these folk together, the fruit of Teri’s and my life together, I experience stabs of joy, sometimes almost too much to drink in. As I said, we really produce nothing, but that is not the point. The point is to be fully human and give thanks.
This week, as we ponder the way God forms us and what he wants to see in us, we see something similar. When God formed his people, who were to be like him—his images in the world to reflect to the world what he is like—he did it through annual festivals. Under command, three times a year, a family would pack up all their extended family and head to Jerusalem. The feast we are looking at this week to start a new series called Surprised by Joy is the Feast of Booths. So they packed all these people in sort of like a caravan and went to Jerusalem and lived in booths for a whole week. It happened after the harvest was in and was to be a reminder of God’s grace to them while they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, when the only way they survived was his great grace. It was also to give thanks for the harvest. But what is more interesting about this feast is, it is the only festival with the explicit command to rejoice!
I have thought about that a lot. Why joy? I suspect it is because, as C. S. Lewis says, “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” (C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer) Even before the world was created, God existed in himself full of joy. Joy is intrinsic to God. Quite simply, we serve a happy God. The good news is we don’t have to wait to get to heaven to experience joy—we can experience it right now. And so, for the next several weeks, we are going to dive into this joy and explore the feast of joy God has for his people.
We are also relaunching Our Big Backyard generosity campaign as we seek to build a place to house and express this joy—a place that screams joy, a place of festival and celebration for all of us and for our neighbors. I can’t wait to talk about this with you.
Along with everyone else during Covid, I got pretty into making sourdough. I read a lot of recipes and watched a lot of Instagram reels. I bought a cheesecloth. I fed my little starter faithfully and fretted over its temperature, color, and volume. I timed whole Saturdays around its needs until, finally, one glorious evening, I pulled out of our oven my first-ever homegrown sourdough. It was basically flat and kind of a sickly gray color. (Imagine a slightly inflated Olympic discus.) But it tasted great, and that was the whole point of the thing. Add a little Irish butter and some flakey salt: transcendent.
I've since put the starter out to pasture (my last one turned orange while I was on vacation), but preparing to wrap up this series on divine love had me thinking. I grew to appreciate the process of making sourdough not because I was excited about my home’s airborne yeast cultures but because I had tasted the glory that is BREAD!
Sometimes we forget this order when thinking about God. Our first experience of the love of God isn’t a treatise on the Trinity (though we will get into that!); it’s the experience of that love in the person of Jesus Christ, who loves us to death. Join us Sunday as we peer into the wonders of love, from the mystery of being to the mundanity of bread.
“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” - 1 Corinthians 13:12
Maybe you remember with me how that phrase in King James was, “through a glass darkly.” As a child I always imagined myself peering into a glass orb at some magical world, (maybe even Heaven), but not quite making out the shapes. That held some real mystique for me. I had no idea nor care what this could have to do with love, which was still an icky concept to me anyway. Alas, that was when I was a child. When I became a man, I put away childish things and got back to fairy tales.
I have since learned that it was ‘glass,’ as in Alice’s ‘looking glass.’ The mirror mix-up reminds me of the astronomer Percival Lowell, who was convinced that he was seeing spoke-like features on the surface of Venus, yet unable to replicate the findings for other observers. As it happens, the ambitious stargazer had unwittingly turned his telescope into an ophthalmoscope and was actually just seeing the blood vessels in his own eyeballs reflected back onto his vision. Alice, too, thought she was peering into an alien world, when it turns out she was only learning about herself.
But how does focusing on yourself help you love God and others? Isn’t love about self-denial? Well, we often cause hurt to others merely by being ourselves around them. They need us to be better, and love demands we try. So, I'm starting with the man in the mirror, and I'm asking him to change his ways.
Squint with me this Sunday and we’ll see what we can see about all that.
I love children—Heaven knows, Teri and I have a passel of them. They do say the funniest things and they are cute, but they are also hard. I remember when they were all young in the house, and it seemed like most of my time at home was spent just trying to keep them alive and safe. The endless work, much of it tedious and mundane, thankless even. Night after night, the same thing—bath, bedtime, stories, cleaning up the messes. When they are little, this is as it should be. They come out of the womb all “need.” We must serve their needs or they will die.
When babies are born, they live life “my life for me.” They don’t know this, of course, but if they’re hungry, they cry. If they’re not fed them immediately, they don’t patiently wait for their mother to finish what she is doing—they cry louder. And we attend lovingly and diligently to their needs. But after a few months, we begin introducing them to the School of Charity, and it is a departure from what they are used too! We may not call it that formally but, essentially, that is what it is. So, when they cry in the night, at a certain point, we let them cry. It is hard to do, but we do it because they have to slowly learn they are not the center of the universe. We pick up their endless messes until they get to a place where we make them pick up their own mess. They really hate this; they would much prefer to do their own thing and let everyone else navigate the carnage. They are in the School of Charity. They are learning that real life, a life of thriving, is not “my life for me” but “my life for yours.” We are teaching them to regard others better than themselves. It is hard, frustrating, and messy. And yet, if they are to find real joy and happiness in life, this must be done.
Paul says, in the gospel realm (that is, the realm of becoming a disciple of Jesus) when we are born again, we are born into a whole new realm, and we start off as spiritual infants. Again, that is as it should be, but to remain infants would be a tragedy. Paul likens this gifted, knowledgeable, miracle-working church in Corinth to a bunch of spiritual children; and so, this week we are going with Paul into the School of Charity. How do we learn the steps to the dance of the Divine Charity? Love is a virtue and, as with all virtues, it is hard—it is actually death. To learn this lesson, it is actually shaped like a cross. But learn we must, if we are to know the great joy, thriving, and abundant life Jesus offers in the gospel.
Hope to see you Sunday, I can’t wait.
There is this great scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, where Indiana Jones has a glorious epiphany. He is trying to find the lost Ark of the Covenant before the Nazis find it and use it as a talisman, a thing of power. The key to finding it is inscribed on a long-lost medallion. One of the Nazi agents grabs the medallion and, because it is white hot, has the inscriptions burned into his hand. Thinking they have the cipher to unlock the location of the ark, they send their teams to Egypt to dig.
When Indiana Jones takes the medallion to see an old friend, they find someone who can read it. Suddenly they realize that they have only one-half of the cipher and exclaim together, “They are digging in the wrong place!” That might be a good descriptor of what Paul is teaching us in I Corinthians. It seems, then and now, most of our best energy and investments are in the showy, flashy, even spectacular, rather than investing in the virtue of love. Of course, it is easy to see why. Compared to Jesus' kind of love—love that ends on a cross—the more visible gifts of the spirit are easy and they also draw attention to ourselves.
This week, Paul connects love to what our future destination is and basically says, “Heaven is a world of love.” All the flashy stuff we thought was the real thing was just like scaffolding, or training wheels, to get us to the heart of the dance—love. If that is true, then, as N.T. Wright says, “the point of [I Corinthians 13:8-13] is that the church must be working in the present on the things that will last into God’s future. Faith, hope and love will do this; prophecy, tongues and knowledge, so highly prized in Corinth, will not.” (N.T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God.)
Our problem is not that we have found love wanting, but that we have found love hard. It’s a burden that, without God’s grace, we cannot bear. And yet bear it we must, if the world will see and sense that there is a better story to be had than the loneliness where our cultural emphasis on expressive individualism has left us.
That, or something like that, is what we will talk about Sunday. I hope to see you here. Come early if you are new to St. Patrick; we have a class for people interested in knowing more about our vision and values. We also have adult classes on Genesis and Parenting, as well. Just drop your children off at the nursery or Sunday School, grab a cup of delicious coffee or tea, and find a place at the table. We have set it just for you!
There is more written about the love of God in the Bible than just about anything else, and the crazy thing is, it is hardly ever simply defined. It is, however, illustrated a lot! The same is true in our passage this week in 1 Corinthians 13. Love is not so much defined as a few attributes are credited to it, but mostly we are told what love is not. Of course, what makes Christianity unique among religions is the great claim that love itself (that is, the very essence of love) peeled back the veil and lived among us. Not just an idea of love but love personified in flesh and blood.
That is really good news, because the old maudlin song, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love” is true. The real truth about the human condition is that we were built to be loved. In fact, we demand it of other people who are incapable of loving us perfectly and then, when they fail, all kinds of untoward things begin to happen to the human soul. Interestingly enough, though, we demand unconditional love from others when we can’t really give it back.
Add to this frustration the fact that you can’t truly love others until you have been loved—really experienced love—and then you can see why people, out of loneliness, seek to stuff their empty souls with trinkets, novelty, and anything else to get a sense in their hearts that they matter.
This Sunday we are talking about what love is and what love is not. It is pretty painful, convicting, and condemning. And yet, to paraphrase Paul, without love the rest of what you do is just window dressing—it might look good, but it has no power, draw or beauty to it. Even more, it is rather off-putting. So, this week we continue in the School of Charity. It is a long, painful journey because love is essentially laying down your life for others.
Remember, if you are new, join us during the Sunday School hour for St. Patrick 101, which is a place to get acquainted with our vision and values, and why we do what we do. There are classes for adults on Genesis and Parenting, as well as classes for your children and youth. So, if you haven’t checked it out, I hope you will.
Some years ago, I was coaching a church planter. I told him from the get-go, for you to be successful in planting a church, you need three things: people need to love the vision, people need to love you, and people need to love each other. These are all essential. If you miss one of these, it won’t work. This was a gifted guy but the church plant was rocky; he would get a group of people together and they would sort of dwindle, and then it would build up again, then dwindle. At one point he called me up and said, “Do I really need a core group to plant this church?” I about lost it on him. When I stopped railing on him, I calmly said, “You are missing one of the essential things, a thing that if not present your church will fail. You have to connect this group not just to you, but, more importantly, to each other—they have to love each other.”
Essential things. That is what we are talking about this Sunday as we start a brand new series called The Greatest of These. For the next six weeks, we are looking at a chapter in the Bible that is perhaps in the top five most recognizable passages in the whole Bible—Paul’s treatise on Love from I Corinthians 13. So many things go into what we might call a God-formed life, but the tendency even in Paul’s day was to favor the flashy over the mundane, the quick over the slow and steady, the one-off over the long obedience. This was happening to the church in Corinth. This is perhaps the most gifted church Paul planted, abounding in spiritual gifts, resources and abilities, and yet Paul tells them they are missing one essential thing—love.
So as we embark on a new season of ministry, where we are using our gifts, resources and abilities to further the kingdom of Jesus in a place, it is wise to check our hearts and motives. God gives gifts and abilities unevenly to his body; but he gives his Spirit to all of us without measure, the chief fruit of which is love. Hope you’ll join us Sunday as we talk about it.
Also remember, Sunday School starts back for all ages this week. If you are new and want to know more about St. Patrick, we have a place for you to inquire in a class called “St. Patrick 101”. If you are interested in a deep dive into Genesis, we continue our study there from last year. Or if you need to be in a community that is wrestling with parenting, we also have that. Just show up, check your children in, make your way to the East wing of the building, grab a cup of delicious coffee, and join us.
Gen Z kids view selfies very differently than do the Millenials who purportedly invented them. I first noticed this while being instructed by my niece on a (then) new social media app called SnapChat. It was basically the anti-Instagram. Whereas I had grown accustomed to carefully curated and filtered digital galleries, these kids were producing and posting hundreds of thoughtless images that would disappear within the day. Terrible lighting, angles, and framing; all of it disastrous! This was so obviously one of those generational pendulum swings. Young people were (rightly) unimpressed with the gulf between online image and reality, and so they were primed and ready for its antithesis: unfiltered, unflattering, and ultimately ephemeral.
The Impressionist painter Vincent Van Gough mastered the art of the selfie long before this century’s influencers, and he managed to strike a synthesis. Of his over forty self-portraits, perhaps the most famous is one displaying his bandaged (lack of an) ear. He had cut the ear off himself after a fight with his roommate and then delivered it to a local prostitute as a gift. As one does. This was the same year Vincent painted his masterpiece The Starry Night, just before admitting himself to an asylum and eventually taking his own life. The troubled soul had somehow found the (un)happy medium between the idealistic aesthetic sensibilities of a master painter and a brutal commitment to transparency that would display his most profound struggles for all the world to see. The tension was just too much to hold.
That disparity between how we appear and what we long for others to see has haunted mankind since our first parents hid and covered themselves in the Garden all those years ago. We were made to be wise, but we don’t know everything. We were made to be righteous, but we fall short. We were made to be glorious, but we’re blemished. To make it worse, some of the same technologies that enable us to improve ourselves also allow us to cover over and obscure these deficiencies, living the deceptive lifestyle of “prosthetic gods.” How can we instead recover a right-sized image of ourselves that trusts in Christ alone to transform us into his likeness? Behold with us this Sunday.
For me, the biggest unintended consequence of talking about “prosthetic gods” has been a sort of reawakening, as I dusted off staid old theological categories like God’s infinity, his aseity, his immutability, and, this week, his simplicity. God is simply the best, and he didn’t work out or scheme to be the best—he is, in his very being, greatness that is incomprehensible. This is where we find the psalmist this week, and he is lost in wonder. In Psalm 139, the psalmist is in the Soul Room, praying to God for vindication, a plight we humans find ourselves in quite often. He considers who God is and who he is in light of who God is. He ponders that God knows his deepest thoughts, knows his comings and goings. God was there forming him in the womb and knows all his days before he even was a glimmer in the mind and bodies of his parents.
He can only wonder at the vastness of God, and when he contemplates Divinity, he can’t get to the bottom of who God is. The finite can’t comprehend the infinite. It sort of puts him in his place: on his best day, his posture before God is one of submission and love. Or, to use another Psalm, a creature, any creature, even at the height of their power and glory is like a child, a weaned child, before God. (Psalm 131) The picture is one of contentedness in his lowly state, assuming that his mother will take care of him.
Our problem is, we have always wanted more than that, and technology, especially digital technology, has given us the illusion of god-like power. However, the verdict is in; the promise of what technology could allow us to become has fallen short, and we are actually more frustrated. This week we will examine the glory of technology and look at all the ways it can and has made life better, while also seeking wisdom in how to put technology in its proper place.
Hope to see you Sunday! Check the website to see what training classes are available this Sunday morning at 9:15. Also, remember Sonshine kicks off next Wednesday and Community Groups are cranking back up. It is a good time to plug in and find a place at one of the many tables of abundance at St. Patrick.
It feels strange to write something like “learning to be human” but, alas, this is where we find ourselves. If the defining characteristic of our advanced technological state has left us more anxious and alienated—lonely—then we have to ask why. Ironically, it seems the push with our digital screens is to make us less human, trans-human, or to denigrate our embodied state, as if our bodies are a hindrance and are holding us back. Our quest for glory and immutability has left us less human and wondering where the promised land is that technology promised us.
We serve an immutable God who, as one writer says, “[is]without any new nature, new thought, new will, new purpose or new place…God is a necessary being; he is necessarily what he is, and therefore is unchangeably what he is.” (Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God) We, on the other hand, are finite and live in time; we are totally mutable and must change and grow in order to become the persons God meant us to be. Biblically speaking, there is no sin or shame in that. God made us this way, and it is part of the glory and limits of being human. Nothing demonstrates this like the first miracle of Jesus, which happened at a wedding feast! This is fresh in my mind as I am about to cook almost two hundred pounds of goodness for the feast.
But the question that I am asking of our text, or of the wedding I will cook for tonight is, how did this unnamed couple in John 2 get to this place? How did Luke and Savannah get to this place, and why are they throwing a celebration that is the most embodied thing we might ever participate in? Is it a waste of time? Or is it the culmination of years and years of growth, change and development—physical, mental and spiritual—to even get to the place of wanting to be part of an institution that at its very center is love, knowing and being known.
Yes, we grow and change; that is what it means to be human. Our screens have not helped what is our uncritical adoption of the new and the novel. There is a better way, and Sunday we will talk about it.
Also, we are kicking off our fall ministries at the church with a huge feast this Sunday at 5pm. It will involve a lot of kids playing and getting wet. It will involve a lot of people “wasting time” talking and joking and lots of food. Make no mistake, it will be formative, as play is formative, and it can’t be enjoyed through a screen. It will be one of the truly human things. I hope you will join us for the fun and laughter.
All tools and technology come with their own inherent requirements for wisdom, some more than others. It’s the classic myth of Prometheus who stole fire from the gods, thus giving humanity technology. He is punished for this by Zeus who had him bound to a rock, with his liver being eaten out every day. The myth says a lot about the ancient gods who were forever withholding from creatures they tolerated at best and exploited for their own amusement at worst. It also signals that there are inherent dangers with any new technology or tool, and we often have the technology long before we acquire the wisdom to use it.
God, on the other hand, created us in his image and, because we share in God’s nature in ways theologians called the “communicable attributes” of God, God made us to advance civilization and human thriving by making tools that make life both easier and better. However, the problem with an unfettered adoption of any and all technology as a positive good is that our tools also reshape our sensibilities. I am an early adopter of new technology. My yard and garden bear witness; a 52-inch zero-turn mower, weed-eater, and blower all testify to the fact that I don’t want to go back to what I was doing in my yard when I was 9 years old. My garden is also in raised beds and watered by micro-irrigation. As result, I have way more time now to pursue other things. So it is not that technology is bad per se, but we do need wisdom.
When we come to talk about digital technology, as has come about in the past twenty years or so, we are talking about technology that gives us the illusion of being our own gods. We can be anywhere we want and totally not present where our body actually is. We have access to unlimited knowledge by pulling out our devices and asking Google or our AI app. We can have connections with people all over the world and yet be connected to no one.
This Sunday, we are talking about how our digital technology has a tremendous capacity to make us less human, not more human. It is not just Christians writing about this; most of the things I read about concerning the exponential rise in loneliness, suicide, anxiety, and fear are from folk who are not of the Christian persuasion. Yes, we were built by God for glory—human beings are actually a reflection of his glory—but when we try to grasp at glory through the illusion of technology, as we will see, the wheels fall off.
That, or something like that, is what we will talk about this week at St. Patrick. Hope to see you there!
If you're like me, then you're exiting summer with plenty of regrets. Did you accomplish everything you put on your to do list? Did you go everywhere? Did you see everyone? Did you stop time around a bonfire with family or learn everything you could from your summer reading list? No, no, no, and double no for me. Spring Greg has a lot of summer hopes; Fall Greg comes back to earth. And that's when I learn to be human again. Our August sermon series aims to meet us in the mundane and find the glory God shares with His creation.
"Men ought not to play God before they learn to be men, and after they have learned to be men, they will not play God." Paul Ramsey was a theologian and bioethicist at Princeton when he coined this saying. He used it to guide much of his teaching on how we use science and medicine in our modern age. Since then, many arguments have been made against it, but the principle remains.
God is God; we are not. The storyline of Scripture is built on this truth. The Gospel would not be good news without this truth. And joy would quickly disappear from our world if we completely deny this truth. Because the glory of being human is not found in grasping at the divine; we can't be everything, everywhere, all at once. The glory we crave is received when we return to earth and settle into the present time and place. Let God be God—that is the better story we'll explore this Sunday. I hope you'll join us.
With the Olympics in full swing, the internet is teeming with athletic videos. One I can’t get out of my head is of this young guy well ahead of the pack and clearly destined to win. Curiously, he looks back and sees how far ahead he is, and then sort of… pumps the brakes a bit? The gobsmacked commentators suggest that maybe he was saving his legs for the next heat. But if so, it was a terrible miscalculation, because several of the runners behind him instantly overtook his lead. He didn’t even qualify for that next round. It’s the kind of tragedy that only plays out in real-time arena sports. I’ve never been a runner, but even I was gutted.
Spectating is a fascinating activity. Your sympathetic nervous system ties the action you’re witnessing to your own sense of well-being. Your heart rate undulates. Mirror neurons cause your body to mimic the movements on the field from the stands or your easy chair. It’s such a great argument against the idea of individualism: we are actually wired to be wired to each other. Your stakes are my stakes. These are amplified further if it’s an activity that we have experience with, and infinitely raised when it’s your own kids out there.
No one can prepare you for how much more you’d rather see your children flourish than to succeed merely in your own life. And what a gift it is when we do see them triumph! It’s the kind of incalculable reward that’s not possible as long as all our sympathies and hopes rest only in ourselves. We get the same image with the "great cloud of witnesses" here at the climax of our Hebrews journey, cheering on the new generation of martyrs. But the author of Hebrews reminds us that they’re hoping we won’t be looking up to them in the stands, but rather that we would fix our eyes the same place they fixed theirs as they ran their own race: to the Author and Perfecter of our faith.
We’ve been spending the summer in Hebrews 11, often referred to as “The Hall of Faith.” Imagine yourself walking through a museum with magnificent portraits of Israel’s heroes: there’s Abel, with his glorious sacrificial lamb. Enoch’s there, maybe pictured drifting upward through the clouds. Next is Noah, standing proudly in front of his new boat, ready for lake life. Then there’s Abraham, perhaps laughing with his wife, Sarah, or embracing Isaac after an awkwardly knife-y interaction. Isaac’s next with his own portrait, embracing his two vastly different sons. Jacob is after him, with his son Joseph and two of his grandkids. Then we have Moses, of course, holding the two tablets of the law. The next painting is of a woman, Rahab, the second in the series; she’s in her house making breakfast for two men asleep on her floor. There’s a red cord coiled in a bag next to one of them.
Before her portrait, though, there’s a conspicuously empty frame with, anachronistically, a little image of a crossed-out camera and the words “image not found.” Whose portrait is missing from the august company of the Hall of Faith? Who goes unnamed in this corridor of conquerors, this vestibule of victors, this passageway of paladins? Join us Sunday to look into the Scriptures for the formidable figure the author of Hebrews leaves unnamed and to see what might be implied by the absence of his image.
Our character from Hebrews 11 this week needs no introduction—Moses. When I think of Moses, I think of the Cecil B. DeMille’s classic movie, “The Ten Commandments”. Charlton Heston was Moses and this film aired in two parts around Easter time every year. It was a tradition. The whole family would sit down to watch this two-part series on one of our heroes made famous by Hollywood! It has been done in more recent times by Disney and others because, even if you don’t believe the Bible, the story of royalty identifying with slaves (who at first don’t even like him) and then leading them out of slavery to the promised land—who doesn’t love that redemption story?
Anyway, this Sunday we will be talking about Moses and why he occupies a lot of press in chapter 11. The text says he chose to go into exile rather than enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. What I love about this is the way the writer casts following Jesus not as a renunciation or a huge sacrifice, though both of these are true, but rather of choosing greater joy over lesser joy. In choosing to follow God even into exile, he did it for joy!
Not convinced? Join us Sunday and we will talk about it. Hope to see you there.
Allie and I celebrated our seventeenth wedding anniversary this week. That means we’ve now been married longer than she was alive before we started dating! I love to think back to the ceremony: reverent and majestic; filled with aesthetic gravitas and ancient vows; the chancel choir, the vaulted ceiling and marble altar, the grandiose thunder and lighting, the trembling and the tears. We were just kids, reaching into the most sacred sacramental realities of humanity and daring to participate in some small way.
“You must leave and cleave,” they told us, and we thought that sounded easy enough.
As it turns out, it’s not easy. And it certainly isn’t accomplished in a one-time event. There are many ways in which the things we try to leave are often cleaving to us, and many other leave-worthy things are stowaways hidden from us in the secret clefts of our souls, waiting to surprise us. We carry so much of our inheritance in the folds of these broken hearts, which we’re trying to fit together but won’t always stick. Often all we can do is continue through our “long obedience in the same direction” together, and trust in our glimpses of that far kingdom, which stir and compel us to draw nearer.
In our text this week, the author of Hebrews gives us the span of well over a century in the life of one of the most significant dynasties in history. Here we see four generations of the Hebrew family trying to do the same thing we attempt in marriage: leaving the places we are from and cleaving to the promises of God. All this he compresses down to mere sentences, in which every detail matters. And as we zoom out from the minutiae of muddling, we see a scarlet strand woven through and beyond mere lifetimes. It is a blessing beyond cursing, of faithfulness to generations; to thousands. This thread of faith finds its fulfilment in the One who then uses it to bind together what we could never make stick ourselves.
I hope to see you this Sunday as we wonder at such things together.
Last week we had General Assembly here in Memphis, and I was glad I didn’t have to hobble through any airports on a bad leg. Call me selfish, but I was in a wheelchair last time I went through an airport and to have to hobble along feels just awful. Anyway, apart from all the meetings and happenings, it felt sort of like a homecoming. There, I saw people I don’t see often, some I am glad I don’t (just being honest) and others I wish lived more close by.
I also saw some of our missionaries while there. I saw Chris Furr who is in Scotland and, apparently, he has gone native. He was wearing a kilt. I also saw our good friend Chris Gibson who works in Budapest. What exactly are they, as they do their work in strange places in the world, far from the country of their birth? They are not gypsies, moving around all the time, nor are they citizens of the lands in which they minister. They essentially are “resident aliens”. What I mean is, they are sort of permanent in a place that is not their home. They have civil liberties and protection from the government, but they can’t vote; they may even blend in and look like the natives there, until they open their mouth and then you would know they are not from Hungary or Scotland. And yet, they move in and love a place, seek to bless it, work for the good of that place and do what they can, by their presence, to make Jesus known.
We are talking about resident aliens this week because Abraham lived his whole life like that. And the Bible says anyone who knows Jesus is a resident alien in whatever city they live, no matter how long they have been there. This is a huge theme in the Bible, from Genesis through Revelation. It really explains the posture of faith as we minister to the city around us. This week we will talk about it. I hope to see you Sunday!
If you are wondering about growing in faith, one thing is for sure: God will introduce crisis in your life. We don’t really change much if everything is going well. By crisis, I mean things that rock your world and your foundations – things that call for decisions that make you move out or leave stuff behind. Hard truth for people in suburbia and yet it is true.
Abraham in the Bible is the archetype of faith. In other words if your really want to dig in to a life of faith, Abraham is your guy. He is looked to as the father of faith in there major religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. There is a reason Abraham figures so prominently in the Story of Redemption. It is to him that the great promise comes, of God forming a people and also that from his seed the whole world would be blessed. To him comes the great covenant that ultimately will land Jesus on the cross and it is why Abraham gets the most press in Hebrews 11.
And yet, it was not a straight line. Genesis doesn’t wallpaper over Abraham’s sin, his doubt, nor his fear. We might say, Abraham's faith was formed in four major crises in his life that God used to the point he is called the friend of God. I can’t wait to talk about it Sunday. It is convicting and also encouraging when we look at the life of Abraham. It also leaves you with a sense of wonder, not so much at Abraham but at God, who chose a moon-worshipping pagan to be the instrument to entrust his great promises with. I hope to see you Sunday.
Boston, Massachusetts, 1919. A factory had just transitioned their business model from supporting the war effort toward making rum, only to discover that this too would be only a small window of opportunity. The magnanimous Temperance Movement was giving distillers one more year before shutting down the sale of all alcohol in the country. So, the Purity Distilling Company decided to increase production, making hay while the sun still shone. And shine it did that January morning, raising temperatures so quickly that the unthinkable happened.
The shotgun sound of bursting rivets was chased by 2.3 million gallons of molasses onto one of the most densely populated city streets in the US. The towering wave moved at an astonishing 35 miles an hour, swallowing and crushing everything and everyone in its path. Locals who had complained for months about the container’s shoddy construction had been unheard, as they were mere non-voting immigrants. In one way, many of these victims were now silenced permanently; in another, their lifeless lungs cried out even louder from the steaming streets.
Wickedness and destruction have been paired together time out of mind. Evil lurks and leers, someone always suffers, and it’s nearly never the perpetrator. Yet, with Noah and his famous ark, we have a version of the story where it’s wickedness that’s destroyed, and our family alone who is spared. Put like that, it’s the rare happy ending in a post-apocalyptic thriller. The shock must have been disorienting, as in the first few seconds after a nearly missed traffic accident. What a close call. Except that evil had been a bit of a stowaway on their ship, hidden safely in the hearts of those raptured from judgment.
So, what’s the point of this story, anyway? It doesn’t much work as a reboot on creation if our new first parents are also among the fallen. The author of Hebrews joins the other New Testament voices in a resounding Noahic theme: judgment is coming, and when it comes, your only hope will be who you are counted with. Everyone, even our own people, are part of the problem. What can we do? The powerlessness of our situation hits home even in the shape of our ship: mast-less, rudderless, more casket than cruiser. But that’s how Hope comes: in the form of obedience to an instrument of death, fashioned out of wood, submitted to in faith.
I confess, I have not looked forward to this one—Enoch. What the heck is he doing in this rundown of the great heroes of faith? I mean seriously, when you read the list, he is the most unlikely, at least on the surface. All of the folk in the rundown of Old Testament greats demonstrate their faith in an extraordinary manner. By faith…and then some heroic activity. So much so that in a summary of their greatness in Hebrews 11: 33 we read, “through faith they conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, punched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war. Put foreign armies to flight.” Yea! That is what I am talking about.
And yet, while Hebrews 11 tells us all the great things that some of our forbearers did, Enoch is the only one that by faith doesn’t really do anything much, but rather has something done to him by God. His is not much a backstory; it is buried in all the “begettings” of chapter 5 and, if you are not careful, you might miss it. Yet what he did was so incredible that God took him—that is, he cheated the Grim Reaper—God simply took him to glory. What did he do that was so extraordinary he finds himself in this august fellowship of heroes? The text says, “he walked with God.” On Sunday, we will explore what that means!
What a week of Vacation Bible Study it has been—150 kids, 50 youth staff and 50 adults helping tell the better story of the gospel! In case you missed it, Sunday we will show Friday’s short video recap of “a day at VBS.” You won’t want to miss that!
A stroll through Hebrews 11 would be similar to going to an ancient castle: beautiful and austere; something out of another world on the outside and, as you enter, you would see the story of the place as you walked through in the form of tapestries and pictures, relics of another world. It is the world of the people who once inhabited the place and fought to keep it in the family for hundreds of years. Heroes, if you will, folk of renowned.
Hebrews 11 is the story of Israel in the Old Testament; it is also our story. It is the story of faith that endured. What is fascinating is that the writer takes us all the way back to the origins of the story of redemption and, guess what, it is the story of God’s grace coming to people and of them laying hold of God’s promises by faith. There are two stories always going on, and we see all this in Genesis 4 in the story of Cain and Abel. One story, the one you think is the ascendant story, and the other, the real story of how God is working in history. One story is about firstborns, the advantaged and power. The other is a story that is moved along by grace that comes to the ones who are thought of as afterthoughts, but by grace through faith cling to a promise.
Cain’s name means “to get, create.” As first born, he embodies the future hopes and dreams of the family. Abel’s name means “vapor, or nothingness.” The natural ordering of things is seen in the first siblings in recorded history. And yet, in Hebrews we see the opposite. At the fount head of the grace story is not Cain, but Abel. Though an afterthought to the world, Hebrews says, “he still speaks.”
Sunday, we will talk about it. It will be an exciting day. After worship, we have a Congregational Meeting to approve our annual budget and also to elect Elders. It is also VBS eve, and the church is already taking shape where our children—led by our youth staff and a multitude of others—will be immersed in the true story of redemption. I can’t wait!
I just made it through Shelob’s lair in Cirith Ungol. It seemed like the quest to destroy the ring had died with a stab in the neck to Frodo by Shelob, the huge spider that haunts this dark passage and has lived there time out of mind in malice and death. It was a near thing but that is just the beginning of the trouble of Frodo and Sam.
I am almost through my annual trek through Middle Earth and perhaps the hardest part of the whole quest is the thirteen days Frodo and Sam face in Mordor after Sam finds Frodo. It is a test of endurance. Small folk in a hostile environment, with the weight of the ring so heavy Sam must carry Frodo. Nothing is easy, nothing is safe, terror is around them and also in them. They are physically beat, emotionally exhausted, harassed by Gollum and plagued with doubt—doubt that almost undoes the whole quest in the end—and yet they endured. To put yourself inside the story is almost too much to bear.
Our text in Hebrews reminded me a lot of that this morning. We start a new sermon series this week called A Better Country and will be looking at faith that endures. Basically, we have Israel’s story told through individuals that—by faith in the promise of a better country, a better home—endured, no matter the cost or circumstance. This week, however, we will be content to merely define what enduring faith is and then look at the tapestry of the lives of God’s people, a great cloud of witnesses to the faithfulness of God to his promises.
Teri and I are just back from the Bahamas and, let me tell you, it is something! And yet, as glorious as it was, I started to long for home, and I can’t wait to be with you on Sunday.
No one is asking me for fashion advice. I’ve never really cared for clothes, and I became even less inclined to participate in style when I realized that it continually changes. You mean to tell me I need new clothes not just seasonally, but also according to the whims of teenagers and Frenchmen? No thank you. In fact, after a recent week among the monks of Christ in the Desert Monastery in New Mexico, I had almost resolved myself to radically simplify – maybe just jeans and a black t-shirt every day like Steve Jobs. Then I remembered that this would not be acceptable to my wife, as my outfit often serves as merely an accessory to her own. I have already made vows, after all.
So, I don’t fuss over clothes. But over a decade ago I was teaching through Colossians and I got to the part in chapter 3 when Paul says we are to clothe ourselves with Christ. That sent me down a rabbit trail where I discovered that in some ways, the whole Bible is a better story about clothes! From nakedness and shame in the garden to the resplendent glory of wedding garments in the new creation, what characters wear (or don’t) often says something about the grace of God that is our everything. You can’t even feast in the Kingdom without the right robes!
The thing I find most interesting about this theme right now is that the function of clothing has shifted in our little corner of history. There has certainly always been a sense of fashion and pride in appearance that is enhanced by a wardrobe, but the primary function of clothing has much more often been to communicate and even to aid in one’s vocation. I know what you do by what you wear; you’re able to do it better because of its cut and design, its features, and maybe even colors. These days, however, clarity of purpose has been eclipsed by the illusion of self-expression.
As we wrap up this Resurrection of the Dead series, we will imagine together what it was like for the disciples to be “clothed with power from on high” on that very first Pentecost Sunday. Is there a connection to the end of 1 Corinthians 15, when we are all “changed,” having “put on” the imperishable? I have a hard time not seeing it.
In recent years, May has become a calendaring nightmare. The convergence of end-of-school, civic, and extracurricular events with beautiful weather means that even Mothers’ Day is far more frantic than she deserves. This is the month of end-of-year exams, graduations, performance recitals, dress up days, awards ceremonies, soccer tournaments, parties for kids unfortunate enough to have been born in this cruel season, crashing into Memorial weekend trips to the lake. Oh, and of course we also want to make sure we faithfully celebrate the Ascension so that we’re ready ten days later for all the Pentecost revelries.
Of course, I’m joking about that last bit. We don’t live in a time or place where the liturgical calendar is a factor in this conversation. The number and range of obligations outside of that are staggering. How much worse it feels it’s gotten since all the lockdowns ended! In fact, I’m proposing a swift, orderly change in name: from “May” to “Must.”
Stacked social obligations have always led me to dreaming of making my escape to a sleepy town in the Mediterranean and spending afternoons at the anti-Cheers, where nobody knows my name. Often the fantasy alone is enough to keep me going. I think a lot of us were taught to think of the afterlife in this kind of way – a sort of great escape of the spirit from the troubles of the body. A permanent vacation from life as a reward for surviving the harassment!
But this week, as we transition from the historic fact and implications of Christ’s resurrection to the future guarantee of our own resurrections, we’ll be challenged again on that idea. The question of what our bodies might be like in the New Creation pushes us to reckon with both the physicality and immediacy of our ultimate state in the present day. Channeling N.T. Wright, “Resurrection is great, but it’s not the end of the world!”
So, I hope to see you this weekend as we honor Christ (and mom, too!)
Eugene Peterson, surveying the religious landscape of his day came to this conclusion: "The word 'christian' means different things to different people. To one person it means a stiff, upright, inflexible way of life, colorless and unbending. To another it means a risky, surprised-filled adventure, lived tiptoe at the edge of expectation...If we get our information from the biblical material, there is no doubt that the Christian life is a dancing, leaping, daring life.” (Eugene Peterson, Traveling Light).
I suspect most of us have seen this same thing. We have seen religious communities that reflect a joyless existence mainly committed to what they are against. Those communities have little draw to them and certainly are not telling a better story. Yet, sometimes we see people and communities that don’t take themselves so seriously and dare to risk, entering the fray of life in all its complexities and pitfalls. It takes a lot more courage to do the later.
Paul writes about living in the power of the resurrection and I confess, it is a challenge. This week we will look at this in some detail. Because Jesus is the firstfruits of the resurrection of the dead, it means at his coming we will be resurrected as well. For most of us, the resurrection is merely a point of comfort against the day we die. For Paul it was the engine that drove him from one daring feat to the next. It was the power of another world that animated his existence and kept him going courageously from one beating to the next, one shipwreck to the next, and pushing the gospel to the ends of the world. Paul lived! Like Jesus in dying he lived.
I dare say, his life was heroic. Armed with the gospel and in the resurrection power he rarely thought of safety, comfort or security. What makes this even more ironic is he was a rabbinic scholar, not someone setting out for adventure for it’s on sake or because he was bored. Can we do that? Does the gospel give us the same resources? Well, we will talk about it this Sunday. I hope to see you there!
I just got most of my garden planted on Monday. Addy was a lot of help. I bribed her into helping me pull up the winter garden of kale, spinach, greens and arugula by telling her she could drive the lawnmower and pull the wagon to deposit the refuse from the beds. Anyway, we toil in hope. Even hobbling around on a bad leg, I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving for the feel, smell, and gift of good dirt...and especially my small tomato plants.
I mention my garden because our text this week describes Jesus as the firstfruits of those who have died. It might seem a strange metaphor to us who live in the relative safety of suburbia and assume a food chain that is normative and stable. We don’t live in an agrarian culture so it hard to underscore the magnitude of what Paul is saying. In Israel, and most of the Roman culture, the firstfruits of your crop were something to be celebrated. Israel had a festival to celebrate it. All agrarian cultures did because all your money, all your hopes, your very life was plowed into the soil. If the harvest doesn’t come in, you were financially ruined or possibly even dead.
So, when the firstfruit was picked—the first grape or olive or wheat or, in my case, tomato—it was a time for rejoicing. It meant for them they would not starve, the harvest was coming; and, for me, it means bushels of tomatoes are coming! That first tomato of the season is for me an actual taste of the future as I anticipate the glory of endless tomato sandwiches slathered in mayo and home-cured bacon.
It is a great image, exciting actually, because it means with Jesus’ resurrection, God’s future has entered our present reality. Confused? Well, on Sunday, we will talk about it. We will also welcome new members, have a couple of baptisms, and celebrate our high school graduates, all sorts of “firstfruits” of our ministry at St. Patrick and the promise of a glorious future!
Owen Meany is a fictional character in John Irving’s novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany. If I could give you a one paragraph commentary on I Corinthians 15, it might be this. Here is what he says:
I find that Holy Week is draining; no matter how many times I have lived through his crucifixion, my anxiety about his resurrection is undiminished—I am terrified that, this year, it won’t happen; that, that year, it didn’t. Anyone can be sentimental about the Nativity; any fool can feel like a Christian at Christmas. But Easter is the main event; if you don’t believe in the resurrection, you’re not a believer. (John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany)
Paul would like that. In fact, Paul actually hints at that when he says that, by denying the resurrection, perhaps many had believed in vain. Resurrection is the gospel! In our text this week, Paul basically asks those who are doubting the bodily resurrection of Jesus to have the courage of their convictions, and then he outlines a bunch of things that are true if there is no resurrection of the dead. It is terrifying. Terrifying but essential.
This Sunday, we will talk about what life and reality look like if Jesus is not raised from the dead. We are so often tempted to think of Christianity only in terms of morality, as we often see parents who have long abandoned the church return, only so that their children can get a moral basis for life. Paul would basically tell you that is really a ridiculous proposition. How so? Join us Sunday and we will talk about it.
Like many Memphians this past week, I took a heliotropic pilgrimage to the booming metropolis of Jonesboro, Arkansas, in order to witness the rare occasion of TOTALITY. I like to put it in all caps to capture how apocalyptic it felt. It was a transcendent experience, and a communal one, too, to be with other folks who were well-versed in feasting on God's glory through creation.
One thought did occur to me after, though, as someone commented on the rarity of the eclipse, and then someone else pedantically commented on how the moon was literally always eclipsing the sun from the right vantage point. There's a metaphor there for Christ's appearances after his resurrection, which we'll be looking at this Sunday. We think it's a glimpse of a rare occasion when, in fact, it's a rarely available window into a constant glory. (I guess it's my turn to be pedantic.) The resurrected Jesus marks the coming "new normal" for humanity, and I yearn with you for the day when faith becomes sight. See you Sunday!
We are now in the season of Eastertide. It’s the season after the Resurrection and lasts until Pentecost so we have roughly seven Sundays. During Eastertide, we celebrate the Resurrection. This year we are really celebrating it as we will be talking about The Resurrection of the Dead for the next several weeks.
To do this, we are looking at the clearest teaching in the Bible on resurrection, I Corinthians 15. Why do we do this? Because what we believe about the resurrection of the dead affects how we live and view the world right now. N. T. Wright says that there are two questions that matter: “First, what is the ultimate Christian hope? Second, what hope is there for change, rescue, transformation, new possibilities with the world at present.” (N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope)
So join us Sunday as we look at why Paul says to “stand fast in the gospel” and basically, the gospel is resurrection! The implications are enormous, not only for eternity but for us right now. Hope to see you Sunday.
Remember, all Sunday school classes will meet at their normal time of 9:15am, and worship is at 10:30.
Easter Sunday! It is sort of like the Super Bowl of the people of God. It is the day we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. As C. S. Lewis points out, “To preach Christianity meant (to the Apostles) primarily to preach the Resurrection… The Resurrection is the central theme in every Christian sermon reported in the Acts. The Resurrection, and its consequences, were the ‘gospel’ or good news which the Christians brought.” (C. S. Lewis, Miracles) In other words, if there is no resurrection, Jesus is just another religious guru.
I use the word enchantment in the title of this week’s sermon because a lot of people are still trying to come to grips with something that is unique to our day, and even people who don’t believe are a little perturbed about it. If there is no God, then we live in a closed universe and nothing really means anything. In other words, if there is no God, the world has been dis-enchanted. We are truly alone, with no meaning or purpose other than what we can impose on the world.
There is much sadness about this because, if this is true, nature is not really saying anything to us. People are just other autonomous beings who might delight or infuriate us, but love is an artificial construct that we might give credence to but even that won’t last.
Then we come face to face with a startling claim that death is not the final answer. God actually entered the world and, when he was raised from the dead, promised that in his leaving we would actually have more of him in the gift of the Holy Spirit. There are profound implications for us as we walk among the ruins of our day. It is quite exciting, and we will talk about it Sunday.
Remember, for Easter we’ll have two worship services, beginning at 9:00 and 11:00, so there is no Sunday School. So beloved, let’s prepare our hearts to celebrate in worship together around Jesus’ table, and also as we throw feasts at our scattered tables afterwards and share the bounty with our family and friends.
Three words, that is all, but three words that mean everything. How we view the nature of Jesus' work on earth turns on our understanding of these three words. Things can get lost in translation here. For instance, it is finished, is either a cry of finality that either denotes utter futility or absolute victory.
When the Memphis Grizzlies entered this year there was high hopes of a deep run in the playoffs. Steven Adams would be back and Ja would be back after twenty-five games. Then the wheels started to fall off. Adams was announced lost for the season just before the first game and then Ja was lost for the season after playing only 9 games. When Ja was lost for the season there was a cry of finality and futility about this season, “we are finished.” In other words what started with promise and hope ended in a cry of finality—we are done! We can’t fix this.
On the other hand, we see a different use of this small phrase. The Kansas City Chiefs, trying to repeat as Super Bowl champs, wrestled through a frustrating season, only to rise to the occasion and in the final minute of the Super Bowl won. After the game there was a cry of relief and finality by the players and management. It is finished! We did it, we accomplished the task of winning back to back Super Bowls.
What does Jesus mean when he says, It is finished? He is hanging on the cross, abandoned by his friends, convicted by a kangaroo, beaten beyond recognition, helpless, crucified and about to die. Join us Sunday and we will talk about it.
The burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water;
in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down,
the grass shall become reeds and rushes…
For I will pour water on the thirsty land,
and streams on the dry ground;
I will pour my Spirit upon your offspring,
and my blessing on your descendants.
- Isaiah 35: 7; 44: 3
It seems impossible to engage the Scripture’s themes regarding thirst and legacy and not be reminded of Dune right now. If you aren’t familiar with the story, the royal Atreides family has left their moisture-soaked home world to govern a sandy wasteland, prized only for a scarce, precious natural resource. They intend to “harness the desert’s power” by learning from an indigenous people captive to prophecies about a future Edenic paradise. This vision has them willing to sacrifice every present comfort to the promise of giving their future generations a heritage of water. Eventually the young messianic Paul Atreides faces a hauntingly familiar crisis: will he exploit the sword of Empire in order to force his Kingdom to come upon these parched dunes as it is in the saturated heavens?
Paul’s burden is the similar to the one Frodo carries, almost certain to overtake him: “At their last halt he sank down and said: ‘I’m thirsty, Sam,’ and did not speak again. Sam gave him a mouthful of water; only one more mouthful remained. He went without himself; and now as once more the night of Mordor closed over them, through all his thoughts there came the memory of water; and every brook or stream or fount that he had ever seen, under green willow-shades or twinkling in the sun, danced and rippled for his torment behind the blindness of his eyes.” Frodo and Sam, being mere hobbits, are less tempted by power than would be the gallant Aragorn, future king of Gondor. This story’s messianic figure could be reasonably convinced of the worthiness of his cause and the nobility of his intentions such that even he may have succumbed to grasping, given enough pressure.
We modern folks, too, have a great deal of power at our fingertips and in our pockets. And we too live in a sort of wasteland. Who on earth could be strong enough to envision such a paradisal oasis in the midst of hell and yet resist the cool satisfaction of taking up the readiest means for making it so? Who for heaven’s sake would choose to endure the burning sand; the thirsty ground; a haunt of jackals – when hosts of angels, or elven magic, or legions of jihadists, stand at the ready to obey his every command? Whoever he is, he must be thirsting for something more.
We are looking at the words of Jesus from the cross. All short, all cries of a desperate dying man on a cross, and all expressing deep need. They are all uttered from a place of total helplessness; they are cries of anguish. But none so much as Jesus’ cry of being completely alone and forsaken.
I have experienced much emotional pain, and also physical pain, since the first of the year. First, I lost my father, the man to whom I owe so much, and then I had my knee replaced. A lot of pain and some times of deep loneliness. But one thing I didn’t experience in this extended season of Lent was the feeling of being abandoned and forsaken. No matter where I looked, there were people “with” me – sometimes physically and with hugs and concern, often with food and quick conversations, or some from notes and texts. The pain seems to be bearable; what would unhinge my sanity would be if I was totally alone, having no one with me in the midst of this ordeal.
If you want to know how bad sin is, just look at Jesus’ cries of abandonment on the cross. On the last day of Jesus’ life, he watched everyone he loved and poured his whole life into walk away. That in itself would be enough to unhinge his sanity. Yet nothing prepares us for this—Jesus is utterly forsaken by his own Father on the cross. I hope you will join us Sunday as we unpack this.
Also, let me remind you that if you have not filled out a pledge card, please take the time to do so. You can either mail them to the church or bring it with you Sunday and put it in the offering plate. To make it even simpler, we will have cards here in case you forget. The deadline for turning your pledge card in is March 17th. I am so excited to see how God will use Our Big Backyard to continue our vision of setting tables for the lonely!
I can’t wait to be with you Sunday. It seems like an eternity since I was here, but I am so thankful to be out and about again.
Blessings,
Jim
P.S. Also, don't forget to set your clocks forward a hour tonight for Daylight Savings Time!
French philosopher Voltaire (1694-1778) was famously opposed to the church and to much of Christian doctrine. If you want a fun time on Google, try looking up his last words. There are several accounts, many of them quite humorous. One of the more somber accounts says he cried out in desperation to his physician, "I am abandoned by God and man! I will give you half of what I am worth if you will give me six months’ life." The physician replied, "Sir, you cannot live six weeks." Voltaire concluded, "Then I shall go to hell, and you will go with me."
For the hopeless, Christ-less, deathbed Voltaire, his last words are sad and selfish. What a contrast to the crucified Messiah.
We've been exploring the seven final sayings of Christ this Lent. While his pain is evident, his words from the cross are far from sad and selfish. Instead of retreating into his small world of suffering, he turns his attention to the others around him, offering mercy to the soldiers, pardon for the thief, and compassion to his mother and friend.
It's this unbelievable compassion that we'll look at this Sunday. How can an innocent man undergoing brutal torture and crucifixion while bearing the sins of the world possibly look outside himself to feel the pain of others? Let us draw near to the heart of Christ in this passage and there find compassion for our own hurt and the strength to show that compassion to others.
"With Me in Paradise"
I rewatched the great animated movie Coco this past week. Studying Jesus’ Famous Last Words in Luke 23, I just couldn’t get the main song out of my head: “Remember Me.” In the film, that refrain is an expression of a major plot point: those who die can live on and revisit us as long as we are faithful to honor their memory. Metaphor becomes reality for a young man who accidentally reverses direction (guided by a certain “Dante”), visiting his great grandfather in the underworld instead. There, everyone is either enjoying the gifts that come with being remembered, or anxiously awaiting the second death that comes when the last candle held for them is extinguished. The theme seems a bit macabre for a family film, but they really manage to pull it off.
This idea that existence depends on the attention or memory of another mind was championed by the philosopher George Berkeley in the early 1700’s. He was an Irish Episcopal bishop, very concerned about the materialism arising within Enlightenment rationalism. Some called his idealism silliness because, for example, if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, it does, of course, still make a sound! Berkeley’s response was that the only reason there is so much stability in the world is because it is all held together – remembered – in the mind of God. Good comeback. I don’t know if that’s how it all works or not, but I do know that his theory complements the constant prayers in Scripture that God would remember us in death. “For in him we live and move and have our being.”
Let’s take this further. A couple of years ago, I read a novel called The Secret Life of Addie LaRue. A young French villager facing an unwanted arranged marriage strikes a Faustian bargain with one of “the gods who answer after dark.” Her request is simple: “I want more time to be young, and I want my life to be my own.” The request is granted, but the awful catch is that she will be henceforth unable to make any lasting impression on anyone she meets for the rest of her supernaturally long life. No matter how notable the exchange, people simply forget they ever encountered her. It’s a tragic but logical implication: because we deeply affect and influence one another’s lives, we belong to one another. Therefore, the only way to belong to one’s self alone is to be alone, and have no effect on anyone else. Which is basically to cease to exist.
Fortunately for us, and for that thief on the cross, the Heidelberg Catechism begins right where these philosophical ponderings and pleas for remembrance leave us:
Q: “What is your only comfort in life and death?”
A: “That I am not my own, but belong, with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ.”
- js
Jim is undergoing knee surgery today. I'm confident we will get the complete rundown and color commentary upon his return, and I’m looking forward to the high drama of it all! What you may not know is that Jim’s not the only one of our pastors who spent some quality time in the hospital this week. Our second-oldest ordained staffer also had quite an eventful time surrendering his aging body to medical professionals.
A kidney stone is rarely a life-threatening event. It’s relatively common, with 1 in 10 adults experiencing them. Yet, they say the discomfort is up there with gunshot wounds and labor pains. Listen, I would never suggest that I now know what giving birth feels like. That’s a ridiculous thing for a man to say, and I would never even mention the comparison. It might help instead to put this in strictly scientific terminology for you: it’s like a demon tunnelling through your innards.
It occurred to me at one point that I didn’t want my last words to be “We have to find the remote; I just can’t take this Puppy Bowl anymore.” That was right around the time I had turned completely inward and began to feel sorry for myself. Ever since Usher had started singing “Yeah,” I’d been thinking, “Oh no.” By the beginning of overtime, I was vomiting in the ER waiting room (pro tip: you get seen faster that way). Seven or so hours later, we were still struggling to manage the pain and they were talking about admitting me to the hospital.
Many of you know how fraught these moments are. You are hurting and utterly helpless. You aren’t thinking clearly, but you’re being asked to make some very expensive decisions. You’re often experiencing some sort of post-traumatic triggering. You’re worried about all the important things that are now completely out of your hands. Fortunately, I had been with my Community Group when it happened, and my family and friends are incredible. I was so well supported. But that didn’t keep me from being anxious. And pouty.
Paul calls our sufferings a kind of fellowship. Yet, when I look at the way Jesus suffered and the kinds of things he said in his hours of agony, I don’t feel like I have much overlap there at all. I had been reduced to the version of myself that can’t fake strength or nobility. I was breathing curses and looking for any way out. I doubt that when my actual time comes, I will be one to die with all the serene dignity of a Jedi.
But Jesus doesn’t look on the guys writhing next to him, nor the shocked onlookers, nor the mocking assailants, nor even me, with smug superiority in his perfect suffering. In his distress, Christ, too, is concentrated to the bare essentials of who and what he is: the God who loves and reaches toward us at our most pitiful. And I want to hang on every word that proceeds from that mouth.
So, I hope you can join us this weekend as we begin our Lenten series, Famous Last Words: The Sayings of Christ from the Cross.
Jayber Crow is a novel by Wendell Berry that I have been thinking about recently, as I ponder generosity and building a new addition which will include a playground, pavilion and kitchen at St. Patrick. It is a story of a boy orphaned at age 10. After his parents die, Jayber is sent to an orphanage. He grows up rootless and placeless. When he leaves to make his way in the world, he tries preaching but drops out of seminary because he doesn’t really believe all the religious nonsense they are teaching him. Thirteen years later, he winds up back to his hometown which, though he was born there, holds no memory to him.
By default, Jayber Crow becomes the town barber and part-time grave-digger for the town. He comes as a stranger but winds up finding himself, as he is generously taken into the community of Port Williams, a small rural town in Kentucky. In later years, he speaks of what that felt like: “There are moments when the heart is generous, and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together here, one with one another and with the place and all the living things.” (Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow)
That really is what generosity is all about—welcoming people into a space where we find belonging. As you will read in Strands tomorrow and in a brochure you’ll receive on Sunday, our dream is to build that space at St. Patrick, with a large beautiful pavilion for feasting, a landscaped playground for our children, and a fully functioning kitchen. A place where strangers find welcome, the least of these have a place to play, and hungry bodies are fed.
That is why we are talking about generosity. It will take an investment from all of us, so this week we are talking about the widow’s mite—it really is about the economics of generosity. I can’t wait to explore it with you this Sunday.
That we will be talking about generosity for the next three weeks after a couple of weeks of extreme neediness is not lost on me. As I have turned my attention to our subject, I feel like one who has been bathed and marinated in generosity. My family is blessed beyond measure, and our hearts are full of gratitude for the overwhelming outpouring of love during the time of my father’s convalescence and death. Cards, notes, texts, phone calls, food, flowers—so many people I have yet to thank keep popping into my head. Words are too cheap to express how thankful all of Daddy’s family are to the folk at St. Patrick for doing a lot of heavy lifting during this time and for giving us space to be present and remember. A priceless gift.
One of the marks of discipleship—that is, a disciple that loves God, loves people and loves life—is and must be a life of generosity. We exist in a playground of good things because at the center of the Holy Trinity is generosity—a God who lavishes his people with good things and then, when it was defiled and broken by sin, gave himself to save it. God is the most generous, and if there is one theme playing in the Bible from the first promise to Abraham, to the cross, and until Jesus comes back, it is this: the kingdom Jesus is building is founded on deep generosity.
Alas, we do not come out of the womb generous; rather, generosity is a work of God’s grace in our lives, as we live more and more into the reality of God’s grace to us. We are going to be talking about it for a few weeks because history suggests that this virtue is hard won and joy is on the other side of death. But we best get with it, and in our generosity bring the music and dance of another world into time and space. I want more of that!
A reminder, Sunday School starts back this week. There is something for everyone! Check the website for the different ways you can get your family involved.
I got back into my study this Wednesday, after being away with my family for over a week as my dad worsened in the hospital and we brought him home to die with his people. The worst storm in ages was playing havoc with the roads, and it was cold the day my father went to be with Jesus. The next day, my daughter was calling for sledding and snowball fights, as I worked through obituaries, funeral arrangements, and getting our house back to normal.
Josh met me at the church to catch up and asked if I needed him to preach. I told him how much I appreciated it, but I needed to be in my study with all the familiar tools of my trade around me. I figured it would be therapeutic; it ended up being even better than I thought, and it did clarify some things for me, in my own thinking and reflection. I can’t wait to share it with you.
Psalm 96 is all joy: it overflows with joy and brims with hope. It is eaten up with singing and praising, and the end of the Psalm pictures not the world as we know it, but a future glory—where God’s rule and reign are complete, heaven and earth are one, and all is as it should be. Kidner says it like this: “Where God rules (it implies), his humblest creatures can be themselves; where God is, there is singing. At the creation, ‘the morning stars sang together’; at his coming the earth will at last join in again; meanwhile the Psalter itself shows what effects his presence has on those who, even through a glass, darkly, already see his face.” (Derek Kidner, Psalms 73-150)
Notice he says that while we see through a glass darkly, we still see. And also note the effect of this future reality on us now! This week we will talk about it and see just how much better Jesus is.
Blessings,
Jim
When my kids learned the popular story behind “Ring around the Rosy,” they were mortified. According to some folklorists, it’s actually about the Plague! But, that’s just part of childhood: having your everyday life soundtracked with catchy songs about weighty things you don’t understand. If you grew up in church, some of them had titles like “Father Abraham,” and “Who Built the Ark?” These deceptively simple tunes have lain dormant in your subconscious for decades, until out of the blue one day some sick pastor writes an email mentioning them. Then you spend the rest of the day catching yourself compulsively humming the tune, desperately trying to replace it with something else, (anything else!).
One of those for me was “Deep and Wide.” To my knowledge it only has a single line: “Deep and wide, deep and wide, there’s a fountain flowing deep and wide.” The gimmick is that the tune repeats, faster and faster, as each word gets replaced with silly onomatopoetic sounds, until all the participants collapse giggling at the noisy nonsense of it all. It never once occurred to me that this was a song of profound theological significance. It just felt like play.
Yet, the Bible is a picture book, and with a special preference for children. One of its central pop-up images is a river that starts with a trickle on a mountain and flows down to drench the earth. The Spirit winds this image through Scripture as a way of saturating our imaginations with a core truth about how we’re made. There’s not a desire we’ve ever had that doesn’t find its refreshing satisfaction in the waters that come from that mountain. Those who drink from it will thirst no more. And perhaps the thing we need to remember most is, the river is deep before it’s wide.
I don’t know about you but I come through the holiday seasons a little spiritually dry. It seems to always happens. I have tried to change it but not been very successful. I suppose I get out of rhythm. It seems my spiritual life has diminished, my prayer life seems shorter, and I am restless. My physical appetites have been satiated but my soul is hungry for something.
C. S. Lewis explains why this is true of many of us:
Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists. A baby feels hunger: well, there is such a thing as food. A duckling wants to swim: well, there is such a thing as water. Men feel sexual desire: well, there is such a thing as sex. If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world. If none of my earthly pleasures satisfy it, that does not prove that the universe is a fraud. Probably earthly pleasures were never meant to satisfy it, but only to arouse it, to suggest the real thing.” (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity)
The Psalmist says it like this:
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
In an age where we can glut our senses and desires, the hallmark of our age is restlessness—never finding real deep satisfaction. This week we look at causes and cures of our malaise in Psalm 63. Please go read it before Sunday. It has been like medicine for my starving soul. I hope it will be for yours as well.
If internet origin stories are to be believed, the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song is not about an eccentric bird lover at all, but is a coded catechism in which each number corresponds to a foundational doctrine of the faith. It’s not a likely story, but it is still a really fun application for the song. In fact, I use it this way with my own family throughout the Christmastide season. We add a new verse each night as we talk about one Savior, two testaments, three virtues, four gospels, and the like.
The famous five gold rings are supposedly the Law of Moses, or Torah. You might sometimes hear the word “Pentateuch” used, which simply means “five books.” These five are the foundational stories of the Hebrew faith and the bedrock of all other Scripture. Just like the less obvious bird gifts, even the books that don’t seem to have anything to do with them are still just riffing on the books of Torah. Here we have the people, place, presence, and promises of God laid out, to which all the rest of Scripture responds.
The Psalms are no exception, referring unremittingly to the characters, themes, and motifs first established in Moses’ books. As we begin our new sermon series, Sanctuary: Psalms of the Soul Room, we are immediately flooded with the imagery of mountains, cities, rivers, and seas. These geographic features are imbued with spiritual significance from the first pages of the Torah, and the meaning of all subsequent prophecy, and especially the final Revelation, hinges on these connections. As it turns out, the five books are found more precious than gold as a key for unlocking the riches of Scripture.
Isn’t it beautiful how poetically our True Love sings to his Beloved?
Sunday is the fourth Sunday in Advent. As it is also Christmas Eve, we’ll have two services at St. Patrick to ponder the greatest mystery of all times—God taking flesh. Every year in our Advent preaching series, we seek to get at this mystery from different angles—this year we have been in Luke 1. While it is popular to skip right to mangers, stars, and wise men, there is enough wonder in the angelic announcements to an aged priest and a young girl to make your head spin.
This week we ponder with Zechariah his song of redemption known as “The Benedictus.” Here we see an elderly priest praising God for bringing to pass the promises of redemption, not just for Israel but for the whole world. For nine months, Zechariah has been mute, unable to speak, but his song of praise basically brings together all the Old Testament promises that are coming to pass in the births of a couple of infants. And while Zechariah is thankful for the coming of his son, it is not surprising that most of his praise is for the One who is coming to “forgive sins.”
As I mentioned, this Sunday we have two services of worship—our morning worship will be at the regular time, 10:30am. (Please note we will not have Sunday School this week.) Then, at 5:00pm we have our Christmas Eve Service where in music, song, Scripture, and prayer we walk with prophets of old to behold Him who created the world lying in a manger. If you can, please arrive early to our evening service, as it is usually packed.
Until then, may your preparations for the Feast of Christmas be marked with joy, generosity, and wonder.
One of our staff members is the foster mother of a preternaturally perfect baby boy. As an occasional attendee of our staff meetings, this young fella contributes to the overall productivity by boosting morale to historic levels. His big smiles and gentle cooing create an atmosphere of joy that’s just impossible to measure. Even his rare moments of pouting motivate us to work harder for our little mascot. A ministry resident commented this week that he’s not being paid near what he’s worth, and that is most certainly true.
I recently heard someone describe how having a baby around amplifies everything. On a quality-of-life scale from one to ten, it’s like levels 2-9 have simply been removed. The fader on extreme feeling is turned up all the way to a Dickensian “best of times; worst of times.” We haven’t had a baby in the house for some time now, but that resonates with my memory of the thing. There’s a texture of unbreakable joy that lies underneath these extremes and wraps the whole thing up in swaddling clothes of wonder and beauty.
This Sunday, the third in Advent, has for about a thousand years been referred to as “Gaudete,” or Rejoicing Sunday. It represents a break in the penitent nature of the season, where the nearness of fulfillment is brought to the middle of the waiting. It’s fitting, then, that we take a look at the passage in which the unborn infant John leaps with joy in Elizabeth’s womb at his first encounter with Jesus, only days newly arrived in his own mother’s body; still close to 40 weeks from his birth. It’s a perfect Advent text, just brimming with the already-but-not-yet nature of the Kingdom. Shot through it all is a sense that whatever is happening, however complicated and burdensome, this is nothing short of blessing.
- js
Years ago, Teri and I did an internship in Yazoo City. We were almost through with seminary and just had our first child. I was 22 hours short of graduating from seminary and was deciding if I would take all the classes in one semester or stretch it out over two. But we were broke, Teri wasn’t going back to work, and everything we had was old and worn out. Many of you have been in a similar situation of wrestling money, an expanding family, and school so you can relate to our predicament.
And then God showed up! I got a chance to do an internship in Yahoo City, Mississippi, a place I wanted to be. So we moved, put off school for a year, and got settled into raising a family and starting a life of ministry. We immediately loved Delta life, except for one thing—we were not prepared for the smell. Mississippi Chemical Company was located just outside of town and a smell hung over the town like a fog, sort of like living downwind from a paper mill. Anyway, we commented how we could never get used to it. But the body is amazing, and eventually our senses just sort of filtered it out so that we didn’t even notice it anymore. After a while, we would actually be shocked when people would visit and ask, “What is that stench?”
The magnitude of the Incarnation is like that, as well. We are so familiar with the birth narratives—those of us who grew up with this—that, as time goes by, we just don’t see it with the kind of awe and wonder we once did. So my prayer this Advent, as well as all Advents, is that we will see the magnitude of what God was doing 2000 years ago as if it were the first time. I mean, God showing up as an infant? A virgin having a child? Angels singing from on high? If we can’t be struck by awe at this, what will move us?
Join us Sunday as we ponder the Annunciation, the time when God essentially tells a baby (young woman) she will be having a baby, but not just any baby…
Advent! The world literally means, coming. That is, the coming of God into the world. This Sunday marks the beginning of our celebration of Advent at St. Patrick; and, especially if you are new, I can’t wait for you to journey with us the next four weeks leading up to Christmas. It is a time of obvious joy and celebration. I mean, if you can’t celebrate the coming of God in our flesh, what can you celebrate? But it is also a time of reflection and examination because we ponder the second coming of Jesus as well.
When I was growing up, we took a more subdued view of this month-long enactment of God’s coming, at least at church! We celebrated Christmas with relish in our home, but at church the festivity was limited to a few Christmas carols, a sermon on the Incarnation, and a little decoration. Our reasoning was, we should celebrate the coming of Jesus all the time, and too much falderal and excess would be a distraction. One day of hoopla was enough.
The only problem with that is our imaginations will not allow us to minimize the magnitude of the sublime, or memorialize the most memorable moments of our lives. For instance, birth, death and marriage are all rather mundane events if looked at from the fact that all of us were born, all of us will die, and most of us will get married. And yet, try as we might, we can’t brush over a birthday without cakes, silly hats, treasure hunts, and gathering all our friends and relatives around. For weddings, we spend lavish amounts of money, prepare an extravagant feast, and make it a huge celebration. Funerals are the same, except in a more somber remembrance. We don’t quietly bury the dead. We have to gather together publicly, dress in drab clothing, weep together, and hallow the passing with a meal.
Why? It is because of our nature. We are not saying our little child is special only on this one day of the year, heaven forbid. But we tend to forget, as we chase multiple children around in the endless cycle of feeding, clothing, and cleaning up after them. So we set aside times of ceremony to sort of remind ourselves of what is true all the time.
So when it comes to celebrating the Incarnation of Jesus, a fact that is just as true in June as it is in December, why all this fuss? Why all this festooning of the church, this gilding the lily with trees, candles, wreaths, and garland? Is this mere play-acting? No, and here is the reason. I will let Tom Howard explain it: The answer is to be found in the profoundest mysteries of our humanness. Of course the Lord is here. Of course one needs to keep moment-by-moment account of one’s heart, so to speak. But as we have seen in the case of birth, marriage, and death, somehow ceremonializing what is true does have the effect of assisting us. We are not seraphim, who, we are told, can gaze unblinkingly at reality all the time. We have to come at it by fits and starts. To enact something by an act of will does turn out to have its effect in our hearts. If the principle were false, then the early Christians would have been mistaken to have gathered on Sundays to mark the Resurrection. Somehow the weekly ceremony brought home to them what they believed hourly and daily. (Tom Howard, Evangelical is not Enough)
During this time of remembrance at St. Patrick, our liturgy is different and our messages sound the note of what happened over two thousand years ago that—in the fullness of time—Jesus came. We are pondering this from the first chapter of Luke’s gospel, and this week we look at the least preached text of all the birth narratives of Jesus. It is about the time an ordinary parish priest went to the temple and got the surprise of his life! With no expectation of children, he was told by an angel not just that he was having a child. No, he got the pregnancy news, the gender reveal, the naming, the upbringing, and career of this child—all in one throw.
I can’t wait to begin this journey with you again. This never gets old! If it has for you, join us and we will help you brush off the Scrooge-ness and enjoy the feast!
As I write this, I am thinking about Thanksgiving. I’m trying to send in blogs, sermons, slides, so I can get on to preparing for the Thanksgiving Feast tomorrow. I must say, I have the elven magic on me earlier this year than normal. Addy and I broke our family’s standing tradition of putting our tree up after Thanksgiving and put it up two weeks ago while Teri was out visiting her mother. Space matters, so it feels like we have a jump on Christmas this year. As I was thinking about this, it hit me—the only reason we can be really thankful at Thanksgiving is because of Advent, so I have justified my actions.
Anyway, we start out looking at Luke’s narrative this week and will continue this through Advent. We will be looking at just the first seven verses, but it occurred to me that what is found here could be the true story of the whole Bible. There is a lot here…Apologetics, I mean Luke spends four verses grounding the story he is telling in space, time, and history, and taken from people he could “fact check” with. He then opens up the story of the human condition and shows us the limits of human ability, even when we have the correct forms in place. Finally, we see the God who works in the places that feel like death, so that we will know, it is all grace.
I prayed this week that our Thanksgiving Feast would tell a better story, a gospel story, and I am praying that for all of us this season. What a time to celebrate Jesus! I hope to see you Sunday!
One more thing, remember we don’t have Sunday school this Sunday. It will resume the following week on December 3.
Blessings,
Jim
We’re wrapping up a whole semester of sermons haunted by the prophecy of Habakkuk. His potent and provocative image of a world “filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord” has influenced our own vision statement: “Saturating our neighborhoods with feasting families who tell a better story by setting tables of God’s grace for the lonely.”
So, as our energy turns toward family holidays over the next several weeks, I think it would be helpful for us to consider just what exactly elevates a shared meal to the status of a feast. There are three main features that overlap to form a feast – focuses that make sure our holidays are holydays:
Love – Genuine affection for and self-denying service of both family and guests.
Luxury – Gratuitous sensual provision, far beyond what is necessary for survival.
Liturgy – Grateful acknowledgement of God’s glorious story in every event and detail.
All three of these features are needed for a Biblical feast, and to neglect one or two is to miss out on the formative practice altogether. We may be more naturally bent toward one or two of these, but it takes all three to keep the feast. When we neglect an aspect, we end up with some of the malforming traditions that we see Jesus rebuke in the gospel of Luke:
Asceticism - Liturgy and love without luxury means we’ve not tasted and seen (Luke 7:34)
Epicureans - Luxury and love without liturgy means we’re sensuous idolaters (Luke 12:19)
Pharisees - Luxury and liturgy without love means we have nothing (Luke 15:2)
Only by remembering the cross, that is, by reflecting and acting on the sacrificial nature of each of these elements, can we be drawn into the center; lifted up to the mountain of the Lord.
Let me assure you, this is not an optional add-on for seasons of plenty. You’ll need this.
The urgency really hit home for me last week as I retreated with some close pastor friends. Our time culminated in a unique culinary experience that I can only describe as sublime. We got to stand with the chef and even participate in his priestly work, and then he actually sat down to enjoy his phenomenal, savory craftsmanship with us.
Several in our party knew that his family had been grieving a terrible tragedy, but that night he shared the horrific extent of the injustice. We found ourselves in a strange place, eating a phenomenal meal while bawling our eyes out. The lines between conversation and prayer wavered continuously. Toward the end of the night, he said, “This is why I cook. I’m wagering my life on the belief that what happens at the table is truer than the darkness outside.”
We all knew that meal was a holy moment. If any part of it had been lacking – the genuine love we have for one another, the gratuitousness of food and drink, or the grateful acknowledgment of God’s sovereignty in it all – it simply could not have been the gift that it was. He had been in a wilderness, and moments like this were the means of grace he (and we) desperately needed to make it through. To rejoice.
This Sunday, we’ll wrap up our study in Habakkuk with a similar sentiment. The prophet, with full knowledge of Israel’s impending judgment at the hands of savage idolaters, doubles down on the joy of the Lord. I know of no more formative practice for shaping our hearts for that kind of joy than to keep the feast. So, I hope you can find ways in the weeks to come, whether modest or epic, to invest in just a bit more liturgy, love, and luxury for your tables.
Most of my aquatic experience with boats has been with the motorized variety, but not all... I have known the thrill of taking a skirted kayak down river rapids in North Carolina, or the more mundane pleasure of working a canoe down a stream in Arkansas or Tennessee. While in Mississippi, my experience on the water was fishing farm ponds, using a single paddle to move the boat along. Only a few times have I been in an actual row boat, the kind that has two oars that fit in oarlocks (which are a kind of holder that attaches to the gunwale of a boat and acts as a fulcrum for rowing).
This work with oars to propel a boat to a destination is different than what you do in a kayak or canoe or paddling a boat. In this position, you actually face the opposite way from where you are trying to head the boat. You are actually looking backwards to go forward.
This is actually a good picture of the vision we see in Habakkuk. When faith ebbs, hope is almost extinguished, and the heart is broken, God gives Habakkuk a transforming vision. It is a look back at the gospel event of the Old Testament and a remembrance of what God did for Israel when he took them from slavery to a land of their own. They didn’t get where they are by their own cunning or power, or because they were good or more noble. Out of sheer grace, God came down. And it is not the first time God came down, which we will talk about Sunday as we take a look at the transforming vision the prophet sees.
I hope to see you Sunday! Remember, we’ll be hosting a Newcomers Feast this week, so if you are new to St. Patrick, we invite you and your family to stay for lunch. We would love to feast with you and hear your story.
We have just come through Halloween. It is a festive time to be really present in your neighborhood and have some fun while getting your steps in, as you follow wild, costumed children trick-or-treating down the middle of the street. Vats of chili are cooked, hot dogs are roasted, and themed cocktails with outlandish names are served. The reason we do this is somehow lost on us or has been forgotten. In the original sense, Halloween was done to mock evil. Yes, that is right—the way Satan is defeated is through laughter and joy.
This week we see something similar in Habakkuk. Without giving too much away, the vision God gives Habakkuk is not only that the just will live by faith alone—sort of socially grinding out a righteousness—no, this week we see the rest of the story. The bulk of the vision is a series of taunts or mockery of evil. Five taunts are leveled at Babylon. It is like God is making fun of Babylon and showing God’s people that, as they live by faith in the midst of a reign of terror, they are not to forget laughter because they can see the rest of the story.
Sound weird? Join me Sunday as we unfold this strange passage and then land where the chapter ends—in silence and awe before the glory of a God so vast that he will defeat all the evil in the world, and all will be laughter and joy. Joy is always the final word in the Bible.
Sometimes you have serendipitous moments in life. We have all had them, usually not big things, like I had this week. I have been fighting armadillo in my yard. Armadillos are right up there with moles as prey that will destroy your flowers, grass, and beds. Not to mention they carry leprosy. Teri is threatening to not plant flowers anymore unless I get rid of them. I have eradicated them in the past when we had an influx of these scaled menaces, but this time I had not been successful. Until the other night.
Piper is our dog. She is a therapy dog, bought for that purpose, and she is amazing. However, little did I know there was more to her than meets the eye. We were about to get ready for bed when Piper goes to the bay window in the kitchen and starts trying to tear the window out. I put on a head lamp, opened the garage door, and there it was, rooting up my Zoysia. With little trouble, I eradicate the problem.
I was rejoicing over Piper pointing this out and let her in the backyard as a reward. I went by the door a few minutes later, and she is going nuts in the yard. Suspecting she was on to something, I got my headlamp and armadillo eradication equipment and headed out. All I could see as my head lamp zeroed in on the noise was Piper running back and forth and green eyes flashing, obviously cornered in the yard. Teri somehow called Piper off and in less than fifteen minutes—problem solved. The serendipitous moment was realizing that, while I thought I got a therapy dog, I got much more—an Armadillo dog. It is the first one I have ever heard of—quite glorious!
I had another one on Thursday when I realized the text for this Sunday, which happens to be Reformation Sunday in the Protestant tradition: “The just shall live by faith”. The phrase that set not only Martin Luther but the whole world on fire in the 16th Century is by God’s providence (and I suspect Josh’s machinations) our text on a day we celebrate our gospel inheritance!
Hope to see you Sunday as we continue to ponder the mystery of faith in the book of Habakkuk.
One of the things that keeps coming up among those who have left the faith (or are deconstructing their faith) is that when they brought their doubts about Christianity or matters of faith to their parents, youth leaders, or church leaders, they were told, “We don’t ask those questions here.” Or, "Just accept it on faith.” As if doubt were the cardinal sin or, if you are a believer trusting in Jesus, doubt is not part of a life of faith.
Habakkuk would beg to differ. Habakkuk prayed to God for revival at the beginning of the book and God said, I am bringing judgement. We don’t know how long Habakkuk sat in that grim truth before he makes his second complaint to heaven, but when he does, we see faith on fire with all the dynamics of a living person interacting with a God he knows intimately. We see the whole world of a living faith navigating a fallen world, where the unimaginable happens, and it doesn’t resolve into a nice neat box with a ribbon on it.
This Sunday we will talk about faith and how it is rooted in reason, how it doubts, and then waits. Part of knowing how to give a reason for the hope that is within us is knowing the context in which we live. Our current thinking in the larger culture pits faith against reason—as if faith were believing in fairy tales, whereas real-thinking people use reason. This week we will deal with hard questions about living in a real and fallen world. I hope you will join us!
I was between meetings in East Memphis last week and thought I would camp out at a coffee shop where one of our residents works part time. Walking in, I ran into a young man I’ve had a few spiritual conversations with but hadn’t seen in a couple of years. He asked what I was preaching on next and when I told him Hebrews 10, his eyes lit up. He quoted the entire passage from memory and said, “But what does it mean!?”
Whenever we start talking about how “the righteous shall live by faith,” the conversation inevitably turns to questions of eternal security and the assurance of salvation. How can I know I’m saved? What happens to people who seemed to believe and now have walked away, or “deconstructed,” or apostatized? As Greg mentioned last week, we’re doing an excursus from our current series (taking the scenic route, maybe), to see how the New Testament authors use the key phrase from our Habakkuk series. Now we’ve come to Hebrews 10, which seems to work against a reformed understanding of the perseverance of the saints!
I say it seems to, because things are not often as they seem. This brilliant young man had grown up in the church with a Bible scholar for a father, but he couldn’t square his doctrinal tradition with his own experiences of brokenness. That is, he couldn’t until he began to see the passage in light of the Better Story, which I’m looking forward to sharing with you in Word and Sacrament this week.
- js
Let's take a bit of an excursion together! Or more specifically, an excursus.
An excursus is a moment where an author moves away from the main topic to take a journey somewhere else that might fill in the main topic with more information and meaning. This is something you find in Moby Dick as Melville devotes entire chapters to ropes and cetology. Or more recently, you can find it in Star Wars with excurses (Solo, Rogue One, etc) giving meaning and depth to the main Skywalker Saga.
We've been in the book of Habakkuk for the last three weeks, looking at Habakkuk's burden and the first complaint/response cycle. Before we get into the more well-known second complaint/response cycle with its famous phrase, “the righteous shall live by his faith,” we'll take a two-week excursus to the New Testament to see the ultimate fulfillment of this prophecy. I believe it will provide clearer telos, meaning, and application to the phrase before we encounter it in Habakkuk.
This phrase is picked up in Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews and became the rallying cry of the Reformation: sola fide! We are justified by faith alone. But how much faith? What quality of faith? What kind of faith? This can actually be a scary thought for me when my faith seems to waver. Does my righteousness before God also waver? Come find rest in the Gospel of God's good promises and in His faithfulness in Christ for us as we join in worship together this Sunday.
God’s people have always lived and been forced to reckon with the mystery of the way God works. I keep thinking I will get to the end of it and figure out what God is up too. But alas, even at my age I sometimes feel like Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation, when his cousin Eddie shows up and asks, “You surprised to see us, Clark?” And Clark replies, “Oh, Eddie, if I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet I wouldn’t be more surprised than I am now.”
The book of Habakkuk forces us to ponder the mystery of God’s ways. Our problem is, we think we have a right to know how our lives, or the world, ought to go. We live limited by time and geography, in a spot the size of a pin head, in the world. We also have devices that keep up in real time to all the human atrocities in the world, and yet we have no agency to do anything about them. We’re left to wonder, “How can this be?” And yet, God sees the whole story from beginning to end, and he can see and orchestrate his grand plan to glorify himself by using even the wickedness of men to praise him and further his kingdom. And, like Habakkuk, all we can do is lament.
Join us Sunday, as look at how God answers Habakkuk’s lament. It is not what you think—it is both comforting and confounding, a place where we find ourselves often. Hope to see you here!
We are not people who can endure silence very long. Trained by iPhones and text messaging, when we hit send, we expect to have a reply immediately. The expected time for response to a message is very short and, if we don’t hear back from one of our loved ones, it is not long before we panic. What if something happened? They must have had a wreck? Maybe they are ignoring me? In our instant message world, we meet silence with panic.
Now historically, this was not true. Before cell phones, people didn’t assume the worse if they didn’t hear back from you immediately. Silence from a communication sent usually took a lot longer before panic set in. When Teri and I were dating long distance, over forty years ago, silence before a letter or a phone call communication was measured in days. Now, if I text her a question and she doesn’t answer in a few hours, panic sets in.
But what if heaven is silent? What if we pray and pray and we hear no word of comfort or assurance, and the overwhelming evidence around us is that God is absent or just ignoring us? What do we do then? We have a case study this week from a prophet who ministered in a time where God was answering all his prayers and spiritual reform was everywhere… and then crickets! Long he prayed, and silence. What is interesting is how he prayed. We have all been there. As long as we live in a broken world, this will be the world we inhabit; so how do we pray when it seems like God is absent or silent?
I can’t wait to talk about it on Sunday. I hope to see you there as we continue in the book of Habakkuk. Also remember, as our crowds have grown larger, please park on the east side of the parking lot to leave room for our guests. If you have small children or have mobility issues, however, feel free to park closer!
This week our staff spent time at Mallard’s Croft in Byhalia, living into the vision of St. Patrick and dreaming of what’s next. We stayed in the 100-year-old manor house, laughing, praying, cooking, pondering, and feasting together. This retreat is a tradition we started several years ago as a way of celebrating the past year and strategically looking ahead at how to best accomplish our goals. It can be easy for anyone to forget how rare and special their situation is, so these opportunities to stop and savor together are a precious remembering that leads to greater unity and hunger for more and better. I have to say, we are having a blast saturating our neighborhoods with feasting families who tell a better story by setting tables of God’s grace for the lonely.
In light of both the previous and coming sermon series, we began our time together considering the first verse of Habakkuk. No one knows much about Habakkuk the prophet outside of the “oracle” he saw. Sounds a bit like science fiction, right? Actually, “oracle” is a weird translation: “burden” is how King James puts it, and that’s closer to how the word was used. Habakkuk was deeply concerned about the lack of justice he saw and even more upset by the means God was using to bring it about. And he was letting the Lord hear about it!
I think we all know what it’s like to carry a burden. Rarely do we have the option to lay it down, and the weight of it begins to shape the way we see the whole world. Moses was burdened when he saw the Hebrews enslaved to the point that it completely defined the rest of his life. The plight of the poor in India pressed down upon Mother Teresa till she had to leave Albania forever and live among them instead. Habakkuk brought his own burden, the one he shared with and for the people of Israel, to the Lord in prayer. In fact, it was only in laying it before the Almighty God that Habakkuk found the strength to carry his burden at all.
So, I hope we’ll see you this weekend, and if you don’t mind, please consider parking on the far east side of the lot this weekend so we can intentionally leave spots for those seeking a seat at the table!
- js
For the past five weeks, we have been looking at words that float around our community—words like “saturate,” “feasting families,” and “telling a better story.” Words matter. They not only articulate realities, but they shape reality. From the day we are born, we are awash in a sea of words that inform us and form us. I have always watched in wonder as my seven children learned to speak with words and am still amazed as Addison tries on new words to express not only her wonder at reality, but also her displeasure.
Any community that exists—large or small, institution or family, team or club—develops a vocabulary that is unique to them and which expresses the things it values the most. If you are a stranger walking into a new gathering of friends, you quickly realize that they have a unique way of expressing both delight and displeasure—sayings, quotes, nicknames and common stories that have shaped the group. This is true of believing communities, as well—because we share not only the common vocabulary of “the great story of redemption,” but also because of our particular context and what we believe our usefulness in the world will look like.
This Sunday we are going to take the words we have talked about over the past month and put together what is called a Vision Statement—that is, what we aspire to be, what the shape of our ministry will be as we make disciples who love God, love people and love life. If you are really curious to what it is, check the website—it will be posted Sunday morning!
Also, this Sunday kicks off our regular rhythms of Fall ministry. Important stuff that helps us make more and better disciples. Check it out:
Adults
St. Patrick 101: This is our Inquirer’s Class. If you are curious about our vision and values, what we believe and why we do what we do, please join us. The first four weeks are essential if you are thinking about joining the church, then the class will continue the rest of the semester and talk about habits of grace.
Genesis: This is an adult class that will dig into the first eleven chapters of the book of Genesis. Foundational stuff, first principles that form the whole story of God.
Financial Peace: If you are interested in how to better steward your money, I urge you to attend. I recently found an old ledger that has our monthly budget—every dime we spent going back to 1990 (I switched to Excel in 2012). It was a testimony to people who urged me years ago to think deeply about how to steward my resources.
Children and youth
There are age-appropriate classes for all our ‘be-gats.” Be sure to check in younger children at the desk in the children’s wing. Youth, you know where to go.
I hope to see you Sunday, and I hope you are as jazzed about the coming days as I am. They say September is the new January, so now is a good time to plug in!
Blessings,
Jim
Eugene Peterson called stories “acts of verbal hospitality.” He was rightly suggesting that when we use narrative to illustrate a concept, we're allowing people to walk around a bit inside our ideas, to inhabit and feel what we're saying instead of merely thinking about it. The words become flesh, and dwell among us. Sure, I could write you an essay about how incarceration forces you to find ways to thrive in a small space, or I could hand you Amor Towles’ modern classic, A Gentleman in Moscow. I think I know what the best bet is for encouraging empathy.
The stories told in most families are a kind of propaganda,” claims Dan Allender. Whether consciously curated or not, our community’s treasury of stories codifies the culture. That’s good if the culture is healthy, and it's bad if it’s not. By picking and choosing what tales are repeated, embellished and celebrated, we reinforce the values and self-image we hold precious. So, too, when we allow other events and eras to remain hidden and forgotten, they become a sort of forbidden book of dark magic, better left alone. Still very powerful.
This Sunday we’re going to press pause on discussing the key concepts we’ve presented over the past month and accept an invitation to sit and savor them a bit. You’ll hear four stories that have been living in my imagination under the banner of each of our church’s core values: grace is everything, feasting is kingdom work, community is family, and heaven is local. I hope they serve as a welcome mat to your soul!
Loneliness is not just an American problem, but also a global issue. Recent studies suggest that 40% of the world’s population feel lonely. The situation in Britain was such that Prime Minister Theresa May in 2018 appointed a Ministry of Loneliness. In our own context in America, Surgeon General Vivek Murthy published an advisory identifying loneliness as a new public health epidemic: “Our epidemic of loneliness and isolation has been an underappreciated public health crisis that has harmed individual and societal health.”
Yea, loneliness will kill you. The body does keep score and, because we are made in God’s image, it means that being alone is not the way we are supposed to live. So odious to God is this idea of being alone that even in the perfect world, before sin enters, God utters the first (and I say it reverently) “not good” about his creation—and it is against aloneness. As if to highlight the idea that to be human is to be in relationship with others, where we know and are known. It is a powerful picture of who God is and what he designed us to be, is it not?
Yet, here we find ourselves in a land of plenty, where people have never felt more alone. This Sunday we will talk about how the gospel can make us signposts in a strange land. How grace makes room and gathers the lonely into a circle of love. Perhaps our mission is not so much to go out but to but to invite in….
Hope to see you Sunday. Remember, we wrap up our training classes during the Sunday School hour and then have the glorious opportunity to linger together as a family in the presence of God. I can’t wait.
One of the things I know for certain is that we are more shaped by stories than anything else. I grew up in a home that was Christian, with deep roots in the stoical South. My early communities were more stoical than Christian but I saw and heard much the same thing. They were about Jesus and hard work, in that order. The men around me emphasized working hard and playing hurt. If hurt, we didn’t cry but “rubbed dirt on it” and “plowed to the end of the row.” We thought pleasure was suspicious and we were more virtuous when we were suffering. That shaped my early life more than anything I ever got from school or a textbook.
Along the way, when I really got to know the Author of the story personally and realized that he really liked me (even when I was not so good), it was like breathing rarified air. When a community of people took me by the hand and said, "Look! Taste and see, the glory of God is playing all around you!”, it felt like I was getting closer to the great Story we read about in the Bible.
I say all this to say, how do we tell a better story than the cultural narrative that plays in the background constantly in suburbia? This Sunday we will talk about it because it is true that the way we told the story in my early years growing up, and even in my early ministry, is totally different than the way we tell it now. Back then, we just took people to revival meetings and let a guest preacher tell the story. Or we studied apologetics and learned how to share your faith by asking two questions. But how do you tell the story of redemption when people don’t share a belief in sin, morality or God. Such is the place we find ourselves. The way forward is to look back! I can’t wait to talk about it Sunday.
Don’t forget, there are training classes happening during the Sunday School hour. We are getting ready to launch and preparing our leaders to set tables of grace. If you are serving in any capacity, there is a session for you. Also, we will ordain and install Ruling Elders this Sunday! Hope to see you there.
As I write this at 11:40 am, my attention is being hijacked by hunger. The discomfort and distraction in my tummy shouting: “you cannot ignore me.” I don’t even have a plan for lunch right now, but I know I’m craving hot wings again, and I won’t be sitting here for much longer. Like all other pains, hunger is designed to move living things to action.
When a human senses any kind of pain, he or she has a few choices. We can anesthetize – pop a pill and move on with our day. The problem with this approach is that pain doesn’t exist for itself, but points to a need that must be addressed. So, the gift of anesthetics can often become the equivalent of unplugging a fire alarm and expecting the smoke to clear.
Another approach is to acclimate to the pain. This tactic sees pain as an unavoidable thing that must be adopted into our normal experience until we develop a tolerance for it. The problem here is the same: merely another way of ignoring reality. Imagine convincing yourself that the fire alarm is just the catchy beat to this hazy nightclub vibe we’ve got going on in here. The roof is on fire!
Finally, we can choose to attend to the source of the pain. Now, even here we’ve only branched into a new set of options. It is possible to attend to the source of the alarm poorly. We can end up pouring water on a grease fire. And, too often, our pain points to a problem we are powerless to address. This is another kind of hunger pain, signaling a deeper kind of need.
True hunger is a pain we don’t have too much experience with. For us it’s less of an alarm and more of a notification on our phone. A gentle nudge on the off chance that we lost track of our regularly scheduled mealtimes. We remain so thoroughly fed for so much of our lives, we don’t often think about hunger as the kind of thing that requires a thoughtful response. Why am I hungry? What am I hungry for? Is my craving healthy? Is this constantly recurring signal designed to point me to a deeper spiritual hunger? Who has time to philosophize about the most practical thing on earth?
Scripture tells us about ourselves: God created man hungry and gave Himself for our food. When we forget or ignore that hunger, or fill it with anything but Him, we die. This is why we make such a big deal about feasting families at St. Patrick. We want to form you to love God, love people, and love life! So, join us this weekend as we receive Christ together in Word, sacrament, and prayer, and wonder at the abundance of the table He has laid out for His children.
Well, it is August. I don’t like August. In my opinion, it is up there with May on the list of worst months of the year. It is all transition—going from the more laid back, catch your breath, travel, long dinners late into the night lifestyle… to getting children ready for school and dealing with the expense, meetings, and preparation necessary to get back in more predictable rhythms and structure. Here at St. Patrick, we are also gearing up. My calendar is so jammed, I mistakenly thought I was out of town for the Burger Bash (which I missed last year because I was on Sabbatical). I only realized it when I scheduled Teri’s birthday dinner for this Sunday and got a text from my daughter Bethan, asking me if I was skipping it! So, realizing I was not out of town after all, I quickly met with my group and started conditioning my Blackstone for some delicious Smash Burgers.
As we transition, we begin a new sermon series this Sunday called Saturate. During August, we will be preaching on various aspects of our vision for St. Patrick. Then, the week after Labor Day, we will unveil a new vision statement we have carefully crafted and vetted with staff, elders and key leaders. There is nothing really new here, just a guiding statement to steer us into the future.
This week we will talk about how God intends to spread his glory over the whole earth as the water covers the sea. That is how the prophet Habakkuk describes God’s intent. So, I look forward to discussing how we participate in this grand story and adventure of redemption we have been caught up in. I hope to see you Sunday, both at worship and at Burger Bash! Also, be sure to check your calendars, as various trainings for the Fall start this Sunday during the Sunday School hour and continue weekly throughout August.
Over and over in the Bible, the idea of a great banquet or feast is used as a metaphor of the blessing, joy, and abundance of salvation. However, as we close out Proverbs, there are two feasts set before us—a feast of wisdom and a feast of folly. Both the architecture and ethos of the feasts almost immerse us in the taste, texture, and outcome of the tables we inhabit.
Solomon ends his primer on wisdom with an either/or proposition: two ways, two feasts, two outcomes. It is interesting that the invitation to both is the same to the simple and unlearned. This should not surprise us—we all start out as fools and are placed in the drama of life either by the wisdom or the foolishness of others. We are needy creatures, and everyone is inviting us to a way of life that offers satisfaction. But, as Solomon points out, the paths part; and we are asked to look beyond the surface of things into the deeper meaning of reality and what it means to be human.
Join us Sunday as we wrap up, The Book of Suburbs, and seek to subvert fast food values for a feast of good things!
The church culture I grew up in was of the more legalistic branch. It is not that I am ungrateful —because of that experience, there has never been a day I didn’t know the gospel. However, it had its own set of proverbs and wisdom which could be summed up like this, “We don’t drink and we don’t chew and we don’t go with girls that do.” That is representative of how we tried to defeat sin in our lives. What we did was locate evil in a thing and abstain from it. We had long lists of them. As if lists and legalism can curb desire. The logic was simple—abused things like dancing, drinking, sex, money, and certain types of dress were put on a list of things that were sinful. You can see, we had no ascetic, no view of beauty or pleasure. Heck, if it was pleasurable, it must be sinful! But that was our view of holiness.
Money was on the list. If you had too much, it must be ill-gotten gain. Which brings us to our subject matter for this Sunday—wealth and all things related to wealth. There are about 150 proverbs on money in book of Proverbs. About half the time money is spoken of in the negative, which means, the other half it is spoken of as a good thing. Money in the book of Proverbs is nuanced, and thus the need for wisdom. But yes, money in the book of Proverbs is called a blessing. In fact, when wisdom is personified in chapter 8 and is speaking of her blessings, wealth is one of them. However, money is also spoken of often as a bane, filled with temptations and the ability to blind you to larger issues in life, a corrupting influence that can ruin your life. There are reasons that money is singled out as fraught with pitfalls.
So how do we live in this tension? How do we give thanks for wealth and yet not worship wealth? Good question, and one we will seek to answer this Sunday. I hope to see you there.
As I approach my fortieth birthday at the end of this summer, I’m haunted by Moses’ observation in Psalm 90, that a man is lucky to live to eighty. In the best scenario, that calculus puts me at midlife having officially missed my opportunity to get a tattoo without people assuming I’m suffering some sort of crisis. (Which I most certainly am, but I don’t want anyone to know, so please keep that between us.) It’s really not so much the tattoo. It’s that I ran out of time to outdo John Steinbeck’s writing The Grapes of Wrath before he was this age.
I’ve been asking some friends and family at the more extreme ends of the journey a few questions as I reflect on what wisdom there is for folks contemplating their mortality. “What’s the best thing about being your age?” One teen said, “freedom and no bills” and I felt the envy rise in my increasingly lactose intolerant gut. From the more seasoned, I got answers like, “Seeing my kids become adults and getting to spoil grandkids. Finally having some perspective. Financial security. Not being afraid of what people think of me.” So, those are good things to look forward to.
I also asked, “What’s the hardest thing about being your age?” My own eight-year-old said, “I’m too little to be on Wheel of Fortune.” Tragic injustice, indeed: another old soul imprisoned in the third grade. The elder participants shared things like, “Losing my physical endurance and metabolism. The urgency of the finish line. Watching my parents die. Fighting cynicism. Being treated like I’m irrelevant.” A much harder set of answers for meditation.
So, this Sunday we’re going on a journey together, consulting Scripture and the wise counsel of others who’ve come before us on this path. We’ll consider the ways we might experience our own age gracefully, whatever the number happens to be.
There's a beautiful map in my office that, to be honest, is there because we didn't really have anywhere in the house to put it. It's a bit peculiar. It's obviously hand-drawn and ancient, with vivid color and great detail. It looks kind of like a Lord of the Rings map. The labels all use our same alphabet, but the accent marks and strange words show that it's clearly in a different language.
When people visit my office, the more curious of them look at the map expecting to be able to figure it out. It usually starts with them saying, "Oooh, cool map. Don't tell me where it is." "OK," I say. "Let me know if you need a hint." Then their eyes scan it, seeing somewhat familiar features but still unable to lock it in. Almost without exception people need the hint, and after I tell them, everything clicks. "North is down," I say. Cue the sigh of dawning realization and the recognition of Italy's upside-down boot and the Iberian peninsula sticking up like a flag in the Atlantic. It's called the Veltkarte Des Idrisi (the "Worldmap of Idrisi") and, as Idrisi was a Muslim scholar in the 1100’s, is centered on the Middle East but with an upside-down orientation.
The fear of the Lord is the "North is down" of the Proverbs. Everything in it and in its understanding of life is centered on the fear of the Lord. We will see that, contrary to FDR's inaugural address, the real fear isn't fear itself but fear divorced from its proper target—the Lord, of whom proper fear becomes trust. North is down.
A new office meant blank walls in need of decoration. And that terrifies me. Not the blankness of the wall, but the infinite number of decorations from which to choose. Paralyzed by the options, I went with a quote wall that I could change as often as I’d like. My life after all, feels like a collection of quotes. Most of our dialogue around the house is a mixture of quotes from The Office, Parks and Rec, and Arrested Development. I considered filling my walls with some of the best: “His capa was detated from his body.” “Treat yo self!” “There’s always money in the banana stand.” But they were so deeply in my soul already that I didn’t need them on my walls. So I went with some meaningful quotes from some of the greats instead.
Hanging behind my desk is a fitting quote for this season from John Calvin: "The whole world is a theatre for the display of the divine goodness, wisdom, justice and power, but the church is the orchestra, as it were, the most conspicuous part of it." If you’ve ever enjoyed a quality musical performance, you’ve enjoyed the pit orchestra, even when you didn’t notice it. Backing every song and underscoring every important scene, the orchestra is the piece that ties everything together and elevates the performance to the sublime.
So what is Calvin getting at by calling the church the orchestra in the theater displaying God’s wisdom? Certainly God’s wisdom is evident in all of creation over (see Proverbs 8:22-31; or see tardigrades). But God has blessed His covenant community, the church, with an extra special role in displaying that wisdom to the world. Are we known for our wisdom? I think Christianity is often known for its rules. But where rules end, wisdom continues. And it is this divine wisdom that we have to offer the world. Are we displaying it?
By God’s grace and design, we are perfectly suited to display it. In our current series, “The Book of Suburbs,” Jim and Josh have described the wisdom of the Proverbs as a conversation between the Word, us, and our situations. Wisdom is found in the midst of that conversation. But no orchestra is made up of one instrument (unless you’re this guy). It is in the conversation of instruments with the script of the play and the scene on stage that the real beauty of the theater resides. This is how it is with the church. It is in the community of St Patrick, each with our own experience and gifts of wisdom, relating to the situations around us, and carrying the truth of Proverbs, that we can conspicuously display the beauty of God’s wisdom to the world.
Worship with us this Sunday as we open Proverbs together again to figure out how our church can join together in sounding the beautiful song of God’s wisdom to the suburbs.
The house next to mine stands empty. The family who dwelt there for the past four or so years – with whom we shared meals and celebrations, tools and toys – will be replaced by another very soon. For us, neighbors are not easily interchangeable units, but a special relationship. Yet before we allow ourselves to hope or fear who may next reside at our east, we take stock: Were we good neighbors? Did we represent Christ well to them? Treat them with dignity and honor beyond what simple good manners and the HOA covenant might demand? I hope so. At least I believe their assessment of us would be generous, were we to hand them an exit survey. Still, I wish I’d loved them better.
Scripture’s command to love our neighbors does, of course, mean more than just the people you share fences and streets with – but it certainly doesn’t mean less than that! The way we treat the people whose properties touch our own is actually a pretty reliable indicator of the way we treat all other people. Not that we have to become friends, but that we’re intentional stewards of this great gift we have. I say gift, because to be a neighbor is to have almost endless opportunities to be dependable, useful, and kind to strangers over a sustained period of time, in such a way that a more intimate relationship is possible or even likely. Behavior like that will give you a reputation, for better or worse. Some neighbors know you’re the “friendly type” and avoid you at all costs. Sometimes a neighbor will even despise your kindness to someone they wish would just move away!
This week, I’ve spent every waking moment with 40 of our middle schoolers and leaders, surrounded by another few hundred similar such youth groups, on Lookout Mountain, TN. This new environment and its different rhythms have made me hyper aware of the way I interface with people I don’t have an intimate relationship with. I typically only interact with people I have a somewhat intimate relationship with – family, friends (even most of my neighbors end up in that category before too long). A few of those folks are here, but mostly I’m surrounded by strangers. For this brief week, I’ve had a far greater number of opportunities to love my neighbor than usual, and I’ve been learning that it doesn’t come very easily to me. I tend only to invest where I see the potential for lasting fruit. Wise in my own eyes, I’m afraid. Still, I trust that Jesus is teaching me in my weakness and that his grace is everything.
I hope you’ll join us this weekend as we talk about wise neighboring and how hard that can be in a world where it’s easier to drive into the garage and pull down the blinds.
- js
Earlier today our new youth pastor Greg quipped, “12 years ago I went from being a dog trainer to a youth pastor and honestly… not much changed.” That was just the reminder I needed as I’ve been preparing to join over forty of our middle schoolers and leaders in Chattanooga next week for a conference called The Edge. Before we head out, you’ll hear me talk on Sunday about a dear friend I made while learning the ropes of youth ministry 20 years ago, and the profound impact he made on my spiritual journey. Shepherding teens may be a frenetic firestorm, but there was something about that foxhole that forged a fast and formative friendship between otherwise night-and-day personalities.
That has me thinking about how things have changed since I was making friends in my teens and early twenties. We did have the internet, but it was still an amendment to our analog lives, not the all-encompassing platform it has become. Phones didn’t do much of anything but call, or sometimes text very slowly at a rate per character. Facebook arrived my senior year of college and was incredibly limited. If you wanted to make a friend, you still had to be somewhere, doing something.
Now, most kids spend an average of eight hours on screens per day. They regularly disclose their hearts to people they’ve never seen in person and may not even be who they present themselves to be. Pundits sometimes refer to the newer generations as the most “connected” in history, yet the psychological data shows quite the opposite. This is why it comes as no surprise to me that the featured seminars for our teens this week are on navigating social media and making good friends.
But that’s not at all to say that loneliness and isolation are just an issue for the young. The problem is as prominent among the older generations who pride themselves on self-sufficiency as they are among these very online young people. I regularly have pastoral conversations with middle aged and more seasoned folks whose woes can basically be boiled down to a lack of quality community. We all struggle with what it means to walk in the wisdom of a God who imagined rich companionship at the core of what it means to be human in His image.
So, let’s talk about that this Sunday.
- js
This summer we are in the book of Proverbs and calling it, The Book of Suburbs. That is, how do we subvert the wisdom of the place we find ourselves. I happen to like the suburbs—I have lived there most of my life. But the problem is, there are many assumptions about living in the suburbs that will deform our souls so that we will live as lesser creatures than God intended and never know the true thriving and abundant life Jesus talks about, if we do not ruthlessly question everything.
This week we are talking about how to get wisdom or training in wisdom. As my title suggests, wisdom is like a school we attend—it is a long, slow process. Everything about gaining wisdom for living life well is counter-intuitive to what we are immersed in daily. We can’t get wisdom or power through technique. We can’t push a button, we can’t take a pill, nor can we go to a weekend seminar. The dream of our age is power without effort, influence without engagement with real people, and everything we need to know stuffed neatly in our back pocket.
When we read the Bible, we see a different path to wisdom. Yes, wisdom is called a path. It is a long obedience that starts with the opposite of expressive individualism—humility. Like being on a path, it is gained through mundane habits and practices, a community of wise friends, failure and pain. We might say, true wisdom starts with death! Are we encouraged yet? Seriously, wisdom is what the Bible says we need desperately if we are to navigate the complexities of life, when 90% of our decisions have no chapter and verse to guide our decision making. And yet we neglect this, to our own peril. So join me Sunday as we enter into the school of wisdom.
On another topic, what a week at VBS—it was magical! Talk about a case study in wisdom acquired over time—to put on such an event to bless 150 kids in our town, with 50 youth volunteers and countless adults who graciously spent a week serving our children. Thank you to all who gave time and effort to be a blessing.
Blessings,
Jim
This summer we are considering the book of Proverbs. Why are we doing that, you might ask. Fair question. The title of our sermon series is called, The Book of Suburbs, as in: Because this is the place we find ourselves, how do we pull back the veil and really see what it is about our place that de-forms us. Proverbs is the true book of how to live and thrive in the suburbs by actually subverting the status quo and telling a better story of human thriving.
Strangely, in order to live well and love God, love people, and love life in our context (or any context, for that matter), we need more than Bible knowledge because the truth is that 90% of the decisions we make on a daily basis are not covered with a chapter and verse in the Bible. Think about it—the things that have vexed my soul throughout my life are questions for which there is no clear direction from the Bible. Things like: What is the best ministry context to use my gifts so that there is mutual thriving between pastor and people? What do I do when I have a wayward child in the far country? What school is best for my children? Should I say something to someone or let it pass? On and on, it goes. What are we to do then?
The answer from the Bible is to get wisdom. In fact, when Solomon is about to be crowned king and God asks him what he wants, he asks for wisdom. Keep in mind, Solomon is instructed and immersed in the Scripture; he has a man after God’s own heart for a father; he has knowledge and principles galore. Yet when he looks at the task in front of him, he says: I am a like a child; the immensity and complexity of life is so overwhelming, I feel foolish. And so, what he asks for is wisdom.
Wonder why? Well on Sunday, we start an important pilgrimage through the book of Proverbs. I am so excited about this and also other things going on. We introduce Greg Aydt, our new Youth Pastor, and I can’t wait for you to meet him. Plan to come early. as we have a brunch at 9:30 so you can meet him in person and introduce yourself. Also, what is more glorious than baptizing an infant—yes, that is all happening this Sunday. And last, but certainly not least, after worship we are having a Congregational Meeting where we will present and vote on our Operating Budget for our new fiscal year that starts July 1.
In between all of this, you might want to just wander through our facility, as it has been transformed into something magical for VBS. Hope to see you Sunday!
Eleven years ago this weekend, Pentecost Sunday fell on May 27. I know this because Allie and I were expecting our second daughter and she decided to come before her due date. This is why I had to surprise my intern at 6 am with the news that he would be leading music in multiple massive services with no advance warning on his first day. He muttered utterances under his breath which I assume were “tongues” in the Spirit of the Holiday. Then I got in my car and headed to the hospital. Our church was on the cutting edge of livestreaming for those days, so we were able to watch the service unfold from our labor and delivery room. Andrew did a stunning job, providing sufficient evidence to support a theory I’m still musing on to this day: as far as my work goes, I am very replaceable.
I cannot help but think of the reported final words of the late Dr. Timothy J. Keller, a personal hero of mine and legend in modern pastoral work. As my ministry friends and I watched our Twitter feeds last week for updates, we despaired at the thought that anyone could fill the void this man leaves behind. Maybe he wasn’t the same gift for everyone, but for us, Tim’s winsome, humble, incisive, gospel-centered-and-saturated approach to preaching and cultural engagement will remain unmatched. Yet his parting words of comfort to his family ring out to haunt the eavesdroppers: “There is no downside for me leaving, not in the slightest.”
As we wrap up this Heaven Is Local series in the Book of Acts, we find the indomitable Paul in chains at the Ends of the Earth, and probably at the end of his life as well. He certainly writes like he’s running out of time – by no means anxious; just focused. He tells the Philippians, (among them his former jailer and forever child in the gospel), these chains are somehow a source of joy. That for him, to die would be gain. Those final sentiments were no doubt the inspiration for Dr. Keller’s words as well. And what unsettles us about these kinds of statements? Is it that they reveal a level of hope that is often foreign to us? What would it take to be able to say such things at the end of our lives? In the middle of them?
I hope you’ll join us in hearing this weekend.
- js
Seafaring stories have long captured the imagination, and the Bible is no different. People might appear like gods walking on the firmness of Earth, but put them in even the largest ship on the vastness of the ocean and suddenly they seem small. Even the hubris that surrounded the Titanic, the “unsinkable” ship, was found wanting against the uncontrollable forces of wind and wave.
So, of course, we find Paul caught up in a seafaring tale that includes a harrowing dance with death and a dramatic shipwreck. From a literary perspective, Acts 27 is gripping—you can feel the hurricane-like wind that rips them from the safety of the lee side of the island and sets them adrift in the wine-darkened sea, heading helplessly into only God knows where. You can see panicked sailors scrambling up the mast to reef the mainsail, lash cables around the beam, and drop sea anchors into the water to keep the ship from running too fast with the waves. You can feel a ship that is doomed. It feels like something I have read in Patrick O’Brian’s classic sea novels about Captain Jack Aubrey. (He was made famous in the movie Master and Commander starring Russell Crowe.) Sailing didn’t change much from the time of Paul’s adventure through the seventeen hundreds.
What is the point of all of this great writing? The gospel, finding itself in the most unlikely community—Paul, as a living and breathing representative of his savior, in the midst of the saltiest community yet—sailors. It is as astounding as it is unlikely but, then again, God seems to delight in this sort of thing. Join me Sunday as we sail with Paul on a doomed ship and see the mystery of God’s providence and kindness in the strangest of places.
Also, Sunday is a big day! We have lots of people joining, baptisms inside and outside—lashing people to the mast of this local expression of God’s kingdom, made real in Collierville.
Blessings,
Jim
I’m sure you can imagine that church staffers have a general idea of what kind of crowd to anticipate on any given Sunday. Factors like civic holidays and weather have a way of establishing predictable patterns in large groups of people. But those arrangements have experienced a bit of a shakeup, especially over the past five or so years. Historically Mothers’ Day would see a bump in worship attendance, as diligent children and husbands honor the wishes of their pious matriarchs. This year? I really don’t know if that’s a thing we can count on anymore. And I don’t think COVID is to blame – it only accelerated something that’s been going on for about 30 years now.
Yesterday I listened to a podcast entitled “Who Are the De-churched in America and Why Did They Leave?” The sociologists leading the discussion begin with a startling piece of data: thirty to fifty million Americans used to go to church but no longer do. Meaning, we are in the middle of the greatest religious affiliation shift in US history. The largest subgroups of those leaving the church over the past 25 or so years are: 1.) Nominal Evangelicals (attendance was cultural, not devotional) 2.) Dislocated Evangelicals (COVID/politics) 3.) Exvangelicals (harmed by institutions) 4.) BIPOC Evangelicals (successful minorities) 5.) Mainliners (found it didn’t make a difference) 6.) Catholic (similar to Mainline, + clergy scandals).
And now, a shift that began in the 90’s in urban centers has finally overwhelmed our own bastion of cultural Christianity, the suburbs. If you know your neighbors, keep up with former classmates or extended family, you know folks who fit into some of the above categories. Maybe you’re even friendly, but the moment anything spiritual or church-related comes up, you have to tiptoe around the awkwardness. As people who grew up in a world where some kind of Christianity was the default worldview, it’s disorienting to suddenly find ourselves becoming a minority. Conversations take on a different tone. Our children ask very different questions than we did. O, brave new world with such creatures in it! How do we prepare to give an answer for the hope that is within us? Do we even experience that hope?
As we start to wrap up this Heaven Is Local series, we’re going to see Paul giving his last great defense in the book of Acts. It’s addressed to a man who is the symbolic figurehead of a defunct people of God: someone who should know but doesn’t. The way Paul postures himself is a masterclass in sharing the truth in love to a post-religious person. I hope you’ll join us!
- js
Citizenship
The tension we face as believers in Jesus is that we have dual citizenship. Most of us here are citizens of the United States of America. And yet, as believers in Jesus Christ, we have citizenship in God’s new people. Christians are spoken of as a new people, a new nation. If you don’t see the tension here… well, I am at a loss. Increasingly, we feel this tension in our bones and imagination.
The easiest thing to do to try to ease the tension is to either withdraw from the world — and this has been done in every generation since Jesus. Rather than be corrupted by the kingdoms of this world we move geographically away. Or we assimilate into our earthly citizenship and adopt its ethics, ethos, and machinations. And yet…
The place Paul finds himself this week is with firm solidarity within his Roman citizenship. Over and over, he appeals to it. The question I keep asking myself, after living in the book of Acts since last August, is why so much time is spent on the five trials of Paul. They look pale in comparison to Pentecost or the trial of Stephen and the heavenly vision or the activities of Paul in his church-planting endeavors. But what if Luke gives us a way of resistance? I wonder if Paul in his prison cell is imagining for a church living in oppression how they will resist. Not outside of their earthly citizenship of Rome but within it. There are hints this might be the case, and Sunday we will talk about it. I can’t wait.
Just a reminder, this Sunday is the last Sunday School of the semester before we move into summer rhythms!
Blessings,
Jim
When I am going on trips, as I am today, the first thing I do is to check out the local VRBO’s and Airbnb’s. I am looking for certain amenities and, of course, a killer deal. If it is for more than one day, it has to have good reviews. That is first and foremost to the savvy traveler. Then I search the posted photos for grills, places to linger (both outside and in), and the kitchen. Since this was an overnight trip with other guys from the church for a Presbytery meeting, it was mandatory that everyone have their own bed. (I don’t do double bunking!) Now obviously, when it is just my bride and me, the priorities are somewhat different.
Paul, for most of his missionary life, depended on hospitality. He just stayed with folk he met in the towns where he was sharing the gospel. I don’t know about you, but that sounds a little creepy to me. I have been on mission trips where we did this, and I do have stories to tell. However, we are in the part of Paul’s story where, if I were him, even the poorest offer of hospitality would look like a stay at a nice hotel. I have often said, when Paul visited a new town, the first thing he did was not check out the VRBO’s or hotels, but he checked out the jails… because there was a good chance he might wind up there! Now, as a prisoner of Rome, he will go from jail to jail. His jail stint in this one lasted over two years. (Sounds like justice in Memphis, doesn’t it!) Anyway, what is fascinating is that there are two defenses of the gospel recorded by Luke. One is expected—he is being prosecuted by the folk from Jerusalem. The next one, however, is essentially very private, by a man and his wife. One is filled with courtroom drama and legalese, and the other one could have taken place in a living room.
What happened, you might ask? Well, we will talk about it on Sunday! Hope to see you here!
Blessings,
Jim
It is an old saying and has passed into cliché perhaps, but we use it often to describe the feeling of finding ourselves in a situation in which there appears to be no escape. In The Odyssey, Homer captures this for our imaginations when Odysseus, in order to get home, has to navigate his ship through the narrow Strait of Messina. The problem is that on one side of the strait is Scylla, a monster with six heads mounted on long necks, each mouth filled with razor sharp teeth…and she is always hungry! On the other side of the strait, just a bow shot away, is Charybdis, a deadly whirlpool which will swallow a ship whole. To be caught “between Scylla and Charybdis" is to find yourself in an impossible situation with a bad outcome any way you turn.
In our narrative this week, Paul finds himself is such a situation. On the one hand, his own people want to assassinate him; and, on the other hand, he is at the mercy of the oppressors of his people—Rome. Is God in this? Are there words of comfort for Paul? Or perhaps what we really want to know is, are there words of comfort for us, who—because we live in a fallen world and because we ourselves are fallen—often find ourselves in such places. I hope you are interested because, if you read the Bible with any degree of attention, it seems the lot of God’s people is to find themselves in places like this often.
This Sunday, we will talk about it and consider what God is up to when we find ourselves between a rock and a hard place. Hope to see you then! Also, remember Sunday School for all ages starts at 9:15!
Blessings,
Jim
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Your Testimony About Me
I spent this past week with a few close fellow pastors studying the theology of wine. Yes, you read that right. My friends and I were awarded a grant that has enabled us to explore the ordinary elements of the Lord’s Supper and how they inform a life of feasting. We’re not only investigating bread and wine in their historical near eastern context, but also the physical cultural implications of these today. Does it “matter” what wine or bread we use? What about the process undertaken to produce them? How locally sourced they are? Is there something uniquely profound about the choice Jesus made to use bread and wine, or could he have used popcorn and beer?
One of the things I’ve explored in this study is the tradition and nature of a drink offering. As far back as Genesis 35 we see Jacob pour out a drink offering as his first act after being renamed Israel. Remember, this happened at Bethel, just after his strange dream of a ladder to heaven. But a veil-piercing offering is not a uniquely Judaic idea. Pagans, too, made the connection between a drink poured out and special access to another realm. If Odysseus wanted to visit the afterlife, he needed to find a thin place and pour out libations. So, for the pre-modern mind, the idea of blood in a cup was a preloaded image. Might there be a connection here to the cup of the new covenant, which was God’s wrath poured out and received by Christ, whose own spilled blood then opened the gate of Heaven? Well, I certainly think so.
Our passage this week comes toward the dregs of Paul’s own cup. He had once told the Philippians that he himself was a drink offering being poured out for their benefit. By the time he writes his final letter from prison in Rome, Paul tells Timothy he has already poured himself out completely. He has nothing left. Given the level of unrequited heart-pouring he does in this text, I can absolutely see why he would say that. Fortunately, even though his life is a potent imitation of Christ, Paul’s mission (and ours) depends not on his own noble self-sacrifice, but the all-sufficient blood of the new covenant shed once and for all.
-js
This Sunday is Easter and, I don’t know about you, but I am ready. Forty days is a long time of waiting! Lent has been a death this year in many ways. It is not that the world is actually worse than it ever was, it is that we know everything bad happening in the world as it is happening. So it is a good thing that, in the midst of darkness, we are reminded of light and hope! That is the purpose of Holy Days after all, is it not? I mean, we celebrate Easter every Sunday, that is true, but setting aside one day to really gild the Lilly, dress to the nines, host elaborate feasts at our scattered tables, and invite people in who don’t have family––that is as it should be and a necessary reminder to us humans who, because of the ordinariness of each Sunday, tend to lose the wonder of the whole meaning of Resurrection!
As it is a special day, one hopes to craft something that is well-suited for such a day. But how does one rise to the occasion of this subject? Words just seem too cheap! And, low and behold, our text suggests that just might be the case as well! Anyway, because most everyone in the South comes to church on Easter Sunday, our text has something for everyone. It is a familiar text, almost cliché for an encounter with Jesus, but there really is something here for the sceptic, the sleepy/indifferent Christian, and also for those who have walked with Jesus for a long time. That about covers it, I think!
I can’t wait to hear the Easter Liturgy this Sunday. My heart aches for it and, while this is the twenty-fifth Easter at St. Patrick, it never gets old. Remember, we’ll have worship services at 9:00am and 11:00am. As I said, in the South, people show up! So plan for extra guests and be on the lookout for them. Or invite them beforehand! As we will see in this text, the best way to show people the gospel is to invite them to a meal. See you on Easter Morning!
Blessings,
Jim
Palm Sunday! Yes, we have arrived at the last week of Lent and thus the beginning of Holy Week. One of the things that, through the ages, people have tried to do is separate Jesus from the Cross. What I mean by that is, Jesus is acceptable as a great teacher, or a miracle worker, or revolutionary; but Jesus as a savior––as in, the cross has saving virtue––that is too much. Gandhi says as much in his assessment of Jesus: I could accept Jesus as a martyr, and embodiment of sacrifice, and a divine teacher. His death on the cross was a great example to the world, but that there was anything like a mysterious or miraculous virtue in it, my heart could not accept.” (Gandhi, An Autobiography) Paul knew this too, and that is why he said the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing. He goes on to say, Christ crucified is a stumbling block to the Jews and folly to the Gentiles. (From I Corinthians 1)
And yet, as we follow Paul in the last fifth of the book of Acts, it is not his belief in Jesus as some great religious guru that gets him beaten, on trial, rejected, imprisoned and almost killed––it is the message of cross. The cross has infinite merit in achieving salvation for sinners––plus nothing. It seems that, just as the gospels are focused mostly on the death of Jesus, the book of Acts concludes with Paul, living under the same shadow of the cross.
As our text will testify, the cross is the wisdom of God for those who believe and a stumbling block to those who reject it. That, or something like that, is what we will talk about this Sunday. We also welcome some more folk into our family this week and taste again that, while many rail against the cross, there are many others who are caught up in the dance and laugher of the redeemed. I hope to see you on Sunday.
Blessings,
Jim
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Food for the Journey
“Man is a hungry being.” Thus, the great Orthodox theologian, Alexander Schmemann begins his book, For the Life of the World. He is trying to destroy both the those who spiritualize the material world and also those who see the material world as all there is. He goes to Genesis for this and looks at Adam, born with hunger—he has to eat to live. But he is also hungry for something more—someone like him to share the bread with. Indeed, we are born into this world screaming, both for food and affection.
This week we see Paul hungry, as well. We are not used to that, some might even think that unseemly or demeaning. Paul is the leader; he started the church-planting movement that, centuries later, St. Patrick finds itself a part of. He is controlled, effective, focused, and gets it done. We don’t think of Paul as, well, “needy.” And yet for seventeen verses in our text, we see Paul not ministering to, but being ministered to! He is hungry, ravenous. He knows suffering awaits him in Jerusalem, and what does he do? How is he sustained? What is the food for the journey he needs?
In a word, hospitality. Paul is literally a stranger to some of the places he goes, but again and again he is met with a place to stay, food for his hungry belly, and food for his soul—in people who, in a matter of days, go from being strangers to family. This Sunday, we see hospitality in action as we welcome a bunch of people who not long ago were strangers to us; but over time they have become family, and we are making room in our hearts and home for them. We will flesh out what we see in our text through a service of vow-taking and oath-making. It is all rather glorious.
Before that, however, we will feast tomorrow on ditch bugs, shrimp, and hot dogs for the uninitiated. If you have not learned the sophisticated art of eating crawfish, we do have lesser fare until you find delight is this most lowly and delicious crustacean. A weekend of feasting, in body and soul—truly food for the journey…
Blessings,
Jim
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! It is a shame it comes during our Spring Break Week…cooking corned beef for hundreds would be a blast! Oh well, such are the accidents of history. Speaking of Spring Break, Teri, Addy and I just got back in town a couple of days ago. We are glad to be out of the grind for a few days, as I am sure most of you are as well.
Anyway, we are back to Acts this Sunday, where we encounter the strangest thing – a passage about a boy falling asleep in church, along with a moving passage about Paul's charge to church leaders. As you know from last week, Paul is heading to Jerusalem but he goes north instead of south and revisits churches he has started, to encourage and strengthen them. Why? Well, because what happens between beginning in the Christian life and becoming a thriving disciple in Jesus has a lot to do with the kind of places we often find ourselves.
So, we will look at it this Sunday. Are we in the kind of place that will help us become more like Jesus? That is the question before the house this Sunday. Hope to see you there. Remember Sunday School is back in full swing as we make our way through this Lenten Season and on toward the Resurrection.
Blessings,
Jim
Start a Riot
Every time we do something “feasty” at St. Patrick, I inevitably hear someone say something like, “This is amazing; we should do this more often.” I love that response so much. This weekend, when it came up around the fire pits of the Men’s Retreat, I told the fellas that I personally do this all the time. They were a bit surprised, but it’s true. For one thing, the guys in my community group get together for “Smoking Club” several times a semester. Now, this is not a church program. It wasn’t my idea, I don’t have anything to do with organizing it, and it happens whether I can make it or not. A couple of our guys just caught the vision for gathering around fires for better food and deeper fellowship, and they started living it out for themselves. They didn’t ask permission; they didn’t wait for me to plan an official church event; they just set the table and extended invitations.
Let me ground this in the Text.
Not long before the first Temple of Artemis was built at Ephesus, (more on that this weekend), another temple was in its development phase. David had already established his kingdom capital and now dreamed of building a worthy house for the worship of his glorious God. But Yahweh told him, it doesn’t really actually work that way. I’ll make you a house, He said. A thousand years later, Paul was drawing on that legacy when he told the Athenians that the one true God doesn’t dwell in temples made by human hands. Rather, humans are the temples made by God’s Hand. The Lord doesn’t need us to build him a house for the same reason he doesn’t need us to make images of Him: He already has them. Humans are the dwelling place and representatives of God’s presence in the world.
That makes those who are in Christ an all-in-one complete package of temple, image, and priesthood. So, it’s our job to take whatever Heaven we’ve had access to and make it as local as we can, to whoever will accept the invitation. What we’re doing in the gathered church around Word, Sacrament, and Prayer is a model and an invitation: for true disciples to go and do likewise as scattered houses of the holy. When we worship and feast as a wider church body, we’re attempting to set a pattern for you in what it means to hallow our parties, swing open the doors, and let gracious love be the order of the everyday.
- js
Jim and I were just gearing up to feed a couple of packed-out lodges full of men this weekend at our Men’s Retreat. Part of the rationale for this gathering is what we sometimes call “subverting suburbia.” If suburban food is efficient, this is going to be decadent. If suburban schedules are hectic, this is going to be slow. If suburban relationships are competitive, these are going to be gracious. Why? Because we believe the gospel tells a better story than the world does about what it means to be a man who can thrive and become a blessing to those around him. Part of what makes that story so good is that it’s told not merely in Word but at Table. We’re going to taste and see something otherworldly.
I’ve thought a lot this week about the danger wounded men pose to a community. For example, this Sunday we’re also resuming our Narnia book club with Prince Caspian. Talk about the potential for damage! In that story we see kingdoms at war, and not just two, but as many as six kings interacting with one another: negotiating terms, partnership, and boundary lines. How it doesn’t all end up in nuclear annihilation is a sheer miracle. Somehow, there is something more royal in the way some of these men honor and serve one another as comrades in arms than in the backbiting political intrigue of the eventual losers.
It all comes down to what we think actually “works” in this world. Which Kingdom we’re serving – ultimately, which King – determines the economy of trade, that is, what is actually worth anything. Where do we pour our energy and treasure? We’ll see a kind of new citizenship and loyalty this Sunday, as we celebrate baptisms and new members at St. Patrick. We’ll also look at a passage in Acts 19 where folks are struggling with how to proceed when it seems like the things that “should” work, aren’t working. The veil is pulled back slowly, but surely enough that we can know Heaven is Local, even as the world wages war against it. I hope you’ll join us!
-joshua
Much has been written about how believers relate to the culture around them. Some look at the culture and say, “It is so evil, we will just withdraw.” Others tire of the tension between what God says is true and what the culture says is true, and so they just assimilate into it. Some look at the culture and are so furious they speak about it with either condescension or disgust. Then there are those who look at the culture and see much beauty in it; they are angry at the marred image, but long to see human thriving everywhere and, in compassion, seek to contend for the faith.
How we see ourselves relating to the prevailing culture and thought modes around us will affect our posture toward it and will also inform our mission to the world. This week, we move from synagogue to market place, where we see Paul at Mars Hill. One thing about it, Paul marches into the center of cultural influence and plants the cross of Jesus right in the middle of it. How he meets and contends for the truth that he knows in Jesus is both telling and instructive.
I woke up on Tuesday morning about 2:00am exhausted. I had lived most of Monday in this text, and I suppose it affected my dreams because I had been church planting in my dreams all night and nothing was working out. But it hit me in a new and fresh way—Acts is the primary source on how believers and the church should engage the culture around us. What a comfort, God has given us everything necessary for life and godliness!
I hope to see you Sunday, as we are starting our journey through Lent as a family. I pray it will take us deeper into the cross and the heart of the One who died there.
Blessings,
Jim
My mind was everywhere this morning. Teri and I were checking in this morning over breakfast about times for the Mardi Gras Feast at the church tonight; I was calling out spelling words to Addy while cooking sausage, pancakes and biscuits; and I was mentally going over the various places and tasks I had to do. Two were primary: pondering God’s work in Philippi and what story that new church there must be telling, and the three bottles of passion fruit syrup that I set out to put in my car to be part of a liturgy I would enact later to tell a story of deliciousness!
When I stepped outside, it was to a world of glory. Against the backdrop of a bleak and overcast winter day that is trying to push back what all nature is telling me—that spring is on its way—it was snowing! I pondered to myself as Addy opened the door for Piper to jump in—even nature is telling a story, and how glorious that I get to not only have a front row seat to watch it play out, but I get to participate in it.
In Paul’s second missionary journey, perhaps his most famous, we see this week in Philippi three different conversions of people from vastly different backgrounds and, that is not all, those three people wind up in the same church. Against the backdrop of this Macedonian city which is part of Roman Colony, I kept thinking, what kind of story was this new society of people telling? What must people who know Lydia, who is a successful businesswoman, think when she suddenly has essentially one of the city’s freak shows and a stoical jailer as regular house guests?
I can’t wait to talk about it on Sunday, but before then I must attend to that deliciousness for our feast tonight!
Blessings,
Jim
The Ministry of the Cross
I was in my study on Wednesday afternoon, pondering a sermon for Sunday and a vision talk that night, as well as what time I needed to be home to prepare the chicken for the grill, when I got a knock on my door. It was one of our ministry partners—one who is more than a partner, she is a beloved friend. We hadn’t had a chance to catch up since we’d wept together after she got the news some members of her church were killed in a plane crash. After a warm embrace, I told her to come in and have a seat. We exchanged pleasantries and talked about ministry and, after listening to her talk of all the challenges and brokenness she faced in her ministry, I said, “It is just bewildering, isn’t it?” She said, “Yes, it really is; and oftentimes, you just don’t even know what to do or if there is even a fix.”
My head was already spinning from our text this week and, after looking at the three episodes we will talk about Sunday, I too was just baffled at how difficult ministry really is. Our text starts off with Paul and Barnabas about to make a victory lap to give the good news of the Jerusalem church to these recent converts, both Jew and Gentile; and, lo and behold, a disagreement arises of such magnitude that they both go their separate ways. It doesn’t get any easier, as Paul and Silas take on a disciple of mixed race, and we get a case study in essentials and non-essentials. Then we come to a problem of guidance—what do you do if God keeps saying “no” to the ministry plans you are sure are the right ones?
As I said, bewildering! The center piece of a gospel ministry is the cross. It is really all we have—the good news about what Jesus accomplished for us on the cross. It is what the whole Bible is about. But when I say, “The Ministry of the Cross,” I mean it in another way—ministry is the cross! Real ministry is hard, bewildering, baffling, and is so far outside what you can do in your own flesh that your only recourse is to run to Jesus. It is a broken hallelujah. I keep coming back to this phrase. The hallelujah of the gospel is so great that God’s people have always been willing to sacrifice greatly and move into the most broken places.
We will talk about it Sunday, and I can’t wait. Come early and bring your family. Whether you are a newcomer, been around a while, or just curious, we have a class for you—a place where we talk about not just the difficulties of a life of faith but the glories as well.
Blessings,
JimThe Ministry of the Cross
I was in my study on Wednesday afternoon, pondering a sermon for Sunday and a vision talk that night, as well as what time I needed to be home to prepare the chicken for the grill, when I got a knock on my door. It was one of our ministry partners—one who is more than a partner, she is a beloved friend. We hadn’t had a chance to catch up since we’d wept together after she got the news some members of her church were killed in a plane crash. After a warm embrace, I told her to come in and have a seat. We exchanged pleasantries and talked about ministry and, after listening to her talk of all the challenges and brokenness she faced in her ministry, I said, “It is just bewildering, isn’t it?” She said, “Yes, it really is; and oftentimes, you just don’t even know what to do or if there is even a fix.”
My head was already spinning from our text this week and, after looking at the three episodes we will talk about Sunday, I too was just baffled at how difficult ministry really is. Our text starts off with Paul and Barnabas about to make a victory lap to give the good news of the Jerusalem church to these recent converts, both Jew and Gentile; and, lo and behold, a disagreement arises of such magnitude that they both go their separate ways. It doesn’t get any easier, as Paul and Silas take on a disciple of mixed race, and we get a case study in essentials and non-essentials. Then we come to a problem of guidance—what do you do if God keeps saying “no” to the ministry plans you are sure are the right ones?
As I said, bewildering! The center piece of a gospel ministry is the cross. It is really all we have—the good news about what Jesus accomplished for us on the cross. It is what the whole Bible is about. But when I say, “The Ministry of the Cross,” I mean it in another way—ministry is the cross! Real ministry is hard, bewildering, baffling, and is so far outside what you can do in your own flesh that your only recourse is to run to Jesus. It is a broken hallelujah. I keep coming back to this phrase. The hallelujah of the gospel is so great that God’s people have always been willing to sacrifice greatly and move into the most broken places.
We will talk about it Sunday, and I can’t wait. Come early and bring your family. Whether you are a newcomer, been around a while, or just curious, we have a class for you—a place where we talk about not just the difficulties of a life of faith but the glories as well.
Blessings,
Jim
Are all cultures equal? This feels like an insane question to pose, given the landmines of offense that could be possibly taken. (And if there’s one thing that defines our culture, it’s quickness to take offense!) Yet, in a pluralistic world like ours, it’s also an important thing to consider. Put another way, how do I love my neighbors with regard to differences in the stories we tell about ourselves?
One might start with Paul’s declaration to the Galatians that “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female.” Now, no one can conclude that Paul believed there weren’t actual important differences in these distinctions. In his other writings, we see that to be free is better than slavery. To be raised in a covenant home under the Torah is beneficial for cultivating righteousness. A man simply cannot be a mother. These were undeniably Paul’s positions on such issues. So, what does he mean when he implies that they don’t matter? Well, he of course refers to their role in our receiving, by grace, through faith, the promises of God that are our inheritance in Christ Jesus. And that’s the gospel! But it still leaves to us the sorting out of our human legacies in light of this larger story. How then shall we live?
It feels impossible for most Americans to even parse out an inheritance from the cultural melting pot of our formation. Racially, I’m mostly Irish, but ethnically, I don’t have much more than a once-a-year-leprechauns-and-green-beer connection to that culture (which is to say, none). I don’t derive my image-of-self from the stories of that island: I’m formed more by AOL and Saturday morning cartoons. Now, through my adult interest in classical studies, I’ve also been shaped by the Greco-Roman tradition. And there’s a lot to be gleaned from that borrowed heritage. Still, I live in proximity with folks whose cultural experiences are different and sometimes even come into direct conflict with mine. And what if we’re trying to build something new together, like a town, or a church? What gives?
Several decades before Paul, the Greek thinker Plato seemed to understand the necessity of this sifting. He had his version of Socrates, along with several students, weighing the relative merits of their Homeric inheritance for inclusion in a righteous Republic. Can we really ditch Achilles and Odysseus!? It was torturous to have to consider whether the merits of the precious stories that had been handed down to them could justify the weaknesses of character they might produce in future generations. In the end, he seems to have concluded that only snippets of the old stories would do for his project of forming the future generations in the love of justice.
I have a lot of compassion for folks in that position. It’s like going through the old house after a parent dies. Grief is slow. Some things are valuable and worth hanging on to. Many things aren’t. Letting go is painful. But, I think what our passage this week is pointing out is that when we give folks a lot of latitude to sort out their own stories, we’re finding our own place in God’s better story. And maybe that’s a perfect legacy, compared with which all other things might be counted loss.
I look forward to considering these things with you on Sunday!
- josh
The church is the easiest thing in the world to cast dispersions on. Of course, it is! Why are we surprised? After all, it is the only institution in the world where you have to vow you are not qualified to gain admission. I have joined all manner of organizations in my life—Country Clubs, Rotary Club, a couple of Chambers of Commerce, etc. Everyone wanted a resume to see if I was essentially good enough, or the right caliber of person, to affiliate. And low and behold, to gain entrance into the church, you have to admit you are not worthy. So, of course, the church is easy to disparage.
However, as wayward and often wandering as she maybe—God loves the church! He calls it his bride and even died rather than lose her. As someone said, “the church is God’s plan A and there is no plan B.” This week we see Paul’s missionary impulse was not just to preach the gospel and see people converted, but to place them in covenant families. He actually goes back to places that had cast him out, vilified him, and even stoned him because his task was not finished until he had trained and put elders in place and got them into healthy habits of spiritual formation. We sort of see the whole birth, care, and nurture of the church in our text this morning. There are a lot of reasons for that, but I don’t want to give too much away.
Hope to see you Sunday. Just a reminder, all our Sunday School classes have started back and, if you haven’t plugged in, think about joining us this week. Also, if you are new, our Inquirer’s Class starts this week and is a good place to learn of our vision and values.
Blessings,
Jim
The thing about hard edges is, they will hurt you! Little ones are particularly vulnerable to hard edges. In fact, when we were having babies every couple of years, Teri and I would look for those hard edges in our home, where a little one might hurt themselves. When we found one, we did one of three things: we removed it, we fenced it off, or we put padded it so as to protect our toddler in case they fell. Well, try as we might, they still would find them. It is a wonder any child survives, isn’t it?
The gospel has a hard edge, as well – one might say the hardest edge of all – and yet, there is nothing you can do to protect yourself from it except choose to ignore it. The gospel cuts deeper than any truth we have ever faced, does it not? It asks you to die and be reborn. It asks you to humble yourself and repent, not just of your badness, but also of your goodness. In our text this week, we see that perhaps the hardest thing you ever do is not repent of your badness but of your goodness. In fact, it was this feeling of superiority among Paul’s own kinsmen that eventually led to their repudiation of the gospel and Paul’s moving full throttle toward the Gentile pagans. It is a fascinating story we read about this week. I can’t wait to talk about it.
Oh, and by the way, there is a lot going on this Sunday! All our Sunday School classes are starting back this Sunday, as well as our Inquirer’s Class for those interested in learning more about St. Patrick. Also, if you are new, we really want to get to know you better and to hear your story; and what better way to do that than over a feast of Gus’ Fried Chicken! So, if you are new, we invite you to join us after worship for our Newcomer’s Feast.
Have a great weekend, and I look forward to seeing you all on Sunday!
Blessings,
Jim
Last Saturday I took a road trip to Chelsea, Alabama. I assure you, it wasn’t to spend a weekend at the Ritz. In fact, it is a place that—given my own way of seeing—I would never stop, but would rather just pass through on my way to a place more of my own liking. What is odd about Chelsea is the whole mystery of love. I was in Chelsea to celebrate the five-year anniversary of Chelsea Presbyterian Church, a daughter church of St. Patrick.
I remember one time when I was down there a few years ago, riding around with James Daniels, and in a moment of candidness, I asked him, “Why would you want to plant a church in this place?” What I saw with indifference, he saw with love. He said, “I love this place; these are my people.” Love does things!! Anyway, it was glorious. A few years ago, there was no one but James, Larissa and their daughter, Alexandria. Now five years later, I celebrated with a large crowd of people, most of whom did not even know Jesus back then, much less each other. And as I have watched James love a place, I have grown to love it as well.
This week we will trace back the story of Chelsea Presbyterian—and St. Patrick, for that matter—to the beginning of the story. It’s the story of how the gospel went global and, 2000 years later, has made its way to out-of-the-way places like Collierville, Tennessee, and Chelsea, Alabama. All stories start somewhere, and this week we see a family of believers in the city of Antioch, faithfully engaged in the habits of grace, launch a global movement that is still going on today. I can’t wait to tell this story!
Blessings,
Jim
As I write, Collierville employees are dismantling those magnificent holiday lights on the Town Square. I’m so proud of them for holding out in celebration of the full twelve days of Christmas! (Yes, I’m sure the scheduling was more practical than pious.) But, now we’re on to the next thing which, for about 1600 years, has been known as the Feast of the Epiphany.
In Eastern churches, Epiphany (from the Greek, meaning appearance), marks the Baptism of our Lord and beginning of his ministry, culminating later in the spring in the cross and resurrection. As it was believed that Jesus began his ministry on his thirtieth birthday, it has often doubled as their Christmas as well. In globally Western churches, however, the tradition has been to celebrate the Arrival of the Magi on Epiphany. But nowadays, those fellas usually end up folded into the manger scene of our imaginations, and by January 6 that just feels like old news.
I suppose this holiday gets lost in the shuffle mainly because the hustle and bustle of Advent and Christmas activities have already worn us out, and by the Eighth Day (always New Year’s), most of us are ready to make that hard shift from the pinnacle season of feasting to penitent sobriety and fasting! Maybe we simply feel that it is time to get back to work and be productive. Tis’ the season of making things happen by the intensity of our resolutions and the sweat of our brow.
So, why mention it? Well, in true St. Patrick fashion we’re going to joyfully and winsomely buck the flow of civic patterns. Instead, we’ll be celebrating Epiphany Sunday this weekend in a really cool way, I think. First of all, there will be an Epiphany Feast at 9:15am! We’re providing smoked ham and delicious biscuits, and you’re invited to contribute by bringing a delicious side to share (so, no gold, frankincense, or myrrh, please). Then, in worship, we’re going to consider the story of a man who made himself out to be an epiphany of God and found out as all men do that God’s appearance doesn’t look like man’s grasping on steroids. It is wholly other: the Holy other. And that is what actually creates the good work of humanity.
Hope to see you there!
- Joshua
We observers of January’s turn bear a resemblance to the two-headed Roman deity Janus: looking both backward and forward at once. From this vantage point, and with the Law’s tutelage, we are uniquely positioned to see who we have been, compared to who we were made to be. If we’re willing to see and say the truth, this confession can inspire resolution: to be a new creation in this new year. And that’s a noble desire! But this weekend will mark my fortieth New Year and I can only think of one resolution I’ve ever successfully kept. It lasted for about 15 months until Covid hit and good habits gave way to survival.
Now, this is not to say that I have not grown or matured in my life; it’s just that these things rarely happen as the direct result of willpower, triggered by a specific holiday. It’s more often a slog. And yet, we are a liturgical people, given to the observance of days. But we do this, not because it has a magical effect on us, but because our finite minds and hearts can’t hold the entirety of the Christian life at once. So, we divvy it up and contemplate each facet in its own season. There’s humility in that.
Jesus says, if you love me, you will obey my commands. It’s human instinct to read that in a manipulative, condemning sense: in other words, “If you really loved me, then you would have obeyed my commands.” Nobody wants a disappointed savior! And so, we tether our best intentions to the most powerful turning of the seasons and pray it will be enough. What superstitious legalism! Oh, that we would see how Jesus’ words are less of a passive-aggressive show of disappointment and more of an invitation: “Come, those who are mine: wonder and delight in my perfect vow-keeping – and in loving me, you will find yourself being transformed and obeying my commands.”
If there’s one thing you resolve to do this New Year, let its falling on a Sunday this year serve as a reminder that New Creation is the work of Christ who fulfills the law on our behalf (“circumcised on the eighth day!”). A celebration of the changing of the year signifies his work; not ours. So, come, let us adore the one who resolved and did not break his oaths, and celebrate the change he has wrought in us as it continues to unfold throughout this year.
- joshua
Twenty-one years ago this month, my wife, Allie, and I began our dating relationship on the basis of a shared love for the night sky. The allure for her was more scientific; mine more literary. To this day, that overlap manifests itself in one of our greatest joint fears: being “airlocked” into space. Now, you don’t have to be a nerd like us to feel those outer space heebie-jeebies. When most modern folks look up at the stars, a sort of primal terror enters us. I mean, who would willingly depart the rich womb of our mother earth to be birthed violently into the sterile cold of that unfeeling void? Crazy people, that’s who.
To the ancient mind, however, the night sky was not known as cold, dark, empty space, at all. It was the heavens: radiant, inhabited, and musical; its harmonic activity influencing the everyday life of all the earth below. Psalm 19 is a good reminder of this vision, where “The heavens declared the glory of God… and night to night revealed knowledge.” Sure, there was still fear associated with the evening sky, but it was of a completely different kind. The ancient person’s question was not whether the heavens are lively and instrumental, but whether or not we could persuade those powers to act in our favor. Or at the very least, live quiet lives sheltered from their notice!
Even though the ancients had their astrophysics wrong, their metaphysics were much closer to the way things actually work. After all, as Arthur C. Clarke has mused, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Maybe we have replaced astrology for astronomy, horoscopes for microscopes, but there’s no doubt that humans still search diligently for any kind of insight that might help us retain a modicum of control over our lives. Wise men know that if there is hope for us, it resides “out there."
This week, we’ll see the familiar Herod and Magi, as they gaze upward, ad astra, in the hope that all the speech and knowledge pouring forth from that enchanted sky might lead them to a child born King. And as always, the question is not whether stars say such things, but what their message incites in us: is it trouble, or joy?
- joshua
Nativity Scenes. What got me thinking about them was the story of one my daughters, Anne Rachael, buying one recently while in Mexico with her husband, Wesley. Telling about that led to an even more outlandish story from Josh about nativity scenes which I didn’t believe till verified. At both, I laughed maniacally and, to be truthful, you have to see that they often take part in the comedic. You will have to come Sunday to hear the full story on that one; but seriously, of the making of nativity scenes there is no end, and most homes have several of them. From ones that are very expensive to those paper ones made perhaps in Sunday School whose only value is sentimental, and everything in between.
I was thinking about the characters that make up a nativity scene, particularly the shepherds, because they are the subject of our meditation this Sunday and for good reason. We are so familiar with the birth narrative that we don’t register the shock it deserves. Last week we saw the birth; this week, the birth announcement. And if the whole thing really is sort of brutal, as it seems, it’s almost not surprising that the ones who get the announcement are those who were viewed as brutal by the polite society of the day––at least, not the people invited to the baby shower or hospital after an infant is born. Maybe we should have expected this. Anyway, it ought to be a glorious trek from field to manger.
I am also thinking about our Special Friends Christmas celebration, which is tomorrow morning. We have double the attendees this year, and for that I am so excited. I walked through the sanctuary, where we will feed and host our guests, and was so thankful that we get to participate in bringing a little bit of glory into this broken world. If you haven’t signed up to volunteer and would still like to be involved, contact Amy Henson (amy@stpatrickpres.com) or Allie Harbert (specialfriends@stpatrickpres.com) and ask how you can help.
Blessings,
Jim
We were doing Advent with Addy at breakfast this morning. The candle was lit and the Advent tree, which has a door for each day in Advent, was opened. Each day has a special note in it about whatever special thing is going on, which for this day was the Christmas Parade. It also has a piece of chocolate, but on this special day there were two and that brought a moment of sadness because my granddaughter Penelope, who was supposed to be with us, had had to cancel because she came down with the flu. We were already starting behind the baseline, it seemed. Until I asked the question about what we celebrated during Advent:
“So, Addy, why do we celebrate Advent?” Nothing. Me, trying to get something going, "Are we celebrating Santa Claus?” Addy emphatically denied that all this was about Santa, so I said, “What then?” She finally said, “Jesus being a baby.” I said, “What is so special about that—babies are born all the time.” She thought a minute and then said, “Well, it is that Jesus is all mixed up with God or something.” How do you explain the hypostatic union to a seven-year-old? After I composed myself, I just said, “Yes, Jesus, when he was born, was fully God and fully man." She seemed satisfied with that, and off we went into the Advent lesson.
So here we are, about to celebrate the second week of Advent; and in our text this week, we encounter a road trip from hell because Mary is over eight months along and is making a journey of over 90 miles, not in a car or even covered wagon. Can you imagine? I know how long it takes to cover 90 miles when your wife goes into labor—a little over an hour. When Teri went into labor with Jamie, we were in Greenville, Mississippi, and the doctor was in Jackson., Mississippi—90 miles. Yes, doing 90 with flashers on, it is a little over an hour. That was hard enough on Teri—imagine walking or riding on a donkey. Then there is a problem of lodging and delivery. I tell you, it was brutal.
The text intent is for us to see that. But also, something more is going on—seen from another light, it is absolutely beautiful. The very form of beauty, in fact. We will talk about all this on Sunday. I hope to see you there.
Oh, and pray for no rain this afternoon! We have set the table to invite the whole town to come feast with us in our parking lot tonight, before and during the Christmas Parade. It should be a spectacle—13 food trucks! It has to be a record for the town of Collierville. That much goodness in one place!
Blessings,
Jim
The Scandal of Advent
Advent is here again and I am so thankful. The church looks like a vision; it is never more beautiful than when we celebrate the Incarnation. There is no better argument that we are more than merely thinking creatures than a church festooned and gilded to the nines. We want more than the ordinary when we are making our way towards something as momentous, history-altering, and life-changing as the Incarnation. We want the ordinary taken to another plane of beauty.
This Advent Season we are contemplating, It’s a Wonderful Strife. Yes, you saw that correctly and, yes again, it is a riff on Frank Capra’s classic Christmas movie, It’s a Wonderful Life. If you think about it, most of the story of Jesus coming into the world is filled with strife. (In fact, George Bailey’s life was, as well!) Nothing about it looks like a Hallmark Christmas movie. Seriously, an unwed mother, a fiancé who is going to end the engagement privately to hide the shame, mangers for a king, animals, and ne’er-do-wells who would never be on the guest list as attendees, murderous rulers, and unexpected journeys away from danger. And yet, this is the story of Advent; and it is wonderful and full of strife—a wonderful strife.
Isn’t it? Isn’t it just like God to work in the midst of, and at the point of, strife to bring about his purposes? Isn’t it just like God to build a dance floor on the ashes of our lives and to weave a better story than we would ever dream of? So much of the gospel and the Christian life is telescoped into these few small narratives. And the truth is that, if you try to remove the strife, you will also remove the fact that Grace is Everything.
We will start with Mary and Joseph and how Jesus entered their lives—talk about scandal! I hope you will join us for this first Sunday of Advent. I, for one, can’t wait!
I still chuckle to myself when I think about a prank we once pulled on Jim several years back. We were interviewing candidates for our open worship pastor position and had decided to bring Will Weir in for an interview. Just before the meeting, I pulled the Reverend aside and told him we didn’t know how to break this news to him, but Mr. Weir was a committed vegan. No meat, eggs, or dairy. I saw the wheels turning as our chef-in-chief began to reckon with this devastating news. How could such a person thrive in our foodie culture? What would have to change in order to accommodate this “alternative lifestyle”? Finally, a look of pious resolution washed over his face, and he responded by reminding us (and himself, no doubt), that around here, Grace Is Everything. But I will never forget his look of relief when we burst out laughing and told him the truth.
The fact is, food has very practical implications for fellowship. With Thanksgiving coming up, I asked our staff to share about their ideal family holiday feasts, and if they have hope to achieve such heights this year. All spoke of fond memories and also colossal failures. Of beloved people whose absences cannot be softened. Of football and parades. Of the perpetual clashing of maternal visions. Of traditional depression-era casseroles that may or may not need to be retired and replaced. A common refrain was that much of our longing remains just out of reach and firmly planted in nostalgia. All wondered aloud if it’s advisable to hope for more.
Feasts are where the lines between mere food and more permanent forms of fulfilment start to waver. We humans set aside these holy days to inhabit a bit of eternity together, and whether we know it or not, we’re being formed for heaven in the process. Yet, as residents of an exile, we must also recognize that near the heart of feasting lies the necessity to rest within the tension of the already and the not yet. The table Yahweh sets in these moments is often in the wilderness, before our enemies, where we cannot bridge the gap between what we long for and what we must accept. And yet that resting quality, (as opposed to grasping or escaping), is what gives feasting its sabbath nature.
The famed travel foodie Phil Rosenthal once said of Mississippi Delta cuisine, “Everybody has to eat what they find around them. The art is in making it something to die for.” That’s not only true culinarily, but also, I think, more broadly. We can’t do much to change our climate, or what flora and fauna thrive (or don’t) around us. But we can commit ourselves to learning what brings out the best flavor in the gifts we’ve been given and to share them graciously with others. We can turn our recipes into liturgies; our kitchen work into worship; our conversations into prayer. And when we do this well, it reminds us what we’re living for and clarifies what we might be willing to sacrifice to protect it.
This week, we just happen to be looking at one of the great feasting texts in the New Testament, where Peter is invited (challenged?) to dinner with the Roman gentile Cornelius. Peter is about to learn a whole new layer to the truth that Feasting is Kingdom Work – one that will force him to risk far more than he ever thought possible, to savor the taste of eternity.
View this email in your browserInstruments in the Redeemer’s Hands
In 2016, the Memphis Grizzles made the playoffs. At the time the Grizzles had a lot of injuries and would be a massive underdog against the San Antonio Spurs. This was back in the day when the Spurs still had Tony Parker and Tim Duncan. Because of injuries, the Grizzlies were starting guys I hardly remembered as I looked back to fact check this story—Jordan Famar and Chris Anderson, remember him? Every part of his body covered with tattoos and a multi-colored mohawk? He was also nicknamed, “The Bird man.” They promptly lost the first two games by a total of 58 points. Matt Barnes summed up the situation best when, in his frustration, he said this, “We’re coming to a gunfight with spoons.”
In basketball, that is never a good situation to be in; however, we see a totally different reality in the gospel of the Kingdom. In our passage this week, God highlights that this is the situation all his disciples find themselves in. It is sort of like this: “If you saw a brain surgeon do intricate brain surgery on a person with a razor-sharp scalpel, you would be impressed; but if you saw him do it with a butter knife, you would be left in wonder and amazement.” And yet, that is the metaphor we see in what God is doing with his disciples in the book of Acts. We saw Saul, a totally disqualified person who was public enemy number one to the early church, become the biggest advocate of the gospel and the church. Now we will see God use the Apostle Peter to spread the gospel, and we will see just how unqualified he is, as well.
That is the good news for Sunday. If God was using unqualified men as Apostles, what might he do with us?
Damascus Road
Sometimes you don’t need a unique sermon title, the very episode you are dealing with speaks for itself. That is certainly true Sunday when we see the book of Acts shift into a whole new gear. The conversion of Saul of Tarsus is like landing a whale. It is so significant, it is mentioned two more times in the book of Acts, and we get a few more details along the way. It is so significant that Paul will take center stage and become the main character in Jesus’ story.
Admittedly, it has been hard to shift gears this week to ponder God’s work in redemptive history when the death of our dear friend Barbara Moore has been at the forefront of our hearts and minds. This week I have oscillated between tears, laughter, and wonder as I remember Barbara over the past 23 years I have known her and her family. Rarely have I see anyone deal with so much and yet with so much grace. She truly left the world a better place, as do all when love is operative because, “loves leaves a mark.”
The funeral will be past when you receive this, but the remembering will continue. Sunday we will take our places in worship both sad, because one of our beloved is not sitting in the back corner rocking up and down in her motorized wheel chair, and glad because her labor was not in vain and we will meet again…
God it seems has a special regard for the outcast. Think sojourners and aliens in the Old Testament. Think tax collectors in Jesus' day and now we come to the book of Acts, post resurrection, what will we make of them now? The gospel is exploding from Jerusalem and now to a people group outcast from the Jewish people—the Samaritans, but wha about individual outcast? People who just don’t fit into society and who find themselves through the exploitation of other people totally alone. Does the gospel have power to heal that?
In one of the most famous passages in the book of Acts, Philip, leaves a revival in Samaria and makes his way to Africa. there he mets perhaps the most outcast person in that society, other than a leper—a eunuch. The eunuch has title and power, as he is the treasure to the queen. But that is only his position, his identity is he is a eunuch. In those days they would take young boys and castrat them, so they could work in the royal court without distraction. Often they are found as servants in the royal harem. While the eunuch Philippi meets has position and power, he is utterly alone in the world. He is a tool. Men look at him with pity, women don’t look at him at all. Because he has no off-spring there are no huge feasts with family gathered around. Holidays and holy days are hell to him. He is an outcast from human society.
What does the gospel say to someone like this? His condition is irreversible. Heck, he is even cut off from his Jewish faith, because men with his condition are denied access to the presence of God. He is curious however because there are great promises in the Old Testament to men in his circumstance. Then when Philippi comes along and he understands that there was one more humiliated than him, one more outcast than him—we see joy. Join me Sunday as we look at the gospel to the outcast!
Also remember Fall Festival is tomorrow at noon, rain or shine. If it is raining, we will move everything in side. As I write this we have 40 Boston Butts on two grills and it smells like the New Heavens and New Earth. Men, join us tonight as we shred all this meat. I have a bunch of ribs for you if you show up tonight.
Blessings,
Jim
Last summer, our youth group’s middle school trip was cancelled just days before departure, due to a Covid outbreak among the camp staff. An all-too-familiar occurrence in those days. But, having been by then thoroughly acclimated to “the art of the pivot,” we scrambled and put together a last-minute alternative trip to the Ozarks. Among the events we had planned was a jaunt to the historic downtown theatre to see “Hot Springs’ #1 Attraction: The Maxwell Blade Magic Show.” This zany performance turned out to be equal parts David Copperfield-esque illusions, so-bad-they’re-great “dad jokes,” and an extended selection of… Elton John impersonations? It was bizarre to say the least, but the kids absolutely loved it. I still have a lot of questions about that man’s personal life.
The next day we had planned to go to Magic Springs Amusement Park as our grand finale, but alas, we received news of another Covid exposure and had to shut it down early. Everyone was devastated, of course. As we look back on the ill-fated weekend, the highlight by a longshot was that strange couple of hours’ amusement Mr. Blade provided for us. Entertainment of this kind can serve as a welcome distraction, a bit of misdirection, from the bigger, heavier things that are going on around us. And for a brief moment, we did all feel like we were having a perfectly normal (utterly abnormal) summer youth trip.
Unfortunately, and all too often, misdirection can also serve not to create wonder and joy, but to prevent us from paying attention to important things. Such is the case in this week’s passage. The flash and bang that follow Simon the Magician around mask a much more pertinent issue in his life, and are designed to distract from the cards up his sleeve. It’s a cautionary tale: if we’re not careful, even the questions a story like this raises for us can be more smoke and mirrors than a holy curiosity about the stunning bride who’d been sawed in half and badly needed putting together again.
Grace and Peace,
Joshua
I don’t know if you have ever encountered pigweed, but it is as awful as it sounds. When I moved out in the country, I brought in truckloads of composted manure from around here. What I wasn’t expecting was all the foreign weeds I would bring in. Pigweed was the worst: it is tough, spreads quickly, and –to make matters worse – it has stickers, so don’t even think about grabbing it and pulling it out with your hands. Besides that, it has roots that go deep.
No problem, I thought. I got out my sprayer and carefully went to work on it with Roundup, a herbicide that will kill anything. Well, anything but pigweed. How could that be? Roundup was a farmer’s, and also a gardener’s, dream. Finally, one spray to kill them all. But a funny thing happened along the way from when Roundup first went on the market – pigweed became resistant! Other weeds have done so as well, I hear. Such is the nature of weeds. They seem to find a way to survive.
This week we look at the unstoppable nature of the gospel. The early church in Jerusalem that we see in Acts meets persecution and an angry Saul. Little did the religious leaders know that death, persecution and even the natural enmity of the Jews and Samaritans could not stop the gospel! The gospel is sort of like that pigweed—unstoppable! That is what we are looking at Sunday. It is so encouraging, I hope you will join us.
Also, this week in Sunday School, we crank up a new class of St. Patrick 101. If you are new to St. Patrick or just finished the Inquirer’s Class, this class will take you deeper into the vision, values, and habits of St. Patrick.
I hope you all are refreshed from Fall Break. It has been a lonely week here and I look forward to seeing everyone back!
Blessings,
Jim
Twenty years ago, a book by Malcom Gladwell called The Tipping Point was all the rage. In it, he is talking about how big change happens. He says there eventually comes a time when things come to a head and something happens that pushes status quo over the edge. “The tipping point is that magic moment when an idea, trend, or social behavior crosses a threshold, tips, and spreads like wildfire.” (Malcolm Gladwell, The Tipping Point) We see the tipping point this week in Acts 7.
How is the gospel going to reach beyond Jerusalem? How is the gospel going to go to Samaria? How is the gospel going to go to the ends of the world? A couple of things happen that bring us to the tipping point. 1) Stephen’s remarks before his accusers about the temple, which is in Jerusalem, being fulfilled in Jesus; and 2) A young zealot named Paul being present when Stephen is attacked by a mob.
This Sunday, we look at the longest narrative section by any individual in the book of Acts. Stephen basically stands before a hostile crowd of his accusers and gives a recount of redemptive history. It is brilliant. Stephen uses his accusers’ own authority to show that God cannot be contained by any building and that, for all of Israel’s history, they didn’t even subscribe to the very law they said would save them.
What do we learn from this? Lots! I hope you will join us Sunday if you are not in Florida or camping! By the way, I am jealous. But since I have already had my week in Florida, I will – along with Josh –hold down the fort while most everyone is away. Also, remember: we do not have Sunday School this week as it is Fall Break for several of our schools.
Blessings,
Jim
No matter how we try to idealize the church, it is still flawed to the core, an imperfect image of the life and ministry of our Savior. And yet, for some reason, God has chosen to spread his glory to the ends of the earth through local communities who faultily and faithfully seek to be his presence in the world. The book of Acts is compelling as we see the birth pangs of the new community Jesus left on earth. Remember, in Acts we are seeing the genesis of a movement that will subvert the very empire that seeks to eradicate it.
Beset by troubles from the outside and also within, the church we see in Acts 6 is hit by yet another attack that seeks to derail it from its mission to be a light to the world—mission drift, I suppose is the term we would use today. The Apostles see a problem that, even given their super-sized gifting, they can’t solve on their own. This week we look at a church fully alive—the ministry is spreading, even the least likely persons for conversion are believing the gospel, and yet folk are being neglected and overlooked. For us, it is a reminder that, even in a church fully alive to the gospel, issues can arise that are both a crisis and a new opportunity.
This week we see the priority of both Word and Table—the gospel produces flourishing not only for the strong but also the weak. Interested? Join us Sunday as we ponder the mystery of Christ’s continued work in the world through His Spirit-indwelled body—the Church!
Blessings,
Jim
A friend of mine sent me an article from GQ magazine this week, entitled “Inside the World of Leg-Lengthening.” Apparently, this is a recent phenomenon among wealthy men who are willing to have their femurs broken and gradually extended by titanium implants in order to gain three to six inches of height. The friend who sent the article is about my stature and neither of us will ever be able to afford it, so I didn’t take it as a slight. He knew I’d be as fascinated as he is by the psychology of the thing. You see, each patient interviewed plainly admitted that he was driven to these extreme cosmetic measures by jealousy. To be clear, these men were not actually jealous of the height of other men, per se, but of the advantages that seem to correlate with that higher elevation. Believe me, if any of these men thought they could get those benefits without the height, not one of them would have bothered with the procedure.
If we’re willing to listen carefully, what and whom we’re jealous of can actually tell us some really important and lovely things about ourselves. Behind our envy of body type, material wealth, popularity, celebrity, success, relationships, talents, and most other things, lies a really healthy and beautiful longing for peace. We were made for peace, and so our hunger for it is actually a gift that leads us to its true fulfilment. The particular “what” and “whom” we’re jealous of is just a hint about how our broken stories have shaped our expectations for what might meet that longing. Often, we are mistaken about the true origins of peace. But where our desire gets really dicey is when we answer questions like, “To what lengths will I go to secure this particular instrument of peace,” and, “Will I settle for a counterfeit?” with answers like, “Any lengths,” and “Yes, I would.”
That’s exactly where we find the leaders of Israel in this week’s passage. They’re described as being filled with jealousy toward the apostles. They’re not jealous of these men’s intimacy with God, but of their standing with the people. They had gone to every length imaginable to build up a counterfeit priesthood - a sham system that gave them what little security and standing was available to people whom Jesus described knowing “neither the scriptures, nor the power of God.” They'd gotten all the advantages they wanted without the authenticity of the vocation. But now it’s crumbling around them, and their rage just grows and grows.
Can reflection on priestly jealousy tell us something about our own prospects for peace today? I believe it can, and I can’t wait to share it with you this Sunday.
- joshua
I have been back in the mundane for a couple of weeks now and about to find my sea legs. So, after a week of personal privilege, we are back to our fall study in the book of Acts. This week we come to the familiar story of Ananias and Sapphira. Remember them? They are the ones that are struck dead for what the text calls, “lying to God.” Essentially what happened was some members in this first community of believers saw something so profound and glorious that they wanted to counterfeit it. One thing I know is that you only counterfeit that which is glorious! For instance, you don’t counterfeit what is throwaway, like paper plates; you counterfeit that which you see as glorious—weighty, priceless, or beautiful. C. S. Lewis also says “glorious” means something like fame, approval or a good report. Ananias and Sapphira saw the overwhelming generosity that the gospel produced and tried to steal it. They wanted credit without the cross. They wanted the honor or acclaim that should have gone to God. Not often do we see God come out of heaven, but apparently this is the thing that can sink the church—hypocrisy, which is trying to be or appear something we are not. Sunday, we will talk about why this threat is just as real, perhaps even more so, in our own day and time. I hope to see you there. Also, if you are new and want to know more about St. Patrick, we have an Inquirers’ Class for you at 9:15am where we talk about our story, vision and values. We also have classes for all ages in Sunday School, also at 9:15. The semester is just getting underway, so it is a good time to plug in!
Blessings,
Jim
There and Back Again: Sabbatical Reflections You may recognize the title as something I borrowed from Bilbo. It was the working title of what would later be called, The Hobbit. Bilbo’s journey was an adventure; mine was a sabbatical journey, though it was not without adventure. Adventure because I got lost in the Red River Gorge, met a world-famous artist in the marshes of South Carolina, fly-fished with (to my mind) “the world’s most interesting man” on the Rogue River, saw my wife chase a black bear, and took a seven iron to a water moccasin that was about to strike Addy. It was an adventure because I dipped my feet in the Atlantic Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific Ocean. I traveled to beaches and mountains, all sharing a sameness but each with its own unique terroir. I experienced why Calvin called the works of God in creation, “a theater of God’s glory”. My time away was not all fun and games, though. With time and space, I was able do something I have longed to do, which was to write. Teri and I agreed that I would spend three to five hours a day writing, so I did, and I am a long way down the road on a theological reflection of the past seven years. This Sunday will be my first time preaching in over four months. It just might be a fiasco— last Monday, my first time smoking meat in over four months sure was! Nevertheless, I can’t wait to be back with you all in Worship. Sunday, I am going to do something I have never done and most likely will never do again: I am going to talk about what God has taught me during this time of going fallow. I am using Psalm 92, which is called, “A Song for the Sabbath” to help gather my thoughts and reflections. I also will share some of the breathtaking beauty that was, for me, an essential part of my time away. The title of the sermon this week is important. I realized during my wandering that what Tolkien says, “All those who wander are not lost,” is true. The “there” was awesome, meaningful, and restful because—for me, at least —there is a “back again.” A little more than three months in, I told Teri, “I am about ready to be home.” So here I am and so thankful for the family of St. Patrick. The gift of this sabbatical for me and my family was immense, and my hope and prayer is that it will bear much fruit for all of us. I can’t wait for Sunday and hope to see you there. Oh, and if you are new, join me Sunday at 9:15am for our Inquirer’s Class where I will introduce you to St. Patrick and explain why I am so glad to be your pastor.
Blessings,
Jim
Sing, Muse, the rage of Achilles, Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls Of heroes into Hades' dark, And left their bodies to rot as feasts For dogs and birds, as Zeus' will was done. - Homer, The Illiad, Book I: 1-6
So begins the founding work of the western canon of literature. We tend to think of the Illiad (if at all!) as a story about the downfall of the Trojan civilization, or, maybe a moral cautionary tale about the consequences of unbridled romantic ambitions toward a woman already spoken for. But Homer’s Illiad begins, in media res, with a man who has lost control. Here is the actual core to the epic: the hero Achilles. In search of immortal glory, the warrior has lost his world’s most cherished possession – his friend Patroclus – and the demigodly power he wields finds a new focus in apocalyptic revenge. His violent fury is what moves the action of the West’s first great epic to its dramatic conclusion and the eventual founding of the Roman empire. All that to say, one desperate man can do a lot of damage.
It’s all here: the violent rage of a man losing control; the unchangeable plan of a deity whose will is even more absolute; the witness who can only testify in awe of what’s been seen. And these are also the movements of Acts 4, which we’ll be looking at this Sunday. The man born lame from birth bounds around the Temple, an innocent leaping deer that just don’t mind no fences. And the gatekeepers know that this is a sign that the system supporting their security is crumbling before their eyes. What’s our natural response when our idols catch fire? We rage. And so, those Temple authorities seize Peter and John and try all they can to suppress the threat. All the while these witnesses, inspired and indwelt by the Greatest of Muses, can merely testify to the will of a sovereign King whose firstborn Son, unlike unlucky Hector, simply refused to stay dead.
It seems so fitting to invoke tales of old as we welcome back our Senior Pastor, Jim, from his four-month sabbatical this weekend. I have often referred to him as a man of legend; a hero of old. I’m certain that you will hear many a yarn spun over the next several weeks about how all that went, and I trust you will be as delighted and inspired as I always am by his arresting presence. And thank you all for the kindness you’ve shown our whole staff as we’ve labored in his absence. Now, let’s look ahead to what’s next!
- joshua
My aunt Jody was a sign maker when I was a child. One of her biggest clients was the FedEx St. Jude Classic, where once a year she had the honor of participating in a truly iconic piece of signage. Fans will know that at “our” tournament, in place of the traditional “quiet please” signs, Southwind opts for a more culturally appropriate, “hush y’all.” It’s a local point of privilege that I hope we never retire. Yet, as bespoke as our vanity signs may be, the message is still the same as all the others: "pay attention, something big is near."
I would imagine that if you compared the real estate dedicated to signs pointing travelers to Disney World to the square inches the Magical Place actually covers, there would be no contest. I’d also wager no one actually in Disney has ever spent time reminiscing about the signs that got them there. Why is it then that we are so often a people so obsessed with signs and wonders? Why did I as a younger man long with Habakkuk to see signs and wonders renewed in my own day?
Fourteen miracles are recorded in the Book of Acts, and only one of them is directly called a sign. In this week's text, we see Peter and John heal a crippled man at the Temple gate called Beautiful. But for all the hype surrounding these supernatural moments, miracle-worker Peter himself is urging us not to miss what’s being signified when a sign appears. Every part of this story is screaming at us to look past itself to the Bigger, More Beautiful Gate that is so, so near.
So, while the church is gathered inside this Sunday to celebrate the Word and Table, I trust you won’t be caught huddling around the St. Patrick sign out front!
This week I got to sit down with the first class of St. Patrick's Residency Program. This has been a dream of ours ever since Jim and I sat in a workshop on developing next generation leaders at the General Assembly meetings in Sacramento over five years ago. Our original goal was to launch in 2020, but we all know that was the year dreams went to die. And yet, we are a resurrection people! So here we are, welcoming in three young disciples to learn the ways of disciple-making at St. Patrick.
People have categories for a medical residency, but what is a ministry residency? When I was with the residents this week, we talked about how Jesus called his first disciples in John 1. He asked them what they wanted (because we are, after all, what we love), and they responded by asking him, "where are you staying?" A more prescient question than they knew, since they were, after all, addressing the One who only verses earlier was introduced as the Word who dwells among us, full of grace and truth. After living and working alongside Jesus for three years, they were able to then go and make disciples as well, doing with others what Jesus had done with them.
The St. Patrick Residency exists to equip future ministers for their vocation through instruction, immersion, and imitation in the discipleship paradigms of our church. Residents “learn by living” alongside our staff and pastors as we set tables of grace in Jesus’ name. They will dwell richly among us, immersed in a world of grace, feasting, and family, watching in awe with us as we see heaven made local through our life in the Spirit. This Sunday, I'll introduce you to them and we'll pray together that His residency in them would bear fruit in our midst.
Speaking of such things, I can't wait to sit alongside you all this weekend as Will preaches one of my favorite passages in Acts. He'll unpack for us how we're all experiencing a sort of residency as the Spirit takes up residence in our lives, homes, and relationships and transforms forever what it means to share a life together.
Cut to the Heart At sixteen, I was just beginning to "own" my faith, as well as some pretty lofty musical aspirations. This meant that neither my parents’ rural Cumberland Presbyterian church nor my extended family’s suburban Southern Baptist church were quite… dynamic enough for my tastes. Providentially, late 1990’s charismatic youth groups were quite successful in recruiting from the billowing fountain of young wannabe rock-stars in Cordova. I found myself caught in the flow of that movement; I absolutely loved the spinning, strobing lights (as well as permanent hearing damage) we were experiencing together. We were all just sloshing around like blissful drops in the youth group emocean. But it didn’t take long for me to discover that there were some other differences in the church that didn’t feel quite so inviting to me.
It all centered on the way they spoke about the Holy Spirit. In their midst, the gifts of the Spirit were almost exclusively those performed and platformed with a high level of enthusiasm in worship: the weirder, the better. I was given the impression that this was a deeper level of spirituality that had been unlocked, and it was the reason my own church had been so boring. Of course, one had to accept Jesus into his or her heart in order to be saved; but after that, the really good stuff was available only to those who had figured out how to “fully surrender.” These special folks could speak and pray in tongues, prophesy, heal and be healed. I earnestly desired those gifts, but found that I couldn’t manage to “surrender” enough, and I wouldn’t fake it. Eventually, I lost interest in that group where I could never quite belong.
This week in our Heaven Is Local series, we’re beginning to unpack the Pentecost events of Acts 2. Here, we see Peter preach a message that demands a response. He tells the hearers of the gospel to repent, be baptized, and receive the Holy Spirit. So, here’s the million-dollar question: is this a list of separate three steps, or is it all one thing? I’ll encourage you to slow down and consider it well, because the answer, my friends, might be blowin’ in the wind.
- joshua
“Faith is not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart.” ― Abraham Joshua Heschel
“This hill, though high, I covet to ascend; The difficulty will not me offend. For I perceive the way to life lies here. Come, pluck up, heart; let's neither faint nor fear. Better, though difficult, the right way to go, Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe.” ― John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress
I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.”
— Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer Abroad
Well, we’ve come to the end of our Messiah’s Mixtape Series. While I love starting a new thing, I’m learning not to rush on to the next event without reflecting carefully on what’s passed. Mostly Allie has taught me this discipline, which has an element of healthy grieving to it. Maybe that’s why we don’t stop to process our experiences often enough: because it feels too much like a death. But I can’t begin to tell you what a blessing it is to grieve as those who have hope. It’s a kind of gratitude to look back and remember all the providence of God, and I have so loved this provision.
We began our summer in the Psalms by looking at Mary’s Magnificat, wondering at the womb that nourished our Messiah with the songs of Israel. Then, we dug into those Psalms and considered Jesus from so many angles: One who is not only God, but is also truly human. Alongside us He desires, and mourns, and suffers, and longs, and hopes. And He does so within and on behalf of a people, a family, made out of love. I’m honestly so glad we had Will to preach three of those Psalms. His keen perspective and pastoral kindness are a daily gift to me personally and I love that we got to share that part of him with you, too. If you missed any of those, they’re all archived on our website on the “our worship” page, under the “about us” tab.
For the past few weeks, we’ve been wrapping up and hinting ahead to the next series by looking at the Messianic Psalm of Ascension. This final week in Psalm 68 zooms out on the covenant community and sees them joyfully ascending Zion behind their conquering Messiah. What we don’t see (and what the first readers of this Psalm would have known) is the backstory to this part of the Psalm. It’s 2 Samuel chapter 6, where King David undertakes to establish the permanent Temple. All the fanfare and celebration are still there, but we also get two tragic incidents that so haunt the memory of Israel as to sometimes hinder her upward progress. They’re a window into the kinds of things that can hinder our procession of pilgrims, too.
I hope you'll join us and be encouraged by the fact that the same grace that brought us safe thus far shall also lead us home.
- joshua
The Way Up Is Down I got a text today from a friend who’s sitting on a beach finishing reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time (oh, to be in his sandals!). He said it had been well over a decade since he’d watched The Return of the King and he had totally forgotten one of its biggest twists. The Witch-King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgûl, who could “never be hindered by a man” was very much hindered by… a young woman, and a hobbit (half a man, some would say). As surprising and rewarding as that little verbal loophole is to the new (or forgetful) reader, imagine the shock to readers in the decades before women were commonly seen in battle at all!
Yet by far the most surprised of creatures was that vile Ringwraith. He never saw it coming, and wouldn’t have believed it if you told him. Those who operate according to the ways and powers of this world cannot conceive of the economy of God. How can it be that the weak could so shame the strong? He was like the Mount of Bashan in Psalm 68 (our text again this week), looking down on “halflings,” like Pippen, or a little hill like Zion, with utter contempt. I was so pleased to discover that the background to this Psalm is formed in part by the story from Judges of Deborah and Barak, and Jael, the brave young woman who brought down the commander Sisera with a tent peg through his temple. What an exhilarating tale of the lowly defeating the exalted!
A church member invoked the saying this week as she unexpectedly found herself in a hospital waiting room: “Where dependence is the goal, weakness is an advantage.” I repeat it ad nauseam to you guys because I have found it to be one of the kinder truths I have ever encountered. Don’t get me wrong: I resist feeling or being seen as weak with every fiber of my broken little heart. But that is also exactly where I have most felt the abiding presence of God, for Whom I am made. And He’s been so faithful to show me that the way up is down.
So, I hope you can join us this weekend as we continue on to part two of three in plumbing the depths of our final Messianic Psalm this summer.
- joshua
God Shall Arise Sometimes you just happen onto the right thing. For example, today I ordered a muffin because it looked good in the display case. But it ended up being pumpkin chocolate chip, the smell of which transported me to my childhood in a way that was exactly what I needed in that moment. It reminds me of how I didn’t fall in love with my wife as a result of some rigorous evaluation process designed to match me with the perfect companion and partner. I met a bewilderingly beautiful girl and asked her on a date and she just turned out to be all of those things (and more!). God often uses our non-reflective desires to put us right where he wants us.
That is, in fact, how I came to spend a good bit of my study leave this week reading Plato’s Republic with the Dean of the honors program at one of my alma maters. There are many good reasons one would do such a thing, but the first of them is simply that I am a nerd and it sounded fun to me. But as it turns out, since I am preparing to launch us into the Book of Acts this fall, it’s also been a perfect complement to my other studies. After all, the cultural background for the vast majority of New Testament characters and letter recipients was profoundly shaped by the philosophers Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Now, I didn’t have the foresight to plan these things to line up so well, but that didn’t stop God from being awesome to me.
It’s true that Paul told some of these Corinthian Greeks that to their own people the cross is folly – actually the opposite of man’s wisdom. But he also spent precious time in Athens, the birthplace of these philosophies, using their own arguments to defend the very gospel that would eclipse them. He showed us that understanding a world is an important element in bringing them good news. Likewise, our own internal wrestlings to receive the gospel are helped along when we can identify what exactly it is in us that objects to His love.
As Paul Harvey taught us, it’s often the rest of the story that makes sense of the more striking events. No matter how our background sets up our objections to the gospel, for God to have lived on earth and died on a cross only sounds like folly or a scandal if it is not then followed by the truth of His unassailable victory on our behalf. So, for the next three weeks, we’re going to work our way through one last epic song in Messiah’s Mixtape: Psalm 68. Here we will be given a glorious extended picture of the victory of God that follows from the cross of Christ by his resurrection, ascension, and a procession of gifts.
- josh
Blessing in Betrayal On the day of the Collierville fireworks our house becomes, for one glorious evening, party central. We get a huge water slide, invite all the neighbors and nearby community groups, and party down. What a way to live into our victory over Britain, right? Well imagine, then, that in the afterglow of victory’s fireworks, you immediately turn your attention to one of the war’s more painful chapters—the treachery of Benedict Arnold, one of George Washington’s most trusted generals. It would be like the best man bringing up a cheating ex in his reception speech. In a weird way, that’s where we find ourselves as we approach Psalm 41.
Last week, Josh led us through Psalm 45, the song of the bridegroom, the King of heaven come to earth to prepare for himself a royal bride. Psalm 41 turns our focus to one who tried to derail the whole project - Judas. But what we find even in the midst of Jesus’s worst suffering at the hands of rebellious humans is that he is still about the work of caring for his beloved. Join us as we reflect on Jesus’s own experience of betrayal and how his suffering in it informs and redeems ours. See you Sunday!
- Will
Greetings from sunny Michigan, where it feels pretty great outside, and people still keep apologizing for how hot it is. Josh and I have been here this week for our denomination's annual conference, and it's been rich. We've connected with friends and fellow pastors from all over the country, bouncing from meetings to breweries to worship services, and I am both filled and ready to introvert for a bit.
During one of our services, they offered a time where people could come forward and receive prayer, and I saw what I think is a pretty good picture of living fully and faithfully here as we try to embody Jesus in the everyday. One of the military chaplains, a tall, very fit guy with fatigues on, was walking to the front carrying a box of kleenex. It's a good picture because it's who Jesus is for us. He is strong, he fights for us, and he wields his strength with meekness, ready to dry our tears. This Sunday we'll look at what it looks like to wait faithfully, and to feel Jesus sustain us in that with strength and kindness.
In the meantime, Josh and I have just gotten word that our flight is delayed, so we’ll see if I can walk the talk when it comes to waiting. See you Sunday, unless I fail waiting badly enough for the Air Marshall to intervene.
- Will
Enthroned on the Praises Have you had the experience yet of running into someone you haven't talked to since before COVID? It was great to catch up with my friend Greg recently, as we hadn’t talked much since he launched a new church plant in that "BC" era. When he shared all that has transpired since then, I was blown away. He’s still planting the church, but that’s about the only thing that didn’t change! No matter how much time I spend with church planters and other pioneers, it never ceases to amaze me how wrong we always are about how the future will unfold. That’s not only true in the birth and life of a church: how much of your own life has come to pass exactly as you predicted?
As the military strategist Helmuth von Moltke famously declared, “No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.” It seems making a detailed plan is a really great way to get down on paper exactly what won’t happen. So why do we even bother? I think the reason we do it (and should!) is because making a detailed plan helps us imagine our ideals, our vision and values, in concrete form. It allows us to talk about the dreams we share together. Looking back on the year’s expenses can be an exercise in accountability and discipline, but it’s also often a litany of things we never saw coming. Writing it all down helps us better to see who we desire to be, and who we’re not, despite all our intentions and efforts. But I hope more than anything it’s an opportunity we use to celebrate, not how faithful we were, but how faithful God is.
As we prepare to review our church budget this Sunday, I want to encourage us to remember that our greatest responsibility is in asking ourselves questions like, “Is this plan a faithful picture of who we want to be?” and, “Can we offer this budget as a prayer of supplication, asking the Lord to bless our earnest desires to glorify him in all the ministry these digits represent?” The budget is not an interruption in worship to handle the church’s administrative necessities. It is most purely an act of worship. And as we will see in this Sunday's text, worship is first and foremost the overflow of praise in gratitude. So, let’s make sure we remember that the table where we balance our checkbook is the same one where we’ve received the body and blood of Christ our Savior. Thanks be to God for that!
- joshua
My God, My God! The halls around me are transforming into the dusty streets of the Ancient Near East. There are seder meal menus and ancient Hebrew scripts on the copier. Veggie Tale songs resonate in the rafters. Yes, Vacation Bible School starts on Monday and soon we will see Jerusalem transposed to a juvenile key. It’s a program lovingly crafted to immerse our children and their neighbors in the world of Jesus’ passion. Amy and I were just laughing about some of the more ridiculous accommodations we make in order to make these things make sense to kids. But that’s just what love does: we speak to be heard, and often this means bringing things down to the young beloved’s level.
When God does this kind of thing for his children, theologians call it “divine condescension.” That word “condescend” gets a bad rap these days, but it’s really a kindness: God comes down to us in our inability to ascend to him. I thought about that as we began the infamous Leviticus this week in the Soul Room. Even though it’s a notoriously difficult book to make it through, Leviticus is infinitely valuable source material for a feasting church (peep chapter 23!). More than that, its weirdness is a perfect illustration of the lengths to which Yahweh goes to have his love heard and understood by people whose thoughts are so far below his own. He assumes images, rituals, and languages they already know, and then He exalts those cultural artifacts by using them to express his profound fondness for sinners. What wondrous love.
He's doing the same thing for us when Jesus quotes Psalm 22 on the cross. It was common practice those days to reference the first line of a work as an allusion to the entire text. The High Priest Jesus wanted us to be comforted by the fact that in his moment of perfect self-sacrifice, he was relating to us not merely as a substitute, but also as a co-sufferer. To feel alone in our pain is a universal and deeply disorienting human experience. And yet that’s good news too, because, in the words of the ancient father St. Gregory Nazianzen, “That which is not assumed is not redeemed.” Now, no one can ever again be in that place of feeling forsaken without sharing the company of Christ. Let’s talk more about it this Sunday.
- joshua
PS: Each week during this series, I’ll also be including in this space two playlists – Messiah’s Mixtape, where you can hear fantastic song versions of the Psalms we’re preaching through, and also a “Staff Member Mixtape,” where you can enjoy some of the songs that have shaped us in the past or are inspiring us today. This week, it's Luke!
When a Worship Pastor Preaches Well, this is the week the Smith family heads to Orlando to finally celebrate our 10-year-old’s eighth birthday! I’m sure you can imagine how devastating that pandemic-enforced deferral was for her. There was a lot of that going around back then. I honestly don’t know who mourned their respective delayed trips more – her, or Jim Holland! But what was longed for, has at last come near. The bags are almost (over)packed and sprinkled with pixie dust, and we’ll pull out as early on Sunday morning as I can muster the troops.
Another joy was delayed for that couple of years while we readjusted our plans and expectations. I’m so thrilled for you to finally benefit this Sunday from the pulpit ministry of our only teaching elder who has never preached at St. Patrick! As my crew travels south, you’ll have the rare privilege of being led by Rev. Will Weir to the right hand of our Lord, where the pleasures forevermore dwarf even the freshest mouse-and-wizard-themed attractions. Don’t believe me? Just read Psalm 16 and come hear him expound it on Sunday.
As a former worship pastor, I have a great appreciation for both the leap and the continuity in moving from one side of the stage to the other. I know Will is the right man to guide you through these words of glorious inheritance in our Messiah. Aside from his great story-craft sensibilities, he is a careful student of Scripture and a profoundly kind man. And you’ll need both, since there’s a treacherous road between here and there, to be sure, and it leads much farther south than we want to go. But as our Senior Pastor always says, “Everything you want is on the other side of hard!” Praise the Lord that his under-shepherds are plentiful, His Spirit is at work and his grace is everything!
- j
PS: Each week during this series, I’ll also be including in this space two playlists – Messiah’s Mixtape, where you can hear fantastic song versions of the Psalms we’re preaching through, and also a “Staff Member Mixtape,” where you can enjoy some of the songs that have shaped us in the past or are inspiring us today. This week, it's Will!
Psalm 8: "What Is Man?" [photo] Yes, that little cutie in the Prince-of-Pop-inspired ‘fit is none other than yours truly. He just wants to listen to some tunes with a “big person.” He will perhaps that very day discover songs that range the gamut of emotion and thought. Songs that cut through style and genre across the decades and even centuries to reflect those elements common to the human experience. Words and music that will seep down into his soul and become the language he uses to express that experience – and through those expressions to know what it means to be truly known by others. Now, he doesn’t know any of that yet, but still, he reaches.
Language seems to elude us these days, especially when it comes to defining a human – when and how one begins, what its unalienable properties are, and especially what its purpose is. The very first principle of debate is that parties must agree upon the definition of terms. They need to be clear and rich enough to contain the content of our conversations. Unfortunately, much of public discourse today is thwarted before it can even begin, in this initial phase. Yet as I said before, songs go a long way in shaping our internal dictionaries. When we reach for expression in a profound moment, it is more often than not in a song lyric or poetry that our tongues find purchase. And Psalm 8 is a song above all others to give us our definition of Humanity. First, and quite ironically, it defines us as the kind of creature who would even ask such a question!
I’m so grateful I get to preach this passage on a Sunday where we are honoring graduating seniors, (a rite of passage into the responsibilities of adult humanity) – and again on Sunday night at our sister church in Huntsville, (where we’ll be ordaining and installing a master of divinity to his pastorate). I love that spectrum and how Psalm 8 hangs in the balance. It’s just like my usual Sunday morning prayer, where I always acknowledge that it is Christ who is the frailty of humanity met with the fullness of divinity, and in Him alone where we may ultimately find ourselves. - j
PS: Each week during this series, I’ll also be including in this space two playlists – Messiah’s Mixtape, where you can hear fantastic song versions of the Psalms we’re preaching through, and also a “Staff Member Mixtape,” where you can enjoy some of the songs that have shaped us in the past or are inspiring us today. I’ll go first!
Mary’s Mixtape
Last summer, I had a revelation. If you had asked me before then to describe the formative music of my childhood, I would have immediately launched into hard rock, beginning with Led Zeppelin and tracing the thread through the arenas of the eighties and grunge of the nineties. But last July, a favorite artist of mine released somewhat of a throwback album, drawing on what he has called his “mom’s music.” A departure from his usual blues infused riff-rock, this was more the easy listening of Steve Winwood, Phil Collins, and Toto.
All of a sudden, I realized that although I had often preferred and chosen the music I heard in my dad’s pickup, it was the songs aimed at my mother and her peers that formed the more frequent soundtrack of my childhood. Air Supply was what played in the doctor’s office waiting room and grocery store aisles. Acts like Don Henley and Jackson Browne were the gentle score of everyday life. And I believe they were every bit as formative to my sensibilities as the stuff I chose for myself.
That’s why, although we are officially launching our series on the Messianic Psalms this week, I’m beginning with a New Testament text. (Happy Mothers’ Day!) You see, when Mary was told she’d be the mother of God, she immediately burst out in Psalm. Lots of them, actually. Her Magnificat is like a greatest hits mixtape, just like the ones we used to make and wear out in the days of Magnavox. Her theology is richly layered and broadly sourced from the music of her people. And there is no reason whatsoever to believe that she didn’t fill her house with the sounds of her soul, immersing her children in a world of poetic imagery that forever shaped the way they would see the world.
The whole book of Psalms is Messiah music; what Calvin called “an anatomy of all parts of the soul,” spelled out across individual experiences and scaled to the story of Israel and the nations. And Jesus rightly saw himself as the keynote and melody of that whole collection. His mom’s music was his own.
I often have lunches with folks who say, “I just don’t know what to do with the Psalms.” And I tell them, don’t try to drink the seven seas. Just swim in them. To be immersed in the Psalms is to be awash in language for every aspect of the human condition, and thus to see the heart of Jesus. So, in addition to joining us for worship this summer as Will and I lay open the heart of Jesus in the Psalms, here are 3 things you can do to get good and saturated in them:
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Join us in the Soul Room each weekday morning and pray the Psalms back to God.
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Pick up and savor a book like Open and Unafraid by David Taylor or Reflections on the Psalms by C.S. Lewis
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Find a playlist (or make your own mixtape!) of Psalms sung by gifted musicians like The Corner Room or Poor Bishop Hooper
Remember Me for Good I ran into an acquaintance today who asked what I plan to preach this summer. When I told him we’re going to be exploring the Messianic Psalms, he lit up. “I’ve been asking this question and no one knows: why do the Jews want a Messiah when they don’t believe in Hell?” I was a bit taken aback at first, because, while I do earnestly believe that salvation from Hell is a primary eternal benefit, it’s been a long time since I assumed that Jesus’ only earthly objective was securing a heavenly afterlife.
As a Cordovan, I grew up in the shadow of Bellevue Baptist Church, whose be-sainted Dr. Adrian Rogers famously said, “Some people just want to make the world a better place to go to hell from.” He was rightly pushing back against the idea of a social agenda without respect to the eternal state of souls before God. Indeed, “for what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” And yet, Jesus also teaches us to pray that God’s “will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven,” and to reduce his insistence on love of neighbor to perpetual altar calls would be a tragic violation of the text. So, what is the relationship between eternal salvation and social reform?
As we finally wrap up our semester-long series, Nehemiah seems to be wrestling with this tension, too. He doesn’t have our separation-of-church-and-state baggage, which, as we will see, really muddies the waters for him when it comes to the use of force. (Ezra pulls out his own hair; Nehemiah will pull out yours!) Still, his position as governor of a theocratic region gives him perhaps a better vantage point from which to explore the relationship between eternity and the here-and-now.
Does he get it right? No. But, as it turns out, an anticlimax at the end of the Old Testament does exactly what it’s designed to do! And "the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust." So, join us for one more week of Muddling Toward Messiah before we turn our attention to a summer of Psalms that speak with much more clarity and comfort about the God-Man, Lord and Savior of Heaven and Earth.
- j
Renewal We simply are not the people we want to be. Whether you are a Christian or a pagan, if we are honest, we know this. I really wish I was like nature and knew that, when spring hit and the sun warmed the days and the soil temperature heated up, I would burst out in a renewal of color and fruit. But alas, it is not so; and since we are fallen creatures who continually fall short of what we were designed for—we need renewal.
This Sunday we will meet a people who need renewal. This becomes abundantly clear as they read from the Torah and have the Levites explain it to them. As more light gets in, it exposes how far they have missed the mark and reveals that human thriving will not happen apart from their design. This sets off a whole chain of events which we will unpack on Sunday. I can’t wait to share it with you.
Also, this is my last Sunday before I leave on Sabbatical and will unplug for four months. Every day, as the time draws closer, I ponder what a gift this is, and I am so thankful for St. Patrick and that I can be your pastor.
Blessings,
Jim
The Story You Want to be True I am reading through The Lord of the Rings. I make a pilgrimage to Middle Earth most every year in the spring time. I miss Middle Earth. Anyway, when Sam and Frodo find themselves caught up in a task much bigger than they asked for, Sam asks a really profound question, “I wonder what sort of tale we’ve fallen into?” J. R. R. Tolkien tells us the kind of tale they fell into in his book on fairy stories: it is an eucatastrophe (a good catastrophe). What he means is, it is a story of struggle, fear, sorrow, and it looks like all is lost; and then, wonder of wonders, hope breaks in and there is a happy ending. However, this is somewhat nuanced because in the triumph there is still the looking back on sorrow and loss, not the elimination of it. And because of that, the joy is so much richer.
What we have today and Sunday is the ultimate eucatastrophe. On Good Friday, all is lost and hopeless. Despite the disciples being told many times Jesus would suffer, die and be raised again, they can’t see the “rise again” part. Heck, none of them—even on a lark—showed up. No, they were hopeless, filled with sorrow, and lost. A crucified Messiah, after all, was a contradiction in terms. But then, on Sunday, against all hope, against their theological categories, Jesus rose from the grave. It is more than a happy ending to a story. The story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection is much richer for being cast into grief and sorrow, and it also more realistic and believable. It is also the kind of story every believer is cast into.
This Easter Sunday, we will explore this idea because all our lives take the form of story and, without Easter Sunday, all our lives would end in tragedy because death will have the final word. But with the resurrection, the story line is recast. So much so that, even if we live in a time of evil and that evil washes over us, we can say with Sam, that wise hobbit, “…in the end, it’s only a passing thing…this shadow. Even the darkness must pass.” Glory!
A reminder, we have two services this Easter Morning, 9:00AM and 11:00AM. I can’t wait because, after this long slog through Lent, Easter morning screams—“Joy has the last word!”
Blessings,
Jim
Hungry Is Better than Sorry This weekend we celebrate Palm Sunday, a tradition tied to the triumphal entry of Christ into Jerusalem and the beginning of his Passion. Jesus is welcomed through the gates of Zion as their long-awaited Savior-king, but by the end of the week he’s being executed as a criminal outside its walls. These are, by the way, the same city walls (massive improvements notwithstanding) that we just saw Nehemiah and company rebuild over just 52 days despite “decay from within and from without.”
Who could have imagined that the city built (at great cost!) to be a dwelling place for God and man would ultimately reject the perfect God-man? After decades of celebrating this series of events, I am still amazed by the reversal. Which is weird, because it’s not like my heart isn’t just as fickle. I’m like Paul in Romans 7: I do what I don’t want to do, and I don’t do what I do want to do. (Who will deliver me from this body of death!?) Scripture is a faithful mirror to the soul.
It reminds me of the young man who tried to order his steak well done at a fancy-schmancy Manhattan restaurant. When the waiter refused to fulfill that request, the man protested, “But that’s how I like it!” To which the server deadpanned, “With all due respect, sir, you don’t know what you like.” It really does come down to desires, and how our crooked affections must be trained to love the lovely.
In our passage this week, we find Ezra and Nehemiah tag-teaming the remnant, lovingly reminding them that they suffer from something far worse and yet somehow also mercifully better than guilt. Humanity’s great shame is that we have a tragically unsophisticated palate! We settle for and even learn to crave things that simply do not satisfy the hunger with which we were created, which was intended to drive us to the One for whom we were made.
Their surprising solution? Less weeping; more feasting.
I can’t wait to show you!
- josh
The Shape of Kingdom Story Every year in the early spring, anger starts to build. I look out over my garden and it is fallow; yet weeds are starting to sprout everywhere. I survey my yard and the brown dormant grass is sprinkled with spring weeds. Teri’s beds are a mess, as well. For months this has been okay, but now it is not okay. My vineyard is also a depressing sight—it looks like a bee hive of branches, in no particular order. So, I am ticked. For this to be beautiful, something has to be roused from lethargy; priorities will have to shift—what I want is on the other side of hard! I belong to this place—that is why I feel anger. For it to bloom, I will have to push back the weeds that threaten to overrun everything.
Anger is not enough. Anger just gets me going. The real work is in inventorying the needs for weed control in my yard, followed by trips to TSS and Russell’s Farm Supply. Cleaning out my sprayer, mulching leaves, picking up sticks. I have just a few Saturdays to get this done and other good things will have to wait, while hours upon hours are spent in back-breaking labor. Everything is out to wreck what I am trying to achieve—weeds, moles, raccoons, deer, bugs beyond reckoning, and weather. Not to mention, my own laziness and desire to do other things. Trouble without! Trouble within!
Last week we saw Nehemiah set his people’s hair on fire. With the exception of the Tekoian nobles, everyone showed up to do work they were not good at, sacrificing personal glory for God’s glory. They were angry for God’s glory and so they came to work. This Sunday we see it takes much more than anger to get things done. Without anger, I suppose nothing worthwhile gets started, but what it takes to keep going is more like virtue. All kingdom building has a similar shape. There will be trouble without and trouble within, and it is so discouraging you want to quit. And yet, real kingdom-building perseveres. That is the part of the story we enter into this Sunday. I hope you will join us. We also have a bunch of new family members to introduce you to as well.
Speaking of perseverance, I don’t know about you but I am ready for the dog days of Lent to give way to resurrection. It is coming––hang on!
Blessings,
Jim
A Bit Player in a Bigger Story I have done mission work where I was put in charge of the roofers. Though it is not my vocation, at one time it was. I roofed houses with my dad for a few years, then worked for my uncle through high school in the summers. There isn’t much I can’t roof.
So, of course, they put me in charge of the roofing crew. There I was with a bunch of youth, eager to roof this house and full of dreams and aspirations of how I would turn these teens into roofers. It didn’t turn out that way. It was more like a monkey with a football, and I found out I had less virtue than I thought.
Something like that is happening in Nehemiah 3, except we are dealing with adults who have professional vocations that don’t look anything like masonry and carpentry. There are professionals that lead these crews of people, and they are tasked with rebuilding 10 gates and 2.5 miles of wall. I had PTSD reading this, imagining what this must have looked like. However, it worked! It worked in the same way it has always worked when God is building his kingdom. He takes people very competent in their professional life and asks them to do jobs and ministry they are totally unequipped for. How is that possible? You will have to join us on Sunday to find out!
Here is to a great Crawfish Boil on Saturday! Hope you’re planning to join us!
Blessings, Jim
Let Us Rise Up and Build Was Spring Break even a thing when I was a kid? Maybe it was, but that should tell you how little emphasis was placed on it in my circles. I think maybe Easter break was a bigger deal, but I suppose a movable feast becomes a moving target for year-over-year planning. So possibly there came a point where the emphasis shifted. Or perhaps, like Chinese food, it was always there and just made very little impression on me as a youth. Either way, by the time I became a teenager, Spring Break was really only a thing we shouldn’t be curious about, which happened on MTV, a channel we didn’t even have. (And I had it on good authority that it would probably melt my soul out of my eyeballs if I tried to watch it at a friend’s house).
So, the fact that I now live in a world where virtually one quarter of the year is built around this week is astounding to me. Who even knows how government people make decisions? This is not to say I’m not grateful that most of the local school boards have finally coordinated their Spring Breaks. It’s now far easier for the church to organize our calendar around our people, a large portion of whom organize their lives around their schools. For a few years there, we had three weekends each semester hit with cascading breaks, which made it impossible to schedule anything for the months of March or October! And it seems to be the right week, since it also softens the blow of Daylight Savings (another governmental decision I can’t wrap my head around).
Yet, by far the most piteous casualty to our having anchored Spring Break to the 3rd week of March is that the entire community is shut down on March 17th, of all days. Of course, I will take this misfortune personally, considering that my maternal clan’s name is Patrick. But I am also a pastor at a feasting church named St. Patrick. This should be a massive blowout day for us all! We should be glorying at the center of festivities to rival the town's fireworks display! There should be a festooned parade down a river of green beer, ending at 710 West White Road!!! But instead… it’s not really on our radar at all. Our own namesake feast day came and went yesterday without much ado, like Harry Potter wishing himself a happy birthday in the cupboard under the stairs. Tragic.
Still, we believe grace is everything in this complicated world. Even though my dreams of tater cookoffs and various lepre-chauntests will probably never come to pass, we are still a people who feast well and often, and who honor our namesake’s passion for gospel ministry by making sure there’s a place at the table for those who need to hear a better story. And looking ahead, Easter falls on March 25 in 2035, so Spring Break and Holy Week would be back-to-back. Maybe the school board will swap it for Shark Week and we can finally have our corned beef and eat it too! Until then, I hope to see you and yours at next weekend’s Crawfish Boil. We’ll have shrimp and hot dogs too, for the less adventurous among us, and you might even see me in a shamrock t-shirt, pretending it’s still St. Patrick’s Day.
- josh
When You are the Answer to Your Prayers Have you ever been angry? I mean really ticked off. The kind of anger that makes you want to go western on someone or thing, or pull out the black flag and start turning over tables or mopping the floor? The kind of anger that bleeds over easily into your prayers, and you are like the Psalmist saying, “God, why don’t you do something about this injustice or wrong?” Have you been there? I have. Oh, and I really hope you have because the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. I mean, when something you love or God loves is threatened, you ought to feel anger. And, as we see in the prayer book of the Bible, the place we take our anger first is to God.
But what if, after praying your anger to God and pleading with him to do something, God looks back at you and says, “Why aren’t you doing something?” Last week we saw the beginning of a calling to act. This week we see that Nehemiah is the answer to the prayers he prayed! I was surprised as I contemplated this, how often in the Bible the prayers of one of God’s people are answered in their own humanity. I think God is still doing this, but we haven’t really been listening—praying, yes; listening, well maybe not. This week we actually see this happen in the life of a man in the Secret Service to the king who is the oppressor of his people. How does that grab you? I know you are thinking, “Man, I am glad I will be on Spring Break; that might plow a bit close to the corn, as my forebears in Mississippi would say."
Anyway, I hope to see you if you are not traveling; and if you are, safe travels. But even if you are away, I have a recommendation for you. Our denomination has published resources on how to aid the people in the Ukraine through strategic ministry partners we have in the area. Please take the time to look this over and see how God might be calling you to be the answer to your own prayers there. Here is the link to the page on the EPC website: https://epc.org/donate/internationaldisasterrelief/
Blessings,
Jim
Still Looking for a Better Story We come to the end of the book of Ezra this Sunday, and it’s a very sad ending. I suppose the sadness is enhanced because it started with such promise…God miraculously working in the heart of the very kings that drove them into exile to actually send them home and finance the rebuilding. So here we are, eighty years later and what do we have? A renewed people? An obedient people? A people who are living out the prophetic promise that their lives will tell a better story that the nations will want to be a part of? I wish it were so, but the book ends in sadness and another exile. We see a people broken and still muddling towards a Messiah.
It really is a Lenten text! A text with lots of sin, lots of lamentation, lots of brokenness, lots of hope for a new reform. So, I suppose Lent comes early this year! Next week we kick off the season of Lent on Wednesday night with a service of ashes. A service in which, in the words of the ancient liturgy, to “remember you are dust and to dust you will return.” A service that has the audacity to rub dirt in your face and then turn around and tell you how loved you are. Which is the gospel, of course, but at no other time of the year is it this sacramental in a service.
But before we enter into this new rhythm, tonight we will feast! I have been reminded in Ezra that we are formed by celebration as much as we are by suffering. While on this coming Wednesday, things will be dark (as they should be), tonight it will be all yellow and purple; and we will feast and dance and experience a little bit of the millennium. It seems strange, but we really are always experiencing these extremes if we live a robust Christian life, aren’t we? The cross is big enough that we neither shy away from suffering or from being with suffering people, nor do we discount the goodness of God when we see his mercies that are new every morning.
Hope to see you tonight and also this Sunday. Usually I don’t do this, but I suggest you read Ezra 9-10 before Sunday. It is a long text and the conclusion of the book. I won’t read every verse on Sunday, so it might help to familiarize yourselves with the text as we ponder God’s word together and celebrate the God who throws a weekly party at St. Patrick for all his wandering sheep who come home.
Blessing,
Jim
Man of Burdens I had the privilege of joining our middle schoolers on their winter retreat last weekend. It’s been a long time since I was a middle school pastor - well before I had kids of my own. It’s been an even longer time since I was a middle schooler myself (Bill Clinton was president). Those three years are always a significant season in a life: not many of us walked away unscathed; nor would we be quick to want to revisit! Yet, now that one of my own kids is in 7th grade, I’ve returned to that sacred purgatory of hormones, insecurities, and the world coming to an end every day-and-a-half.
The week prior, I had reached out to my fellow parents and asked, is there anything I need to know about your child that might help me care for them well this weekend? I did not expect that the majority of them would respond, but the calls and texts and emails kept coming. Being a middle schooler on a good day is overwhelming, and the majority of our kids have not been having very good days lately. So, I was honored and humbled to get a weekend to hopefully help create a space for them where they could retreat from the cares of the world and feel cared for by Jesus and his people.
It’s not just pastors who walk alongside others in their seasons of pain and hardship. It’s part of the human vocation to bear one another’s burdens. To be in a relationship with another person is to graciously reckon with the unique ways this life weighs on them and, if not to alleviate it, at least be present with them in the bearing of it. Living out this calling requires a kind of health and wisdom that does not come quickly or easily, but is the result of our muddling toward the Messiah whose yoke is easy.
So, I hope you’ll join us this Sunday as we consider this aspect of our life together. And don’t forget to register for the Mardi Gras Feast! We need the tastes and sights of a big celebration in our recent memory if we’re going to make it to the finish line of that long Lenten fast!
- josh
Formed for Mission Thomas Cahill wrote a series of books called, “The Hinges of History.” He calls these different points in human history this because they are places in the drama of human history where what happened––usually orchestrated by unlikely people in unlikely places––affected the history we know today. In other words, he could talk about, How the Irish Saved Civilization. Talk about unlikely! Patrick was an illiterate priest. At least, in his day he missed much training for the priesthood as he had been taken captive by the Celts, a totally pagan tribe in Ireland. And then this group, after they were converted by the gospel, literally went all over Europe reconnecting it with the gospel.
Chapter 7 of Ezra is a hinge point in the history of God’s people. Out of the seed bed of a pagan court, God raised up a “scribe,” who would literally shape Judaism in ways that reach all the way to the coming of Jesus. The story of his formation and mission are what we will talk about on Sunday. It is as unlikely as it is compelling. And the lesson learned here echoes down through history; and anywhere we see God’s people take on a real Christian identity, you can be sure it has deep roots in a reformer, scribe, and priest named Ezra.
Interested? I hope so! Join us Sunday at St. Patrick. I encourage you, come an hour or so before worship, drop off the chill’en in Sunday School, grab a cup of good coffee (God’s most noble bean) and then come to our Inquirer’s Class to learn more about St. Patrick. Or join Josh as he opens up more of this period of the Bible that we are in, known as the Post Exilic Period.
Blessings,
Jim
Celebration! It seems like Christians have a difficult time living at the extremes. The emotional extreme, that is. Maybe it is being part of a stoical South––where you just rub dirt on it, stuff your feelings, and move on. On the other end of the spectrum, what do we do with ecstatic joy? We just seem to be uncomfortable with these highs and lows and, because of that, we are diminished as a people.
If the Psalms teach us anything, it is that we have to feel our feelings and shape them either in unabashed celebration or in gut-wrenching lament. We have been in lament around here recently, and we have done our best to shape it into a larger family reality because we believe that is both biblical and healthy. But the same Bible that teaches us to weep loudly also teaches us to celebrate boldly.
In Ezra 6, we see an ongoing story of about 21 years resolve in ways that are breathtaking, and it calls from God’s ancient people unabashed wonder and festal joy. Sometimes God gives us shafts of the uncreated light to shine on us and remind us of his goodness and mercy. To dismiss this gift or gloss over it is more than rude; it shines a light on an unthankful heart.
Join me on Sunday as we look at God’s people lost in wonder, love and joy. And may we be caught up in it, as well. May we have eyes to see glory and be so reshaped by it so that we respond like Israel did and throw parties for the lonely. I can’t wait!
Blessings,
Jim
Nothing To Do With Us Growing up in the 80’s and 90’s, I was trained to see very clearly that Americans were the good guys; and the bad guys? Well, those are almost always Russian. The whole planet had been divided into “first” and “second” worlds, and the poor third world was only a pitiful spectator to the actions of World Powers. If you were watching a movie and a guy came onscreen sounding like Boris and Natasha, it didn’t matter if he was helping a granny across the street, you know he was up to no good. Yet for each side the greatest fear was what was called “mutually assured destruction” – the idea that a nuclear strike from either party would be met in kind. As Albert Einstein reportedly said, “I am not sure with which weapons the third world war will be fought, but the fourth they will fight with sticks and stones.”
This is why President Ronald Reagan undertook to develop conversations with Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev on the possibility of nuclear disarmament. Since all relationships move at the speed of trust, it was important to establish goodwill through mutual submission to an agreed-upon set of standards on a neutral ground. Reagan adopted the policy articulated by an old Russian proverb, “Trust, but verify,” understanding that both sides had much to lose by failing to attend both to diplomacy and accountability. It made for an uneasy peace, but no one could afford such a war.
This week, we find Judah’s returned exiles in a similar boat. There’s a long history of mistrust at play and clear lines of tribal demarcation between the Jews and “the people of the land.” And when those they had identified as “enemies” approached them with an offer of partnership, the Jews had to ask themselves, “What matters most to our community right now? Who can we trust? What do our walls say to our neighbors?” These are not unfamiliar questions to St. Patrick, either. I hope you can join us this Sunday as we bring our war-weary hearts to the Word and Table.
- josh
Hope Rising! Hope is a funny thing, we simply can’t live without it. I am on this side of the hospital now with my brother being the one who is a resident. No one told me how hard it is to be on this side of things. So I have had my share of feeling almost undone. The one thing that has given me the most hope is that I have been there and know that things don’t get better fast—you just lay there and languish. However, that is the most hopeful thing! The pneumonia doesn’t go away fast. To not get worse is actually a good thing. You are somehow muddling toward health if you just don’t get worse.
I have lived in that existential reality for this week, and I have lived in the exile and return this week as well. Both fill me with hope, kind of a muddling hope. In Ezra this week, we see a people utterly destroyed and taken as refugees into a strange land. Yet how do they manage to somehow keep their identity and not just become absorbed into the nations around them? Hope. They had the promise of God that they would be delivered. For Israel it always hinged on a promise: God will keep his promise of grace and love to us.
Along the way we will look at how God keeps his promises, and it is not typically by the miraculous but by God taking even the wickedness of men and weaving it into a better story. Nothing has changed really, has it? We still muddle along in uncertain times where we control very little, and yet we live with a greater promise than God’s ancient people had. We live with the hope that Jesus will heal all the brokenness of the world. And often all we can do is just hang on—in our grief, in our anger, in our shame—but hang on we must because the same God that brought his ancient people home promises to bring us home as well.
Hope to see you Sunday, live and in person or via livestream. I appreciate so much hearing from many of you weekly who have been with us online when you couldn’t be with us in person.
Oh, by the way, Josh and I talked and during Sunday School this week (yes, Sunday School starts back this week!), he will be giving an overview of the Exile. I really, really, really encourage you to come. This period of redemptive history is difficult to get your head around, and yet is crucial to understanding the world we see Jesus walking into when we come to the New Testament. Just as all the Old Testament is telling a story about Jesus, this one does so in a particular way.
Blessings,
Jim
Muddling Toward Messiah Another new year is upon us and, when we arrive on Sunday, it will be the saddest day of the year. At least, that is what Brian Henson used to tell me. The day after January 1, the season of festivities is over, and everyone is pondering going back to the “same ol’ thing.’ For some, it will be packed with resolutions. I will see this at the YMCA when I won’t be able to get on a machine for about a month. Diets will abound and “self-help” books will be best sellers. Yeah, I have been on that hype myself. Pardon me if I sound cynical. And yet the new year does signal new beginnings and new opportunities to “improve our character”, if you will. It also says much about the people we are. None of us is who we want to be.
In view of that and the fact that most of life is more like a “path” (a long path) and not a “door” (a weekend where the ghosts of Christmas do it all in one night), the title of our next sermon series reflects realistically how true and lasting change and growth happens—muddling. The older I get, the harder change is. I find myself just trying to make sure I am muddling or stumbling in the right direction!
So, from now through April we will be looking at the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. These two books should be read together. Talk about muddling, we see it here in spades. While spectacular things happen in the rebuilding of the temple, the rediscovery of Torah, and the rebuilding of the wall, it never seems enough: each event is sort of anti-climactic. There is so much here. God, keeping his promises to a wayward people; God, holding the king’s heart in his hand; God, forming his people as a people of the book; and then our proclivity to overreach and think we can force change through law and method. Yet, in all of this, God’s grace shines through and his never-stopping, never-sleeping, always-pursuing love for his people is present.
Here is hoping you have a Happy New Year and that in this year we will know more of God’s love to his always-wandering children.
Blessings,
Jim
The Feasthood of All Believers Merry Christmas Eve, friends.
For much of my early adulthood, my father and one of my sisters had jobs that prevented us from celebrating Christmas together on December 25. The day after was much easier to request off, and the arrangement left me and my other sister free to garner favor with our own sets of future and present in-laws by handing the traditional holiday over to them. So, the day after Christmas, we Smiths typically reserve the day to cook and consume an elaborate breakfast feast before my siblings, parents, and a few grands watch the rapidly multiplying crop of cousins joyfully destroy wrapping paper and reveal the secrets within. The best gift, of course, has been that for the last couple of years we’ve had five generations present!
My eccentricities are established enough in the family that they sometimes become ritualized even when there’s almost no intentionality to them. I think I started calling our holiday Boxing Day simply because that’s what was printed on the calendar in the space where I wrote in the even more obscure “Smithmas.” Now we all refer to the event interchangeably as both. There had been speculation as to the origin of the holiday known as “Boxing Day,” but no one ever bothered looking it up, since in those days the internet was not a thing one kept in one’s pocket. Speculations ranged from it being the traditional Canadian day for a formalized fight with siblings over the rightful ownership of contested gifts, to a postal service holiday after the grueling season.
In fact, even looking it up doesn’t offer much more clarity. It does, however, add a theory we hadn’t considered, and which seems to be the more likely origin. All over the world from time out of mind, December 26 is designated as the Feast of St. Stephen: the first martyr for the faith, and first recorded deacon of the church. His task, along with six other faithful men, was to justly administrate the distribution of food to widows in the church. So, for generations, the day after Christmas has offered a perfect opportunity for faithful to box up the excess from the previous day of feasting and deliver it to the poor. Boxing Day is properly a very practical celebration of St. Stephen’s Day.
As December 26 falls on a Sunday this year, before I head to my parents’ house for Boxing Day I’ll be in worship considering the life and death of St. Stephen. We’ll also remember Wenceslas, the man who honored Stephen’s feast day so faithfully, we still sing a carol about him a thousand years later. Both were simply following in the footsteps of the greatest table-setting King of them all. So, I hope you can be with us this Sunday as we all continue to stretch our imagination of what a good and godly feast can and ought to look like, regardless of its name or date.
- josh
A Primer for Party Planning I know what you are thinking as you look at that title. Yeah, that is just Jim. He is always a party waiting to happen. He is a seven on the Enneagram, and then a little rolling of the eyes. And yet……What if Jesus set up throwing parties as an expectation? What if setting tables was at the heart of the hospitality of God and the Counterculture kingdom he was bringing? Because, shockingly, it would seem so. In our text Sunday, the exhortation is—when, not if, you throw a party! Curiously, as we will see next week (and I will not steal Josh’s thunder), the whole call of the ministry of deacons is cast around what? Setting tables.
So, Jesus gives us a primer for planning our parties, complete with instructions to the host about the guest list. This is what is shocking. He gives these instructions to a “religious leader.” The problem with Israel when Jesus arrives on the scene is not that Israel didn’t believe in throwing banquets—no, they were shaped by them and knew a grand feast was their future. But their banquets had become anti-culture—only people like us, only our peers and those we respect will be at our tables. Jesus drops a bomb on their narrow views and shows us a guest list that reflects the very gospel that would transform the world.
Curious? I hope so. We are in the season of parties, banquets, and special programs, and gathering people is at the heart of what it means to be human. And Jesus shows us a more excellent way with a huge expectation—you will be blessed! That is, happy, knowing deep satisfaction. And in a world where these things increasingly elude us, how great is that?!
So, join us Sunday, the fourth week of Advent, as we consider how the most mundane thing we do (eating) can reflect the cross—love, that is, life laid down.
Glory,
Jim
Feasting on the Edge of Doom That sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it? And yet, as we make our way through the various Feasts of the Nativity, we are forced to reckon with this. While many of us still might think this whole idea of feasting frivolous or at least something of secondary importance – something only to be done if perhaps we have time and means – scripture and our own traditions of spiritual formation will beg to differ. I was rebuked one time for this kind of thinking myself, early on in our life of St. Patrick, when someone asked me after worship, “Why do you sometimes shorten the communion liturgy?” I replied, “Well, I am just trying to not go over too much.” He replied, “Why don’t you shorten your sermon?” Ouch! There it is, my latent gnosticism was rebuked, and rightly so.
It is hard for us as Presbyterians to really embrace that we are formed by “table” as much as “word.” But what if “practices” are as formative as just getting more Biblical information? We sort of see this in our text for this week. When God is reforming his people after exile, the people of God listen as God’s Word is read and they are cut to the quick. After this, they are exhorted not to go home and reflect in silence or grovel like worms. Rather, they are commanded to feast on the finest of things in joy and not gloom, in community, sharing with those who couldn’t provide. I would argue, the latter was as formative as the former. While the Word does form and inform our practices, if we neglect the practices, we do so to our own spiritual hurt.
While many of us suppose that the key to holiness is more information, the Bible and our spiritual formation directors, time out of mind, keep reminding us of practices and habits we do over and over, which don’t offer any new information, but do promise spiritual formation. I mean, what is the essence of holiness but to love God, love your neighbor, and love life? Word and habit seek to help us here.
In our text this week, it seems the best way to be formed as the people of God, especially while at the edge of ruin, is to throw a feast that both brings joy into the gloom and is also radiates light in the darkness.
Still skeptical? Yeah, it sounds too material, too frivolous, and not spiritual enough. But join me Sunday as we travel to the edge of ruin and see God forming his people around a feast of the finest of things.
Blessings,
Jim
Feasting in Hope I had a couple of huge feasts recently. Both were for my birthday. One was thrown by my wife and had most of the begats and extended family. It was glorious and the food was amazing. My son-in-law cooked a prime rib over open flame for 4 hours and served it with a center of 125—perfection. My favorite cake—German Chocolate—graciously adorned the center piece as the hallowed birthday song was sung. The other was thrown by my staff as they took me to a glorious restaurant I hadn’t been to before. My Community Group also made me a German Chocolate cake, as well. (You might have guessed, it is my favorite!) What was true of all these events was that food was more than food. It was nourishment, of course, but who thinks about that on such occasions? It was love, family, belonging… and, of course, delicious!
Some would think this extravagant or maybe even unspiritual and yet, as Tim Chester says in his book, A Meal with Jesus: “Jesus is known through his catering”. Chester says this because, as he points out in Luke’s gospel, Jesus is always either going to a feast, coming from a feast, or throwing a feast. We are now starting the Christian new year with the season of Advent which culminates in the Feast of the Nativity on Christmas Day. So, what are we to make of it? How do we keep our scattered feasts well? Make no mistake, feast we will, if we are human. The question is, will our feast look like what God has in mind or what our culture is prescribing? To help train our sensibilities, we will be looking at 5 feasts during this season of Advent. (We have an extra one because Christmas is on Saturday and the elven magic will still be upon us that Sunday!)
This Sunday we start by looking at the whole idea that our future is a feast and considering how that idea is unique to Christianity and, as such, shapes both our present and our future. Don’t believe me? Join us on Sunday and we will talk about it!
Also, as of this morning we have completed our first 3 year cycle in the Soul Room. Which means if you started with us from the beginning, you have now prayed through the whole Bible! The new cycle will begin on Monday. If you haven’t done this before, this is a good time to join us as we pray scripture back to God in a community.
Blessings,
Jim
The King of Beast and Feast I first heard the story a few years ago, of a woman who accidentally sent a text meant for her grandson to an absolute stranger instead. The amusing case of mistaken identity eventually led to his lighthearted inquiry as to whether the invitation still stood, and then to her seriously extending the hospitality. Thus began what is now a six-year tradition of Jamal Hinton joining Wanda Dench and her extended family for Thanksgiving dinner. In the midst of loneliness and mundane technological confusion, each had the presence of mind to recognize an opportunity to live a better story.
Many of the most memorable feasts in my own recollection began likewise, with the assembling of a motley crew through haphazard circumstances. It’s almost as if, despite my natural assumptions, the evening’s true guest list had been composed by a much Higher Head of the table. In fact, He is constantly beckoning us to consecrate our tables to His purposes, elevating our feasts to much greater heights with things like the godliness of our conversations, the generosity displayed in our guest lists, and yes, even our proper gratitude for the sensual glories of such meals. In these ways Jesus desires to position Himself over our tables and establish His own Kingdom’s work through our feasts.
This Sunday traditionally celebrates Christ the King, and it just happens to precede the biggest feast of our civic year, Thanksgiving. It would be so easy to leave these things disconnected, going along with the usual thoughtless flow of turkey and touchdowns and looking like all the rest of the world – generally thankful for legitimized gluttony. But what an amazing invitation we’ve been given to intentionally consider how we might surrender our scattered tables to the Messiah in such a way that they instead become a bounty of Great Thanksgivings (eucharists!) of Christ’s Kingdom – and a blessing to all who gather. I believe if we will recognize these opportunities and receive His Kingdom at our tables, we will actually see Heaven become local, through everyday activities made holy by His presence among His people. So, I hope you’ll accept this invitation to begin Thanksgiving week as an honored guest at the Lord’s Table.
- josh
Hospitality—The Embodiment of Everything! For Teri and me, our pilgrimage in the Mississippi Delta was perhaps the most formative time of our lives. We moved there while in seminary to do an internship in a church and then stayed on to plant a church in another city in the Delta. It was the first time we had experienced real and radical hospitality. It was never really practiced at either of the churches we grew up in. Here, however, it was lavish to say the least.
From Yazoo City (where I served an internship for a year and a half) to Greenville (where I planted a church), folks literally took us by the hand and said, “Look!” Almost everything we now know about hospitality was found there—not so much taught as embodied in welcoming homes filled with the greatest food of our lives and people who genuinely acted like they wanted us there. In both places we showed up as outsiders—strangers to the customs, language, and cultural markers of a place. That is a lonely place to be. Granted, Teri and I had each other and a couple of kids, but that wasn’t enough. Who wants to be a stranger at every party or gathering? No, we all long for and were built for connection. That is, after all, what makes any place glorious—connection.
We brought that with us from the Delta when we came to Collierville. Basically, Teri and I thought, “If we can build community here like we have known it, that will be enough.” For the building of that would embody everything we value about the gospel. And, of course, it would all start with hospitality. Our home would be open; our stuff would be used and possibly broken; it would be exhausting and also the most glorious thing we could imagine.
This week we talk about the habit of hospitality and, yes, it is a habit. Without intentionally making room for people, you won’t. Unless it is a huge priority, you will never open your heart or your home in such a way that strangers become friends and know deep connection. Hospitality really does embody all of the values of St. Patrick. Were we to lose this habit of grace, all would be lost. But lest we think we have arrived, think again. Every time I look at the Bible, hospitality gets larger and larger.
So, I hope you will join us Sunday as we talk about it. Oh, and remember~~FALL BACK! Daylight Savings Time is ending, and we get back an hour of sleep. (If you don’t, however, at least you will be on time!) Hope to see you Sunday, live and in person or via livestream.
Blessings,
Jim
When Helping Helps As a college student at the turn of the century, I was bombarded with opportunities for activism. The biggest push at the time was a cause known as the Invisible Children, in support of Ugandan communities ravaged by the despotic terror of Joseph Kony and his Lord’s Resistance Army. Students were encouraged to watch a film, raise awareness, and fundraise support for… something. I’ll bet it was very clear and I’d imagine their efforts were even somewhat successful, though decades later the man still evades capture. For my own part, I was genuinely moved by that story – and I believe I tried to connect as best as I could – but I wasn’t really in a place where I was looking to give my life away to that cause. I did feel pretty guilty about it though, as I was getting serious about my faith and the consensus was that everyone should do, well, whatever it was that was being championed at the moment.
I don’t know whether a general spirit of cynicism is replacing the optimistic activism I saw in that era of my life. Maybe worldwide concerted efforts didn’t produce the results we were all hoping for, and so now we know better. Or, maybe college students are still on a mission to save the world and my own guardedness is just a function of the age I am now versus the age I was then. What I do know is that often the way we engage in helping others can actually do harm to them and to us. This leads some folks to feel the same even about non-government organizations as they do about that other group of altruists. They say the most terrifying words in the English language are, “We’re from the government and we’re here to help.” And the poor’s posture in the meantime can be echoed by a recent blockbuster’s voiceover lament, “Who will our next oppressors be?”
Some of us have a pathological need to help people. Others have a pathological need not to get involved. But Jesus’ posture toward his neighbors wasn’t pathological at all. It was healthy humanity. His way looks a bit less like an international revolution and a bit more like intimate restorations, (though one certainly does lead to the other). So, this Sunday I hope we can all learn from his story about the Good Samaritan, how we might recover some healthy habits of helping.
Oh, and feel free to get a bit of practice in by volunteering to serve at our Fall Festival tomorrow! Sign up here
- josh
Confession: The Habit of Being Present
Addy and I were sitting at the table for breakfast. Now, just to be clear, if I had my way no one would speak at breakfast, and we would all be reading the paper. At no other meal do I feel this way. In fact, I would say this posture is a dysfunction. Growing up, my dad read the paper at the table and, as I got older, we fought over the sports section. After I was married, I read the paper at the breakfast table; none of my kids woke up talkative so it worked out pretty well. Those days are over now, and the paper is on my phone, as is most everything else in my life. Now we have a rule in our house: “no media at the table”. (Teri must have made this one up). And yet—no matter how hard I try—if there is a distraction, I will hit the screen and, before Addy can turn around, I am buried in the news. This is short-lived, as she pulls me up short and pronounces with almost parental authority, “No media at the table!” Part of me is grateful for this, and part of me is thinking, “You little Pharisee, you are just ticked you don’t have a phone.”
What can I say? Addison has been taught this, and she is rightfully demanding my presence—my attention. She is demanding that I attend to her and see her in this most scared of places—the table. A lot is being written these days about loneliness because of all the distractions in our culture. But another thing you hear written about, and this one really convicts me, is this idea of being present when we are with people. Really present—not checking your phone, not checking out the crowd, not thinking of the next thing you will say—just present. So that the person in front of you “feels felt” and that they are heard when they speak.
When Josh and I were talking about habits of grace, we both agreed that, as we move from community (where people know your story) to deep relationships (where people know your values), this idea of presence or confession is at the heart of intimacy. For some of you, you may wonder what I am talking about; but all of us know when we have been in the presence of someone who really “sees us.” It is live-giving. It is also at the heart of the virtue of love.
We are going to talk about it this Sunday. I hope to see you live and in-person; but if not, I hope you will join us via livestream. Also, remember Sunday School is back this week, and we have a service at 8:00am if you are an early riser!
Blessings,
Jim
Teri sent me a picture of Clara Marie. She is my granddaughter and all of two-and-a-half years old. Her family is living with me for a short while after selling their home, and it seems I will never be done with having babies and toddlers in my house. (I thought in the nature of things this stage would end, but shows what I know.) Anyway, the picture is her with an eyelash curler held to her eye. The caption of the picture Teri sent was one word…Immersion!
She was referring to a word we use here all the time when talking about how we are formed more and more into Jesus. We all need three things to become more like Jesus—which is the goal of the Christian life and any and all human thriving—information, immersion and imitation. Now I don’t want to sell information and truth short because “ideas have consequences”; we must build our lives on truth and true things about what it means to be human and about the reality around us. But immersion might be more formative. The picture Teri sent me illustrates the most formative thing in anyone’s life—their family. How we learn in a family is not laid out in a scope and sequence like in school; rather, we just watch and imitate what our parents and older siblings do. It is amazing. Clara Marie has no idea what she is doing; she just sees her mom doing it and without question she imitates that.
That kind of formation never really ends. As we get older, we are powerfully formed by being immersed into a community that begins to feel like a family. Someone has even said, speaking of the power of the communities we inhabit: “Find a community that possess the values you want in your life and join it.” Boom!! This week we talk about Community Groups and how Jesus made us to be formed in and by community. We can’t be disciples of Jesus in isolation, and in this day and age media and transportation have made us all widows and orphans. That is, we are no longer tied of necessity to a people and a place, like humanity was from Adam and Eve until about 80 years ago. There is no end of books being written now on how this has deformed us when it comes to our lack of connectivity with people.
On Sunday we will talk about the power of the habit of community, and we will see how delightful community really is. I hope you will join us. If you are already headed off on Fall Break, you might want to check this out online because honestly, you won’t understand St. Patrick unless you understand what we believe about community and building a life together. (Remember, if you can’t make the 10:30am service, we also have a service of prayer and communion at 8:00am.)
Blessings,
Jim
I suppose we are fortunate: the first generation of humans to experience a pandemic in a digital age. I mean, there are now teenagers walking the earth (my house, even) who have never lived in a world without iPhones! We have apps for buying groceries and video chatting with grandmothers and managers, and can even glean insights from the greatest minds in the world. Unlike our forebears, we have countless robust ways to communicate and interact that don’t depend at all on close proximity. So, for us, quarantine and sheltering-in-place often only requires “creative logistical pivots” instead of all-out shut downs.
In his book Culture Making, author Andy Crouch talks about how every artifact of human design both makes new things possible, and at the same time makes old things impossible (or at least more difficult). The same technologies that help us overcome some of the limitations of our bodies also necessarily preclude activities that once assumed and even celebrated those limitations. Think about how difficult it is these days to know who suffered and sweated for your food, and how that fundamentally changes the way you can pray thanksgiving over it. As great as it is to have options for continued education and business, there are elements of life we can’t simply move online. And in a socially distanced reality, such activities are simply arrested.
Those for whom the pandemic has necessitated live-streaming worship know with HD clarity that some components of a worship service can work via livestream and others don’t at all. Sermons, for example, can be received over time and distance just like the Scriptures they unfold. Yet the Sacraments are embodied realities in a particular space and time. Baptism is the ritual washing of a person’s physical body as a sign and seal of what it means to be brought into the cosmic body of Christ. Holy communion is bread and wine consecrated as the broken body and blood of Christ received into the bodies of those who are Christ’s body.
This is the driving rationale behind why our Session has decided to continue offering our mask-only prayer and communion service at 8am on Sunday mornings as a complement to our 10:30 service of the Word and Table. We are grateful to live in an age where we can mitigate so many of the damaging effects of this pandemic, and yet we must acknowledge that there are also aspects of humanness that simply depend on gathering bodies. The need is therefore great to provide a place for those who are avoiding the bigger crowds to still have a space to experience the embodied means of grace that are so precious to the people of God. So, if you’ve been in the habit of only receiving the more digitally-transferrable aspects of worship these past many months, we ask you please also to avail yourselves of this opportunity, to round out your experience of worship. Also, please know that we continue to pray for an end to this disease and the destruction it wreaks physically, socially, and spiritually, and for each of you in particular. And until that day, we rest on His unchanging grace, made so near to us in these habits we share.
- josh
St. Patrick Family,
We find ourselves 18 months into a strange and terrible providence, surrounded by a frenzy of hurt and worry. Now, our own senior pastor and his wife are battling COVID-19. As the Session of Elders called to shepherd the flock of St. Patrick, we understand the unique and urgent anxiety of this moment requires a direct and compassionate pastoral response from us, urging members to draw near to Christ and move toward one another through concrete acts of grace. We hope humbly to model this posture for you.
Therefore, the Session of St. Patrick would like to extend an invitation for a season of special services of prayer and communion, beginning this Sunday, September 5, at 8am in the sanctuary. These services will be a mask-only event, and we want to take a moment to explain why.
First, we still believe that a universal mask mandate is not something we can require from our congregation, as long as it is left up to us. This flows from our commitment to limit the extent to which we exercise our own God-given authority over the congregation to the sphere for which it was given – namely, the purity of the gospel in the hearts and lives of our congregation. Mandating masks for all people would unreasonably bind the consciences of our membership and disallow them the freedom of expression for the love they have toward their neighbors, even when those expressions might appear obvious to us.
However, we also acknowledge with profound sadness that the exercise of this conviction reveals a terrible cost, which some of the more vulnerable members of our congregation have been living with for a year and a half. Many of our people are longing to return to the assembly and to receive communion together: essential elements of worship that are made impossible for those watching our live-streamed services from afar. But they are unable to receive these means of grace, due to a variety of vulnerabilities. It is for this reason that we are, for a season, opening up an opportunity for those members to augment their livestream participation by also partaking in this service of prayer and communion. Any and all members are welcome to attend, but masks will be required in order to set the table well for these precious family members.
We are starting with six weeks, simply because we don’t know what the future holds. We of course hope and pray for a miraculous and immediate end to this pandemic and a return to the robust fellowship of all our members in one service. We also know that in the meantime, we do not want to dishonor the unity of Christ’s body. Hence, our extraordinary reticence to start an entire second service with different requirements, or to place a specific mandate beyond that of Christ upon all our people. But we also know that a natural diversity of needs always exists among us, and to ignore this reality is unkind. We hope that by mitigating the loss of fellowship and communion for those who choose to livestream we can communicate to them our earnest desire to welcome them back when providence permits.
For years, the St. Patrick Maundy Thursday service has included a brief word on the origin of its name: it’s from the Latin, “mandatum,” meaning command. It refers to Jesus’ directive on the night in which he was betrayed, even as he took on the role of servant to wash their feet, that his followers would love one another. Then he broke bread and blessed the cup, signaling to them that the full extent of this mandate is, “my life for yours.” We do therefore mandate that all of our members find tangible, meaningful, self-sacrificial ways to express their love and commitment to one another, despite differences on significant, yet secondary, issues. Because Grace is Everything. Community Is Family. Feasting Is Kingdom Work. And Heaven Is Local.
May the Peace of Christ be upon you,
The Session of St. Patrick Presbyterian Church
I played at Southwind Golf Course on Tuesday at the invite of Larry Powell and his son Eric who lives there. It was amazing. Everywhere on the course was the aftermath of the biggest sporting event in Memphis. Just Sunday afternoon I sat and watched (along with the rest of the whole golfing world) the best golfers in the world compete for millions of dollars in prize money. I have played at Southwind before; it is a breathtaking golf course and, oh my, it is hard. It is doubly hard when you are playing in a heat index of almost 110 degrees!
But watching on TV does not do justice to what you see when you are actually on the grounds before or after the event. Southwind goes from being a beautiful golf course to being a spectacle. For two months, crews work tirelessly setting up tents everywhere (they are mostly air conditioned now). The planning and coordination that goes into hosting one of the biggest golfing events in the world is mind boggling. Why? Glory is coming to town. Golfing glory, that is—the elite of the elite—and believe you me, Memphis prepared the way!
In Isaiah we are talking about something similar, Prepare the Way. For two weeks, Isaiah has said something huge is coming, something so huge mountains will be leveled. On Sunday we see what is coming, or Who is coming, and it’s no wonder the passage starts off with "Fear not!” This something doesn’t crush golf balls, He crushes whole nations and anyone in his path!
And while we might not be surprised that God would have the power to do that, what is surprising to us is that this One who is coming, who is terrifying, is somehow for us and is called a Shepherd. It is breathtaking, actually. I can’t wait to talk about it with you on Sunday. So join us, live and in person or via live stream, as we Behold Our God.
Blessings,
Jim
Where do you go after Ruth? Good question, one we have talked about and pondered from a pastoral posture. We have done a lot of listening as we’ve thought our plans for the fall and this next season of ministry at St. Patrick. One of the things we continue to hear is just how tired and discouraged people are. I get that, we have been through an extended Lenten season over the past fifteen months. It seems like bad news is the air we breathe, doesn’t it? Just when it looked like the virus was gone for good, the Delta Variant shows up. I was reading an article from David Brooks this morning in the New York Times entitled, “What is ripping American Families Apart?” He goes through many causes, mostly the move to an “individualistic culture.” Sort of like the one we talked about in Judges, where “everyone did what was right in their own eyes.” Brooks concludes, “I confess, I don’t understand what’s causing this. But social pain and vulnerability are affecting everything: our families, schools, politics and even our sports.”
So in the midst of this, is there any good news? Not Pollyanna good news which ignores the harsh realities, but news of comfort and hope right in the midst of the mess? Enter the prophet Isaiah. I don’t know if you have read Isaiah lately, but the first 39 chapters are bleak. In fact, in chapter 6, Isaiah was commissioned to preach to a people who absolutely would not listen. He ends the avalanche of bad news with the troubling reality that, because of Israel’s refusal to listen, they would be taken into exile.
Then, out of nowhere it seems, we land in chapter 40 with “Comfort, comfort my people.” If you are reading it for the first time, as Clarke Griswald would say, you couldn’t be more surprised if you woke up with your head sewn to the carpet. Because now, Israel is ready to listen; doing what was right in their own eyes only got more and more bad news. So why the sudden change? Did Israel suddenly amend their ways? No, the character of God, his glory, begins to shine through. Discipline is never the last word––comfort is. It is not what is in God’s people that brings comfort; it is what is in the heart of God. Even your sin and mine can’t stop God’s determined purposes to do his people good.
So for the next few weeks we will look at good news in the midst of the bad news. Chapter 40 of Isaiah is usually reserved for Advent, but it seems just about right for right now! I hope you will join us as we ponder God’s words of comfort for troubled hearts. Join us live and in person or via livestream. A new season is upon us. We have listened to the voice of the culture, now let’s listen to the voice of the Shepherd.
Blessings,
Jim
There are mixed reviews about epilogues among those who love a good story. Some people think they are a waste of time. That, after the story ends, everything resolves, and epilogues detract from the story. Others appreciate an afterword that gives some account years later, just a word or so that assures you that the characters are doing well and thriving. Me, I like them. I do want to peer into the future of characters I have grown to care about and know that all is well with them.
But what if the epilogue is a genealogy? What a downer for us! Or is it? In our last lesson on Ruth, we have a genealogy of ten names, most of whom we don’t even recognize. On the surface it doesn’t look like much, but what if this list is telling us something about the story behind the story? What if it is reminding us that, even with the coming of David, we are not seeing the true king? What if we are meant to look at some of the names, even considering the ones that are omitted, and marvel that the story even made it to this point at all? What if it is showing us that behind all kingship is the True King of the universe, so determined to bring about his purposes that he will carry them forward even in the midst of the sin and unfaithfulness of his people?
That or something like that is on full display in our epilogue. While these ten names mean little to us, they scream the power and grace of the God who holds the universe and, yes, our very lives in his hands. It reminds us that, as G. K. Chesterton said, “The church has all but gone to the dogs at least 6 times in history and each time it was the dogs who died.” A good word for us. Especially when we live in a time much like Ruth and Boaz did, where everyone does what is right in their own eyes. I need to hear that often, and I suppose you do as well.
So join us on Sunday, live and in person or via livestream as we wrap up our series on the book of Ruth.
Blessings,
Jim
It is easy to think of the Bible giving us wisdom and guidance in dealing with the lonely, the broken, and the outcast. And in the book of Ruth, we are not disappointed. I mean, if the church were to look like the field of Boaz, it would be a little piece of heaven in a place. But what we don’t expect to see in the Bible is talk about romance! And yet we find one of the most delicately sensual passages in all the Bible this week. When Naomi is thinking about securing rest for Ruth, she has a plan. Rather than waiting for something to fall out of the sky, she thinks of a person––a redeemer––and suddenly we are in a passage teaming with sexual tension.
If that seems hard for us to get our head around, it may be evidence of bad theology and the fact that we tend to get our ideas of romance from novels and movies, rather than letting Scripture be our guide. But what if romance exists because God is a romantic? As one writer says, The Bible speaks not only of ardent love between men and women, but it presents God himself as a lover and his courting of creation as the Great Romance. (Rodney Clapp, Christianity Today, February 1, 2001)
So, for the next two weeks, we will be at the threshing floor of Boaz. Wonders await. Hope to see you Sunday! And, just a reminder, we have a Congregational Meeting immediately following morning worship to approve our Operating Budget for 2021-2022.
Blessings,
Jim
What a difference a day makes! The last time we saw Naomi in the story of Ruth she was walking into her hometown telling everyone she is accursed and empty. She doesn’t so much as mention her daughter-in-law Ruth, trailing along beside her, who has forsaken everything to show her love. She gives no word of encouragement or instruction to Ruth as she goes out among the poor of Israel to glean hopefully enough grain for their daily bread. Broken, forlorn, and forsaken—that is Naomi.
She must have waited fitfully throughout perhaps a 16-hour work day, wondering what happened to Ruth. In her state of mind, I am sure she must have assumed the worst as her daughter-in-law, a foreigner in a strange land, is risking her safety and perhaps her purity to keep the family afloat for another day. Yet when Ruth returns with enough grain for two weeks and a meal already cooked, we see hope rising! From cursing to benediction, from near blasphemy to blessing—from lament to laughter.
Oh my, how does this happen? Behind this whole story of Ruth is a God who is so powerful and so good, He will (in the words of Joni Eareckson Tata) “… permit what he hates in order to accomplish what he loves.” And, as we will soon find out, provide more than we can ask or imagine.
I ponder these words from Georgetown, South Carolina, between trips to Charleston and visits to churches and buildings over three hundred years old. The stories these old buildings could tell. And yet, all of them tell a similar story. All these places are uneven, good and bad, full of sin and grace, lament and laughter. Such is the shape of the world. Life is hard and suffering abounds. Oh, but if we know the Author of the story, we know all lament ends in laughter.
I can’t wait to be back in Collierville at the end of the week and ponder in a new and fresh way how the community of St. Patrick will, like Ruth, be an instrument that brings joy in the many places of brokenness and sorrow. It is a big task, but hey––we serve a God who from the hallowed foot of the cross does just that.
Blessings,
Jim
This week someone on staff observed that the closer we got to the end of Vacation Bible School, the happier I looked. I suppose that’s true, but don’t get me wrong: I don’t dislike VBS, or kids! In fact, I think this is one of the most important things we do all year, and despite my personal inability to manage kinder-chaos, we have a whole team of amazing people who are uber competent in that area. It brings me abiding joy to see children being given the Word of God in their own imaginative idiom. For example, the VBS theme verse for Wednesday (delivered by a talking monkey) was taken from 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, a personal favorite of mine:
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
I still remember the first time these verses really impacted me. A few years ago, I was with some fellow pastors at an event being hosted by George Robertson of our founding church, Second Presbyterian in Memphis. George had just lost his mother, and someone expressed their concern that he was having to lead this gathering in his bereavement. He replied with gratitude for their care and quoted this verse to us. It’s not that he wasn’t grieving, nor that he had been able to compartmentalize the pain and focus on his task. Rather, it was that he had made it his aim to give to us only what he was receiving from Christ in the midst of his own deep neediness. Let me tell you, it was more than enough.
I have found this to be especially true as I learn how to parent an adolescent. My eldest daughter rarely needs me to fix whatever is afflicting her. She just needs to be seen by someone who understands what it feels like to be living in between childhood and adulthood and has recovered from the trauma. Fortunately, her mother was once a little girl, and her father had his own truly awkward pubescence! We are therefore abundantly qualified to speak words from our experience – not dismissing or reframing – but just relating. We can see her where she is because we’ve been in similar spots too, and our presence tells her she’s not alone, nor an alien.
That reminds me of the way Boaz reached out to Ruth. Not that Boaz had ever been an orphan or a widow, or a foreigner (though his family tree did indeed bear its fair share of scandal). Paul tells the Corinthians that the particular comfort we’ve received is enough to then comfort others in any affliction. Even if their pain is not identical to our own, there is a mercy that meets us both. Boaz could be a redeemer because he too had been redeemed; a welcomer because he too had been welcomed. How do we know he’d been redeemed and welcomed first? Well, we’re going to talk about that this Sunday, and hopefully get a few handles on how we too can turn the ways in which we've been cared for by God into powerful care for others.
- josh
Well, it’s finally June, and that means Holy Week Part Two, (also known as Vacation Bible School). From the way things look around here, I’d say our team is putting two years’ worth of love into preparation for next week’s festivities. There’s a volcano where the piano used to be, ancient ruins in the narthex, and the halls look like a haven for jungle creatures. It’s a great picture of what we mean when we say that the bulk of discipleship is immersion. These kids are being transported to another place and time, and those activated imaginations will then be bathed in the truth of how treasured they are in Christ, by instruction, for sure, but more importantly experientially, as they interact with tons of caring volunteers.
Whenever we get into one of the more story-oriented parts of Scripture, it always feels a bit like VBS to me. There’s this whole other world to enter into, with dynamic characters from a long time ago and far, far away. Because the Bible contains such high-quality literature, you can trust that themes and symbols and motifs will tie together in surprising and rewarding ways, leaving you breathless and inspired all at once. The more I immerse myself, the more these elements become conduits of grace for me.
As we continue this Sunday in The Redeemer, our sermon series on the book of Ruth, I can almost smell the barley fields of ancient Bethlehem. I can hear the bleating of nearby lambs on a hill nearby, (but only the few who survived the Passover sacrifice a few weeks ago). And as I relish the taste of roasted grains shared at a table with fellow workers, I notice a foreign girl from a forgotten tribe of shameful repute. Our master has welcomed her as though she were one of us. It’s almost like he believes all those things we say at the Firstfruits Festival, about being kind to orphans, widows, and foreigners, because we too were once wanderers without a home…
- josh
It was not supposed to be like this! How could it be? How could this happen? Or better yet, how could a good God who is also in control of all things allow this kind of thing to happen to me? The gap between what God had promised and my present reality were so far apart, I didn’t know what to do. I later would sit in my study and, in hurt and loss, accuse God of messing up my life. Yes, accuse him of being out to get me. Was I off-base in this? Well, even a cursory reading of the Psalms would suggest I was in good company. Shocking, isn’t it? Over one-third of the inspired prayers in our prayer book are people accusing God, bringing charges against him, wondering if he is there or if he has abandoned them. Shocking, because our culture doesn’t process deep hurt very well. We are more stoical than biblical in this.
This Sunday we are forced to deal with the brutal language of Naomi as she accuses God of messing up her life. She refuses to go quietly into that good night. Is her bitter lament the ravings of a bitter woman or of a woman who has loved well and been broken by it? Does God accuse her in this or is he quietly loving her and sending messengers of his love to her? That is what is before us in the book of Ruth this Sunday—love and lament. If you dare to love like God loves, like we see Jesus love, you will be broken. Lament is the language we learn in the Bible that helps us process our pain. As one writer says,“Lament is the honest cry of a hurting heart wrestling with the paradox of pain and the promise of God’s goodness…Lament stands in the gap between pain and promise.” (Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds Deep Mercy)
It is Memorial Day weekend and lots of you will be traveling. Think of me, I will be building a fence for our new puppy who is supposed to arrive in the Holland house next month. Yes, it is true––another thing I swore I would never do again has come to pass. My experience with dogs is long and dark, to the point that I made rash vows to never own one again—ever!! It is true I am viewed by some as the Scrooge of dogs. Then something happened that I never anticipated. I have a little dog lover in my house and yes, love does things, even to Scrooge. It is true, I have lamented this prospect, but as we will see in lament, it is “prayer in the meantime,” it is never final. Our final prayer is always “Hallelujah!” I am not there quite yet, but watching the joy in my daughter as watches videos of these four week old puppies is getting me there—fast!
Hope to see you Sunday, live and in person, or via livestream.
Blessings,
Jim
I start with a confession. I have never preached the book of Ruth before. I looked through all my files, both the ones on my computer and back through files of yellowing legal paper where my early sermons are filed—no sermons on Ruth. I don’t know, maybe it is just Ruth is sort of “there”. I read through it once a year, and it is a compelling story in many ways, but it has just been like seed that has long been dormant, buried, just waiting for the right terroir to come together to ignite my imagination. Kind of like Wendell Berry’s books. I had them on my reading list for years, I even bought a copy of Jaber Crow and it lay fallow on my shelf for years. Even with people saying, “You would love this.” Then one day I picked it up and didn’t stop reading until I had read all of Wendell Berry’s “Port Williams” novels. Who knows the working of providence?
Anyway, what is before us is a feast of blessing. As Paul Miller says in his book on Ruth: “I hope the book of Ruth affects you the way a trip to the Grand Canyon or Chartres Cathedral near Paris might. How do you apply the Grand Canyon or Chartres? Of course, you don’t apply the Grand Canyon—you are stunned by the beauty. You don’t apply Chartres—you worship there. You stop talking as you let it fill your soul. You are silent as your soul expands. You sense that you don’t have enough capacity to capture the beauty—the experience of entering and beholding beauty is too much.” (Paul Miller, A Loving Life: In a World of Broken Relationships)
Indeed! The journey through Ruth starts this Sunday in a series we are calling simply, “The Redeemer.” Like all good stories, it starts in hurt, loss, and pain; and this Sunday we will see that that is where all real love starts and works best. I hope you will join us live and in person or via livestream. I can’t wait!
Blessings,
Jim
The French have a word for the special conditions of environmental elements that make possible the growing of certain things—that is, the soil, the climate, humidity, the length of growing season, etc. They call it terroir. The terroir of a place is what makes it unique, unlike any other place. As a gardener, I have learned the hard way that one must respect this. I am not free to walk into my garden and plant anything I jolly well please. No, long before I arrive, with all my expectations, hopes and dreams of what gardening is, I must love, respect, and learn the unique terroir of my place.
For instance, the terroir in Cuba is perfect for tobacco. The terroir in California in Napa Valley is perfect for grapes. The Delta has a terroir perfect for cotton and, yes, my garden has its own unique terroir. Every place has a terroir. This past weekend I used that image to tell my son and his bride that every marriage has a terroir as well. Two people—coming from different soils of life and experience—are going to create something unique and life-giving. They will not cease to be who they are, but together they will be more than they were. So I brought soil from my garden, Patrick’s place, and Jessica, his bride, brought soil from where she grew up, and we planted a tree. It was messy and glorious! In sign and symbol, we were trying to get at both the hard truth and glory of this new reality of marriage. I mean, when we come to great mysteries like marriage, words are too cheap, and so we reach for metaphor, poetry, and symbol to express what is ineffable.
In our passage this week in Galatians, Paul is doing something similar. There is a unique terroir that a Christian is planted into (or more accurately, this terroir was planted into him/her). It is so unique that, if you add anything to it, you do not just diminish it, you destroy it. For Paul and throughout the Bible—it is the cross! The cross is so singular, so counter-intuitive, so against the rebellious human heart, that even when we know this to be true, we still try to add to it. And yet to do so will not just diminish us, but doom us. That will be Paul’s parting shot as he closes this pastoral letter to folk he dearly loves!
Join us Sunday as we close out this thrilling, breathtaking exploration of the cross as the thing we boast in, glory in, wonder in, and walk in. I hope to see you live and in person, but if you can’t join us at our gathered table, join us via livestream. I can’t wait to dive in!
Blessing,
Jim
The United States birth rate has declined again, calculated now at about half the replacement rate. At this scale, within decades either America’s overall population will plummet, or else native-born Americans’ relationship to first-generation immigrants will flip. The consequences of either scenario would be bleak for political stability. What happened? Certainly, the pandemic has had its effect, but this deterioration is on a much longer and more consistent trajectory than those factors can account for. The single overarching reason for low birth rates is this: given more agency, people are simply choosing not to have children. It makes sense – bearing and raising multiple children is difficult and scary and costly work, most of all for the women involved. It requires a level of sacrifice that is simply inconceivable in the imaginative economy of most modern people.
But how precious the gift! Maternity is something Scripture shows God really cares about. It’s woven into the fabric of reality at the most fundamental levels. Everyone reading this has had a mother, and the nature of that primary relationship has defined the boundaries and set the agenda for nearly every other relationship in your life. And yet still, the more precious a thing is to you, the more potential it has to be a source of searing pain. So, because maternal relationships are so valuable, few wounds are as injurious as the loss of or estrangement from one’s mom, nor the grief of infertility, nor the unspeakable tragedy of a mother losing a child.
Understandably, then, many would prefer not to be reminded at all of such things. A sense of compassion might lead some to avoid all talk of Mothers’ Day altogether and forge ahead with regular Sunday worship. Certainly, the historic potency of such “Hallmark” holidays has been significantly diluted in an era where every other day is designated in honor of something. We might be able to get away with ignoring Mothers’ Day altogether in a few years when the second Sunday in May is surrendered to something more asinine, like National Polyester Day.
So, Mothers’ Day isn’t a part of the church calendar. But it’s on people’s hearts and minds this weekend anyway. In a fallen world, all that probability for pain and fear and woundedness that accompanies all the sacred blessedness of maternity is a powerful occasion to surrender ourselves, our broken hearts especially, to the God who created motherhood in his image and can be trusted to give us life; to shelter us under outstretched wings; to clean the scrapes and kiss the bruises; to lift up a caring countenance and grant us peace. And much of the time this is done in space and time through the local members of Mother Church. That’s what Paul is getting at in our text this week – what does it look like for a group of believers to restore one another with a spirit of gentleness? Well, it looks a lot like an attentive and attuned mother. I hope you’ll join us.
- josh
While our culture, increasingly dissatisfied with the mundane, continues to encourage us to seek out the new and the novel, more often than not the Bible tells us, in our dissatisfied moments and struggles, to remember. This is a constant theme in the Psalms, for instance, as often when the psalmist is in deep lament the thing that brings him out of his malaise is to remember what God has done for him. There is never a Pollyanna answer to our suffering and sin, rather we are told to behold who God is and what he has done. Remember who you are.
Paul does the same thing in Galatians as he encourages some believers who started well, but now find themselves in a quagmire of trouble. In our passage for Sunday we see a realistic exposition on how to thrive in the new life we have in Jesus. I say realistic because becoming more like Jesus (which is to find real freedom) is not a straight line, nor do we always feel like we are actually making progress.
It is also a fight––the fight of your life. While we do have a great inheritance in Jesus, we still carry our sinful nature with us. It is an ever-present reality and an imposing reality. And yet the Bible says we have everything necessary for finding abundant life in Jesus, even and especially among the ruins of the culture around us. This is so important because we are told everywhere in Scripture to continue to “build gardens in Babylon,” which is an apt metaphor for what Christian growth looks like. He actually calls transformation in an ordinary believer “the fruit of the Spirit.”
I stepped into this passage on Monday morning after dealing with some particular “besetting” sin in my life that had me literally in the fetal position. I was bewildered, wondering if there was any hope for me. And this passage was like smelling salts for my weary soul. And, yes, there is hope for me and all who are weary and heavy-laden!
Join us Sunday, live and in person or via livestream. Also join us for Sunday School! This will be our last week for both Children’s and Adult Sunday School as we move into summer rhythms.
Blessings,
Jim
Paul says perhaps one of the more shocking things in our passage this week. “For freedom Christ has set us free.” What Jesus has done in his saving life and death is for our freedom. If I were to poll most people in our community, both pagan and believer, and ask, “What was it that Christ did for you on the cross?”, I doubt I would get many people who would say, “To make me free, of course.” No, there lurks in the back of our minds, even among those who know Jesus, that Christianity brings at least some form of burden and bondage––after all, there are things he tells us we can’t do.
To think in that vein is to already be implicated in the cultural definition of freedom as being more of a matter of personal choice with the trappings of authority removed. If Paul is right, we either have to rethink freedom according to Jesus or go with the cultural zeitgeist. The Bible story, however, is one of freedom and liberation. We have been set free! This only makes sense to us against the backdrop of the historic Fall, where none of us is even free to choose the good! On Sunday, with the help of the New City Catechism questions 14 and 15, we will seek to clear the lens and “see” freedom against the backdrop of our design. In other words, if there is no such thing as a created “human nature,” then by all means personal choice must become god. But if we have a nature that is fallen and in need of liberation, then the work of the cross becomes electric. I assure you, unless we grapple with the cultural view of freedom, we will all become slaves and that is the exact opposite what Jesus is all about!
Join us Sunday, live and in person or via livestream, as we talk about Biblical freedom and the liberating effects of the cross.
Blessings,
Jim
Man, it was a welcome change to cancel things for reasons other than the pandemic!
This was a week filled with surprises and adventure for our family, which is another way of saying, inconveniences and extreme discomfort. It’s always both, isn’t it? The thrill and wonder of record-breaking flurries alongside the burdens of heartache and grief. Snow angels and frostbite. Our family lost a dear mentor this week as well as a cousin in his early twenties, just days apart. We were unable to travel and mourn with family and friends the way we wanted to, but we’re also grateful for technology that provided some consolation and connection. We had to change our plans for birthdays and miss out on our Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday plans entirely. But there was sledding and cake! Not a day goes by that we aren't grateful for our whiteboard calendar, so easily amended.
I was reminded of a bit in C.S. Lewis’ fantasy novel Perelandra this week as we once again had the terrible privilege of explaining to children that plans had changed. In the book, Dr. Ransom finds himself a tourist on a beautiful, newly created planet, unburdened by sin. At one point he has a conversation with one of the unfallen humans about how he’s looking for a certain kind of fruit he’d stumbled upon earlier. The alien Eve then responds wisely, “You could send your soul after the good you had expected, instead of turning it to the good you had got. You could refuse the real good; but you would make the real fruit taste insipid by thinking of the other...” Boy, I wish our own Eve and that guy I see in the mirror every day could have learned this lesson the easy way. We ruin the good God has provided for us by insisting in our hearts that we have a right to the good we had expected.
This year, our Lenten season dovetails with a stretch of the New City Catechism focused on the Law. Bummer upon bummer, am I right? Surely, we’ve had a whole Lenten year filled with fasting from our favorite things! Can’t we just take a break from the downers? I’m sympathetic to this view, personally. And yet, I also wonder if there isn’t a deeper kind of joy awaiting us if we can simply receive the given good. Our new series on Galatians is called “Grace Is Everything,” and I can’t wait to begin this conversation about how the Law, like so many other things, can be a good means of grace as long as we don’t try to replace the gospel with it! I truly believe there is genuine, abundant grace hidden just under a layer of soft, powdery inconvenience, if only we would grab some mittens and a shovel and begin to dig.
Speaking of inconvenience, we have some faithful members clearing out the parking lot on Saturday and plan to have it ready for in-person attendees at worship, but we’ll make a final call on Saturday and let you know. Our service this weekend will be livestreamed at the very least. We also get to install two elders to our active Session, so we’re excited to celebrate with you all!
- josh
We are all culture makers, like it or not. To be made in God’s image is to create culture. Culture is literally, “what we make of the world.” We could wax eloquent on this for days but this week we are talking about what culture is, what is wrong with it, and how we might be part of the restoration process. Genesis 3-4 shows the progressive nature of decline because of sin. Sin affects the individual, the family and, as we will see this week, the culture. What is interesting is that, while the fall is bad, it does not destroy humanity’s capacity to create culture and artifacts that serve the common good. Thank God that by his mercy all of us are most likely still alive because of cultural advances that were made by people who wouldn’t darken the door of a church or call on the name of the Lord! The text for Sunday lands us right in the middle of a cultural mess! So, we shouldn’t be surprised at the cultural mess we are in now—it started in Genesis 4.
Also, an important reminder! This coming Wednesday is Ash Wednesday. Lent is upon us and starts with perhaps the most audacious service of the year, a service where we smear death on the faces of everyone in our community. And yes, even in COVID, we have found a way to do this service safely. This year during our Ash Wednesday Service, we will have ashes in the small communion cups, enough for a family. As you come forward, each family will administer ashes to their own family or, if you attend on your own, a minister will administer them to you. Different, yes, but we understand safety is still a primary concern. If you have young children who need to be in the nursery, please sign them up using this link. Bear in mind, the Winter Storm Watch has a forecast of snow and ice for Monday and Wednesday, so stay tuned for updates on the status of the service.
Remember also, we’re having a Congregational Meeting after worship on Sunday to elect Elders. Dan Stimpson and Bob Conrad are both standing and have both served on the Session before. Please try to be present to cast your vote for your leaders.
Have a great weekend and be safe. I hope to see you Sunday, live and in person or via livestream.
Blessings,
Jim
We hear often we are tempted by “the world, the flesh and the devil.” There is warrant for that in the Bible. Jesus’ temptations mirror this and St. Paul uses these categories to talk about our proclivity to sin. Genesis does the same, but inverts the categories—the devil, the flesh, and the world. Eve in the garden is tempted by Satan. This week, Cain’s sin against his brother Abel is the flesh. Then what follows in the next few chapters of Genesis, when men begin to build cities, is obviously the world around us.
The burden of the narratives centered around The First Family are many, and we do see the world getting worse and worse because of the curse of sin. But what you can’t miss is that God is always present, persistently wooing and pursuing. As bleak as chapter 4 of Genesis is, with the story of the first murder, what you can’t miss is God’s grace and forbearance toward Cain. Even his mark is an act of grace. But more on that on Sunday.
As I pondered this narrative I kept coming back to the song that Will sang here some time ago. “Our sins they are many, his mercy is more.” That really is the whole story of the First Family isn’t it? It really is your story and mine, isn’t it? That is, unless we, like Cain, continue to reject the overtures of God’s love and refuse to live under his mercy. We will talk about it Sunday. I hope to see you live and in person or via live stream.
Blessings,
Jim
P.S. I have included three verses of Matt Papa’s song—I hope it will heal your heart a bit, as it has mine.
“His Mercy is More”
What love could remember no wrongs we have done Omniscient, all-knowing, He counts not their sum Thrown into a sea without bottom or shore Our sins, they are many, His mercy is more
What patience would wait as we constantly roam What Father, so tender, is calling us home He welcomes the weakest, the vilest, the poor Our sins, they are many, His mercy is more
What riches of kindness He lavished on us His blood was the payment, His life was the cost We stood 'neath a debt we could never afford Our sins, they are many, His mercy is more
Legend has it that G. K. Chesterton was asked the question, “What's wrong with the world?” Some say it was a newspaper reporter; others, it was an inquiry from Times magazine sent to various writers at that time. Anyway, Chesterton didn’t give the answer one might expect. He didn’t talk about a certain political party, nor did he say it was institutional corruption or class struggles. He didn’t talk about how education is failing us nor the degradation of the earth. Rather, to the question “What’s wrong with the world?” he responded with just two words: “I am.”
Reasons and excuses abound for the epic failures around us. Blame is spread around that our parents failed us and thus we are not the people we ought to be. Others say, no, it is institutions that have failed us. Still others, it is people with power who have failed us. Some materialists are even now saying something went wrong in our evolution. There is a lot of bantering about, and some of these ideas might have a grain of truth in them (any lie worth a grain of salt certainly will).
However, the Bible has a different story. Last week, we saw that what is wrong with the world is us. Our original parents decided to put themselves in the place of God, and we have been living in the fallout of that since time immortal. This week we look at life in the ruins, the ruins of a good creation. Where first there was nothing but blessing, fruitfulness, and delight, now there is curse, shame, thorns, sweat, and death. It is a bleak picture. But lest we despair as we read through the passage of Genesis 3, what you can’t miss—what you dare not miss—is that there is still love in the ruins. That is what we will talk about Sunday.
A few reminders and an announcement—Remember we are live and in-person on Sunday. Of course, there is livestream available if you prefer to view from home. Just a note on the livestream, if something goes wrong on YouTube, try accessing it from the app or website. Our problem last week was with YouTube, and the stream was fine from the website. Also, we have an Inquirer’s Class for people new to St. Patrick, and Sunday School classes for adults and children that start at 9:15a.m. I do hope you will join us!
Finally, please mark your calendars as we will have a brief Congregational meeting on Sunday, February 14, following morning worship for the purpose of electing new elders. You will receive a letter next Tuesday with more detail.
Blessings, Jim
"What's your problem?" Many of us read that question as more of an accusation than a genuine inquiry. Maybe someone bumps into you forcefully and intentionally, and you whip around and say, “Hey buddy, what’s your problem!?” You don’t think of him as your dear friend, and you’re not sympathetically concerned about the burdens he’s carrying. You’re using that question to demand an accounting of your offender’s motivations, so you and he can both be clear in a few minutes exactly why you’re pummeling an apology out of him. Of all the questions to be asked that could absolutely define a person’s story, "what's your problem?" certainly ranks pretty highly up there. It's such a great question, because it gets right to the heart of things. We have two characters and a conflict: let the story begin!
Now, to be clear, conflict isn’t the first or only thing that drives a person or story – it’s not even the most compelling. If you were to ask most people, they might say that the driving force behind the Bible is finding a solution for sin. Sin is our problem, so sin is the point of the Bible, right? They might start with the Fall in Genesis chapter 3, and maybe end with the Crucifixion in Matthew 27. Yet the Bible’s story doesn’t start with a problem. It begins and ends with a passion project: The Divine Persons of the Trinity pouring out their love into creation, building a garden city out of the world and making creatures in their image to share in that glory.
As James said in the Soul Room this week, “What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don’t they come from your desires that battle within you?” The sin-riddled desires that God’s image bearers have inherited from their first family certainly stand in direct competition with the driving motivations of God’s creative will. That conflict is important because understanding how the sin in us competes with what God is up to in us is a vital part of the role we play in his greater story. So, what on earth (or in heaven) is driving (and diverting) us? What’s our problem? Well, this week we are in fact going to look at Genesis 3 and end in Matthew 27, seeing where sin muddles up our greater desires, how God has graciously authored his story to point us back toward the true and full consummation of creation, and why our battles with sin can serve a greater story indeed.
We hope you’ll join us for worship, either via live stream or in person this Sunday! Our Sunday School classes are also resuming this week. Registration is required for Sunday School, as well as all of our spring programming, so please sign up using the link below. There is also a link detailing our latest response to COVID-19.
- josh
We are in a series called First Family. We are looking at the first few chapters of Genesis. Last week we looked at the creation account. It is a unique view of creation. It stands in bold relief to all the accounts of origins we read about, first ,the mythological accounts of creation where creation is usually because of a conflict among the gods and the gods and the gods look with disdain on the humans they created and the world that they created. And secondly, it stands against modern views of origins in that matter is not eternal, nor is man the measure of all things. No God stands before creation and orders it, therefore there is a design, an oughtness about the world. We can’t shape it the way we would like, we submit to the givens to find freedom in a created world. And it is the most positive view of the world possible. The creation of the world comes from the loving heart of a God who out of the overflowing joy of his own being creates a home for his image bearers. Now this week we look at chapter 2 and see this remarkable account of God filling the world with his images—human beings. And as in creation so with humans, to be fully human we can’t make up who we are, our persons, or our sexuality—we too are born with givens. So, let’s look at chapter 2 which is the sixth day of creation looked at in detail.
When you watch sports on TV, you always have a couple of people in the booth commentating the game. One is the play-by-play person who is basically telling what is happening. The other person is called the “color commentator” and it’s their job to fill in details—to give depth, analysis, and make connections that perhaps you wouldn’t catch on your own. It is a good system and does usually make the game more enjoyable (with a few notable exceptions, and most sports fans know of whom I speak!).
This Sunday we are diving into a year-long study built around The New City Catechism. The catechism follows a design of questions and answers which we will go through week by week in our smaller settings. From the pulpit, however, we will be preaching not on the questions themselves, but rather each series will be crafted around the themes that are being looked at on a weekly basis. In other words, our sermons will be more of a “color commentary” on the various questions you have been looking at on your own or in your small groups.
We are starting off with a six-week mini-series called “The First Family,” which is a look at the origins of creation and how it all started. It does answer our first question, “What is our Only Hope in Life and Death?” While the bulk of the series does deal with our first parents, this week deals more with the home God built for them. I have watched many a person design and build a house. During the process, it is usually one of the most stressful things I have ever seen. Often, I have even heard it said, “I will never do that again.” I mean, think about the details! Genesis 1 is nothing like that! Here we see God as artist in a realm, delighting in the home he is building to place his image bearers in.
I was joking with Josh and Will, as we were kicking around ideas, that I had a book I have read to all my children called My Nest is Best. It is about a mother bird, unhappy with her nest as she is about to have a baby bird, and so she sends her husband off to find a new one, only to find out that her original nest is really the best. They didn’t think it a good title for a sermon, but I would hope after Sunday you will marvel at the home God built for us in the created world. But more, I hope you will see a God who delights and glories in the “stuff” he created. So much so that he would come down to save it rather than abandon it. But I perhaps reveal too much!
I will see you Sunday via livestream!
Blessings,
Jim
P.S. One last thing – To go along with our study in the New City Catechism, Josh will be hosting a New City Bible Study, which will begin with the first video this Sunday. We’ll be looking at the memory verse paired with the question of the week and attempting to provide context and interpretative lenses, as well as some practical applications for us. You can use these as a Cyber Sunday School option, or as a Community Group discussion starter, or however else is helpful to you. NC Bible Study episodes drop Sundays at 8:00am on our Youtube channel
Last night Teri was out running errands, and Addison and I were settling in for a long playtime and she was lecturing her animals. I have found that this is where her deepest thoughts and impressions are often revealed. She was explaining to her animals why they couldn’t ride the four-wheeler while I was not there. They had been joy-riding while I was at work and got all muddy. (This is pretend, of course.) She was saying this in response to the fact that we don’t ride every day anymore because, since the time change, it is dark when I get home. She still can’t figure out the time change and so in this conversation I could see where her mind was. She said, “Now, aminals (sp. animals) there is a reason we can’t ride four-wheeler every day. It is not dad's fault, he wants to ride us every day. It is God’s fault, but we still love him.” I was trying not to laugh because it made perfect sense as she was working this out in her mind. To her, I can almost do no wrong (unless she is ticked at me) so it must be God’s fault! But theologically she knows enough to know we have to love God so, in spite of everything, we still love him!
I have loved watching my kids grow up. I loved every stage of their development. In preaching on the Incarnation, particularly the humanity of Jesus and dealing last week and this week with his human parents, I wonder what crazy stories they would tell their friends about their son—Jesus, who no doubt did and said some crazy things that were a delight to their hearts. I can see Joseph on the floor, making crazy faces and acting the fool to get his boy to react. Mary, worn out after another endless day of diapers, sickness, or just the vigilance it takes to keep a small human being alive, feeling her frustration melt away as she rocks and tucks him in to bed at night. I also wonder at Mary, looking back after the resurrection and thinking of those early days when she was raising God! Yes, God was that human!
Sometimes we come across truth that is so amazing, so over the top, and so full of mystery we, like Mary, “ponder these things in our hearts.” And ponder with something like wonder that it never gets old. That is a something we don’t think about much—there is a moral beauty in truth. Truth does not only set us free, it gives us deep delight. I am so glad we have about a month set aside to ponder such things. Truths like this can heal your heart a bit in a dark time like the one we are in now.
Join us Sunday as we look at the Incarnation from the perspective of Joseph. We got Mary’s take last week; this week we see Jesus’ human father’s story. It just keeps getting better! Also, remember we have a nursery if you are joining us live, and also Children’s Church. Both are limited so you must sign up. (The link is below.) Hope to see you Sunday, live or via live stream.
Blessings,
Jim
Advent, it is the time of expectant waiting. Every year during the four Sundays before we celebrate the Nativity of Jesus on Christmas, we have a season of waiting and preparation. It is a time of elaborate preparation in many ways. Because we are creatures with senses and bodies, our imaginations strain to take it all in. We decorate, we cook, we gather, we ponder, we pray, and we go to all this excess because of the God of excess we serve. We respond to the over-the-top love of God for sinners like us with elaborate ritual. Of course, like the culture around us, this can be just a diversion from real life, but if we are mindful our hearts and minds are taken up in rapturous wonder that the infinite would become finite, the eternal would become temporal, that the immortal would wrap himself in mortality—for what? To reconcile sinners to himself—no wonder we gild the lily!
Every year we seek to look at the birth narratives of Jesus from a different angle. This year we are looking at it from the perspective of angels. Angels don’t show up much in the Bible and, when they do, it is a terrifying event, usually to bring some great message from God. So, of course, there are a lot of angels in the birth narratives of Jesus. This week we start with an angelic visit from one of just two angels in the Bible that have names given to them. He appears to an aged country parish priest who is too old to have children, serving a once in a lifetime tenure in the temple in Jerusalem. And with this encounter, God begins to break into history in a new and glorious way. The message he brings changes everything!
I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving and got a good start on this season of feasting. Though COVID may have dampened the festivities and made our scattered tables somewhat smaller, nothing can totally kill this season if you know the God of the Incarnation. So, join us Sunday, live and in person or via livestream, as once again we begin Advent. The church is gilded and decked for the season. As we will talk about Sunday, may we know afresh the certainty of God’s promises—especially in a time of pandemic.
Blessings,
Jim
We come to the end of Peter’s first letter on the final Sunday before Advent, also known as Christ the King Sunday. Years ago, the designers of our church calendar recognized that we are perhaps best able to prepare our imaginations for the audacity of Christ’s humble birth from the vantage point of his glorious returning. And so, even as cheerful elves deck the halls of our church with visions of baby Jesus dancing in their heads, I’m hidden away tying together the threads of a passage that contemplates the glorious return of a Christ the King who conquered on the cross. The end of Peter’s letter has it all.
I think the most humanizing, personal touches of this letter come through in its conclusion as Peter refers to his beloved son, Mark. This is no doubt John Mark, who was a small boy throughout Jesus’ ministry. Tradition states that it was his parent’s home that hosted the Last Supper, and that he was the child who witnessed Christ’s arrest and ran away from the guards by slipping out of his nightshirt. Years later, he accompanied Paul partway through a missionary journey, but again “slipped his nightshirt” so to speak, from fear of persecution. Paul had no patience for the boy after that, and so when Mark’s cousin Barnabas wanted to bring him on another campaign, the iconic duo had a sharp disagreement, split, and Paul picked up Silvanus as his companion instead. Yet at the end of his life, Paul spoke very highly of this same John Mark, referring to him as personally helpful to him in his ministry. So, what happened?
Well, scholars think Peter happened. We know that sometime after that infamous separation, Mark became a close protégé of Peter’s. In fact, Mark’s gospel is maybe more aptly named Peter’s gospel, as it is believed that the account is drawn largely from that apostle’s witness as told to his student, Mark. Now, I can’t prove this, but it seems likely to me that a famously bad disciple and notorious abandoner of Christ like Peter would have had quite a bit of forbearance for a kid who talked a big talk but then ran off when things got hard. And I am truly comforted by the thought that when I read the brash Peter of the Gospels (and even some of Acts and Galatians!), I can see that young man through the lens of his later hard-won humility and empathy, developed as he failed and suffered and surrendered to God’s passion for his holiness. I think what Jesus saw and patiently shepherded in Peter eventually turned him into the kind of elderly shepherd who could do the same for Mark.
So, as we prepare our hearts for Christmas by first seeing Christ High and lifted up, let us also remember that the version of ourselves and others we see today is also only a glimmer of the glory that is to come. God is using our hardships and the humility that can come from them to make us and our neighbors into something imperishable and beautiful. Let that both humble and encourage us as we continue to hone our craft in the Art of Neighboring.
- Josh
Fiery Trials, that is what Peter talks about this week—a metaphor about unjust suffering for following Jesus. The believers to whom Peter writes did, in fact, experience this. The Christian Faith and the lifestyle it produced in the disciples was decidedly out of step with the values of the Roman Culture around them. Will we be faced with that? Who knows? This seems weird to us now because in Western Civilization, for hundreds of years, the culture has been so widely shaped by Christianity that values in society have not conflicted so widely or deeply between believers and non-believers. I mean, until recently, in many places like the Deep South even a nominal profession was the social norm. This is quickly eroding, however, and that is why I Peter is relevant to us today like never before in the West. We are increasingly finding ourselves out of step with the culture.
Yet Peter presents this kind of suffering as a mercy—a severe mercy, to be sure, and not something one would seek out but something one should not be surprised to be faced with. As Rod Dreher says in his new book, Live Not By Lies, “No Christian has the power to avoid suffering entirely. It is the human condition. What we do control is how we act in the face of it. Will we run from it and betray our Lord? Or will we accept it as a severe mercy? The choices we will make when put to the ultimate test depend on the choices we make today, in a time of peace.” That, or something like that, is what we will talk about on Sunday.
And what a glorious day it will be! All is not about the brokenness of the world. In fact, joy is a keynote in the Bible, and on Sunday we will drink deeply of the well of joy and thanksgiving. Again, we have a day of covenantal beauty with people joining the St. Patrick family—people taking vows, adults and children being baptized, and making room for our new family members. I can’t wait!
Blessings,
Jim
In the midst of a pandemic and hotly contested elections, my sermon title sounds ever-so-dramatic: The End of All Things. Believe me when I tell you it’s purely coincidental. As we continue to work through this letter to the believers in Asia Minor, we’ve simply come to the verse that says such a thing. (The only election Peter is concerned with is that of God’s exiles!) Yet in my experience, it is always the case that the Word of God does happen to be consummately relevant in every season of our modern life. This is actually the first Presidential election in my adulthood where I’ve felt a real sense of peace in spite of either outcome. That’s certainly not because I think either candidate would do just fine. This peace says less about my opinion of the contenders and more about where Peter says our hope truly resides.
Here’s what I’ve seen: literally no matter what has happened in this insane year, each event has had the primary effect of revealing my own sin to me in technicolor. When I’ve been inconvenienced, I got whiny. When I was accused of ignorance or unkindness, I got defensive. Even when I was doing well, I felt self-righteous. My experience tells me that no matter the event, I am faced with my need for grace. I keep putting my hope in better situations, and I keep being disappointed in outcomes. I keep thinking that if my circumstances were different, then I could be a better person... but it’s just not happening. Then 1 Peter brings me the good news that no matter the occasion, I am always presented with an opportunity to weaponize my weaknesses for the glory of God. What if the pandemic worsens? What if the party I abhor enacts policies that violate my favorite rights? What if the economy tanks? What if I’m on the wrong side of popular opinion? What if the country erupts into civil war? Or, what if I get everything I wanted? Well, even then I will be presented with fresh opportunities to love God and my neighbor by laying down my life – the passions of my flesh – all those gut reactions I have to discomfort – and to lean into love instead. And at the end of myself, I’ll find the beginning of life.
The result will be that I have re-learned how to see that word, “end”: defined not as finality, but as fulfillment. I’ll worry less about all the uncontrollable things that are happening around me, (and even to me), and start thinking about things I can actually do anything about. Sure, I’ll still engage in civic life and be concerned with global affairs. But I’ll also have a life more and more shaped by the joy of experiencing my chief end – to glorify God and enjoy him forever. And then I’ll see the end of the world, too, as something to be working for and not against. Because the end (purpose) of all things is the Glory of God in Jesus Christ’s victory. And every time we surrender, he wins.
- Josh
P.S. Also, just a reminder, we do have limited space in both the Nursery and also in Children’s Church. You have to sign up, but each week there are spots available. So, before you just assume they are all taken, go back and check these links and think about joining us on Sunday!
In his book He Came Down from Heaven, Charles Williams says, “In Christianity, the Cross is the Center and there is no circumference.” The Apostle Peter obviously believes that as he writes to the believers in Asia Minor. The center piece of his writing on Christian community, suffering, and our witness before the world starts with and ends with the saving life of Jesus on the cross. He actually believes that, as we work out the theology of the cross, it will give us the resources to live well, not only with people who are in our community but also with the world around us, even when it is hostile and causes suffering. This is coming from the very same apostle who, after Jesus tells his disciples he will die on a cross, says essentially, “Not on my watch.” And from the one who, when the authorities are arresting him, takes a swing at a guy’s head with a sword when they lay hands on Jesus.
Peter saw and witnessed the power of the saving life and death of Jesus. Peter couldn’t believe in a crucified Messiah at the time, but after the resurrection the cross becomes the starting and ending point to talk about what it means to be a believer living out the claims of Jesus in a hostile environment. So that is what is up for Sunday, and I hope you will join us, in person or online.
Blessings,
Jim
This Sunday is the culmination of something started before COVID—the adding of new folk to our family. We have a lot of folk who went through classes and were ready to make a profession of faith—then we all went into quarantine. So now, months later, we finally celebrate new family. What is better than seeing our family grow and thrive? We have people taking vows, both adults and children making professions of faith and being baptized, and also several little ones who are being baptized as infants. What a day this will be!
We live in crazy times on many fronts. People are stressed, tempers are frayed, social media will leave you in trauma. This is life in a fallen world, but perhaps it is being seen to a greater degree than normal. But Sunday is a reminder of what I just read in Jim Butcher’s book Battle Front. In the book, Harry Dresden is an urban wizard in Chicago and has just been taken for a ride by figures of ancient mythology and is finally sitting down to dinner with his adopted family, the Carpenters. As he muses on the trouble he has been through and the welcome sanctuary he knows with his adopted family, he says this: “There are a lot of ways to get ready for trouble; you get ready to fight, that is one of them, but it is even more important that you build something worth fighting for.” (Jim Butcher, Battle Ground) That is what St. Patrick is about—building a family. A large messy, diverse, frustrating, glorious family of people who become part of it only because of the grace of Jesus. That is worth fighting for!
We continue to talk about submission, as we did last week. What is curious is that, when seen in the light of the world these believers live in, Peter’s teaching is about how to subvert the oppressive kingdom they live in. And subvert it they did! I can’t wait to enact the gospel with you Sunday, either online or live and in-person.
Blessings and stay safe,
Jim
I don’t know about you but I don’t like authority. Or maybe I could be pious and say, “I don’t like unjust authority.” But that might be misleading. I just really don’t like authority very much. Apparently, mine is not an isolated problem. I have a five-year-old in my home who reminds me every day she doesn’t like it either. I also raised six other children who just wanted to do their own thing.
So we come out of the womb chaffing under the yoke of authority. Perhaps with maturity we come to acknowledge that authority is, as the Bible says, ordained by God for our good. Maybe, with more maturity, we can even acknowledge that as dependent and finite creatures we all serve some authority, either to our good or to our hurt. Maybe we even see that to follow Jesus is to be a free servant, that his rule and reign will lead to a new kind of freedom—the freedom to be as we were designed to be.
We are talking about submitting to authority and freedom on Sunday. The way the culture uses the word “freedom” and the way the Bible uses it are very different things. I suppose submitting to authority is viewed by Christians in different ways, as well. Anyway, one thing is clear: the life of God’s people together is the evangelistic event that goes on before the world and the arena where it is being played out is in the mundane—neighborhoods, work places and places we know and are known. Peter gives us the “how to” of resistance in our text for Sunday. Hope you will join us either in person or via live stream!
Blessings,
Jim
Unless you are old enough to remember the Spanish Flu, this is likely the first time in your life you’ve experienced purity laws as a primary social driver. What once seemed antiquated is now the modern way of life. In fact, these days the dangers of “uncleanness” (exposure to the coronavirus) influences most if not all of our social rhythms. These habits shape our perceptions to the point that when we see a movie filmed even last year, we recoil in ambivalent horror at the unmasked crowds in close proximity and all the casual touching that takes place. Our everyday interactions with people very often begin with shameful disclosures about where we’ve been and with whom. Then we brace for the potential rejection of a fortnight.
Far from being post-apocalyptic, this experience more closely mirrors that of Biblical people than we’ve ever seen before. Many of the people Jesus touched were under extreme edicts of social isolation due to their uncleanness. Even those who were considered healthy for the moment lived with the reality that in an instant they could be mercilessly banned from places of worship and work; shunned from friendships and family, due to any uncleanness, real or perceived. The mere rumor of disease might get you uninvited to a highly anticipated gathering. Thus, their children, like ours, grew up in a world of hygiene theatre. We must wash our hands, wear a mask, be seen doing it, and don’t risk possible contact with an infection cluster. After all, for those who live in Salem, it’s not unreasonable to be at least as afraid of witch hunts as you are of witches.
Purity laws, while inherently beneficial, have also always been a metaphor for spiritual innocence. It is a simple fact that filth in our environment can defile us in ways that separate us. Likewise, because of sin, these laws have also often opened the vulnerable to injuries greater than the protections they afford. Yet, as Jim shared with us last week, when the Lord said, “be holy as I am holy,” he actually meant the opposite of the sort of performative holiness that Jesus calls hypocrisy: the kind that castigates rather than protects. The way He is holy is that His own cleanness is so powerful, it makes the unclean clean again. He doesn’t avoid the disease; He draws near with the cleanness that cannot be defiled. His presence purifies places.
While we may not be able to overcome coronavirus with our touch, (and in fact I would strongly advise against trying!), we can be intentional about what our own presence does to the relational purity of a place. Even as we take necessary health precautions, we cannot allow the ordinary necessities of personal hygiene (or even concern for the vulnerable among us) to shift our perception of others to the extent that our very first social instinct is suspicion and defense. There is a viral uncleanness of heart that isolates our people. It is dehumanizing and is the very opposite of “loving life.” We can and must reach out and touch the leper – for starters, by making sure that when people are forced into physical isolation, we reach harder for relational connection with them. Why? Well, as we will see in the text this week, because this is the very thing that makes Heaven local.
- josh
If you hear it said of someone that they are “holy,” what do you think? If someone says to you, “So and so is so holy,” would you think that a compliment? Usually not. Holy and holiness are typically said with a bit of sarcasm and in the pejorative. It is not a high compliment, rather it likely implies that the person is a goody-goody-two-shoes, a little self-righteous, or sanctimonious. It also suggests they are a complete bore, have no fun, are rather off-putting, and are not the kind of person you want to be or imitate.
I know this to be true because it has been expressed to me like this too many times. And yet, the Bible says, “Be holy, as I am holy.” In my younger days, holy was what I avoided. I am personally built for a party; and holiness, at least the way I was saw it in my early years, was about being serious about Jesus, keeping endless lists, and avoiding lots of things that looked to be rather fun to me. But then I met a community of people that made me rethink the meaning of holiness. They de-constructed my view of holiness so that I could go back to the gospels and see Jesus again for the first time. And the funny thing was that, according to my earlier definition of holiness, he was the most un-holy person in the narrative! Here Jesus is, making wine to keep the party going, everyone is inviting him to dinner parties, and he doesn’t seem to live by a list that keeps him from associating with people who are obviously not holy. So, whatever I thought holiness was, Jesus exploded that idea!
This Sunday we are talking about holiness. And, may I say candidly, Peter is right—our communities of faith need holiness of life today like never before. In fact, I would say this: without it the gospel is no longer believable to the larger world around you. Here is what I mean. Later in the book Peter says we should always be ready to give an answer for the hope that is within us. Without holiness, you will never get a chance. People never will even ask that question.
So, join me as we talk what holiness is, the urgency of it, and the witness it provides. Also, we have a bunch of our communicants making professions of faith this Sunday! How glorious is that?! I mean, this is what we live for, is it not? To see and witness that the promise is to us and to our children!
Blessings,
Jim
Our reaction to suffering may be one of the greatest indicators of genuine faith in Jesus. It is easy to believe in Jesus when everything is copacetic. It is easy to be pious and spout Christianese and talk about how wonderful God is when he seems to be answering all your prayers. It is easy to talk about how good God is from a vantage point of safety and minimal risk. But what if your faith in Jesus does cause you to be ostracized? What if the brokenness of the world just sort of washes over you or your family members? What if suddenly God doesn’t seem to be answering your prayers the way it seems he should? It is not a question of if you will encounter sufferings but when.
We are in strange times and, while the COVID pandemic has been for many of us not a severe trial, it is still a test of faith because many of the things that have given our lives meaning have been taken away. How do we respond to this? Many folk who do analyses of culture and church suggest that about a third of those people who attended church before COVID won’t come back when this is all over. As I said, it is easy to use God-talk when everything is easy.
But what about when it is hard? What about finding joy in suffering and trials? All over the Bible this seems to be the norm, not the exception. Our text for Sunday is just one of many that teach the uniquely Christian view of suffering: that is, suffering is real and bad and, as such, to be grieved and lamented, but more—that we can actually find joy, meaning, and hope when the hard things of life wash over us and threaten everything we love.
There is a strange statement in the text, that says “angels long to look into these things.” I would also suggest that it is not just angels watching, but also our neighbors and friends. What do they see? Hope and joy—something remarkable—or just the cultural norm of despair and anger. On Sunday, we will talk about it.
Hope to see you Sunday, live and in-person or via livestream. Also, we have new members joining! We have a host of people joining in the next month, folk who were all set to join when COVID hit. I am so thankful to be receiving new members again!
Blessings,
Jim
When I was growing up years ago in Frayser and a wee lad in Denver Elementary, we would start the day with prayer. Then we would stand and say the Pledge of Allegiance and recite the Lord’s Prayer. I also learned, “My County tis of Thee” in that public school. Billy Graham crusades were televised, and there were “revival meetings” as we contemplated methods of reaching the lost. (I am showing my age!) We don’t live in that place anymore. We are in an increasingly secular age and the assumptions of the Bible are increasingly pushed to the margins. Christian morality in my youth didn’t look much different that the civic morality around me. That is totally different now as well. It is beyond the scope of this telling to explore how all that happened, but what is within the scope of this telling, and what we will seek to do in this new series on I Peter, is to listen to what God’s Word says to believers living at the margins of society, where their beliefs are seen as peculiar or, worse, held in open contempt.
We are going to be looking at the book of I Peter this fall, and we are calling it, “The Art of Neighboring.” Peter writes his book to a group of believers in various churches in a region of the Roman Empire where they find themselves as outsiders to the larger culture. And, interestingly, he encourages them to abound and thrive! He can do this because here is the real truth: While the larger culture may hold the church and Jesus in contempt or indifference, the place we can always thrive is where we “know and are known,” where our flesh abides in our neighborhoods and spheres of influence. Places where we know the people who hurt, have lost hope, or are experiencing addictions, divorce, financial burdens, loss of identity and loneliness.
I Peter shows us how to thrive at the margins and to be hope to the hopeless, love the unlovely, and befriend the lonely. It used to be we reached people through crusades and tracts, that day is over. But the gospel is not over. It is as gracious and hopeful as ever, and the people who find their identity in Jesus are the living witness to that hope. I can’t wait to dig into this. Hope to see you Sunday via live stream or here in person!
Blessings,
Jim
I got my first computer in 1989. I had been a pastor for a couple of years and it was a novelty. In seminary, there were just a few people (more the nerd-types) that had them, but they were rare. I still remember it—a Leading Edge that had about 32K of memory and a huge monitor that was black with green text. Going from a typewriter to this was like being born again. I mean, you could just backspace and correct your mistakes! What could be better?! Then came dial-up internet and, man, we were cooking. The world was at our fingertips, the digital age was on, and I was getting in as fast as I could! Articles were being written as early as the sixties about how automation and technology would liberate us from working forty to fifty hours a week! Then, when the computer became a necessity, things changed at an exponential pace.
I have lived long enough to wonder, “What happened?” “Where is all the free time we were promised?” “Where is the liberation we anticipated and the endless leisure we thought we would enjoy?” I talk to few people that actually say, “I used to be so busy but all this technology has given me so much more time with my family and hobbies.” In fact, I hear the exact opposite… “I am always at work now.” “I rarely have time when I just unplug.” “Even on vacation, I have my phone with me, dreading a call from the office and someone needing me.” What happened on the road to Technological Utopia? Here is what happened…we happened! We can’t unplug! We can’t cease! We can’t “hallow” time for doing nothing productive. We sold our birthright for a mess of pottage.
God, however, rested! The creation account speaks of design. It is the way things are supposed to be, the way the world works, and the way image bearers of God are built to work. In other words, built into the bones of the world and into our bones is this need for Sabbath. We can’t finish our series on “Practicing the King’s Economy” without talking about the God who made us for a rhythm of both work and rest, productivity and non-productivity. On Sunday I hope we will see just how “deforming” our practices are that neglect rest and celebration. Because at the end of the day, Sabbath is about delight—gut-wrenching joy! That, or something like that, is what we will talk about Sunday. Hope to see you there, in person or via live-stream.
Blessings,
Jim
When my children were tiny, I had the habit of referring to them as my “critters.” Occasionally, someone would overhear and side-eye me with horrified judgment. I suppose this is because, in our neck of the woods, the word “critter” is often interchangeable with “varmint.” But, I would proudly point out, “critter” is just a lazy variation on the word “creature.” And that they are: creatures of our God and King, born of the love between a man and wife, and made in our “spittin’ image” (itself a lazy way of saying ‘Spirit-and-image.’) I just really like thinking of my kids in Edenic terms.
In much the same way, I also like to romanticize the vision of my wife as she takes her walks in the garden she tends in the cool of the day, little bunnies tumbling at her feet. Arguably, these critters fall more on the varmint side of the Creation spectrum, yet their delight in our own Eden’s version of Mother Eve is apparent. Her rabbits do these things called zooming, binkying, and flopping, all of which, I’m told, are indicators of the peace and pleasure such creatures find as they dwell in the shadow of their Mistress. In those moments, she’s just the spittin’ image of our Maker.
This week, as we turn our study on Practicing the King’s Economy toward the area of Creation Stewardship, I have to confess I can think of a lot of reasons to avoid the conversation altogether. Much of this debate (like everything else these days) is held in over-politicized arenas using hyper-charged rhetoric. It’s hard to talk about any of it without unwillingly and unwittingly getting lumped into one camp or another. Let me assure you that if you ever hear me making purely political statements, then I have been possessed by aliens. And yet this is a discussion about which the Bible has much to say, from page one to weights and measures. So, I want to encourage us to intentionally mute whatever a particular political party might have to say on the topic and instead immerse our imaginations in the language and lavish imagery of Scripture, letting it shape our hearts to love creation the way the Creator created us to.
- josh
The ghost of Jacob Marley tells Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, “Business!... Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!” Was Charles Dickens serious? Are the poor our business? Are we really expected to be with them, care for them, and work to see that they have something to bring to our gathered and scattered tables? Good questions…and timely.
As we ponder the kingdom that Jesus brought in his incarnation, death, burial, and resurrection—what does it mean for it to break into time and space? Is there a correlation between our care of the poor and what Jesus is doing in space/time history? Heavy questions...and right questions to ask. This Sunday, as we ponder “The King’s Economy”, we will look at the Bible to see how God has addressed these questions, not only with his people in ancient Israel, but even today. We are all poor and, just as Jesus was about bringing spiritual healing to our sin-sick souls, he was about bringing his Kingdom to bear…“far as the curse is found.”
Blessings,
Jim
The greatest gift my parents gave me was an appreciation of work. Hard work that was done well. Three men—my grandfather, my dad, and an uncle—worked the soft off of my hands. While chores were part and parcel of home life, they intuitively knew that work was not just about money but was also a soul-satisfying endeavor—a good endeavor. Farmer, charcoal business owner, and roofer—each vastly different but each put me in the school of work and wages. They were demanding and generous, not just with their employees but also with the fruits of their labor. I didn’t have theological categories at that time to appreciate the gift they gave me.
They endured me, corrected me, were patient with me, and then, as my competencies increased, they rewarded me. They did not suffer fools, nor did they cast me out for my foolishness. Rather they took me by the hand and—through immersion and imitation—discipled me. They all loved Jesus through their work. They taught me that work was a cultural endeavor (that is, our work had dignity even when hard), and they taught me generosity in my labor. I used to tell people that, if my uncle had all the money he gave away helping roofers who were down on their luck get back on their feet, he would have a fortune socked away. But I also saw the lives and families that were healed because work for my uncle was not just about maximizing his profits (though profit is a proper reward for labor) but also helping others in the community.
I just did marriage counseling with a young couple on Thursday, and that is as it should be. All of us need help and biblical guidance in matters of love and romance—it is such a huge part of a life of blessedness. I do this all the time when I marry people. But another area that needs biblical guidance is the area of work, vocation, and calling. I have never done “pre-vocational counseling.” Maybe that is a huge mistake because work is just as glorious and distorted by sin as marriage and love. Well, this Sunday we will talk about it! We desperately need to rediscover what God has to say about work and wages. I can’t wait to talk about it with you. Join us in person or via live-stream!
Blessings,
Jim
One of the most baffling and infuriating things about Jesus’ earthly ministry was the people he chose to eat with. It seems he would share a meal with anyone—religious elite, tax collector, prostitute, or poor; it didn’t matter. It seems that Jesus was always sharing meals with people. One writer notes this: “In Luke’s Gospel Jesus is either going to a meal, at a meal, or coming from a meal.” (Richard Karris, Eating Your Way Through Luke’s Gospel.) In fact, it is not the eating that gets him in trouble—it is the guest list!
It dawned on me this week what Jesus was actually doing in the sharing of meals: he was fulfilling the Old Testament mandates about feasting! Israel’s community life was built around several annual feasts. In these feasts, the mandate was always that the broken and socially marginalized were to have a seat at the table. In other words, God was building a new kind of community. When Jesus comes on the scene, this is no longer possible because of new and added laws and restrictions. So, of course, the religious community is baffled that a religious teacher would ignore these laws out of hand.
What Jesus is really doing is showing us how to build a transformative community. As we will see, it has happened in history, and it has been done by God’s people when they had no cultural or economic power and when they were totally marginalized by society at large. In fact, the very existence of the community that Jesus built was a protest against cultural norms. I hope you are intrigued…we will talk about it Sunday. I have been gone for two weeks and am straining at the bit!
Blessings,
Jim
As we launch our new preaching series, Practicing the King’s Economy, I have to wonder what my high school economics teacher Mrs. Joyner would think about me professing to know anything about anything with “economy” in the title. She’d likely need smelling salts. You see, nineteen years ago, the convergence of a first-period class at 7:15 am, acute lack of academic discipline, and a general disinterest in the topic added up to a disaster for me. By the time I clued in the last semester of my senior year, I was so close to failing her class that I almost didn’t even graduate! In fact, I’m pretty sure she just passed me out of pity. I woke up in cold sweats for years afterwards. Yet I’m hoping my weakness will be a strength here as we look at Practicing the King’s Economy for the next several weeks. After all, I need this stuff to be really, really simple or it’s going to fly right over my own head.
If only I’d known how important it all is. It’s so tempting to think of a thing like “economics” as belonging to the small category of worship that involves tithing, stewardship, and generosity, instead of acknowledging the truth: worship is actually at its very core an economic reality. Grace is everything, right? Not only that, but human beings are also at our very core transactional beings. Homo economicus: the constantly appraising and investing creature. We live every bit of our whole lives engaging in worshipful transactions, each of which is governed by the economic principles of either the dominion of darkness or the Kingdom of God. And as we’ll see in the coming weeks, each of those worshipful moments reinforces either the slavery or the freedom we experience and then pass on to others.
Because of a long line of people like Mrs. Joyner, I happen to know what it is to be forgiven much, and that just happens to get at one of our King’s key economic principles. In fact, it’s where we’ll start this Sunday, with the first couple of verses in Isaiah 61, which Jesus chose as the primary text to announce his Kingdom in Luke 4. Everything else he did (and therefore we do) flows out of this first principle: free people free people. That’s what’s at the heart of this series, so I do hope you’ll join us in person or online.
- josh
We watched Disney’s The Mandalorian with our kids this summer, mostly thanks to the impossibly cute character The Child, aka “Baby Yoda.” Star Wars has always been pretty good at creating catchy trademark mantras, (“May the Force Be with You”), and this spinoff boasts at least two more little liturgical responses that have entered heavy rotation in the dialogues of my household. The first is a statement designed to stop sassy back-talk in its tracks: the authority figure simply responds to the little rebel, “I have spoken.”Argument over! (Well, that’s the goal anyway). The second is a bit less one-sided: "This is the way."
The Mandalorians were once a mighty people. Like the People of God, they began as a race and have since become a creed. The remnant of Mandalorians lives by an unbreakable honor code, called “The Way.” Part of this “Way” demands the adoption and care of “foundlings,” or orphans, an obligation which ends up complicating the main bounty-hunter character’s life quite a bit. Yet he is reminded by an associate of his duty: “When one chooses to walk the way of the Mandalore, he is both hunter and prey. How can one be a coward if one chooses this way of life?" Our Mandalorian stands tall at the calling out of his honor. "This is the Way," comes his newly resolved reply.
If you’ve been reading with us in the Soul Room this week, you’ll remember that as Paul is brought before a menagerie of pagan authorities to defend his life against the Jewish mob, he describes his manner of devotion to the faith of their fathers as… “The Way.” It was quite invigorating to read those scenes, the Mandalorian still fresh in my imagination, and then study our text for this Sunday. There we hear God’s words to Daniel as he thrashes about in his soul. When the prophet petitions the angels for more clarity about the future of Israel and his own place in it all, the Lord’s response, only barely paraphrased is, “This is the Way, Daniel. I have spoken.” End of discussion. And end of the Book of Daniel.
I can’t wait to unpack “The Way” with you this Sunday!
-josh
We come to the last and most famous story of Daniel this Sunday. I don’t care if you never went to Sunday School, everyone knows about Daniel in the Lion’s Den. There are so many fascinating things we have come across in our time in the book of Daniel, but perhaps the most fascinating to me is how Daniel managed to thrive as a statesmen—an actual honest politician (as we will see this week) in a land that had conquered his own country and where his peers continue to regard him disparagingly as “one of those exiles,” or “one of those captives.” This, after he has risen higher and been more useful than all his contemporaries. But we know this is true of him and his pilgrimage in Babylon and Persia because the last statement in the Daniel cycle says this: So this Daniel prospered during the reign of Darius and the reign of Cyrus the Persian. (Daniel 6: 28) Amazing.
We have seen Daniel tested, yes, but also thriving in the court of his enemy, blessing his enemy, and yet he is never charged with sin. But this week we see that Daniel’s faith is a costly faith and, when confronted with pleasing an early king or the Heavenly King, it is no contest—he will die rather than deny God. What lands him in hot water is jealousy and hatred. Even while Daniel is blessing Babylon, praying for the peace of this pagan city, envy and jealousy is working in the hearts of his peers. The Bible tells us it will always be this way, darkness hates light and, well, look what happened to a greater than Daniel—Jesus!
Paul sums up what we will talk about this week in his letter to the Corinthians: "But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things?" (II Corinthians 2:14-16). The gospel will draw some and irritate others. This same gospel you and I believe will have this kind of mixed effect on the people around us.
Hope to see you Sunday via live-stream or in person!
Blessings,
Jim
We find ourselves in a strange situation these days. We are cut off from all the normal means of grace that we have taken for granted for years. Worship is sparse. Community Groups are not meeting much, and those that are wonder what our mission is—now that we can’t host Special Friends, or help with children’s ministry, or essentially do much of anything as a group. Sonshine isn’t meeting. I mean seriously, everything that we have depended on to help us grow seems to be gone and will be for the near future. How do we move forward? How do we grow spiritually and continue to thrive in the gospel, with a deep sense on our hearts that we are sons and daughters of the King?
This week, Daniel 9 takes us by the hand and says, “Look!” Throughout the whole book of Daniel, we are confronted with an extraordinary individual. He faces down giants, sleeps with lions, and interprets dreams. And yet…it is not until chapter 9, when we get a glimpse inside, that we see the secret to his greatness. In chapter 9, we see Daniel in the Soul Room. While we admire his gifts, his temerity, his grace, and his compassion towards his enemies, chapter 9 allows us to look under the hood and see the man behind the legend.
I hope you will join us, live or live-stream. Of all the chapters we've looked at, I don’t know of one more relevant to the times we are living in than this one. Chapter 9 is for those us wondering what we are to be doing in a lockdown that seems to have no end!
Blessings,
Jim
Years ago I read Patrick O’Brien’s novels about a British naval captain named Jack Aubrey. Seventeen or so books, set during the Napoleonic Wars. Jack Aubrey rose over that time from Master and Commander to Rear Admiral. I think I learned more about community from reading those novels than anything I have ever read. Several hundred people stuck together on a three-masted ship for months and years at a time—you learned quickly the give and take of life together! But another fascinating thing about those books were how many of the “idioms” in our common speech come from that time on those ships: “loose cannon,” “let the cat out of the bag,” “three sheets to the wind,” “pipe down,” “in the doldrums,” “shake a leg”…you get the picture. (I will let you trace them down if you don’t know them!)
In our text this week, we have a saying that has passed into idiom in our own day, as in, “He could read the handwriting on the wall.” That comes from a rather frightening encounter that Belshazzar had while in an inebriated state. So much so, it seems he wet himself. It has the effect of sobering Belshazzar immediately. The text sets up a contrast between Nebuchadnezzar and him. While one man hears revelation and his pride is crushed, the other hears revelation and is unmoved.
On Sunday we are back in Daniel, dealing again with the last night of Belshazzar’s life. It is haunting for this reason: “Belshazzar seeks and hears what the word of God says about him and he doesn’t heed it. He is on the precipice of being delivered and he can’t even see it! I mean, this is the folly of pride: he wants a different outcome, but he refuses to repent. He has tried paganism, hedonism, and power—and it has failed him. And yet he refuses to bow. God’s revelation has terrorized him, but it is a kind terror.” (taken from sermon on Sunday)
Hope to see you on Sunday, live and in person or via live-stream. This text has really ministered to my soul this week when I was sinking under the exile of COVID. I hope it will you as well.
Blessings,
Jim
Again, we have a vision in Daniel about sheep and goats. Huge world powers mentioned in animalized or beastly forms, the very likes of which Jesus is seen at the end of time sifting and separating. Are these really what our superpowers and leaders are to Jesus? If the Bible is to be believed, it would seem so. And yet, the power they have over our lives is very real. Just as they were to Daniel.
Our text on Sunday is about trouble—significant trouble in which God’s people will find themselves in the future. Daniel 8 is so descriptive and specific about what would happen in about 400 years, many critics have argued it had to have been written after the fact. The time that Daniel sees in his vision is so troubling and awful it will be known as one of the lowest points in Israel’s history, but it will also become a hinge point in history as well.
But the point remains that God is in the trouble and using the trouble. Just as he does when Jesus warns his disciples that trouble is coming. And just as we see happening in book of Acts, when trouble finds the early church. It is a good time to consider how we react to trouble when we know and believe our times are in God’s hands and that he is sovereign over the affairs of men. One of the things we know about trouble is that it can melt you, reshape you, and help you become what you didn’t dream was possible. Or it can harden you into something unbendable and bitter.
I can’t wait for you to see how Daniel reacts to the trouble he sees coming: it is shocking, counter-intuitive, and only possible if you are in step with the gospel and living by faith rather than by sight. We do well to listen to Daniel and ponder our own reactions to our own troubling cultural moment.
Blessings,
Jim
I am back in Middle Earth. Once a year a longing comes over me and I miss Frodo and friends. So I make this annual pilgrimage, and it sort of heals my heart a bit. Stories have that power, don’t they? They have the power to help you see things, to sharpen your vision to what is already there so you really see it. One of the things Tolkien helped me see in a new way was trees. Growing up in the south and spending lots of time in the woods, I don't know that I ever really saw them till Tolkien took me by the hand and said— “Look!”
On the coast of Mississippi in the late nineties, my family went down to Gulfport to do a wedding. There I saw trees for the first time, at least in my poetic imagination. Tolkien helped me here. In the yard of the folk we stayed with were several Live Oaks. Trees that were here before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Trees that had withstood wind, storm, hurricanes, wars, and rumors of wars. Silent witnesses to something ageless and beautiful. Graceful, with boughs that swept down and touched the earth before ascending again. Elegant, as they were festooned with moss, draped randomly here and there, and yet somehow choreographed to enhance an already breath-taking beauty. To stand in their shadow was to feel small and yet sheltered. As if you could always find safety here.
A few years later Hurricane Katrine hit, and about fourteen guys from our church went to help the same city on the Mississippi Gulf Coast dig out of the rubble. One of the saddest things was to see these trees, whose roots seemed to reach down to the foundations of the world—many uprooted or just washed away. I was thinking about that as I was in our text this week. In the text there is a dream of a tree, seemingly indestructible and yet it too is cut down. The text invites us to ponder this image in strange ways, and then it suggests we ponder another tree…But I tell too much. Join us Sunday, either live and in person or via live-stream, as we ponder this mystery together as the gathered and scattered people of God.
Blessings,
Jim
The Furious Fourth I’m sad that we couldn’t do Vacation Bible School this year as we have in the past. St. Patrick really pulls out all the stops. One of my fondest VBS memories comes from the week I spent in middle Tennessee as a teenager, helping my family’s small rural church pull off the then-brand-new Veggie Tales VBS. I was blown away by how spellbound the children were; even as an almost-adult, I found it incredibly clever and engaging. I was kind of jealous that these kids were getting such a well-produced experience when I’d had somebody’s Uncle Frank with a kitchen towel on his head talking about shepherding and animal husbandry, sometimes forgetting to bring it back to the Bible story at all!
Because Veggie Tales came out just after my elementary years, I don’t automatically think of corporate cucumbers and chocolate bunnies when the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego is brought up. Yet, like my slightly younger and better-amused peers (and maybe you too), I have always been taught that the way to read these stories from Daniel is to identify with the oppressed youngsters. That the moral of the story is, we have to be brave and keep the faith in the midst of persecution by a wicked government. God will save us from their wrath, and even if he doesn’t, we have to be willing to lay down our lives.
That’s a natural and appropriate application of the text. It’s certainly how the first hearers would have understood it, from those exiles encouraged by tales of Jewish bravery in the royal court to those who would eventually return to the Promised Land only to find themselves under the iron thumb of Rome. Even today, when you’re in a situation where everyone’s bigger than you, you need to hear that God is with you even when the bullies aren’t.
But I wonder if often the older we get - the more stable and secure and even influential we are - if we don’t shift somewhat to a person whose soul might be better shaped by considering the ways we rule our own small spheres like a furious Nebuchadnezzar. I wonder how many of us have lived most of our lives in a more Chaldean than Jewish role, where most of the people we share life with were raised like us and think like us. Does this story speak to us too about what our jealousy and upward mobility costs others? Could we develop that deeper level of empathy that sees others as the more sympathetic characters?
Regardless of how the Spirit speaks to you through his Word in Daniel this week, thanks be to God that the gospel comes both to the Jew and the Gentile! I hope to see you this Sunday morning, or at least that you see me. And also, shout out to all the Uncle Franks out there who took time off to serve little ones like me in the name of Christ. Sorry I was a brat.
- josh
I just got a text from Teri. She was going over catechism questions with Addison, our five-year-old daughter. She came to the question, “Does God know all things?” Addison was quick to reply, “Mommy don’t know all things. Daddy don’t know all things. B don’t know all things. Me and God know all things!” I have laughed till I cried. And I suppose, at five, you do think you know all things.
Time and circumstances, however, prove otherwise, and the older you get the more you realize how much you don’t know. Particularly when you live in a world filled with tension and fear. Daniel lived in such a world and was in a position where he was under the sentence of death because of the ravings of a mad king. And yet, Daniel knows something his peers in the highest branch of Babylonian government don’t know—there is not only a God who knows all things, but who disposes of all things, and the king’s heart is in his hand.
This week we look at a dream that will come true. And, while God doesn’t choose to reveal to us the particulars of the future, he does give us enough about the future to know that the kingdom he will bring will ultimately crush all the kingdoms of the world with grace and truth. That is the kind of God you can walk into the future with—not in fear, but with confidence. I can’t wait to talk about it on Sunday with you—either in person or via live-stream!
Blessings,
Jim
I look at the title of this week’s sermon, about a few individuals who lived twenty-five hundred years ago, and wonder why it feels so like I am the one living in a strange land? COVID-19 has made our way of life, and the prospects of any kind of life in the near future, unrecognizable. For Daniel and his friends, the feelings of alienation stemmed from real physical alienation: they were ripped from the comfort of their homes and taken to a culture that was antithetical to the God of their people. How can they thrive in this?
Well, it looks like they can! Maybe even rise to heights never dreamed of in Israel. Their upbringing in Israel, good looks, and brains have paid dividends in this new land. They are offered a royal education and positions in government. This is a whole lot better than most of the exiles from Israel are offered. But, as we will see, this will not be the source of their thriving in this strange land. It will come not at the expense of their faith in God but through their trust in him, as they navigate the troubled waters of being in Babylon, without Babylon being in them!
So as we come to worship this week, both in our own sanctuary, where the stones speak, or in our many scattered homes, where the greatest mysteries of the gospel play out. I don’t know that we could have picked a better book of the Bible to seek and meet the living God face to face. Can we thrive in a strange land? It seems that being in a strange place (crisis) tends to reveal the heart and, if that is true, most in our fair land are not thriving.
And yet somehow Daniel and his three friends, in an environment totally hostile to the gospel, manage to not only thrive but become a blessing to the culture. I have lamented much this week the brokenness of the world, first my own and also the alienation that grows among our citizens. The toll of living in a strange land, or in strange times, is devastating and is written in the opioid overdoses, the open hostility on social media, and the ramping up of racism, anger, and abuse. May we listen to the God who, as we will see in our text, is quietly ruling and reigning. For his own glory, he planted four of his adopted children in this strange land to bring blessing.
Blessings,
Jim
In keeping the pulse of our congregation, we’ve been asking for input from folks about their plans, needs, and concerns regarding worship at St. Patrick during this pandemic. Though philosophical convictions are only a part of why people are making the decisions they are, I’ve been amazed at how diverse those views are among our congregants. All over the map! Part of this, I think, is that the information age allows people who live in relatively close quarters to be influenced by (and even insulated within) a wider array of ideologies than ever before. But another significant part of it is, I am certain, that there is just a glorious diversity of persons in fellowship with each other at St. Patrick. Far from being discouraged by the dissimilar views represented in our surveys, I’ve been so, so grateful. We have doubled down here on the idea that in the church community is family, and that means that our connection is deeper than identity politics.
And so, I was particularly encouraged when I came across this paragraph by the inimitable G.K. Chesterton, who, as usual, puts the case clearly and bluntly:
[The Family] “is, as the sentimentalists say, like a little kingdom, and, like most other little kingdoms, is generally in a state of something resembling anarchy. It is exactly because our brother George is not interested in our religious difficulties, but is interested in the Trocadero Restaurant, that the family has some of the bracing qualities of the commonwealth. It is precisely because our uncle Henry does not approve of the theatrical ambitions of our sister Sarah that the family is like humanity. The men and women who, for good reasons and bad, revolt against the family, are, for good reasons and bad, simply revolting against mankind. Aunt Elizabeth is unreasonable, like mankind. Papa is excitable, like mankind. Our youngest brother is mischievous, like mankind. Grandpapa is stupid, like the world; he is old, like the world.” - G.K. Chesterton, In Defense of Sanity
It is actually a good thing that we are a commonwealth of dissimilar persons united by the bond of Christ’s Spirit. If we were united because we were so similar, how would we be any different from this partisan and tribalistic world? But if the blood of the covenant is thicker than the waters of birth, and I suspect it is, then we can hold on even where others break fellowship. Our work, then, is not to agree so much as it is to remain bound to one another in a spirit of love and charity. And I’m proud of the posture I’ve seen from so many folks. People who are convinced that it is foolish to leave the house are genuinely praying for the wellbeing of those who do so freely and often. Individuals who feel ridiculous wearing a mask are putting them to alleviate the anxieties of their siblings in Christ. That’s beautiful. That’s who we are.
I’m truly excited to begin a new series this weekend on the book of Daniel, called “Visions and Vessels.” It’s a book about faithful people in the midst of world upheaval and I doubt we’ll be very surprised at just how relevant it can be. So whether you plan to join the pilot group in person or remain where you are and connect with the cloud of witnesses via Livestream, I want to encourage you to remember those with whom you might disagree, who are tied to you, and lift them up in love this weekend. I won’t say “we’re in this together,” because the world can say that too. Instead, let me say, “We’re in Christ together” and let grace be everything. -josh
Our Starbucks on Poplar mounted a partial opening this week, taking drive-thru and mobile orders. I chose mobile so that I could walk up to the door and better peek in at who was on shift. I don’t think I had any expectations, I was just being nosy, really. Yet I was greeted like the Allies to France. Michael Jordan after that premature retirement. Norm on Cheers. Faces I had grown used to seeing, names I’d learned, and stories I had the honor of hearing and which had been preempted without warning two months ago: all were suddenly visible again, and exceedingly glad to be a socially appropriate six feet from me. As I got back into my car with my grande breve flat white and a silly grin on my face, I was genuinely surprised at the unbidden tears that welled and the ache in my chest that overcame me without warning. That’s a good indicator that I’d grown numb to the miraculous power of the meeting of humans in the flesh.
This week our staff met in person for the first time since March 10th. Even just eight of us spread out in a room that accommodates seventy felt like a luxury. One of our longtime members dropped by to deliver some supplies and lingered at the doorway for a few extra seconds after saying hi. It seemed an extraordinary effort to tear himself away, and in our hearts, I think we were willing him not to. But life simply must carry on. He had obligations, as did we. Still, there was a moment of restored humanity that, again, took me by surprise. I’ve grown accustomed to terse interactions. It’s sometimes hard to remember how to maintain eye contact.
I won’t lie and say I have no fear about the possibility of our gathering again. Aside from the normal concerns for everyone’s health and economic stability, I also just wonder how our new habits have formed and malformed us, maybe for good. It’s not hard to imagine the elders of Israel standing outside the ring of celebration when the second temple was dedicated, weeping at what had been lost and how most of those who gathered didn’t even know to miss it. Yet the prophet Haggai comforted them with this promise: the glory of this new temple would somehow eclipse the glory seen even at the height of the former. To abide with Christ in the story of redemption is to see all of history rushing to a climactic fulfilment. Our best days are always ahead of us.
This Sunday, we’ll look at a passage that presents an idea that was sort of culturally alien to us even when we were gathering regularly, and in this climate seems outright irrelevant. Yet the principle of “Church Discipline,” as it’s come to be called, is undergirded by the deeper, more abiding reality of our union with Christ and the sacred bond we believers have with one another, which no man (nor virus) can rend asunder. So, I hope you’ll set aside the time to stream the service on Sunday and take heart that this long engagement has its consummation, and it will surpass not only our lowered expectations but the wildest as well.
- josh
Robert Robinson’s great hymn, “Come Thou Fount,” just about sums up the parable we are looking at this Sunday: Let that goodness like a fetter Bind my wandering heart to Thee Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it Prone to leave the God I love
I suppose one of the reasons for the enduring nature of this song is the honesty of the poet. Oh, how I wish that this verse were not true in my own soul. Yet, in my own reflections as I get older, I sadly have to admit that, yes, I am prone to wander, prone to doubt and mistrust the God who bled for me. I think I have told you, I thought I would actually be a little better at this point, that I would have passed beyond the wandering phase of Christianity, but it hasn’t happened. I suppose that is why God uses this metaphor of him being a great Shepherd and we, his wandering sheep.
Here is the thing: it is the nature of sheep to wander. But, you know what is even better, it is the shepherd’s job to track down his wandering sheep. I have sort of made peace with the former, but the knowledge of the latter electrifies my soul. God is a Shepherd that doesn’t seem put out chasing down his wayward children. So, on Sunday we will talk about our call to be like Jesus with those around us, and how we are to help those who wander. Hope to see you on the live-stream!
Blessings,
Jim
During this great Lenten season of our lives, I have done as I usually do and cleared out the old dead stuff in my yard, killed weeds, and made new beds for vegetables and flowers. You know—pushed back the thorns and weeds from this small Eden of mine so that resurrection life can emerge as it does every year, with or without my help. Yet I am a participant in this yearly ritual, only this year the back-breaking labor has been on steroids! We have pressure-washed, filled up a new raised bed with compose and dirt, and dug up all the stones around all of our flower beds and reset them after bringing in a load of sand.
The resetting of stones was the worst. Over time these stones sink and become unleveled. They looked fine to me but Teri insisted, and it was every bit as bad as I imagined. She had Eliot dig them up while I was at work so I had no veto power, and therefore had no choice but to reset them. Rather sneaky, but sometimes things go down like this in environments that partake in Edenic bliss but never-the-less are inhabited by people who have different sensibilities.
They laid there for a while till I could get them set. Around the asparagus bed, blueberry bed, and old raspberry and blackberry beds. They just laid there all akimbo, like dead soldiers with no usefulness or beauty. It especially irritated me when I was pulling my sprayer over the yard with my new Scag lawnmower and scratched up the deck, trying to get too close to them. I made a childish, smart comment to Teri later, proving my pettiness and immaturity.
A few days later there was nothing for it. These stones would be building blocks or stumbling blocks to my happiness all summer, and I spent a long time getting them set just right. Then I stood back and saw these same stones in all their glory—in their telos—and my heart was singing opera. It was beautiful.
On Sunday we have a similar image. Jesus, in the discourse we started last week, is talking about life in community. And basically he is saying something like that in the way we relate to others in our family. He says the same of us: we can be stumbling blocks to each other or we can be used to build each other up. Hope you will join us online at 10:30am as we experience once again the scattered church become the gathered church—stones in the building Jesus is building for his own glory!
Blessings,
Jim
My 5-year-old son has an insatiable appetite for play. Never once has he been the one to say, “You know, we probably need to wrap this up. Just 3 more free throws and we’ll head inside.” That’s always on me. He also has an insatiable desire for sugar, so there are reasons grownups are in charge. Still, there’s something holier about a vibrant thirst for life and joy than a more reasonable and mature posture of moderation can express. This is, I think, what G.K. Chesterton meant when he spoke of God’s perpetual childlikeness: ‘For we have sinned and grown old and our Father is younger than we.”
There’s a zoological word for the retention of advantageous infant traits into adulthood: It’s called “neoteny.” It makes sense: humans are less likely to neglect a dog that still looks like a puppy. While there are certainly many things that we’re happy to see the young grow out of, there’s plenty that we mourn, too. We love chubby cheeks and inquisitive minds and a genuine lack of cynicism. Likewise, there are childhood traits that are spiritually advantageous to us; that we would do well to retain or recover.
This Sunday, we skip forward in our extended series on the Red Letters in Matthew to Jesus’ fourth major discourse in that gospel. There, we’ll see him use a child as an extended illustration for what disciples are supposed to aspire to. Somehow, the way we mature into the full measure of and stature of Christ is by regaining a bit of what it means to be younger. Maybe I should re-watch The Curious Case of Benjamin Button…
I read two children’s stories on Facebook Live this morning. As I was leaving home, Addison asked me what I was going to read. I held up one of the books and said, I Love You Stinky Face. She said, “Daddy, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay here and read it to me.” I got down and put my face close to hers and said, “Baby, if I stay here with you, how will all the other children hear the story?” And, as I made my way to my study to meet Will and broadcast I love you Stinky Face to as many people as have Facebook, I thought—that is my sermon Sunday.
The resurrection of Jesus has more applications than you can imagine. In fact, we run all of life through the paradigm of what it means that Jesus died, was buried, and resurrected. It is so rich and packed with implications for times of trouble, for looking at the future, for processing sorrow and loss, and for just knowing it is going to all turn out okay. So, what is the keynote when we are all basically under house arrest, sheltering in place, home-bound and wary of venturing out into the store or drive-through? I wondered that too, and then I saw something I have never seen before. I suppose it is because I have never been locked away like this. After the death of Jesus, we actually see the disciples put themselves in a siege. For over a week, they shelter in place with the doors locked, scared to death. During this time Jesus reminds them of what he told them in John 14, “If I leave you will have more of me, not less.” Did you hear that? Jesus’ resurrection and ascension means that we have more of Jesus now than even the disciples did when they had him with them personally for three years! That is something I need to hear while in a siege. We will talk about it this Easter Morning.
Remember we have only one service at 10:30 AM. Please join us as we all wear our Easter finest and afterwards post pictures online. (Don’t forget to tag us on Facebook or on Instagram or Twitter @stpatrickpres so others can see your smiling faces!) It is a pale reflection of actually being together, I know, but it is something. I don’t know about you but, during this time of isolation, I need the gospel more than ever. I really, really, really need to hear the words of the ancient liturgy—so old, yet still able to strike you like an atom bomb of truth:
He is risen! He is risen, indeed!
Jim
Here we are at the culmination of the Great Lent, at least in our church calendar. We all entered Lent with renunciations as usual and then, just after we got started good, the whole world entered a sort of Cosmic Lent! That is where we are…fasting from relationships, starving for them actually, in a desert we could not have foreseen, designed, or imagined. And I need this because all I can think while pondering this mystery, on this high and holy day, is what delicious thing I am going to cook for supper! Strange, isn’t it? And yet, in a desert we are. The desert is a huge metaphor for those places where you meet God. The reason is simple—all you have in a desert is God. He is the food for the journey. So, as I try to refocus my imagination for the task at hand, we enter a profound mystery—Maundy Thursday.
The Thursday of Holy Week is when the Last Supper is commemorated. Maundy is an Anglo-Saxon corruption of the Latin word mandatum, or commandment. On the night before his passion, Jesus gave the commandment to his disciples to “love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12) Jesus is giving his disciples his last words, commands, and commission. (I will talk more about this on Easter Morning.)
In many traditions, the Maundy Thursday liturgy includes the washing of feet, usually in the context of a Tenebrae or service of darkness. Since we are creatures that exist and occupy time and space in a physical body, this service begs for embodiment. In our own liturgy at St. Patrick, we typically read through the story of the passion, sing, pray, and extinguish candles to symbolize (or embody) the abandonment of Jesus until he is left alone to suffer and die for the sins of his people. Typically, we celebrate communion in this context because, in a real sense, this is the beginning of this sacrament. Alas, we won’t this year. We have made the decision to fast, like Israel did while in exile, “How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” (Josh wrote eloquently about this in his blog yesterday.)
So yes, this might be the darkest Maundy Thursday I can remember. I am missing so much right now. I miss my staff and the way they all do their own thing as we move easily in and out of conversation. I am mindful daily as I walk the lonely halls of the church that this is where all the great mysteries of life are celebrated. This place is where we gather in joy to celebrate weddings and the possibility of love, where older couples smile in recognition while young couples eye each other with yearning. This place is where we welcome babies and baptize them into their new family. This place is where we mourn the loss of family as well. This place is where we gather weekly to celebrate the Eucharist and be reminded of how fond God must be of his wayward children. Yes, a lot happens here. One thing is for sure as I walk alone in our place of worship—the stones speak to me. And in that, much of my sadness is mitigated and I find hope that very soon this too shall pass.
I didn’t celebrate Maundy Thursday growing up. I grew up in a home that loved Jesus but was non-liturgical and we kind of self-righteously scoffed at all those ashes, candles, written prayers, and special days in the church calendar. Or so we said. (We actually were liturgical in our own way…we did mark Christmas and Easter, along with a host of days Hallmark gave us!) I do remember, however, the first time I did a Maundy Thursday service in my first parish in Greenville, Mississippi. It was powerful! My eyes were opened and it dawned on me the power of liturgy. When you spend an evening walking together through the darkest night of human history, which ends with Jesus symbolically being taken away, it makes the joy of Easter Morning so much more meaningful. It is a joy unspeakable and full of glory to know again—death couldn’t hold Jesus!
For many in our family, you might have grown up like I did and wonder, why all this fuss? Here is why. We mark and commemorate throughout the year the great “events” of the gospel for the same reason we mark birthdays, anniversaries, or other great events that have shaped our lives. We are folk who tend to forget so quickly. We celebrate birthdays of our children, family, and friends, not because we love them fiercely only on this one day of the year, but to be reminded (and to remind them) just how special they are—every day of the year. We forget so quickly with all the responsibilities of life as we hurry from one thing to the next. In the enactment of celebration, whether in joy or sorrow, it is like we are knocked in the head. We are forced to re-calibrate our imagination and thinking. We slow down time so we can ponder and reflect. So, at certain times of the year, things are festooned and gilded. It might be the black of mourning like tonight, or it might be with lilies and bright colors like on Easter Morning. But one thing is for sure—remember we must, if we are to live with eyes wide open so that we can feel the “weightiness” of the really important things.
So, we will gather tonight, in our scattered places and with our own candles, as we walk the “Via Delorosa” with Jesus—scattered but in solidarity as the people of God. It will be a pale reflection of the real thing, but it will be something. Or at least that is my prayer for us as I ponder this Maundy Thursday, the likes of which I could never have imaged in my wildest dreams.
- Jim
Have you ever wanted something and just really had no idea what you were asking for? Years ago, I was playing golf quite a bit and had gotten pretty decent. I was shooting low 80’s, but I wanted more. I wanted to be really good. I had a good friend named John Stone who was a campus minister at the time at UT Knoxville and was a sort of my golf mentor because he was so good. We only saw each other a few times a year, but when we did we always played golf and told outrageous stories. I asked him one day, “John, what will it take to shoot in the low 70’s?" What he told me made me sad. He said, “Jim, you might be a good enough athlete to score lower but let me tell you this. To get in the 70’s, it will cost you your job. You will have to play all the time and your employers will frown upon this. Now, to get you to scratch golf, it will not only cost your job, but your family. You will have to eat, drink, and sleep golf. That is just the nature of the game.” Bummer. I decided to be mediocre. I like to eat, and I am passionate about my bride!
In our text this week, Jesus is sending out his disciples with the best news in the world—the gospel of Peace. The good news that God, in Jesus, is bringing peace to people that are at enmity with God. The bad news, however, is that this peace you offer will not be well received. In fact, it will introduce new crosses, strife, and enmity in your life. It will be a costly peace.
So, here we are in the midst of a troubled world, called to do what followers of Jesus have always done, which is to bring peace and joy to alienated people and, rather than celebration, we too find rejection. Is there good news in this? Oh yeah. No bummer here. Just losing your old life to find what you were built for—deep peace and joy unspeakable! Hope to see you online Sunday! Click here to join our livestream worship service at 10:30am.
Oh, and keep washing your hands often and checking on those around you. We can still spread the gospel of peace—even when in a siege!
Love does things!
Jim
I am writing this on Thursday afternoon, contemplating what a funeral, a wedding, and a sermon have in common. I leave tomorrow morning for a quick trip to marry off an old friend, David Alkema, up in Northeast Arkansas. It is a quick trip, up tomorrow morning and back home Saturday afternoon in order to preach on Sunday morning. Then, on Wednesday, I’ll be doing a funeral for a dear, dear friend, Rick Fortney, who went to be with Jesus this week. I am just raw thinking of this, and yet I am also filled with joy and hope. That is often the way the Christian life is—weeping and joy at the same time. Jesus modeled this. He was a man of sorrows and also the man who really lived.
One of the things that gives me so much joy is discovering where all these events intersect. In writing a wedding, a funeral, and a sermon, it all became clear. David first showed up at St. Patrick, years ago, sneaking in the back after the service had started and leaving before it ended. I saw him do this for a few months. Painfully shy and an introvert off the chart. I put a sneak move on him one Sunday and caught him during the greeting time. After I introduced myself, he said, “I am your neighbor.” Well, after meeting and hearing his story, we became friends and I pushed him into a Community Group. He didn’t like it but knew it was what he needed. Oh my, was he ever loved! He became family and, even after he moved on because of the circumstances of life, will talk about the impact of the gospel family he found at St. Patrick. “Love leaves a mark.”
Rick walked in to our family after not being in church for a long, long time. He came when we opened our new building, four and a half years ago. He looked dapper with the mustache, suit, hat, and cane. As we got to know him, we found out he’d had to retire early because of cancer and was living alone with his poodle named Pepper. He was quickly brought into my Community Group and was a fixture not only in my group but in our larger parish, a group that multiplied out of our original group. Because he had no family, he was at our home on all major holidays and events. He quickly found his way into making coffee and serving in any way he could health-wise. Sadly, Rick went into the hospital on December 18 and never came out. Oh, but it didn’t matter… family went to him—in droves. Every time I was at the hospital, or ER, or rehab facility, a host of his “family” were there. Family, not by natural blood, but by the blood of Jesus. He would proudly introduce me, or whoever happened to be visiting at the time, to whatever nurse or doctor came in as his family. “Love leaves a mark.”
When I got the news Rick had passed away, I was filled with grief and shame. I knew he wouldn’t last long but didn’t know it would be so quick. As I was on the way to the hospital, Teri wrote me a text that said, “Feel great about what we gave to Rick, even when it wasn’t convenient. We gave him FAMILY and I believe he saw Jesus through all of us. We gave him a place to belong and let him know in many ways that he mattered. And we helped him grow his family in Jesus. Reason to celebrate a life, a friend, and now on to Jesus.” It healed my heart a bit.
Then I contemplated our text for Sunday and it all came together. Our text is about mission. It is about having hearts filled with compassion as we look at people on the outside, lost and without deep community. It is about the people praying for laborers for the harvest and becoming the answer to that prayer themselves by bringing other people to the feast and making them feel as welcome as Jesus made them feel! So, join us Sunday as we follow the thread and see behind all of these small acts a heavenly Father who longs to welcome people home and longs to see his children play a big part in mitigating the labor shortage by opening their hearts and homes!
Blessings,
Jim
I guess I haven’t done a very good job of showing it. Yesterday I was talking with my kids about how they each have different responsibilities because of their ages and abilities. They saw the truth of that and chimed in with examples of how they’ve each grown in their share of the home according to their maturity. When I told them that I was still getting better at being responsible too, they were dumbfounded. “But Dad, you already know how to do everything!” I suppose from their perspective, it appears that the guy who’s always coaching and pushing them already has it all together. And there’s something comforting in that thought that you’re being trained by an “expert.” At some point though, it’s an even deeper comfort to know that the people encouraging you along are human too. They understand what it feels like to struggle against their own inadequacies, not as a distant memory of their bygone days, but right now. And secretly, they’re also beginning to learn what it is to lose some of those competencies again to age.
We’re now just days away from Ash Wednesday and the Lenten Season. These past six weeks have been just enough time to disabuse us of the notion that all we need for total transformation is the convergence of a new calendar year and the bootstrap resolve of a True American. We have ashes and oil smeared on our foreheads to remind us that every act of strength ends in chaff. The most deeply arresting of beauties return to dust. Our dearest memories will one day be sifted like sand through the sieve of failing minds. And yet. We also believe with Paul that “Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven.” And so, we examine our lives and our faithfulness. We pick up our crosses and follow him into ever-deepening levels of maturity. Not as an act of self-improvement or a second chance at New Year’s resolutions, (because we know all of those things come to nothing in the end), but as an act of defiance against a death that has lost its sting. Because we know that resurrection is coming for those who confront mortality with ashen faces and hearts ablaze with hope. We consecrate ourselves to grow in our love for God and people and life itself because these things will survive our deaths.
I pray you’ll join us in this holy pilgrimage. We’ll begin with our Ash Wednesday service at 6:oo pm on February 26. Several folks are also participating in Rich and Rooted Passover this year, a collection of self-guided times of family worship and feasting. Many will abstain from simple pleasures while others adopt new disciplines of love and service. Whatever you do, (or don’t), remember with us that all of this comes from Christ, who is our slaughtered-and-yet-risen Passover Lamb, in whom we already have redemption from our sins because of his all-surpassing grace.
- josh
Hillel was a famous Jewish leader, scholar, and sage who lived just before Jesus was born. He was a Mishnah and Talmud scholar and known for his wisdom. One day, a Gentile came to him and told him he would convert to Judaism if he could explain the whole Torah (the Old Testament Scriptures) while standing on one foot. Hillel didn’t bat an eye. He balanced on one foot and said, "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.”
Jesus would have liked that. In fact, after Jesus finished talking about money, he spent a whole lot of time talking about how to love people well. There has never been more talk of love and less evidence of it than in our own time. The very people who speak the most about love are often the ones lighting people up with flame-throwers on social media. For all the talk of love, it’s enough to make one wonder if there is any truth attached to it, or if this notion of love is just sentimentality.
Jesus has a lot to say about love and what it means to really love people. We’d better listen carefully because Jesus and Paul both routinely sum up the message of the Old Testament as loving God and loving your neighbor. The reason I think we’d do well to listen is because Jesus, who is love incarnate—the one to whom love is not something learned but intrinsic to his very being—has the right to define love, not our culture. The very notion of love is predicated on this: “God is love.”
Join us Sunday as we dig into Jesus' teachings about love to his disciples. And if you haven’t joined us for Sunday School, come on early, drop your kids off, and join us in the Inquirer’s Class or in the class about how to read the Bible.
Well, it is Valentine’s Day, so I must head off early to prepare the greatest food I can for my Valentine! Hey, "loving people!”
Blessings,
Jim
Anxiety is not always a bad thing. For instance, when I see my daughter barreling down my driveway, wild hope—there is a little anxiety. That is good. That feeling of nervous dread is alerting me and my body to be ready to act and react on a moment’s notice. Anxiety is something we don’t even have to think about; our body does it for us if we, or someone we love, is threatened. We need some anxiety. Paul even said, “I bear the anxiety of all the church.” Of course, he did. We are not gods; we can’t see or foresee every eventuality or outcome.
But anxiety can be a very bad thing; in fact, it can kill you by degrees. This is what our text this week is talking about—inordinate anxiety. Or what Paul condemns in Philippians 4:6: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” Wow. Why pray when we can worry? That seems to be what most of our practice suggests. And yet, debilitating anxiety seems to have no place in the Christian’s life.
Jesus, in our passage this week, seems to put his finger on why anxiety is so prevalent among believers—an inordinate trust in money and the things money can get you, like status, material comfort, affluence, power, security, etc. Anytime we trust something as our “functional savior” that is subject to change and decay, we are bound to wind up in the house of worry. Is there a better way? Is there a way to use our money and still seek God’s kingdom first and not be plagued with fear or pride because of either too much or too little money? Jesus says so and, if you show up Sunday, we will talk about it.
Remember our Inquirers’ Class is in full stride; if you are new and curious, join us at 9:15am, and we will provide you a seat at the table to hear about St. Patrick. You're also invited to join us after worship for our Newcomers’ Feast. Those of you who have not checked out our Adult Equipping Classes, Josh is talking about how to read the Bible. So, bring the whole family to the Sunday School hour—there is something for everyone.
Blessings,
Jim
There is something about treasure that gets you excited. If it is buried treasure, then we move into myth and legend. Just think of the books written on buried treasure. In fact, it is so moving and exciting to think about that when my children were younger every birthday party would be built around a hidden treasure—a homemade artifact that imitated a known treasure hunter, such as a whip, as in Indiana Jones (I don’t recommend this one; the kids tended to use them on each other!) and, of course, a treasure map.
My, my, how excited a bunch of kids would get in anticipation of finding treasure. If the Bible is to be believed maybe we never outgrow this longing for treasure. Jesus obviously didn’t think so, as he used treasure on many occasions to stir the moral imagination of the people to whom he ministered. For instance, in the Sermon on the Mount he says where our treasure is that is where our heart will be. He then identifies earthly treasure that doesn’t last as money or the things that money can get you like affluence, power, status, or comfort. He goes on to tell us that there is real treasure we should seek that does last and won’t be lost, stolen, or devalued. So yes, Sunday we are talking about filthy lucre, mammon, or if you prefer…money!
As a pastor, I have often encouraged things in our church family that people really didn’t “get” at first but later, after making it a habit, they came back and thanked me, as well as our leadership, for insisting that certain practices actually help us grow. I am going to suggest Sunday that Jesus and the Apostle Paul insist that generosity is as transformative for a believer as the Soul Room, Worship, or Community.
So, I hope you will join us this Sunday. If you haven’t come early before, plan to do so this week and come to the Inquirer’s Class, if you are new and curious, or join us in a class about money management or how to read the Bible. Of course, there are classes for all your children, and the coffee is strong and hot!
Blessings,
Jim
These are exciting times at St. Patrick. With the opening of our new east wing, the Inquirers Class bursting at the seams, and healthy giving trends, it could be easy to pronounce 2020 The Year of the Lord’s Favor. And perhaps even easier to pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. We might even be tempted to promote Facebook ads extolling our virtues to the wide world and ride this wave of prosperity to new glory.
Instead, today, we expended most of our energy into hosting a funeral for a precious woman. And in those moments, the measurable aspects of ministry, like attendance and giving and building campaigns, lose their lustre. In those moments we see something truly praiseworthy, as strangers are welcomed into a safe place to grieve and to contend with God and their mortality. That’s why the other, more measurable things matter. At St. Patrick, a seat at the table is merely a means to an end. The point of it all is the feast and the fellowship. Even (and especially) when it’s a feast of bitter herbs and the fellowship of sufferings.
That’s what Jesus is getting at in our passage this week, I think. A hypocrite is one who wears a mask that hides his or her true identity. The moment we decide that we’re only going to celebrate the glossy aspects of our life together at St. Patrick is the moment we, too, become hypocrites. Instead, I want people to know that every day there are a million little moments in our lives lived before the face of God, most of them are ugly, all of us are needy, and Jesus is more than enough. That’s what makes this a beautiful place to be. And that’s why we’re making room for more.
- josh
Last Sunday was amazing in so many ways. I am so thankful for all the generosity of money and time that have brought us to this place. As we said Sunday, we have “set the table”—that is, we have made room for more people to have “a seat at the table.” Now the real work begins! As Teri and I started having a family years ago, we came to a place when we had to do this very thing: we needed more room for the new family members that kept coming and coming. They had to have a seat at the table, which is the most wonderful thing a human being made in God’s image can have. A place you did nothing to earn, yet were always welcomed by familiar faces who cared about you.
This week we continue in the Sermon on the Mount as Jesus talks about gospel goodness. Yes, the gospel does something. It is not just intellectual self-talk. It gives us new life and moves us on a new way—a new path. The problem Jesus is facing is that the religious leaders of his day had so pared off the hard edges of God’s revelation as to make it manageable. It became a list of things to check off, rather than showing us something of God’s character and heart. They had made the things God had forbidden permissible, and the things God allowed, undoable. (There is nothing new under the sun; we are still doing this.) They had so distorted righteousness that, rather than obedience to God being like salt and light, it was elitist, off-putting, and sanctimonious. Religion always does this because it uses law to get approval rather than seeing the law as the way to delight our Father in heaven.
God said our righteousness (goodness) must exceed that of the teachers of the law and the Pharisees? I wonder what the disciples thought of that! We somehow wrongly think that the more rules a person keeps, the more holy they must be. Jesus begged to differ, and thank God he did! On Sunday, we will look at Jesus’ teaching about how he came in relationship to the law, and also about what it means that gospel goodness must far exceed religious goodness. It will be both highly theological and highly practical—glorious!
Our Sunday School resumes this Sunday. So drop your kids off and head over to our new building. We will preview coming attractions, and the coffee will be hot as well!
Blessings,
Jim
This Sunday we will consecrate our new building. It has been a long journey. We are here at this glorious occasion because of much prayer, vision, sacrifice, and money. It is astounding to me what a group of people can accomplish when they have a common purpose. I am so thankful to each of you for your sacrifice and generosity. I simply can’t say that enough!
We started this process with a theme of “Setting the Table.” The image is clear: a table represents something grand. A table is more than a place where people scarf down calories, as if food is only fuel to keep us going. Of course, many have reduced eating to fuel, but the Bible and the human imagination beg to differ. A table is where our natures are refined, our appetites for beauty, conversation, and, of course, good food are satisfied. A table is where we learn to be human, to be a self that exists with other selves. A table suggests both need and provision for hungry and needy souls—a great metaphor for a building, don’t you think? Brick and mortar come together to create a place where, as a people, we are perfected in Jesus.
So, we have set the table; we have expanded our ability to make not just better disciples, but more disciples. This Sunday after we consecrate our new building, feast at the table on good food, browse around the new addition to our home, and sign up for new classes, we will talk about what is next. In worship, we will cast our vision for how we can bring more people to the table! A church never exists merely for its own members, but for the greater good of the place it inhabits. I don’t know about you, but I long to see the fame of Jesus spread. I long to share the goodness of Jesus with the broken places in which I move. In short, I want to be the beggar who tells other beggars where he found bread!
I hope you will join us Sunday! It will be a day of celebration, reflection, and contemplation of what is next for St. Patrick!
Blessings,
Jim
P.S. Please note that the consecration of the new building in our first order of things. If you are not used to getting here during the Sunday School hour, please set your clocks! The coffee will be hot and things kick off at 9:15am. You won’t want to miss it!
I had been looking at the box for a couple of weeks and it was huge. The gift inside was indeed huge so I thought all would be well. I have learned when you get a small box that contains a big item, you should worry. But a big box with a big item, no worries! So, when Eliot and I were about to start working on the Barbie Camper Van at 10:00pm on Christmas Eve, I was not worried. Then we opened the box, and I saw 88 screws and a thousand small pieces, plus decals, and I wanted to throw up. Two hours later, after much travail, there it was, in all its pink glory—The Barbie Camper Van!
As a parent starting all over again with a little daughter, I knew that breaking out a Power Wheels-type toy would change things forever—ushering in a new phase of parenting–and indeed it has. After a couple of weeks, I realized what Addison really needed was a vehicle with 4-wheel drive. Who needs concrete and asphalt when you can drive over rocks and roots, riding hell-bent for leather! Things will never be the same.
This week we have a similar experience when we start looking at the sayings and teachings of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew. We will pick up the Story this Sunday as we look at Jesus’ opening words about what he is all about. He actually says as much when he starts. He announces that he is here to inaugurate a new kingdom, a new administration, and a new way of doing things. He moves to the mountains and starts out with the Beatitudes. Have you read them lately? Have you pondered the words of Jesus about life in this new kingdom? Well, let me just say this, every kingdom that has ever been is sort of a variation of the same old thing. What Jesus proposes is a kingdom that is unlike any kingdom the world has ever seen: it is a counter-culture kingdom. It is a grace kingdom. This Sunday we will start our journey through Matthew’s Gospel. I can’t wait!
Oh, and don’t forget: Next Sunday we will dedicate our new building!
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three French hens. Which was nice I guess, but as I introduced the Mademoiselles to the makeshift aviary now colonizing the reading corner of my den, (careful not to disturb the softly cooing couple hogging the loveseat and wondering how often one must water an indoor fruit tree), I began to worry: There are nine days left to Christmastide, and if this gift-giving algorithm holds, I may find myself in an Alfred Hitchcock film.
As fun as it is to imagine the implications of a literal “Twelve Days of Christmas”, the song is also a very useful catechism tool. Whether it started that way or not, for many generations now believers have been pairing the numbered days of Christmas with foundational theological truths. Today being the third day of Christmas, we are taught to dwell on the inscrutable doctrine of the Trinity. How can we have one God who has three persons? I wish I remembered who it was that said that the divine mysteries are less difficult facts to be understood and more infinite wonders to be enjoyed. That rings true. Isn’t it more than enough for us to have true encounters with the one God, in whom we have a perfect Heavenly Father and His eternally begotten Son, and the Spirit who binds us to Him? I mean, I don’t even understand my wife...
Another of those divine mysteries, which we will explore on the fifth day of Christmas, is that of the incarnation of Christ. Almighty God made flesh in a tiny babe. To help us revel in wonder, we’ll lean on the poetry of Ms. Christina Rossetti, whose “In the Bleak Midwinter” remains one of the most hauntingly resonant Christmas carols of the Church. It’s an embarrassment of riches, really, and I can’t wait to fly through it with you.
Every night I have a front row seat to watch a four-year-old try to figure out the Holy Trinity. In talking about the nativity, it has dawned on Addison that something is afoot about Jesus. For instance, when I say God sent his son, Jesus, and then add that Jesus is God, she stops me, “But who is God and Jesus?” Then I do my best to explain how God is one God but has personalities—Father and Son. (I am not even getting into the Holy Spirit yet!) So, we rock along until we get to part that says the infant in the manger is God, and again Addison wrinkles her brow and starts waving her hands, “But who is God and Jesus?”
Last night, however, we had a breakthrough. We are now at the crucifixion in our story, and I am talking about God the Father, punishing his son Jesus for our sins, and explaining that because he was not just any man, but God, he rose from the grave. It was at this point that there was revelation. She sat up and started retelling the resurrection, with the angels helping Jesus get out of the grave; and then she said, with complete wonder at the dead being raised, with profound conviction and deep joy, “Daddy, Jesus is magical!”
I almost talked in tongues. I was somewhere between laughter and adoration, but certainly lost in wonder at the privilege of telling the story of Jesus to another of my children. This never gets old.
Does it? Has it gotten old for you? Has it lost the wonder? I confess, it often does for me. But when it does, I am on my knees, pondering anew the wonder of the Incarnation, because if this loses its wonder and excitement, what hope have I of any lasting joys—the body ages, technology leaves you behind, pleasures fade quickly, hurt and loss are always close by, etc. I mean, if our joy is not rooted in something transcendent—almost magical—what hope of joy is there? But if it is, all we can do is, as the song says, “Come and adore him!”
Sunday is the fourth Sunday of Advent. We have a brunch this Sunday (of course we do!). We’re marching to the culmination of this hallowed season and so we express our joy, as we should, in feasting with our community. It is a good Sunday to bring someone with you. Bring them to our table and share the joy of this story with them.
Also, as Christmas is about the generosity of God, I urge you to consider a large investment in changed lives at St. Patrick. With growth and new facilities, we need rich generosity. This is our largest giving month. Bottom line, we need St. Patrick folk to give almost $300,000 this month!! There are many ways to give. You can mail it in, text it in, bring it in, draft it in, or call the office for securities transactions. God has always met our needs, and I look forward to seeing how he will again this year!
Blessings, Jim
So we're driving as a family this week, and my 4-year-old son half-asks and half-declares, “Do you even like Christmas, Dad?” No one is a better mirror to your heart than a child. You see, I had just been verbally observing the lack of quality in people’s yard decorations (I know, I know, I'm a monster). Obviously, my tone caused my precious boy to wonder whether his Daddy had something against the holiday altogether. That gave me pause. Certainly, my children don't wonder if I like Advent: we faithfully light our candles and read the prophets and sing hymns of hope and longing for four weeks every year. No doubt I overcompensate in my zeal against vapid, consumer-driven cheer. But is it true that my holiday heart echoes the terrible state of seasons in Narnia under the witch-queen Jadis, where it was "always winter and never Christmas?" Gosh, I hope not.
It strikes me as the best kind of irony that every Advent season Jim assigns me to preach the third Sunday: Joy week. For those who might not know me well, I don't exactly come across as the "pink candle" kind of guy. Maybe it's penance for my apparently not-so-cheerful disposition, as though he's hoping if I just study joy enough I'll find some. Probably it's just convenient for him to get in an extra week of preparation for the climactic events of the season. Either way, here we are again: my fourth Advent at St. Patrick and the gang is getting their "Joy" message from Charlie Brown, yet again.
And I love it. The reason I love it is that I am convinced of this truth: if a guy like me can find joy, it's got to be the real thing. I caught my children lamenting the other day that the new Grinch isn’t nearly nasty enough. "What’s the point of even talking about a Grinch who doesn’t steal Christmas?" In other words, who cares about the conversion of a nice guy? I haven’t seen the film, but I appreciate the sentiment. Makes me think of Scrooge and Saul of Tarsus. For us, joy has never been cheaply found but is rather fully the fruit of the Spirit's work in us.
So, I hope to see you this Sunday, and I hope you find me a credible witness to the power of the incarnation, when Jesus put joy where even surly curmudgeons can find it.
How can we ever get our minds around the Incarnation? To really see it, not as abstraction, but real. The more real you make it, the more shocking it gets. Max Lucado, in his book God Came Near, does this well: “The omnipotent, in one instant, made himself breakable. He who had been spirit became pierce-able. He who was larger than the universe became an embryo. And he who sustains the world with a word chose to be dependent upon the nourishment of a young girl…God as a fetus. Holiness sleeping in a womb. The creator of life being created...God was given eyebrows, elbows, two kidneys, and a spleen. He stretched against the walls and floated in the amniotic fluids of his mother. God had come near.”
In our Carol this week, the writer explores in poetic terms the mystery of God taking flesh. Words and music capture the sheer wonder and amazement of the King and Creator of the universe being born to a virgin. Angels sing with abandon at the wonder of heaven and earth overlapping in the infant Jesus. And so again this Sunday, we gather to partake and celebrate in the awesome truth that we have been made sons and daughters of the Most High.
This is the first Sunday of Advent. Advent is rather late this year and follows on the heels of Thanksgiving. What a start to a season of feasting and reflection! The next four Sundays during Advent we are talking about Christmas Carols. We are literally taking four very famous Christmas carols and mining the deep theology that is there in poetic form. Our genre of music during Christmas is not only utterly delightful but instructional as well. I can’t wait to talk about these songs I have sung from as far back as I can remember (and, for those of you who don’t know me, that is a long, long time!).
When you walk into church Sunday, it will signal something different is upon us. There will be trees, garland, candles, and wreaths. The look and feel will be festive. (Well, somewhat! We are also in the midst of moving and dealing with the disorder that brings with it, so there will be no Sunday School this week.) As embodied creatures who live in space, we simply must take the space we inhabit and make it fit the mood and the occasion. How can we not deck the halls with boughs of holly, when we celebrate the coming of God into the world? Why would we miss the opportunity to delight all our senses in preparation for the birth of Jesus? Why not gild and deck the church as we journey with the rest of the church universal towards a manger in Bethlehem?
This Story never gets old. But then again, when you have been rescued from death, it might seem to dominate your life and always be hovering at the corners of your imagination, just waiting for an opportunity to break forth. Well, it is time to cut a rug…Advent is here! Jesus is coming!!
In the Christian Calendar, the Sunday prior to the beginning of Advent is designated as Christ the King Sunday. This ancient holiday is typically overshadowed in our part of the world by Thanksgiving (also a very Biblical observance) and the opening of deer hunting season (maybe a bit less so). But that’s ok. There are only 52 weekends in a year and it’s hard to get all of the celebrating in that such a wondrous existence merits!
For those who are interested, Christ the King Sunday serves as the capstone to ordinary time, which we’ve been observing since Pentecost. It’s a bit like a New Year’s Eve, wherein we get to bask in the triumph of King Jesus through his Church before starting the Story all over again. This Sunday we’ll be wrapping up our Jonah series, and hopefully, stand amazed that God can take even a grown man’s hissy fit and use it to point us to His perfect glory in Christ our King.
PS. We’d love to have you stay with us after worship this week to “deck the halls” for the Advent season!
Dorothy Sayers, when looking at culture and observing the malaise that afflicts people, observed that the sin that was wrecking individuals and society was not consumerism or excess, but rather, “It is the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, loves nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive only because there is nothing it would die for.” (Dorothy Sayers, Letters to a Diminished Church) With the loss of the divine, it is hard to find a bigger purpose to live for than self-interest. Dorothy Sayers wrote that over fifty years ago as secularism was just taking root.
More to the point of our own moment in suburbia, our issues just focus on the self. Sharon Hodde Miller talks about what happens when all of life revolves around self and self-interest in her book, Free of Me: Why life is better when it’s not about you. The title kind of says it all. I don’t know anything about this author—James Daniels sent it to me after a coaching call and it was something he got from his wife! But I think she speaks truth as she writes, “The problem with self-focus is not what it does to our souls, but what it does to the world. When we are so distracted with ourselves and our own lives, we never get to the work of actually living out our faith. There is a whole world out there of brokenness and poverty and hunger and pain, begging to hear the good news of Christ, but we will never reach them if we are too focused on building our best lives now.”
I think that accurately describes what we are up against when we come to our text this week, which is about mission. Here is the bottom line: We serve a God who is on mission and he created a people for himself to be on mission as well, and yet somehow the comforts of suburbia seem to shield us from this. We tend to avoid anything that takes us out of our comfort zone or asks anything of us that is the least bit uncomfortable or costly. How did we get here with a theology of the cross? Well, Jonah's story reminds us that God’s people have always insisted on their own way, until God brings a storm—and then watch out! It might get real, and you might get a big life!
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote the book, The Gulag Archipelago, his memoir about being a political prisoner in the Russian jail (gulag). He writes this:
"It was granted to me to carry away from my prison years on my bent back, which nearly broke beneath its load, this essential experience: how a human being becomes evil and how good. In the intoxication of youthful successes I had felt myself to be infallible, and I was therefore cruel. In the surfeit of power I was a murderer and an oppressor. In my most evil moments I was convinced that I was doing good, and I was well supplied with systematic arguments. It was only when I lay there on rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the first stirrings of good. Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts... That is why I turn back to the years of my imprisonment and say, sometimes to the astonishment of those about me: 'Bless you, prison!'... I nourished my soul there, and I say without hesitation: 'Bless you, prison, for having been in my life!'"
In the darkest place imaginable, Solzhenitsyn had an experience with grace that changed him forever! Jonah is in a watery prison as well and, as we will see Sunday, experiences grace in a way that starts a radical process of transformation. This Sunday we are looking at Jonah experiencing death, so that life can be worked in him. It seems to be the pattern of real grace. We don’t really know Jesus is all we need until Jesus is all we have.
Everywhere Addison and I go is a race. She gets down in a runners stance and says, “On your mark. Get set. Go!" And off we go. From kitchen to bedroom, from car to YMCA, from house to barn. etc. You get the idea. It is really not a race. It is her running and me chasing. She always wins. It really is better if she wins and I don’t catch her. She is a vision of glory—head back, laughing, hair bouncing, and a picture of pure pleasure. That is something that occupies much of my time when we are en route between places.
Jonah reminds me of that, but in a darker form. The story of Jonah is: Jonah runs and God chases. Heck, the whole story of the Bible is people running from God in their sin and God in his mercy and love chasing them down. That is it, isn’t it? It seems to be the narrative of my life anyway. So Jonah runs from the presence of God and God who is a good father and more jealous for his creatures' ultimate happiness and joy than they are comes after him in a storm.
Does that plot line sound familiar? This week we will talk about the storms that come into our lives because our love of our idols. And we will talk about the exacting love of a good father who refuses to let his children settle for mud pies when greater joys await. As C. S. Lewis reminds us in his book, The Problem of Pain, "Love may forgive all infirmities and love still in spite of them: but Love cannot cease to will their removal."
What a day of Worship it will be Sunday! We are receiving new members, baptizing a profession of faith, and because Sunday is the day set aside to pray for the persecuted church, we have guest from Aida’s ministry, Take Heart, who will be in the lobby after worship to talk about their ministry to refugees from countries where they are persecuted for believing in Jesus. Hope to see you Sunday so we can celebrate the grace and mercy of Jesus together. I don’t know about you, but I need to be refreshed in worship and praise!
A couple of years ago, I revisited one of the precious books of my adolescence, a wilderness survival tale called "Hatchet." The thing I could not get over this time was how little of it I had understood when I had touted it as a favorite. My twelve-year-old self had been enchanted by the events and images and characters, but I had not grasped the significance; the meaning of those things. There were layers there to explore, like an onion, (or an ogre). I felt as though I had never really read it at all!
Likewise, Jonah's story is one whose familiarity can make it difficult to really pay attention to. Maybe we feel that we've already mined and mastered the childish insights of these Sunday School favorites and it never occurs to us to revisit the "basics." Maybe we're trying to focus our adult years on more of the "meat" of Scripture. Well, I can assure you that this story, not unlike Noah's and Esther's, is both arresting to a child's imagination and profoundly piercing to the adult soul.
So we'll see you this Sunday as we begin our exploration of Jonah's depths, and I hope you're planning to stay for our Fall Festival, featuring world-class BBQ, games, and our first annual Trunk-or-Treat!
Thursday morning at sunrise I stood in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. Towering slabs of stone seemingly rise up from the foundations of the world to form a site so breath taking it was named, “Garden of the Gods.” One does indeed feel small and is overcome with wonder, almost awe, standing in the shadow of these monuments. That afternoon I was sitting in the Colorado Springs airport, hoping my flight would not be delayed (which happens to me with increasing frequency) and I was looking out the window at the beginnings of the Rocky Mountain range. Colorado Springs is on the front range and anytime you look to the west you see a vista so breathtaking, it would surely never get old if one lived there. In the midst of all this beauty, I texted a picture to my wife from the Garden of the Gods and one from the airport of the Rocky Mountains and it just said this, “As glorious as all this is, it is nothing compared to you and home.” I wasn’t trying to be sentimental or maudlin, but seriously, the mule was headed to the barn and I was jonesing to get home to my people, my place. So for about three weeks most of us in our parish have experienced this. Three fall breaks have scattered us from Canada to Florida. We have taken breaks from the normal and healthy routines of life to enjoy sabbath, rest, and refreshment. And after Sunday we all will be gathered back for a while. I don’t know about you, but as good as scattering is, home is always better. What really makes a place great is the people you love and the investments you have made. Many of our staff are still scattered Sunday and it is our privilege to have Dr. Charles McGowan preaching for us about God’s invincible purposes in our lives. His text is a familiar one—Romans 8:28. Aside from being a great preacher of the gospel, Dr. McGowan loves to be at St. Patrick for other reasons—his daughter and her family are members here. So Martha Murphy will feed her dad all the greatest food in the world and we will be privileged to be fed Sunday by him.
Excellence is arresting. Like beauty, it stops you in your tracks, and you look at it with wonder. We celebrate excellence in music, sports, art, drama, etc. We actually pay money to witness excellence, to listen to excellence, and most of us (if things have gone well with us) have been shaped by some form of excellence in parenting and nurturing. We don’t think of excellence in terms of care, but we should.
There is another place we don’t usually think about excellence and that is in giving. I hadn’t either, till I was pondering these sermons on giving and saw it for the first time. I have read it and preached around this passage a lot, but never really thought about it till a few weeks ago. Paul actually exhorts people to excel in giving. Yes, he says to excel in working hard, but he then says to excel in the grace of giving.
You ever thought about that? Well, this Sunday we will talk about it and what this might look like. I know it is Fall Break time and many will be out, so if you are out, I encourage you to give this a listen. Giving is at the heart of spiritual formation and being a disciple of Jesus. We can no more be indifferent to our money than we can a life of prayer. Giving is the heartbeat of God and, as such, the heartbeat of the Gospel.
So where do we start? Glad you asked, as this Sunday we will talk about the habit of giving — how giving becomes a habit of grace and then a habit of delight!
We are not born givers. In fact, quite the opposite! A child comes into the world totally “my life for me.” Young parents are at the beck and call of their newborn—gladly! So, for the first three months or so, everyone adapts to the schedule of this eight-pound little consumer. They cry and everyone comes running. And this is as it should be. Bereft of this attentiveness on the part of the parents, attachments do not form and a child starts way behind the baseline. But after about three months, a child begins the long, slow, hard process of seeing that the world doesn’t revolve around them. They are a “self” among other "selves" and are not the center of the universe. At night, they cry and no one comes, so they learn to sleep through the night. They learn to feed themselves, sloppily at first, causing even more work for the parents, but learn they must. Then come chores and learning to be part of the small community that gave them life. In this small community, learning to give is essential. Manners teach us deference to others. Table grace humanizes us as we learn to let others speak first, not grab the last piece of chicken, and that we esteem others more highly than ourselves. Yes, we are born to live for ourselves, and it takes about eighteen years to learn to become givers.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t get any easier when we get older. A lifestyle of giving is neither native nor intuitive; rather it is learned, like anything else, by grace and habit, or we might say— “habits of grace.” Habits that form a mindset of “my life for yours.” Our text for Sunday is simple, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” The thing in church history that changes the world, over and over again, is the radical generosity of God’s people. This can only become a reality in us as we ponder the God of the Universe. When we read the story of God, we discover this: God is the greatest Giver. God literally gave the Morning Star of heaven, the firstborn of all creation. He gave it all, so that we could become his children and then learn from him to do likewise! Yes, this is discipleship—giving is at the heart of the universe and at the heart of “loving God, loving people, and loving life.” Skeptical? Join us Sunday as we explore the Joy of Giving.
Sunday is a big day for St. Patrick. On Sunday, a commission from Central South Presbytery (These are churches in our geographic area in the Evangelical Presbyterian Church, for those new to the presbyterian scheme of church government!) will be present to ordain our Worship Pastor, Will Weir, to the Gospel Ministry. For the past six months, a group of ministers have examined Will in his views of Scripture, our book of government, theology, church history, etc. He has had written tests, oral tests, and on Saturday will be examined on the floor of Presbytery by all the ministers present, and also have to preach a sermon! If he passes these last hurdles on Saturday, he is then ready to be set apart as a minister of the gospel in the act of ordination.
So, this Sunday we have set aside time during morning worship to ordain Will. There will be a sermon by one of Will’s seminary professors that cast a huge shadow over Will’s life, a couple of charges to Will and the congregation, vows taken by both pastor and people, and finally the laying on of hands to symbolize his being set apart for the gospel ministry. It is all rather weighty and glorious.
We are so thankful to have Will as our Worship and Youth Pastor, and I hope you will join us as we celebrate what God has done in his life to bring him to this point. The thing that has made Will so integral to the life, ministry, and growth of St. Patrick is not so much his musical competencies, which are vast, but rather his heart. Will Weir loves Jesus and has a pastor's heart. Will loves people. May his tribe increase!
So, I hope you will join us this Sunday. The worship will be a little different, but glorious! We will, as usual, seek to make a big fuss about Jesus and the way he loves to take broken people and use them to bring restoration and healing in the world.
Do you remember the neurotic prehistoric squirrel Scrat, from the Ice Age franchise of kids’ movies? I think about that little guy all the time. He’s eking out his living through a massive global upheaval, where a single acorn has become a hot commodity. He’s trying to do the responsible thing and collect “enough” so he can rest and enjoy before it’s too late. His eye is set in permanent twitch mode as he claws to hold onto what’s his in this economy of increasing scarcity. And he doesn’t even know how bad it truly is; that the coming cold is no ordinary winter. He simply won’t survive. (Sounds hilarious, right?) But what if someone told Scrat he could trade up on that one acorn for a one-way ticket to Collierville in the twenty-first century? (In case you didn’t know, my backyard is heaven for squirrels; I have the roof damage to prove it.) I don’t know if he could do it: his affections have been deeply rooted by his acorn-collecting habits. He has learned to trust in his riches, meagre as they may be.
The way we collect and invest our resources a lot about who we are and who we want to be. In fact, it’s our dominant form of worship. Jesus doesn’t simply acknowledge this; he actually designed us to be like that. We were created to be stewards of the storehouse of God’s riches: to continually express our affection for Him by rightly valuing and investing in His will for the world. But the Fall means that human hearts have been bent away from serving God and stewarding his creation, and we turn instead toward those created things as our source of security and satisfaction. And although Scripture continually tells us that the former age is passing away and a new kingdom economy is emerging, we still keep foolishly and faithlessly investing in these idols, even as they lose more and more value by the minute.
For those of us who found ourselves convicted and confessing throughout our SUBURBAN gODS series, Scrat’s dilemma probably resonates. But we have a zeal for God’s glory and the faithfulness of his bride. We’re ready to develop new habits; to value and invest in God’s Kingdom as the former age passes away. We’re trusting in His provision as we loosen the grip of our nest eggs and back-up plans. But where do we actually invest it? And can creating new habits of investment really train our affections to love and value the things God does? That’s what our new series, Trading Up, is all about. This week, we’re going to marvel at Jesus’ enigmatic commendation of a dishonest man in Luke 16. What in the Age to Come is going on here? See you Sunday.
I don’t know about you, but Jim and I have really wrestled with this SUBURBAN gODS series. These are soul-searching conversations about the more powerful sins in our part of the world. I have felt truly grieved over the past several weeks as I personally struggle with the idols of safety and comfort, consumerism, individualism, and busyness. And I don’t think I’m alone in that feeling. At one point I asked Allie, “What do we need to give our people to wrap this series up well?” She told me she felt like we all could use a bit of hope and encouragement. I wanted to tell her, well, God sent the wrong prophet! I am just angry and sad and heartbroken. I don’t know if I’m ready to be encouraging yet.
And yet as I prepared to preach on King Josiah’s idol-smashing reforms, I was reminded of who it was that preached the eulogy at his funeral. It was “the weeping prophet” Jeremiah, who watched the last great King of Israel die, and with him the last foothold of holiness in a land of toxic idolatry. Jeremiah lamented and he groaned. He had longed to see the promise come to pass -- that the Jews would be a holy and glorious nation -- but all he saw was one calamity after another, to the point he began to wonder why he was ever born. And yet Jeremiah was also the prophet who encouraged the newly exiled people of God to settle down and plant vineyards; to be a holy nation dispersed in a land of idols, and watch as their Father unfolded his plans to prosper them and give them a hope and a future.
And that reminds me that grief isn’t at all opposed to hope or encouragement. As Paul tells the church in 2 Corinthians 7, “I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting… For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret…” Maybe it’s his kindness that leads us to repentance. Maybe it’s a loving father who disciplines his children. Maybe it’s the best of grooms who woos his bride in the wilderness. And maybe these pains, like those before birth, only mark the beginning of a beautiful life.
You might say I am prone to live without margins. It might be true that often I schedule things so that, if there is not one interruption, then my day will run smoothly, and I won’t be late for anything. It might also be true that in the busiest time of my life, when Teri and I had six children in the house, Teri would periodically let me know that our life was “too busy.” It is not that I set out to over-schedule. I don’t like to be rushed, but I do often think that I can do more than I actually can. The problem with this is not just that it hurts me, but that it would hurt those I love the most. When I am "crazy busy", I may be home but I am not present. While there is the rush of self-importance, when I am crazy busy, it leaches away my joy, sucks the life out of my soul, and makes me very anxious.
I have fought this all my life, trying to cram in too much. I have often said, without my wife, Teri, I would most likely have run myself into the ground. She has acted like an external monitor who continually seeks to help me and our family live life at a human pace. It’s a good thing too. Pascal once said, Busyness sends more people to hell than unbelief. Ouch!! So, am I alone in this? Hardly! Busyness is a status symbol in suburbia. We have so many good choices, and we are so afraid we will miss something, that, in cramming our schedules, we miss the really human things.
On Sunday, we will talk about it. We don’t have to wear ourselves out with living. God built us for rest and sabbaths. Notice, I said “sabbaths.” When you factor in all the feasts the ancient Israelites were called to order their lives around, you see a people who worked hard, played hard, and feasted hard. As Kevin DeYoung said so wisely in his book Crazy Busy, “The antidote to busyness of soul is not sloth and indifference. The antidote is rest, rhythm, death to pride, acceptance of our own finitude, and trust in the providence of God.”
Join us Sunday as we continue to talk about Suburban gods. Can we be honest? These idols we all face do not go quietly into that good night. Human thriving is hard and hard won, but is always on the other side of the cross. On the other side is joy unspeakable. It is a faith issue. May God give us grace to repent of our idolatry and find a bigger and better life!
To me, the most terrifying kind of bad-guy in science fiction stories is the shape-shifter. This is a creature that can change its form to look like anything or anyone, so you can never know if what you’re looking at might be the enemy in disguise. Well, with one major exception. It seems like every time a story uses that trope, there comes a climactic scene where the hero comes face to face with… their own face! At that moment, they know that what they’re seeing is a sham: “Oh, this is the one I should be fighting.”
We think we’re more sophisticated than the ancient pagans who crafted gods from wood and metal, but what if it’s the gods who have become more sophisticated? As the French poet Charles Baudelaire observed, "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." Individualism is a subtle god in the streets of Suburbia because we tend to think of ourselves as family-and-community-oriented people. How could the charge of individualism possibly stand? Narcissism, we might assume, is more of a problem for self-expressive urbanites, or the rugged individualist-type rural folk. And that’s exactly what the Idol of Individualism wants us to think.
We’ve come to a point in our series on SUBURBAN gODS where the idol we’re battling is a bit of a shape-shifter, and yet the secret to identifying the enemy really is as simple as looking in the mirror. This week, we’ll talk about the unique ways that individualism hides in plain sight in the midst of our community-minded context, and we’ll also receive more than enough from Jesus to smash that idol to bits.
In his book Dark Age, Pierce Brown continues the trans galactic story of Darrow and his reshaping of the world. The plot is this: the people in the universe are stratified into colors, with the Golds being the ruling and privileged class. They all have Greek names, of course. At the bottom are the Reds, who work as miners on Mars and live at the bottom of the food chain. Darrow, a lowly Red, somehow is secretly crafted into a Gold and leads a revolution that remakes the world in a more democratic manner, in hopes that there will be human flourishing for all different kinds of people. Well, it sort of works, but then everything falls apart.
The Obsidians in the story are huge, superstitious, Viking-like folk, feared but in thrall for centuries to their Gold overlords. Where I am in the story is that the Obsidians have known freedom for over ten years now, but old habits are hard to break. In the scene that is germane to our purposes, Ephraim, a Gray who is a smuggler, has been hired by the queen. He is an astute judge of character and makes this comment about one of the Obsidians as he watches him, “He has been free now for years, but he still acts like a slave.”
As we talk about Suburban gODS, this is about where we are. We are radically free in Jesus. We have been adopted into a new family with God as Father and Jesus as our Elder Brother. We have an inheritance that will never fade away, a name that is royalty, and we belong to a new family full of misfits that are hilarious. What could be better! And yet, with all this — new name, identity, and glory — why do we still act like orphans and slaves? Old habits are hard to break. It is hard to detach from what is “normal” in the consumer setting of the suburbs long enough to even ponder Jesus' call to generous living.
And yet, the Power that spoke worlds into existence is in us — in clay jars, as Paul said. We have the resources within us to remake our attachment to the material resources that often rule us. But it is hard. I told someone that I was preaching on consumerism in suburbia, and he said, “Uh, I think I will skip that one!” We laughed, but we both sensed this might, as my grandfather would say, “plow a little too close to the corn.” Anyway, I can’t wait to bring you into the conversation.
Also, this Sunday, Gaines and Courtney Conaway are bringing one of their three greatest treasures to give to Jesus this Sunday. Mac, their infant son, will receive the sign of the covenant. Maybe, as we ponder our real “riches” in flesh and blood, God will help us see our own idols more clearly.
Years ago in Greenville, Mississippi, I was roofing my house. First house I had ever owned. I got some insurance money and just decided to roof it myself. Every day, after I got home from work, I would get up on the roof and channel my twenty-year-old self that used to roof houses for my uncle. One afternoon I heard something and looked up to see Will, my two-and-a-half-year-old son, in nothing but a diaper, standing a few feet away, grinning. “Hey Daddy.” I panicked. I was trying to figure out how to get to him before he fell off the roof. We were on top of a two-story house, and I was trying to say calm to keep him calm (although he didn’t appear panicked at all!). Slowly, I made my way to him and grabbed him. I didn’t know whether to hug him or scold him.
When I got him down off the roof and managed to quit shaking, I found myself somewhere between anger and fear at how unsafe my young son had been, climbing a ladder onto a two-story house — and, well, proud. I mean, he was only two-and-a-half! Another time, this same child disappeared in the backyard, and Teri and I heard him call, “Hey Dad, watch this.” We looked up to see him in the top of a magnolia tree. Teri screamed, “You get down, right his minute!” And I screamed, “You can get one more —one more branch!” Teri and I have often marveled that somewhere between, “Stop, it isn’t safe,” and “You can get one more limb,” our children managed to navigate through childhood without killing themselves.
Somewhere along the way to Suburbia, we have become almost totally risk averse. We have become addicted to safety and comfort. It colors the way we parent, the way we keep to our own tribe, the way we resist breaking out to be in hard places and with people from hard places. I think deep down that all of us wish that Jesus would just give us an easy life. But he won’t, and the call Jesus has on our life is a dangerous call! It is shaped like a cross. This is brutal. Suburbia has blinded us to the fact that we are even affected by safety and comfort. So, we will try to dismantle this idol on Sunday. Here is the hard truth, however: you can’t dismantle it. We hold on tight to this one, to the point that it will distort our lives and, even when we see it, we still cling to it. Only God can help us take off the layers of protection we have wrapped ourselves in.
On Sunday afternoon, I flew to Denver for a meeting of church planters. We met in a hotel in downtown Denver. After a day and a half of meetings, well, let’s just say, I was fried. I am in a place of breathtaking beauty, and I’m stuck in a room with no windows. Aesthetic death for my soul. Scott Lowe, a good friend who pastors in Ft. Collins, picked me up and thankfully delivered me from a “death by meetings,” and we drove to Colorado Springs so I could investigate a couple of venues for a conference for EPC church planters that I’m attending in October.
We drove to the venue I was hoping to rent and it was fabulous. Since we had some time to kill, Scott brought his mountain bikes. I confess I felt some fear in this. Not only because I have made fun of some of my best friends with this obsession; but, at over six thousand feet and pedaling uphill, I knew it might be a problem. It was worse than I thought. He put me on a “beginner’s” trail and, for the first part, it was fine. Even after almost killing myself on an ascent, gasping for breath, my heart going 170 beats per second, I thought—this might be okay. The view in the canyon was like nothing I had ever seen; the payoff was worth it. Then, however, we started going up switchbacks that would be difficult for a mountain goat, and I almost went over the edge! With some difficulty, I made it to the top without killing myself, and the ride down was all adrenaline. Just a straight shot, and I experienced glory and the old saying, “you got to pay to play.”
The next day we took another short ride before I went to the airport. Literally, a canyon in the middle of the city that was a state park. The views were, again, like nothing you can see from Collierville. People are moving to Colorado in droves. And yet—the number one mental health problem in the state is loneliness. What’s the problem? People move to Colorado with a “spiritual aspiration.” This is the good life. There is breathtaking beauty; the scenery will break your heart and yet…Does this alone make you happy?
People move to the suburbs with something like a “spiritual aspiration” as well. It is safe, the schools are good, we can own a larger house, it is a great place to raise a family. So, what is the problem? Is being safe bad? Are good schools bad? Is having a nice home evil? Is being in a great place to raise a family wrong? No. No more than the ache in your heart you get when in a place of great physical beauty like Colorado. The problem is when you make any of these things a god or idol, that is, something you really look to for your identity, comfort, and joy.
With much fear and trembling, we are to look at the idols of suburbia—good things that can become more to us than just a good thing or a gift from God. And yet, as God told the Israelites as they were about to enter a new land in Canaan, “watch out for the idols in this new place I am giving you.” See, when you are a slave, a homeless person, wandering in the desert, and you are about to become middle class—game on, everything changes. You don’t even know the things that might steal your heart away!
When I was in Denver for General Assembly, several of us went to a friend’s house to talk. He is an old Memphis boy who is pastoring a relatively new church in the city. He told me the craziest thing: he said the city of Denver would give him $500 several times a year to throw a block party for their neighborhood. I was shocked. He said, “Yeah, the state of Colorado has discovered that one of their biggest mental health issues is loneliness." I still didn’t believe him—it sounded like urban legend or hyperbole—and so I called my good friend Scott Lowe, who lives in Ft. Collins, CO, a city voted “the most desirable place to live in America" for years now, and he confirmed that indeed it is true. State-funded block parties—who would have thought! I mean, everyone is either moving to Colorado or wants to. I tried to at one time, too. The reasons are obvious, for those of us who live at 200 feet of elevation—aesthetics! After all, Colorado has everything, you would think. In Colorado, you can live in a place where you can amuse yourself to death, in a good way, with skiing, hiking, trout fishing, golf, mountain biking, etc. If you love the outdoors, Colorado is indeed a “theater of the glory of God.” There, God’s glory shouts from the mountains. And yet, people are dying of loneliness, to the point that the state is funding ways for people to connect and get to know each other. A lot has been written about the loss of “social capital” in the last few decades. In other words, the loss of community. It seems that as technology has made “neediness” of your neighbor more into a luxury, rather than a necessity, we don’t just naturally make a life-giving community a priority. Only later, after we have stuffed ourselves with good things, do we wake up and find we are not richer people. That is, rich in satisfaction and joy. This week we are looking at Psalm 133 which speaks to the beauty and wonder of community. The God who made us with “design deficiencies” is also the God who made a messy, broken, love-filled community the very best place in the world to belong. I think we are like Mrs. Bird in the book, The Very Best Home for Me. It is a book I have read to all my children and now read to Addison. Mrs. Bird is just tired of her staid old bird house and wants to relocate and find something better. But alas, she discovers the very best home is actually the small place where she knows and is known. In that small world of “knowing and loving”, she inhabits a vastly larger world. That, or something like that, is the subject we will talk about Sunday.
I don't remember what I was bellyaching about. What I do remember is my dear friend's incredulous look and his graceful rebuke: "What makes you think you want good things from God more than He wants to give them to you?" There are moments in your life that form a monument between "before" and "after." That was mine as far as prayer is concerned. The gap between my theology and my prayer life was immense. I knew that God was my Father and Jesus was my mediator and the Spirit groaned within me for things that were already mine, but I didn’t have a way to express my soul in light of all that. The only prayers I had really ever heard were filled with either a.) archaic language and inaccessible content, or b.) endless repetitions of “…and Lord please just…” followed by whatever requests seemed big enough to warrant asking God, but humble enough to justify a “yes.”
So, I had developed a habit of either avoiding prayer because it didn’t connect with me, or simply whining and begging through it. What my wise friend had done was to point out that neither of those prayers was robust enough a form to carry the content of my heart and soul. That led me to a long and continuing exploration of what I want and need from prayer. What I’ve found since, modeled in the Psalms, other Scriptures, and in many historic prayers, has established a liturgy for me that is both theologically hearty and emotionally satisfying. This is not to say that the form of your prayers has anything to do with whether or not God hears and responds to exactly what your heart needs, but there is something profoundly comforting about finding and receiving the right words for an intimate moment.
King David had one of those moments in prayer as well. It was so powerful an encounter that every descendant he ever had from that point forward pointed back to it as a cornerstone of their own prayers. There are the prayers we lifted before that moment and the prayers we lift thereafter. There’s the David who promised God, and there’s the David whom God promised. Before, David knew God and loved Him; after, David knew God loved him. This week we’ll dive into Psalm 132, which is structured to show us this dramatic deepening of intimacy in the prayer life of David and, hopefully, to shape our own prayers as well.
I just have to confess at the outset that I have never nursed a baby, much less weaned one. I have seen the process up close and I have been assured that it would break me. I have no doubt that this is true. My only real experience would be from the baby end, and while I don't remember that, I do know that as an adult, trying to pry any habitual happiness from my grasp is a herculean endeavor. I doubt I was any more chill as an infant. It's a work of God's mercy that I don't go postal every Lenten season.
We tend to think of weaning in negative terms, as in the process of eliminating an unwanted desire, like breaking a bad habit. But milk is not a bad habit - it's good for babies! The word used in the Bible for weaning, including in Psalm 131, is often translated in other passages as "satisfied." So, when the prophet Samuel's mother committed to consecrate the child to temple service "as soon as he was weaned," that was not merely a concession for immaturity - there's a positive good being described here. Eventually, the child will move from milk to meat, but it won't be the breaking of a bad habit. It will be the transition from one kind of neediness to another: a fulfillment. And he will never graduate from the need to be fully satisfied with what's good for him.
I personally would love to get to the point where the best description of my soul would be that of a milk-drunk baby. That's a real picture of happiness. This week we're going to explore what we can do about cultivating that satisfied soul. Spurgeon said of this Psalm that it's one of the shortest to read and most difficult to learn. That definitely resonates with my own experience. I hope you can join us!
Brennen Manning wrote a book some years ago called, Ruthless Trust. He says it all started when he was muddling along and talking to his spiritual director. After listening to Brennan's thoughts on why he was not growing in grace and becoming more like Jesus, his spiritual director told him, “Brennan, you don’t need more insights into the faith, you’ve got enough insights to last you three hundred years. The most urgent need in your life is to trust what you have received.” He goes on to say this: “I can state unequivocally that childlike surrender in trust is the defining spirit of authentic discipleship. And I would add that the supreme need in most of our lives is often the most overlooked—namely, the need for an uncompromising trust in the love of God.” Wise words, and words that come across loud and clear in Psalm 125. This psalm is about Enduring Trust. Trust in what God has done for us. It is a realistic psalm for those of us who are disciples of Jesus. It is incredibly honest about our proneness to doubt and to be anxious and paralyzed by fear at the circumstances of life in a fallen world, where evil is always lurking. We need that honesty, “The confident, robust faith that we desire and think is our destiny is qualified by recurrent insecurities. Singing Psalm 125 is one way Christians have to develop confidence and banish insecurity. The psalm makes its mark not by naively whistling when life is dark, but by honestly facing the typical insecurities that beset us and putting them in their place.” (Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction) Easier said than done! This Sunday we will ponder what it means to trust God, when our trust is continually threatened by the insecurities of the world. I confess, I have emotionally been taken over the hurdles this week as I ponder my own fears and doubts. So I hope to see you Sunday as we take an honest look at how we can trust God, even when things seem to be falling apart.
Marva Dawn has a book on worship called, A Royal “Waste” of Time: The Splendor of Worshiping God and Being Church for the World. I like that, because what she is getting at is that of all the Habits of Grace we talk about, worship is the least utilitarian. What I mean is, it seems to get you nothing! We see great purpose in studying the Bible in the Soul Room and talking with God in prayer. We see purpose in Sabbath and Celebration because we all have seen and felt the value of rest. Community, we really see the value in interacting with friends that become like family. But worship? Is it worth it? Apparently not, in our culture. There are more and more people who talk about being Jesus followers, who might even read the Bible and pray, but who feel no compulsion to worship and view it essentially as a waste of their time.
To be clear, I am talking about corporate worship here. I am referring to the stated time your tribe or church family has designated to gather corporately as the people of God to declare the praises of God—together. Now, while worship in the church may be on the downswing (according to all the statistics I read), worship in the culture has not diminished at all. No, we were built by God to worship. Whatever we delight in, we will find the time to gather with other people who delight in the same thing, and we will celebrate like there is no tomorrow. If you doubt me, just wait till the fall arrives, and watch people show up in droves to celebrate their favorite football teams!
This Sunday we are talking about worship, the practice of gathering with your tribe under Word, Sacrament, and Prayer. Show me a people formed by God anywhere in the world, and I will show you a people who gather to worship. It is almost like we can’t help it. If you think not much is happening in worship, join us Sunday as we peel back the veil just a little to see what God is doing for us and in us when we make worship one of the greatest priorities in our life.
It is good to be back in Collierville after a week in Denver. We almost didn’t make it, but I will tell that dark and dismal tale on Sunday. It works well with a sermon on joy when all looks bleak. As we continue through the Psalms of Ascent, it becomes more and more clear how practical they are for a life of discipleship. Just a few Psalms toward the end of the Psalter, these songs were used specifically by the ancient people of God on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. And yet somehow they seem tailor-made for the disciple on his journey to the City of God.
Fifteen songs that are mostly short and easy to get at. They are not long diatribes on discipleship, but short and specific songs that address all our fears, loss, guilt, hopes, and dreams that confront us in daily life. At least two of them are on joy. That in itself should be instructive. Joy is in short supply. I don’t mean happiness, which is circumstantial and is basically dependent on good fortune to possess. No, I'm talking about the kind of joy—deep joy—that knows, even when weeping, that God is in control and still loves you.
Joy is a Fruit of the Spirit which means it is given to us by the Holy Spirit. You can’t buy or bargain for joy. You can’t get joy by spending inordinate time trying to avoid pain. You can’t even vacation enough to possess it. No, it is a fruit of the Spirit. God has to give it to you supernaturally. And yet the Apostle Paul commands us to have joy. How can this be? Long before Jesus shows us that weeping and joy happen at the same time and way before Paul writes about joy, our prayer masters were talking about joy—joy that happens even in the midst of hardship and pain.
Joy is a characteristic of the redeemed life. Join the conversation this Sunday as we look at Psalm 126.
The sitcom Parks and Recreation spends its first five seasons convincing viewers that Jerry Gergich has nothing to show for his 40 years in government service. He is the schmuck in every room; the butt of every office joke; a hopelessly incompetent government employee (hold your jokes about redundancy). Meanwhile, his boss Leslie Knope is an insatiable workaholic, perpetually striving to outdo her last great success. When Jerry retires, Leslie pities him and decides to spend her first day off in years visiting him at home and try to cheer him up, since he’s probably sitting there dwelling on all his failures. What she finds instead is the ultimate twist. Jerry answers the door accompanied by his gorgeous wife Gayle, (played by supermodel Christie Brinkley), who is over-the-moon affectionate toward the big dope. They invite Leslie in to enjoy a homemade breakfast with his three perky and delightful daughters, who adore and admire their father. It’s like a bizarro-world. Jerry is talented and suave; his family is beautiful and happy. Later, as they peruse family photo albums full of joy and memories, Jerry assures Leslie, “I know I didn’t achieve all my work goals, but that doesn’t matter to me. The best part about working at the parks department was that I got to be home every night with my family at 5:00.” It’s perhaps the greatest surprise I’ve ever seen from a sitcom: Jerry is the hero. I couldn’t stop thinking about that episode as I studied Psalm 127 this week, and the deeper I dug, the more convinced I became that our cultural obsession with public productivity and success is not only wrong-headed but actually self-defeating. For all our emphasis on productivity, we fail more and more to produce anything of lasting value. It may seem at first that the Psalm is telling us to, like Jerry Gergich, sacrifice our work life for our home life (not altogether terrible advice for some of us). What it’s actually doing is reframing our understanding of what real, lasting productivity is by comparing our work to childbearing. Maybe the most productive things we can pour ourselves into are the ones over which we have the least control. This is a Psalm that encourages us to continue to take our work seriously while ceasing to take ourselves so seriously. Maybe that was Jerry's secret all along. Can’t wait to consider it with you.
Last week we were in the house of mourning, talking about life in the depths of sorrow and mourning, it was appropriate somehow, my wife lost her father and the brokenness of the world was washing over us with grief and sadness. This week as we are on our pilgrimage with ancient Israel in the Psalms of Ascent, we are in the house of mirth and joy. Strange, but so much like life. This week Teri and I celebrated 37 years of marriage. In God’s providence Psalm 128 addressed happiness. And one of the key illustrations is about an abundant home life with lots of olive branches around a common table! I have lived this! (And in God’s good wisdom will for years to come, not just in seeing my children’s children, but with a young sapling!)
The Bible we might say is one long exposition of “blessedness.” Blessedness means happiness. A God totally happy in the richness of the Trinitarian family of Father, Son and Holy Spirit creates a world out of his overflowing happiness and peopled it with images that can enjoy this blessing. Even the weeds and thorns that drove our first parents out of a garden of blessing can not stop this blessing. The Covenant of Grace, God’s promise of salvation is cast in terms of blessing. “I will bless you and make you a people who will bless the world.” Jesus' first sermon is couched in terms of the blessed life. “Blessed are you.” Happy are you. Because at the root of blessing is happiness.
I have never had people question me about the first two proclamations of our vision statement—loving God and loving people, but many question me about loving life! Oh my, how easily we have let sin rob us of our birthright. Psalm 128 addresses this and shows us the promise of blessing and the way of blessing. And yet, it is full of pain, sorrow, and death. But, to think that these things have the last word is to miss our savior’s happiness in going to the cross for us. It was for joy, Hebrews says. It gave him the most happiness and joy to give himself so that he could bless us and create a big, crazy family. Who I might add, have his DNA.
If you’re like most suburbanites, you’re likely gearing up to make a pilgrimage in the next several weeks, probably to a place you’ve been year after year. The people of Israel, too, had a ritual of travel – three times every year from wherever they were to the Holy City of Jerusalem, to celebrate God’s primary festivals at the Temple there. Jerusalem is on the highest peak in Palestine, so wherever you were coming from, the journey was pretty much ascent the whole way. This was and is a wonderfully obvious metaphor for God’s people: life is a Godward journey, uphill, without an SUV.
Throughout those years of regular pilgrimage, Israel’s inspired artists put together their ultimate road trip mix tape. The Psalms of Ascents are a collection of 15 songs that set the mood and capture the experience – maybe not completely, but faithfully – of what it’s like to journey upward and upward and upward again. Several months ago, Jim and I decided it might be meaningful to time a summer series on those Psalms of Ascents to begin on Ascension Sunday (when we celebrate Jesus’ return to the Father, 40 days after his resurrection). What we didn’t realize at the time was that our cycle of Psalm readings in the Soul Room would also have us starting the Psalms of Ascents (120-134) this past Monday. I guess Flannery O’Connor was right: Everything That Rises Must Converge.
O’Connor actually borrowed that line from the French philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who rightly encourages us to “move ever upward toward greater consciousness and greater love! At the summit, you will find yourselves united with all those who, from every direction, have made the same ascent. For everything that rises must converge.” There’s some popular “wisdom” out there that might take this to mean that all lifestyles or religions lead to the same destination. That’s not the testimony of Scripture, though. There’s only one greater consciousness; only one True Love; only one Temple of the Living God. The road is narrow, and many are those who miss Him. Yet part of the mystery of our holy pilgrimage is that to His people, Jesus is both our final destination and our faithful travel companion. To follow Christ as a pilgrim-disciple is to have already arrived and yet continue to ascend, further up and further in, into a profound intimacy with the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I can get on board with that road trip, especially with a playlist this good.
How do you sum up five months of preaching through the book of John? What profound parting shot do you deliver? What zinger can sum up the writer John’s poetic take on the life of Jesus? Well, leave it to Peter to ask the question that provides Jesus the platform for the parting words, “Follow Me.” Peter, having been informed by Jesus that he too will die for his faith, does what any of us would do. He turns to Jesus and asks, “What about him?” (speaking of John). To which Jesus answers, “That is none of your business. I will tell you your story, but I won’t tell you his or anyone else's.” Then Jesus goes on to tell Peter the essence of what it means to be a disciple with a simple command: “Follow Me.”
This Sunday we wrap up five months spent in the Gospel of John. Five months spent in three different series, all focused on the greatness of Jesus. So, it is fitting that the last word is, “Follow Me.” Follow the One we have been making such a fuss about. Follow the One who blew up the Trinity, ripped a hole in the fabric of reality, and became one of us. Follow the One who took your death penalty so that you could go free. So, yeah! “Follow Me” is about right! This week we will ponder what that actually means.
Christians have always believed there is an “ought-ness” about the world. Not only in the physical world but in the moral and spiritual world. Thus, Scripture likened the life of faith to a path. We actually know what it means to be human. Most of our angst is not that we don’t know the ‘path’ but we don’t want to walk on the path. The heart wants what the heart wants, and often that is in contradiction to the ancient paths laid out in Scripture.
Let’s face it, we face this struggle every day. We are always going off the path. The path has not been found wanting, but it has been found hard. So, what do you do when you stray from the path? If indeed to stay on the path is the way of freedom, joy, and being more human, then to do our own thing and ignore clear directives of Scripture is the way of alienation, destruction, and ultimately death. How do we find our way back?
In our text this week, we find Jesus doing what a good shepherd does—find lost sheep. Peter is lost. The one who with much bravado declared Jesus to be “Christ, the son of the Living God” is living in the house of shame, having denied him three times. Is there any hope for Peter? Is there any hope for people like you and me who deny Jesus in word and deed daily? If so, where do we find it? How do we find the path? Jesus.
This Sunday we will talk about our guilt and shame. Jesus has found his disciples drowning in grief, fear, uncertainty, and now—guilt and shame. There is so much hope here for folk like us.
Waiting. It is so hard. It seems like that is all I have been doing the last couple of months. After going to the emergency room for a blood clot, I have seen a hoard of doctors for all manner of things, all in the attempt to figure out why this happened. I go to one doctor and they send me to another doctor. In the next couple of weeks I hope this all comes to an end with answers. Maybe I get them or maybe it remains a mystery. I am not a doctor and like my dad, was not expecting any kind of health issues till I was in my eighties!
So, we come to the passage in John where the disciples have seen Jesus alive, but then he just disappears. What next? They had to be asking themselves that question. In the absence of concrete knowledge of what is next Peter says, “I’m going fishing.” Not what you might expect from the guy who is slated to be the leader of the church! And yet, that is where Jesus meets him and his friends. That is where so many good things happen. That is where a blown fishing trip turns to the stuff of myth and legend. That is where an incredible feast happens. That is where reconciliation happens.
What do you do when God doesn’t give you a clear path ahead? What do you do when there is no chapter and verse to tell you what to do next?
Years ago, when I was in college, I took my brother John and Richard Rieves hunting in the Loosahatchie Bottom. I had never been there but heck, it was public land, and I needed a place to hunt. We hunted one afternoon, camped out that night, and the next morning went out again early. John was ten years old then and, because we had hunted the day before, I knew the lay of the land. As we were walking in, I left John at a spot and told him to stay put until I came back for him. As we hunted that morning, a fog rolled in. A fog so thick you could hardly see. John wore glasses at that time and, little did I know, they were staying fogged up, and this made it difficult for him to see. When I went back to retrieve him, he was not there. I immediately panicked. I mean, how could I go home and tell my mother I had lost her youngest child somewhere in the woods about an hour from home?! So, I found Richard, and we started hunting for him. We hunted and hunted, and I was getting really worried. It was cold, wet, muddy, and the woods were ominous with fog. Suddenly, I realized we had been walking in circles! Finally, I heard three shots. Boom! Boom! Boom! We made our way to the sound of the noise, and there was my little brother. His glasses and face were covered in mud, his cover-alls were half off, his gun had mud all over it, and yet, the look on his face was one of pure relief and joy. Me—I was somewhere between shame at putting a ten year old boy in such a predicament and overwhelming joy. I don’t know if I had ever felt such pure relief. These days, the little brother far, far, far outstrips his older brother in all things dealing with hunting! My story of finding my distressed little brother differs from the story about Jesus finding his lost disciples in so many ways, but one thing is true of both: there is nothing quite like being lost and then being found. This week we again find Jesus rounding up lost, grief-stricken, fear-laden, and doubting sheep. It is what Jesus does best. This much is true: Jesus has to find you and when he does, he goes straight to the heart—literally. John 20 reads like the veil is pulled back, so that we can see into the very souls of the disciples. It is a good thing, because this is what Jesus came to do—heal you at the deepest level. Most of us, when our hearts are akimbo, seek to adjust our external circumstances to get out of the mud. Please, for God’s sake, don’t do that—run to the cross!
I feel a little self-conscious about this admission, but I just bought tickets to see John Mayer in concert and I could not be more excited. Well, that’s not entirely true; it could be better. When I was looking at seats, I realized quickly that my budget means I will be enjoying the view of a jumbotron at a 45-degree angle, a hundred yards from the stage. Nevertheless, awash in a sea of anonymity, I get to be in the same room as arguably the greatest guitar player of my generation. While I don’t expect to be transformed by the experience per se, I do expect to be moved.
Jesus could have performed his awe-inspiring post-resurrection appearances to sold-out crowds at outrageous prices, but he came instead to an intimate few. And that made all the difference. Luke reminds us that "God raised [Jesus] on the third day and made him to appear, not to all the people but to us who had been chosen by God as witnesses, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead" (Acts 10:40–41). Those happy few who ate and drank with a resurrected Jesus. That sounds to me like a perfect description of life in the everyday at St. Patrick! But it’s not really so romantic an image when we think about all the brokenness that we have to bring to that table to be healed.
Maybe we fear the exclusivity of those appearances, perhaps because we feel we might be the ones who are left out of the VIP room. But the way Jesus comes to these few should actually bring us the hope that our own promised encounters with the risen Lord will happen in the same way: not as an anonymous part of a dazzled crowd, but in truly intimate moments that heal our deepest wounds. We begin this Sunday with the gradual unfolding of the death of darkness, before the eyes of a few of Jesus’ closest friends.
Sign, sign, everywhere a sign Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
So sang The Five Man Electrical Band in their song of 1971. John may have been thinking the same thing as he penned his Gospel. Seven signs Jesus left the world to ponder about who he was and why he entered the world. Signs so singular, in and of themselves, as to arrest the heart and mind of any human being. So extraordinary, people wondered at his person. And yet, while each was a special sign, or calling card, of Jesus, they all pointed to one thing—who he was and why he rent the fabric of time and space to burst forth in human flesh. His teaching left people spellbound; his miracles left the people who experienced them scratching their heads in wonder.
So finally, this Easter morning we come to Jesus’ final sign: raising a man from the dead. As amazing as this is, it is not the main thing; it is just another sign of what Jesus was really about—the thing to which every sign pointed—his own death and resurrection. The cosmic fact of history, indeed the thing that shapes everything it means to be human and shows us how we too can experience resurrection and life—real life—that has meaning, purpose, and ultimately joy unspeakable and full of glory, is on full display in Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection.
Easter Sunday is such a great time for us as a gathered people of God. It gives meaning to all our suffering, all the hardships, and all the innocent joys we experience. It helps us face death and resist the urge to either explain it away or avoid pondering it by amusing ourselves to death. Because of Easter and the Resurrection, while death might be the last enemy, we know it is a defeated enemy, and we take comfort in the promise that nothing can separate us from the love of God. So, invite your friends! Tell them we will feed them brunch and share with them the greatest Story ever told. And then invite them to a feast at your table. Let them hear and experience resurrected life—now!
I got a text from Clint Baker last Monday. It said, “sketch from yesterday’s sermon.” Attached was an image that so captured my sermon, I was blown away. It literally healed my heart as I pondered it with wonder. I shared it with a lot of people this week. (I will share it with you this Sunday.) One of the guys I shared it with was Larry Powell. Larry and I were meeting to talk about our Community Groups, and I told him, “Hey, look what I got from Clint Baker. He drew this on Sunday while I was preaching.” He looked at it and, after a minute, said, “Wow, he obviously wasn’t listening!”
It was said in jest, of course, and we had a good laugh. Then I thought of our text, and it struck me that the Pharisees had a similar reaction to the great art of Jesus, sculpted in the flesh of a man born blind. What they witnessed was an unspeakable glory, an unfathomable wonder—a man reduced to suffering and begging because of a congenital defect is now whole, and their reaction is, “The guy who did this is obviously a sinner for breaking the Sabbath.”
In our text this week, the blind see and the seeing are blind. Those who have light are in darkness, and one who is in darkness sees the light. Those who know a lot about God don’t really know him, and one who just meets God knows him intimately. Irony upon irony, so on this Palm Sunday we will look at Jesus’ sixth sign in the gospel of John. Jesus is the Light of the world, and yet some see and some do not. Why?
Well, if there's one thing we've learned about the book of John, it's that there is a lot of bread and a lot of water. It seems like every sign in John revolves around one of the two. It is true again this week a we look at the familiar passage about Jesus walking on water. Last week Josh preached about Jesus feeding the 5000 with miracle bread. Jesus was providing bread in the wilderness and, when it is over, he just walks off to the mountains to pray. He leaves his disciples to gather up all the extras, and then they get in a boat to cross to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. The disciples are rather ticked at this: Jesus let a captive audience just walk away. Is this what Messiahs do? Of course, they don’t know what Jesus knows, and so we come to this passage about walking on water. It is a calculated move on Jesus’ part, to teach the disciples something further in this school of discipleship. It is like Jesus is saying to his chosen, I am a king: I am King of the world—wind and wave bow to me—but not like you think. Jesus peels back the veil; and it is not the storm that terrifies them, it is Jesus. What kind of person controls the weather? So, we are talking about storms this week: Jesus actually placed his disciples in this one. He really did? Does God really do that? If he will willingly introduce trouble into our lives, is he really good? We wrestle with these kinds of things when storms hit, and so this Sunday we will do so as well.
I made a terrible decision this week. I had a latte. I had been abstaining from dairy for months, and then just swung for the fences on my first at-bat. Rookie mistake. My subsequent suffering, (as all pain tends to do), led me to ponder philosophical questions, like "Why God, why," and "did e'er such love and sorrow meet?" At one point I thought to myself, how is it possible that I used to eat ice cream and drink a glass of milk every night? And that led me to remember the comfort I took in the ritual (and the dopamine). And then I thought, man I have been a bit more on edge lately at night. What is my restless soul telling me about the true hunger of my heart? Where will I go for my comfort if not to Aaron's sacred cow?
One of the great lessons of the Lenten season is that we discover more about our relationship to food through fasting than through feasting. It's one of the ironies of our being, that a people who were designed as enthroned royalty are wise to spend seasons in the abdication of those birthrights. For us, it's actually sort of necessary, because our fallenness means that we are unable to live in right relationship with the world around us. So, self-denial removes us from our passive habits and helps us to reconsider our true relation to creation. But, perhaps more than that, it also helps us to identify with the Christ who first identified with us. Jesus, who was sinless God, did not consider his glory a thing to be grasped but laid it aside for our sake. He did not need to reconsider his relationship to creation. He bore his cross, not as a spiritual discipline, but to bear our sin away. He offered his body to satisfy my deepest hunger. He is the true bread for the life of the world, and he is where I can go for comfort.
This weekend we'll be discussing the only miracle (aside from the resurrection) that is recorded in all four gospels. And wouldn't you know it, this is a miracle about food. It's almost as though we're not making up this whole "feasting is kingdom work" schtick. As with all the other signs, this one is far richer than it first appears. I can't wait to share a few of the Old Testament echoes that cause this sign to reverberate with meaning for us. We also get to welcome and celebrate new members, so come ready for a big day.
Signs point to things. The whole purpose of a sign is to signal or point to something, or to announce that you have arrived perhaps at your destination. Bad things happen when you ignore signs. Teri and I went this past weekend to visit our son, James, in Columbia and to visit Teri’s dad who was in the hospital in Murfreesboro. The plan was for Addison and me to stay in Columbia, while Teri would go on and spend the night in the hospital with her dad. So, we were doing a trip we have done countless times before, time out of mind. It is simple: you point the car towards Nashville and, at about mile marker 150, you head south. Simple. I can do this in my sleep. Who needs signs? Somewhere about twenty miles east of Brownsville, we had to stop for a bathroom break. After all is finished, we pile back in the car and resume our trek. A little while later, Teri puts James’ address in her GPS and says to me, “It is saying we need to turn around.” About this time, I see a familiar sight and am thinking, “Wow, I didn’t know there were two of these on the road to Nashville.” Then it hits me as I see the sign for Brownsville: I was heading back to Memphis! It took 15 miles of mindless driving to realize I had ignored the sign! John’s gospel is organized around the signs of Jesus and the arrival of the long-promised Kingdom. This week we see a strange passage about the healing of a man crippled for 38 years. What is so intriguing about this miracle is the one healed and also the religious leaders’ reaction to this astonishing event. The one healed is not a good candidate, if there is such a thing, and the question the religious leaders ask shows how easy it is to miss the point of the whole thing. I can’t wait to talk about this with you. Also, it is a great day of vow-taking and oath-making. We have a few of our covenant children making professions of faith and also an elder being installed. We don’t just do this for window dressing. We follow the example of our great God who seals his love for us in covenant and vowed a long, long time ago to Abraham that He was so attached to him and his children that, even if they violated it, He – not them – would be torn apart. Yes, even vows are signs! So, what a day to remember, not just vows we make to each other but also the vow God made to us.
The first act of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar finds cruel Cassius attempting to recruit Brutus to the traitorous assassination of their friend and emperor. The senator slyly suggests, “Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” Like the seductive serpent enticing Eve with the desirability of forbidden fruit; like Satan whispering to Jesus that the Kingdom can be his if only he would grasp it, Cassius has played to the deepest desires of his friend’s psyche. Brutus does long to be thought of as great - to shed the mantle of supporting character and take his place in history. Well, here’s his chance…
About 500 years later, on the far, far side of Julius Caesar’s erstwhile empire, a young Roman citizen is kidnapped by pirates and taken as a slave to Ireland. After signs and wonders lead to his miraculous escape, he then returns as a slave of Christ to reach his former masters with the gospel. His humble mission is so successful, that as the Roman Empire crumbles under the vile Visigoths and Western Europe slips into the Dark Ages, it is the fruit of Patrick’s spiritual lineage that preserves and redeems glory thought to be lost, eventually bringing about the Renaissance!
One man seeks to rule the known world and loses everything, while another loses everything and ends up saving civilization. One gets relegated to the ninth circle of Dante’s Inferno while the other is the namesake of our beloved church! At no point in St. Patrick’s story is he seen as anything but a humble country shepherd, yet because Jesus said no to his Cassius and yes to his cross, we actually live in a world where the servant is a hero and the self-made man shall perish.
Aside from the fact that a.) this blog hits your inbox on the Ides of March just two days before we gather together for worship on St. Patrick’s Day, and b.) I’m an absolute nerd, this literary contrast is also a pretty passable introduction to the next sermon in our Seven Signs series. In John chapter 4, we see an imperial official, accustomed to getting what he wants, in an utterly powerless situation. He’s begging for signs and wonders, and he doesn’t know the half of how dire his situation actually is. But as with St. Patrick, desperate is just where Jesus wants him. Because Cassius, like Satan, was only half wrong: even if the fault is within ourselves and not the stars, there is only one true Master of our fates.
I have thrown a couple of wedding feasts and been to more than I can remember because I do a lot of weddings. They have ranged from “peanuts and punch” to lavish affairs that were coordinated and choreographed down to the inscription on the handkerchiefs used in the “Second Line.” One thing is for sure about a wedding—it a time of great joy and celebration. Something in the human imagination wants to slow down time, gild the lily, and celebrate the joy that is possible in the covenant of marriage. This is as it should be—if you don’t believe me, just look at Jesus. Is it an accident that Jesus starts his public ministry at a Wedding Feast?
At first glance, it seems trivial. Most of the miracles Jesus did have a certain gravitas about them—healing a cripple, casting out a demon, stilling wind and waves, raising the dead—weighty indeed! So, what is up with showing up at a wedding, right after he has called his first five disciples, and wasting as much as a week at a party to celebrate a wedding? His disciples must have wondered the same. After all, they found the Messiah, the One that would settle old scores, put down ancient enemies, and end oppression; and yet their first assignment is to hang out at a wedding for a week? Is this what the Messiah had come to do? And the miracle involved is, on the surface, simply saving a bridegroom the social embarrassment of having the party cut short because the wine ran out. What is up with that?
I hope you are asking those questions, because everything is involved in this! Curious? I’ll see you Sunday as we see what Jesus does when the wine runs out. Then you can judge for yourself whether it is trivial or not!
When Jim called me yesterday to tell me I’d be preaching the last sermon in this series, I was still neck-deep in boxes from our recent move. My mind was turning to the Mardi Gras Feast and hopefully the first relatively relaxing Saturday in this calendar year. Yet, aside from my deep concern for the health of my dear friend and hero, I was stoked by the assignment to preach this closing scene of John 1. (Not to downplay the seriousness of a hospitalization, but for those who are still worried, the dude was sending selfies from the ambulance and griping about the happy hour selection at the hospital, so he’s still very much himself.)
One of the reasons I love the passage this week is because Jim and I both are from parts of town (Frayser and Cordova) that were once the hot place to be, but whose glory days are way behind them. If I’ve never actually heard the words “Can anything good come from Cordova?” when I tell people where I’m from, I’ve certainly read it on countless faces. So, Phillip’s response to Nathaniel’s “Can anything good come from Nazareth” just hits home for me. He says, simply, “Come and see.” That’s a quiet confidence born of experience. I dare you to underestimate what God can do with nothing.
Another reason, (and perhaps the most exciting to me), is that this passage is a bit of a puzzle that proves how necessary the Old Testament is for understanding who Jesus is and what he’s done and continues to do for us. What does Jesus mean when he calls Nathaniel “a true Israelite, in whom there is no deceit”? Why does the revelation that Jesus saw him under a fig tree make Nathaniel declare that this was the long-awaited Messiah-King? What’s the deal with the angels ascending and descending on him? And how does this narrative set us up for the seven signs, which frame the first half of Johns gospel? All of these things come into clear focus only when we set them against the backdrop of the redemptive history of the Jews. But they also speak to us right where we are, too. “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee:” the Nazarene, the Lamb of God who beholds us, even now.
For something that will change history forever, it is one of the more understated beginnings. No PR, no “kick starter,” and no celebrities are there to launch a movement to change the world. It is just so mundane. John the Baptist is with two of his disciples, who are themselves not prime candidates to lead a cultural movement, and when he sees Jesus and says, “Behold the Lamb,” these two individuals follow Jesus to the place he is staying. They are so taken that, after this encounter, Andrew goes and finds his brother and says, “You won’t believe who we have found.”
There it is: Jesus’ whole plan to change the world. What we see in the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry is what we will see at the time of his death. Jesus called a few people to himself, poured himself into them, and says –Go, and do the same thing with others. It is shocking in its simplicity; it is embarrassingly mundane, and it is disappointing to us who are addicted to novelty and the “next thing.” And yet, was Jesus crazy? He had three years to change the world and in the first couple of days has five followers. It really doesn’t get much better because after three years Jesus only has twelve. After the resurrection, there are only 120 in the upper room, pondering the new reality that has swept like a hurricane into their lives. Yea, Jesus was crazy – crazy like a fox!
At St. Patrick, we would say our ministry is very simple. It is about making disciples who make new/better disciples. Our desire is to do what Jesus did, and we have found it is hard. It is hard to do what Jesus did; it is a lot easier to imitate the culture and just give people a little information. But real transformation, like Jesus demonstrated in his earthly ministry, is a long obedience in the same direction.
As we celebrated both Valentine’s Day and her birthday this past week, I had the occasion to dwell for a while on the glory of my wife, full of grace and truth. Because my wife is a flesh and blood human being who has given me intimate access to her life, body and soul, she has become for me my most subjective, immanent experience of objective, transcendent beauty. I like poetry, but I love my wife. I’m a human being: I need more than just a painting or a cloud to stare at if I’m really going to encounter beauty and be changed by it. And by God's grace, she teaches me what beauty is in a way I can actually receive, in a way that trumps and challenges what the world around me says about it. She is poetry clothed in the mantle of humanity, blurring the lines between heaven and earth.
The ancients believed that if we could just access pure truth, goodness, and beauty, somehow the experience would transform us into its image: from dust to divinity. So, we look for concrete things in this world that correspond most faithfully to the abstract ideals, and we try desperately to be near them, because we were made with a deep longing for their Source, and because we want to be moved by them toward it. Our biggest problem is that because of the Fall, we are tragically, completely bad at distinguishing truth, goodness, and beauty from their perversions. We end up being conformed to the image of flawed vessels and further brokenness. We become bigger liars, bolder sinners, uglier reflections. We reformed folks call this total depravity. The Bible calls it idolatry.
Two weeks ago, Jim covered the crown jewel of John’s prologue: “and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.” That’s a poetic and powerful way of saying that objective reality became a subjective experience. That the transcendent became immanent. And in Jesus Christ, the lines between heaven and earth are not just blurred, they are completely erased by the God-man. The gospel emphatically declares that, yes, there is an objective standard, and no, we are not able to attain to or even to recognize it, but because God became immanent to us in our inability to transcend to Him, we can experience Him, and we are transformed to His likeness.
We believe the True and it transforms us. This is logic. We behave the Good and it transforms us. This is ethics. We behold the Beautiful and it transforms us. This is aesthetics.
And in Christ, Heaven Is Local. So come, let us behold Him.
I don’t know if you have ever been on the bottom floor of Baptist East Hospital. If not, I can tell you as one who spends of lot of time in hospitals that there are people down there curled up in the fetal position who have just given up. For someone going in for the first time, it is a hopeless maze of halls, doors, and people running around everywhere. The only saving grace for one who is a veteran of this strange labyrinth of seemingly endless halls of smoke and mirrors is the signage. I must say the hospital administration has managed to mitigate this quagmire by very good signage.
Now when I first entered this maze years ago–when I was younger and didn’t need to ask for directions or seek them, thinking that I was wise enough to intuitively think my way around–I would wander around aimlessly, mad enough to spit, and snapping at anyone who suggested I was lost. Then one day a kind lady laughed, took me by the hand, and said, “Look!” while pointing to the suddenly obvious signage on the walls and corridors. It really is easy to navigate if one has the humility and “eyes” to see what is already there.
That, or something like that, is what we are talking about this Sunday. We take our clue from John the Baptist who, though described by Jesus himself as the greatest prophet who ever lived, had the self-awareness and the humility to just keep pointing to Jesus. When interrogated by the powers that be, he just kept pointing to Jesus. That really is what Jesus expected of John and was the last word to his disciples on earth—just be witnesses of me. Be signposts that point beyond yourselves to the One who is the source of everything true, good and beautiful.
When I moved to Collierville twenty-two years ago this summer, I moved in and basically was thinking: well, for better or worse, good or ill, warts and all—these are my people. It was not love at first sight. I came from a place where I could be in a duck hole in five minutes and that night enjoy the most sophisticated food and conversation in the what is still the strangest place I have ever lived. I left a place I dearly loved to come be a stranger in a new place because I felt God wanted us to come here. I was not looking for Shangri-La, nor did I have illusions that I would ever find it this side of glory. When I moved here, we quickly bought a house and went about sinking deep roots in this place. My thinking was that, if I was going to ministry here, I needed to speak from inside the same conditions as everybody else. Mine was not an abstract prophetic stance; no, it was a word from within a shared experience. My experience with carpet baggers or developers who want to come in from the outside and impose their will on a place, or just profit from a place and then abandon it, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I knew this was my place for real when, after being here about twelve years, I told my wife I would be buried in Magnolia Cemetery rather than the old home place in Moore’s Mill, Mississippi, where the dead of my clan have rested for over a hundred and fifty years. The writer John describes Jesus coming to earth as “moving into the neighborhood.” I like that. When God speaks to us, he doesn’t shout platitudes from heaven; he comes down into the mud with us. He subjected himself to the same conditions we face and yet lived in obedience to God. No religion would dare to claim that their god took flesh (forever) or that he moved into the neighborhood. Heck no, just pull out your mythology again. The only thing that happens when the gods show up on earth is not good. I am reading The Song of Achilles right now, a modern retelling of The Iliad, and in the story Patroclus (Achilles' companion) is going to meet Achilles' mother who is a lesser god. His comment about this meeting is laced with fear, “I made the sign against evil…gods and mortals never mixed happily in our stories.” How different the gospel, where the coming of God into the world makes it possible for us to mix happily with God! If you are new here, come a little early and join us at 9:15 am for our Inquirers’ Class where we will explore our beliefs, values, and what it means to belong at St. Patrick. There will be childcare available, and we would love to have you join us. One other thing, if you were not here this past Sunday, you missed the introduction of our newest staff member, Maggie Chancellor. She will be assisting Amy in Family Ministry. Her official title is Family Ministry Assistant. We are so glad to welcome her to the St. Patrick family!
Today at Starbucks I witnessed two lovely people on opposite ends of the political spectrum trying desperately to have a civil conversation about the State of the Union, only to abandon the topic altogether after about 3 minutes. By the end, all they could agree on is that human beings are a good thing and that chocolate is delicious. It was a bit like ships in the night. On separate seas. On different planets… But somewhere between the enormity of humanity and the banality of chocolate lies almost the whole of existence, don’t you think? My peacemaking instinct wanted to help broker some kind of more substantial agreement between these conversationalists, but it was clear to me that they were living in two entirely different universes. A translator would have been little help. Only a miraculous conversion by one of the two parties could have resulted in true unity. And even then, there are more important things than unity (like truth in love, for example). I mean, we can agree with each other and still both be wrong, right? Well, what good is that?
It’s amazing to me that we still speak and behave as though all anyone needs in order to discover The Truth About Things is a little more information. As if our brains weren’t merely the tool we use to understand or rationalize what our hearts already want. Some of us use the term “enlightenment” to describe the sudden realization of a key insight. Yet enlightenment comes from the outside, not from within, doesn’t it? We’re hopelessly devoted to the pursuits of our hearts until our hearts are changed by something outside of them. And how can that happen? Not by information transfer. Jesus taught that we are born blind, dead to the Kingdom of God, and only a miraculous rebirth can give us eyes to see His reign in the world and a heart to reside there. We can’t reason our way to God any more than we can decide to be born. And we can’t reason anyone else’s way there either. This new birth doesn’t come from the will of any man, says Jesus, no matter how skilled in debate we may be. It comes from the Spirit of God, who heals what hearts He pleases, glory be to God alone.
In a way, I was impressed by my Starbucks debaters this morning. They have had enough of this polarized hyper-political atmosphere to recognize they weren’t changing anyone’s mind with arguments or anecdotes, and they moved on. Those things are only useful to a heart already pointed in that direction. God, point our hearts toward you!
In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the third book in the Narnian chronicles by C. S. Lewis (for those of you who have not been through the Wardrobe door), we meet a strange man named Ramandu. He is a star-gazer that Lucy, Edmund, and their cousin, Eustace, who has recently been “un-dragoned” by Aslan, meet on their voyage to the end of the world. Ramandu is mysterious to say the least, and as he reveals more about himself it gets even stranger as he tells the children he is a star that has retired.
The kids question him about what it means to be a retired star in the sky. He explains that he is about to rise after being fed every morning by a bird who brings him a fire-berry. He goes on to say, “that he is not so old now as he once was” and will soon mount the galaxies and again join the great dance. It is the recently un-dragoned Eustace who, after listening to all this imaginative talk, says to Ramandu, “In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas.”
Wise, old Ramandu gently rebukes his utilitarian thinking, “Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of.” This week we are talking about “light.” Light for John and the rest of the Bible is not just a physiological experience. For that matter, for all of us “light” is more than the brightness of the sun or the illumination we receive when we flip the light switch. No, like Ramandu, light and darkness are written in the liturgy of our bones. Light is about knowledge, salvation, illumination, and darkness is well—scary. There are moral overtones we can’t deny in these categories.
The Apostle John says Jesus is light, and he came into darkness. This Sunday we will talk about what this means.
Leave it to the poet John to contemplate the life of Jesus before time. It is not like the Apostle John didn’t have an appreciation for angels, wisemen, shepherds, and stars; it’s just that John is a poet, and he sees the same things the other gospel writers saw, yet writes about it in a totally different voice. I was talking to Will Weir about this, about how different John was from the other gospel writers, and he said, “Yes, and without his voice and vision we would be somewhat bereft, don’t you think?”
So, John starts off his gospel with poetry. Four verses in which children can play and elephants can swim. Dense, thick prose that feel almost like poetry and which make your imagination soar. Words so memorable you can recite with ease, even if you don’t know what they mean: “In the beginning was the Word.” On my, where do you start? I feel like a mosquito in a nudist colony! This is so huge. This is a well without a bottom. The implication of God taking flesh and more—what we know of Jesus before time, in relationship with the Father—shapes everything we think about what it means to be human and how we approach living in a material world.
Where do you start? Sunday we will ponder how the Incarnation in John’s prologue answers all the great questions of life: “Who am I? Where did I come from? Do I have a purpose?” We will look at the backstory of God before time began and see that so much of what it means to be human is found in the inner life of the Holy Trinity. The very fact that God is one but exists as different persons means that the center of the universe is ‘love.’ We talk a lot at St. Patrick about community, about knowing and being known, about the need for intimacy with God and with people, and that to not have that is to be less than human. Every bit of that thinking is found in the delight, joy, intimacy, and mutual love found in the Trinity before time even existed.
But, wonder of wonder, the God who didn’t need us and was complete in love and happiness before time, out of that same overflowing love, does step into “time and space.” What a story! This story is the mother of all great stories. It is the foundation of all fairy tales and all the great stories that we want to be true and that really heal our hearts. And the good news—it is true. This week we will look at the life of God before there was time and space. While that may sound esoteric, I assure you, it is the most practical thing in the world. Join me on Sunday, and I will prove it.
I often say in sermons, conversations, writings, and at times when I stand in awe and wonder at what God has done or what some human being has done in the name of Jesus, “Love does things.” The Apostle Paul says it best in explaining an extraordinary life, “The Love of God constrains me.” In other words, when I ponder what Jesus did for me, what else could I do? It is not a cliche, “Love does things.” Love does the impossible, the amazing, and the things that people write stories about. Paul at one point makes a comment that angels look with longing and awe at what Jesus did on the cross. Why? They are in awe of the lengths Jesus would go, that love would go, to make a home for sinners. See, they look with longing because they don’t need redemption. Yes, of course they live by grace and are dependent, but they wonder at the profound love and cost of redemption and what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of that. Love does things. The best effort in your life will always come from love. Yes, you can legislate obedience and use laws to make people conform or do certain things, but often all you have is a mechanistic obedience. Look at all the oppressed countries who walked in line till they were liberated from their oppressors. What did that do? Show great charity? No, they became the oppressor and typically gave as good as they had gotten. Love is different because it changes your heart and affections—the place of the real you! I was amazed as I read the novel Ova a couple of years ago. Ova is a bitter old curmudgeon trying to kill himself. We capture his life through backstory. As bitter as he might be in the present, he was transformed by love. How do we know this? By what love does, of course. As the old song says, “It ain’t love till it shows.” Years earlier when his young wife is tragically paralyzed, he helps her make a way not just in his home but in her vocation. Of course, the government legislates that ramps and other accommodations be built for people bound by wheel chairs. So he just asked for what is legislated by law. Of course he finds out “goodness” can’t be legislated and for all the good intentions of abstract entities making people be charitable—it just doesn’t happen. Is this a problem? Not if you have someone who loves you enough to die for you. Ova does, and with his own time and money builds the ramps needed so his wife can teach. Yes, love does what law can never do.
The Slaughter of the Innocents? The Silence of the Lambs? Josh, what are you doing? It’s Christmas time!!! Yeah, I know, and honestly, I hate the horror genre. But the eternal wisdom of God placed this horrific scene into the Christmas narrative, and the Church has historically set aside time to acknowledge it, so I think we should care to find out why and try to submit our own experience to it. Here’s my hunch: Christmas is a rescue story, and a rescue is only needed if there are monsters lurking. Maybe you’ve heard this insight by the celebrated children’s writer, C.S. Lewis:
“… Since it is so likely that [children] will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker. Nor do most of us find that violence and bloodshed, in a story, produce any haunting dread in the minds of children. As far as that goes, I side impenitently with the human race against the modern reformer. Let there be wicked kings and beheadings, battles and dungeons, giants and dragons, and let villains be soundly killed at the end the book. … It would be nice if no little boy in bed, hearing, or thinking he hears, a sound, were ever at all frightened. But if he is going to be frightened, I think it better that he should think of giants and dragons than merely of burglars. And I think St. George, or any bright champion in armour, is a better comfort than the idea of the police.” (C.S. Lewis, Of Other Worlds: Essays and Stories)
Did you catch that? You can’t shelter them from the knowledge of evil, but you can handicap their imagination when it comes to the triumph of good. All you have to do is pretend everything is fine and nothing bad will ever happen to you. Honestly, I’m scared to tell the truth about this passage and the darkness of our world because it is simply horrifying. Part of me would rather be ambiguous about the enemy and only explicit about the Savior. But that’s not what the Bible does, and truth be told, it’s not what our lives are like, either. So, pray with me and for me as we explore this text together and try to apprehend God’s presence in the reign of terror.
"Mighty God”: The prophet sang that the coming king would be “Mighty God.” The one who would set the world to right and put down all Israel’s oppressors would be “Mighty God.” And yet, here we are with the smell of animals assaulting our senses and watching our step so that we don’t step in manure. How can this be? Is this really the mighty God that was talked about? More…the attendants are shepherds? Are you kidding me? These guys are so untrustworthy their testimony isn’t even accepted in court. Parentage? Very suspect, it is rumored that the mother's espoused husband almost put her away for being unfaithful. Is what we behold in the manger really “Mighty God?”
The world has been asking that question for over 2,000 years. The world wonders at the extreme tension we see here and yet, should we? Might, true might, the authority and power to really do something is always, always, always in a manger setting. True power is always wedded to weakness and vulnerability. We just don’t want to accept that, do we? The reason is that it is telling us what Jesus did; that for us to really be used in the world in a meaningful way, we have to die!
So, this is Christmas! The real Christmas—might in a manger, might wedded to weakness. I mean, it is true, you know; we just don’t want to really go there because we are afraid of the implications. You know, “the disciple being like his teacher.” Yet, as Andy Crouch says in his amazing book, Strong and Weak, “The most beloved children’s books of our time—or perhaps any time—are unflinching in their understanding that true happy endings are won only at the greatest cost and that no king is truly a king without a cross.”
So yes, this is Christmas and the implications are real: any meaningful use of might is always wedded to a cross. This, or something like this, is what we will talk about this Sunday. Might in a manger––what a picture!
Here I am on a typical Advent evening with my children, half-watching what was likely my own first introduction to Charles Dickens: The Muppet Christmas Carol. Maybe not the most faithful interpretation, but it’s still very enjoyable – a delightful mix of well-delivered direct quotation and bizarre vaudeville parody. As we round the final stave, I’m reminded of the tragic irony that even though this is ultimately a redemption story, and the Carol’s own testimony is that our hero was forever remembered as a man who kept Christmas well, in our own world the name “Ebenezer Scrooge” is still synonymous with cruelty and humbug. A legacy is just not something that’s in our control.
I was recently given a copy of Dickens’ The Life of Our Lord, which he wrote for his children and refused to publish as he felt it was too personal. It’s a good thing, too, as the work’s theology is, well, bad. Let’s stick to the gospels, shall we? It’s sometimes disheartening to learn the truth about our heroes. Dickens was also apparently more miserly toward his family than we’d like to imagine from the man who painted the dignity of his fellow human so clearly on paper. There again, legacy is a tricky thing. I trust he sees even more clearly now, and I pray my own flaws are never examined by people 150 years removed.
In our text this weekend, we explore the historical context for Isaiah’s prophecy of the Christ child, and we see a young king wrestling with his own flawed inheritance and tenuous legacy. We see painful parallels between him and us and a Dickensian orphan named Pip, and we discover the joy of an Everlasting Father.
What would you give for peace? Peace among friends and family, peace in the neighborhood, peace in the city, peace among nations, or that “peaceful easy feeling”? Real peace is hard to come by these days. I suppose in a broken world, with broken people, it has always been that way. Even Jesus said there would be wars and rumors of wars till he returned.
We all dream of peace, even when it looks hard. Some people even decide that they will never find true peace with the culture the way it is, so they move out and create little utopias where they can escape the never-ending strivings of people, the endless bombardment of advertising aimed to trouble our peace till we get the latest toy or gadget, or the constant level of discourse on social media. People have always done stuff like this, however there is one problem: when you move out of the culture into your own idyllic enclave with your true soul mates—you and your friends carry the war and lack of peace with you.
This Sunday, we will explore this theme and our own lack of peace. One of the greatest things we learn about Jesus is that he is the “Prince of Peace.” I don’t know about you, but I need Jesus to be that for me. I was exhausted on Thursday after a quick trip into the flooded fields and mud of Arkansas to celebrate the reopening of duck season. That night I was in a foul mood, and Addison’s mood was equally as foul: my home was not a place of peace. As much as we want to pass the buck, when there is no peace in our sphere of influence, we’d best take a look into our own hearts before we start casting stones.
So, that being said, I hope you are interested! Jesus’ promise is that he is our Peace and left us to be a people who, wherever they go, bring peace to the turmoil and chaos around them. I have one place I know of that is essential if you are going to continually deal with your own anger, hurt, anxiety or whatever destroys your peace—The Soul Room. Again this Sunday, Josh and I will talk in Sunday School about how we meet God in prayer daily. There is no way to know God’s friendship and his peace without the habit of prayer.
Charles Dickens’ book Great Expectations, while not technically a book about Christmas like his famous Christmas Carol, does start out with a young orphaned boy named Pip at a Christmas Feast. He is a boy of low expectations and prospects. Both of his parents are dead, and he lives with his overbearing sister, Mrs. Joe, and her husband Joe, who is also rather beat-down. It is not just that his expectations are low because of the tragedy of his parents’ death, but his sister makes every day of his existence a further descent into purgatory. Better to just manage expectations and not hope than to allow yourself to hope and have your dreams and longings be crushed.
I suspect many people are like that this time of year. This season promises so much and yet so often we leave the Advent and Christmas Season feeling emptier than when we started. Why is that? Well, we seem like we are waiting for something. For children, it is new toys; for many adults, it is a time to slow down from work and gather with friends and family. And when you get a lot older, like me, it is a time to anticipate all the “begats” making their annual pilgrimage home. Hallmark is making a killing on this, as are our retailers! What does this mean? I was reading a blog Josh sent me this week, where the author talks about what this says about our common humanity. "All of these feelings suggest something more fundamental about the human condition. We can't help but feel that we are missing something. We can't help but think that there is something out there that will finally make everything right. It's no wonder we feel this way. After all, it's true.” (Justin Whitmel Earley, The Common Rule, Advent Addition)
The reason for our Great Expectations is that we know there is something that is worth waiting for and, not only that, only God can fill the emptiness of our hearts. So this Advent Season, we are looking at an old, old promise made to a bedraggled people who are losing hope. Most of this is due to their own sin and faithlessness. And yet, the prophet Isaiah sings about an infant King that will one day come and heal not just the people of Israel, but all the brokenness of the world. We will look each week at the four names he gives to this coming King. I am praying it will heal your heart as it is mine.
Also remember, we launch the St. Patrick Soul Room daily Bible reading plan this week. I know you have a lot of questions, and Josh and I can’t wait to hear them. We will tag team our Adult Sunday School hour this week and next to talk about the habit of daily prayer. I will say this, the only thing more formative that learning to read the Bible and pray daily is reading the Bible and praying with folk in your community.
So, we come to the end of the book of James. Our premise is, Wisdom works. The pragmatist says something like this, “This works so it must be true.” The Bible says something totally antithetical to the wisdom of the world; it says, “This works because it is true.” The closer we align our lives with the “oughtness" of things, the more our lives will come together. James has argued that real wisdom is living out the profession we make. And as we have seen over the last two months—this is hard. I mean, the image of the Christian life is summed up in a cross—an instrument of death. Jesus made the way of the cross the way of wisdom, “my life for yours,” “death before resurrection.” I will admit that much of the time this is a faith issue. The way of the world offers a seemingly easier road to joy and happiness. And yet….is this really true? The Bible says that “for the joy set before him” Jesus endured the cross. In other words, a cross-filled life leads to a joy-filled life, but not like you would think!
As we come to the end of the matter this week, James ends with talking about sickness and wandering, prayer and people. This has troubled commentators for years. Why this? Does James just throw this end as random things? Is there a method to the madness? I have pondered this for a couple of weeks now and can only conclude that this is perfectly planned, and here is why. Given all James has said of wisdom and the Christian life, two things are true: first, you can’t do this without prayer—much prayer; and second, you will have seasons when you will wander. Like the song says, “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love.” So James ends with the need for prayer and a community of people with whom you are lashed to the mast, folks who love you enough to not baptize bad behavior.
I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. I just read in an email from Sage Hill Counseling this quote by Cicero that speaks of the wisdom we all need, living as we do in a broken world: “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, it is the parent of all others.” May your hearts be filled with gratitude as we gather from our scattered tables to the one table that truly binds us together.
In the Mid-South, your almanac is really only any good as a fire-starter. At least that’s how I felt this week, as I watched snow fall in the middle of November. I can’t imagine a world where my livelihood depended on the reliability of our weather. While less than 2% of our nation now lives and works on a farm, I know we have several builders in our church who still constantly feel the power of climate over commerce. It’s something we have to consider now as we contemplate groundbreaking for our own building expansion. But by and large, we live a climate-controlled existence, and I’m pretty grateful for that. We’ll just let Superintendent Aitken stay up and worry about the weather for us.
This week I also finished the memoir of a fellow clergyman whose first pastorate was in rural Illinois. One of the treasured liturgies of his deeply agricultural congregation was the rogate, the blessing of fields and seeds on the fifth Sunday after Easter. As Rev. Richard Lischer puts it, “Rogate is the Latin word for ‘pray.’ Because Jesus is risen and now intercedes for us in heaven, we can pray on earth, and for the earth…” Imagine that. For these folks, this is a life-or-death liturgy. If those prayers aren’t answered, most of them will be forced to start work in the steel mills. The leap from their everyday livelihood to the imagery of scripture is a short step for these folks, and in a way, I envy that.
Humming along in the background of James is a view of our spiritual lives as seeds being brought to fruition. We pick up the metaphor easily enough on a surface level, but our lack of real, high-stakes experience handicaps us in some ways. It's difficult for us to fully appreciate the hardships endured by farmers and the true significance of those rains, which fall (or don't) on the just and the unjust. Lord willing, we’re going to try and do some work in unpacking all of that together as we round the corner into James 5 this weekend.
I will confess that “worldliness” is a hard word to define. In our text this week, James says that “friendship with the world is enmity with God.” What does that even mean? When I was growing up I knew what it meant. To be worldly was to enjoy certain things way too much. We were naturally suspicious of any kind of pleasure. So, the way to end worldliness was to make lists of things that we called evil and abstain from them. Things like drinking, smoking, dancing, and certain kinds of music. However, even then I saw people who could keep the list perfectly but still exhibited no fruit of the spirit. What was up with that?
So, what is worldliness? C. J. Mahaney says it like this, “Worldliness, then, is a love for this fallen world. It’s loving the values and pursuits of this world that stand opposed to God. More specifically, it is to gratify and exalt oneself to the exclusion of God.” (C. J. Mahaney, ed., Worldliness) Worldliness means basically to live according to the world’s value and to disregard God’s law and values. We can do this in almost any area of life—sex, money, work, relationships, children, etc. There is typically a “popular” way of doing things in any culture or body of people. If the Bible doesn’t address it, then to follow along is okay. But when the Bible speaks into the values of the culture around us and we choose to follow the culture rather than the wisdom of God, we are at that point “worldly”.
There is no letting up in James. He won’t let us profess one thing and live another. He refuses to allow us to make a profession without having the lifestyle to back up our claim. It is hard but James, like a good parent that is jealous for the greater good of his children, has one hope in mind––that we will be exalted! We can’t be worldly and be exalted and know joy unspeakable. God never baptizes our sin and says, “Well, I hope a good time was had by all.” No, He says, “Repent, change, submit your ways unto me, and in due time, I will exalt you.”
That is the gospel—death and resurrection; and by the way, there is no such thing as “friendship with the world.” If you don’t believe me, I have a story to tell you about a lady named Gomer. It is in the Old Testament, and James alludes to it in our text this week.
Words are weighty! We may say "talk is cheap," but we all know that is not true. Of all God’s creation only we can use language. Words are power! Trees, dogs, and even the most highly intelligent primate cannot take words and tell a person what is in their very soul. But words, the power of language - the most precious gift God gave us, is corrupted to the point that that which can be used for good, becomes a weapon we all use against each other. In fact, the book of Proverbs says, words have the power of life and death! Life and death. We can heal with our words and we can wound. The most powerful thing in the world is three simple words together, “I love you.” While on the other hand, if you want to ruin a child, tell him every day that he is no good.
Words are why millions of people spend billions of dollars each year on therapy. Words! Words are power and Scripture says they reveal the heart. What you say shows what is in your heart. And Scripture also says, “no one can tame the tongue.” What are we to do? That is a good question and I am glad you asked it. Sunday we will discuss how we, by God’s grace, can use this power we all have for good and not for ill.
I was in Colorado Springs most of this week, equipping and encouraging the church planters in our denomination. On Thursday morning, we took all the guys and their wives who wanted to join us at “Garden of the Gods” to watch the sunrise. This is one of the most beautiful places on earth. You walk into this area that has these huge stone monoliths that seemly just broke the surface of the earth, like a tooth from a gum, and they just stand there, towering about the earth in their majesty. The unique thing about them is that the rock face is flat and just soars straight up. When the morning sun coming over the rise begins to hit these mostly flat rock faces, the colors are dazzling.
As I pondered the people that were at this retreat, I thought, “There must be forty church planters here, in various stages of launch. To get all these churches launched, it will most likely cost almost 20 million dollars! Twenty million! Is it worth it? Why invest so much money in new churches? And what kind of sacrifice from the hundreds and thousands of people who will help fund these new outposts of heaven?” The reason “why” is simple—Jesus is worth it. Or according to our text this week, he is worth it to some. The people and denominations that will spend this kind of money planting new churches typically have a high view of the Bible as God’s word and believe Jesus’ work on the cross is all that is necessary for the salvation of men and women, boys and girls. On the other hand, churches that do not have a high view of the Bible and do not think Jesus is the only way of salvation, will not sacrifice or spend money on planting new churches.
I say all that to get to what we will talk about on Sunday: faith—works. A true faith in Jesus does work. Works are the fruit of saving faith. Good works do not cause faith but they flow from faith. As James says, “Faith without works is dead.”
I can’t help it - heaven knows I try - but every time I am in a new setting of people, my first thought is to “size them up.” I scan the room, noting the people who sort of look like they have the same sensibilities as me. Usually you can see and sense this by clothing and conversation. I then sort of move toward these people and away from the people who look like they might be different from me. Because of the Gospel, I have enough self-awareness to know that, if I allow myself to only move out to people like myself, I have not really understood Jesus at all.
James talks about the sin of partiality, and the way he talks about it makes me believe that he is talking to people who, though guilty of this sin, are blind to it and would be shocked if James singled them out. It is like James draws a large caricature to get behind their defenses so they can see it. If there is one thing I know, it is this: human nature doesn’t change much—what people wrestled with since time immortal, we still wrestle with today.
James goes on to say that you can’t look at the law and suppose that, because you keep it all but this one point, you get any credit. No partiality is so fundamentally against the Gospel and the God we serve, James says, if you miss it here, you have missed the whole law. We have not advanced much since James wrote this. Alas, we try to make laws to keep people from excluding others. In fact, more laws exist today in an effort to try and achieve this than about anything I know. However, I suspect James is hinting at the fact that laws can never make us embrace people different from us—but love can.
As we’ve launched into our study on James, I’ve been thinking about the Jacobite uprisings of the 18th century. The connection perhaps seems like a stretch unless you know that the name “James” is just a weirdly Anglicized version of “Jacob,” the Jacobites being supporters of the Catholic King James the II. In similar fashion, the name translated in our Bibles as “James” in the New Testament is always Iakobus in the Greek and Latin. When used in the New Testament in reference to the Old Testament patriarch, the word is translated “Jacob”, yet when used in reference to anyone living at the time of Jesus, the name is translated “James.” Presumably, when John Wycliffe translated the Bible into English in the 14th century, he translated the name Jacob as “James,” because “Jacob” sounded a bit too Jewish, and Europeans weren’t very fond of Jews at the time. When the time came for an Authorized English Bible, no one was brave enough to suggest that they might now render the name as “Jacob” when the entire project was a tribute to a King named James the I. (I half-jokingly suggested we name this sermon series Jacob: Wisdom Works, and our Senior Pastor James Holland half-jokingly had me beheaded.)
This name swap seems like it’s not that big a deal until we realize what we lose when we lose a name. Here’s the first verse of the Epistle in the highly Anglicized tradition of the Authorized Version:
James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, To the twelve tribes in the Dispersion: Greetings.
A strange beginning to a book you’ve been taught is mainly only important as a counter-balance to the extreme reading of Paul’s justification by grace through faith. It’s easy to ignore the general greeting as just flowery biblical language. But now here it is, brought a bit more directly into English with its Judaism intact:
Jacob, a slave of the Messianic God and King Joshua. To the twelve tribes scattered like seeds: Rejoice!
With the second version, you will immediately be poised to read the coming chapters with deeply Jewish implications. You may recognize that the twelve tribes scattered like seeds are the twelve tribes of Israel; are the twelve sons of Jacob. You may be relieved to hear of twelve tribes and not just the two from whom only a remnant survived exile. You may be thinking of them as seedling trees that will someday bear fruit. You may be confused to see a Jew proudly calling himself a slave, for their story is one of escaping slavery. You would then be relieved to see that he is a slave of the Messianic King who was to succeed and be a greater David; a true conquering Joshua on a Jerusalem throne. You may be floored to see a new Jacob speaking fatherly wisdom with authority to his sons scattered throughout the world, teaching them to wrestle well with God and receive his blessing. You would not be wondering about a linear order in the doctrine of salvation, because you would already be viewing these tribes as children of Abraham. And because this is written by a slave and on behalf of Joshua Messiah, you already know that they are Abraham's children by their faith and not by the works of the flesh, and that this is why there are twelve tribes, because the church under the twelve apostles is the spirit and fulfillment of what happened with the first Israel so long ago. You would therefore not be surprised to see someone like Rahab mentioned and celebrated. You would be listening, because you know that to be scattered from Jerusalem is a temporary testing and a trial, for how to live in such a condition, and for what our hope might be.
When I was reading the Daily Office this morning, praying and pondering the various texts, one of the things that struck me was in a reading from the book of Hosea. The whole book of Hosea is an indictment against Israel. God calls Israel his “vine” that he uprooted and planted in a large and glorious place. He gave them a rich gift. Even more, by his good grace he made them prosper. Interestingly enough, the prophet says the thing that seduced Israel away from being lost in love and wonder that God would be so gracious and generous with them, to being proud and believing that it was their own cleverness that that made them great—was prosperity. Listen to the prophet as he shares God’s heart:
When I fed them, they were satisfied; when they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me. (Hosea 13:6)
I read years ago something the Scottish philosopher and writer Thomas Carlyle said, “Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man, but for one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will stand adversity.” I say all that to say, James says we need wisdom as much in prosperity as we do in the painful times of life. In fact, he says that just as painful things can make you bitter and hard, prosperity can just as easily lead you away from the gospel.
My son just finished a degree from University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. After four years and a summer, he is now officially equipped for the real world. He is an expert in the field of business, and everyone should hire him and pay him a large sum of money. And, if you believe this, I have some swamp land to sell you! Or to put it another way, would you allow a doctor to operate on you if you saw his diploma and knew he had graduated from medical school a month ago and had not completed any residencies or internships? Hardly! Why not? Well, it is simple—knowledge and information are overrated. What we really need in life is wisdom. And, quite frankly, the only way to get wisdom is through life experience. Let’s define wisdom, for simplicity’s sake, as “skills and competencies in dealing with all the complexities of life."
When I got out of seminary and was sitting in my office pondering the church plant I had landed myself into, I admit that, just two months in, I was wondering why they had hired me and what in the world I was going to do! While I did have an internship under my belt, I quickly saw that leading a church was much different from books and lectures. I knew nothing about planting a church. I had no wisdom about planting a church. So, what I did was read a bunch of books and go to visit a church in Atlanta that was a church plant. However, while this was encouraging, I still didn’t know how to plant a church. Wisdom only came from experience––life experience, trial and error, failure, and learning from mistakes.
The Bible says what we really need in our life is wisdom. So, for the next couple of months, we are going to talk about wisdom from the book of James. James is to the New Testament what Proverbs is to the Old Testament. Don’t be fooled by people who want to cast Paul and James against each other. James is not a book defining justification by faith, but a book that assumes the Gospel is true, and says—now, how do we live with wisdom in the complexities of life, in our dealings with the poor, widows, orphans, our tongue, suffering, etc.
If I had heard of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon when I was in high school or college, I would have immediately made it my band's name. It sounds like an angsty progressive German punk group or something. What it actually describes, though, is much more interesting. It's the sensation you feel when you've learned a new word or idea, and suddenly you begin to see it everywhere. As a person who is delighted by words and ideas anyway, this happens to me a lot. And it can be dangerous, as was the case with Jim Carrey's character in the movie, 23. To the man with a hammer, everything is a nail.
I'm in the midst of a season of my life where I'm trying to read all the books people assume I've already read, and last week I finished John Steinbeck's East of Eden. It's an imaginative retelling of the Cain and Abel story, set in Northern California at the dawn of the 20th century and got my mind reeling with regard to the fundamentals of family relationships. So when I picked up C.S. Lewis' Till We Have Faces this past weekend, I was struck with a Baader-Meinhof moment. Was I just reading the Cain and Abel dynamic into this story about two sisters and their struggles to connect with the Divine and with one another? No, I don't think so.
I saw it again in this week's text, Luke 10:38-42. It's a familiar scene and such a short passage for the amount of ink that's been spilled on it. Martha and Mary are another female Cain and Abel pair. In some ways, the story nearly foreshadows that of Jesus' Prodigal Son parable in chapter 15. Maybe Martha and Mary served as his inspiration to craft that tale. Perhaps as he walked away from their open home and extravagant hospitality, he began to think of a story to describe those sisters: the one who had much love because she’d been forgiven much, and the other, center of the home yet far from the Father’s heart. We can certainly say that the connection between how we think our Father treats us and how we treat our sisters and brothers is a theme Jesus is very concerned about.
I am most likely on a beach down in Florida when you read this. I am at the end of a vacation and getting geared up to be back home tomorrow. I am working on my savage tan, chasing around a bunch of wild children, and cooking the best food of our lives. As the old preacher said, “It is Friday…but Sunday is a-comin’!” And with great anticipation I will see you on Sunday.
What a great day of celebration. It just so happens that we will be talking about the church looking more like a “mash unit” than a "club.” Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Mark 2:16-17) So, by definition, none of us here have arrived, at best we are “unwell, in a new way.” This is huge when it comes to hospitality, because it is when we forget we too are “unwell” that we lose the capacity to be agents of healing in a broken world.
This Sunday is also a great day of celebration because we will introduce Michelle Green, the leader of the Collierville chapter of Neighborhood Christian Center. NCC is a ministry St. Patrick has partnered with to aid us in being more hospitable to all of Collierville. Also, Ephie Johnson, the President and CEO of Neighborhood Christian Center, will be here and, besides just talking about Neighborhood Christian Center, their ministry will sing!
Place names almost always come with associations attached, for good or ill. Sometimes the setting is itself another main character in the story. Imagine Lawrence without Arabia, or Harry Potter without Hogwarts. Sodom is not the name of a place you want to be from, and when Micah says the Messiah will be born in Bethlehem, images of sheep and bread and David come unbidden. So it is with the passage we’re exploring this week as we continue in our study of Making Room: Recovering Christian Hospitality.
I like to quiz people on where the story of Zacchaeus takes place. It’s a visually memorable narrative about a wee little tax collector who climbs a sycamore tree to see Jesus and ends up being seen by Him. I’ve already spoiled the surprise with my title, but the thing I’m most struck by in the story of Zacchaeus (this week anyway) is its setting. The City of Jericho ought to conjure for the diligent reader images of spies and prostitutes; of trumpets and of crumbling walls; of miraculous faith and unlikely salvation. Perhaps if you’re really geographically astute, you might remember that the road between Jerusalem and Jericho serves as the setting from earlier in Luke’s gospel where a certain man fell among thieves, was beaten and - if not for a compassionate (one might even call him good) Samaritan – left for dead.
These two songs I learned as a child: “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho” and “Zacchaeus Was a Wee Little Man” - despite their links to my name and my stature, I had never made this deeper connection between them! But there is much more to the correlation than geography. Jesus must have sensed the pregnancy of this penultimate narrative as he walked into Jericho on his way to conquer death in Jerusalem. He’s not just the greater Joshua in a general sense: His name IS Yeshua! And I hate to break it to you, Mr. Gorbachev: that wall is coming down.
One of the shocking things about hospitality is that, when you look at places where radical hospitality is taking place, it is usually from the margins of society. The people with the least resources seem to be the people who are capable of showing the most hospitality. It would seem on the surface that people with more to give, in time and money, would be more available, but statistics and experience show otherwise.
Here is why: as people move away from the margins and find themselves inside more comfortable and socially acceptable places, they forget what it was like to be on the outside. So, maybe it is understandable. But is it acceptable? Good question! The religious people of Jesus’ day used scripture to justify keeping their distance from outsiders, people who were socially unacceptable, and people ethnically different than them. Jesus, however, dropped a bomb on their neat little tidy religious lives and identified with the outsiders. Of course, he did! None of us reading this would know Jesus if he hadn’t.
We should not be surprised. This week we will look at a passage that talks about Israel’s posture and manner of life once they were taken into exile and deposited into the land of their oppressors and captors. Basically, God tells Israel—build homes in Babylon! In a place where you are totally thrust to the margins of cultural, political, and economic power—build homes. Move into your neighborhood and be homemakers—places of welcome, refuge, and a sanctuary in the midst of the cultural wasteland. It is a moving picture, but are we really called to this? We will talk about it on Sunday and ponder what Peter means when he talks about the people of God living like “resident aliens.”
While you might recognize the title as being that of the current Netflix series of which many of us eagerly await season three, the Bible is full of references to “stranger” things––that is, things that concern strangers. While we have talked much about hospitality over the last few weeks, this week we come to look at the “who” of hospitality: to whom are we to show hospitality?
The word hospitality literally means “love of strangers.” I don’t know about you but, for me, that is asking a lot. I mean, strangers are, well, strange! They are not familiar, not part of our circles, and are often scary. After all, we teach our children to “beware of strangers,” “don’t talk to strangers,” and yet when we read the Bible we are struck by how much God has to say about “strangers.” In the Old Testament, God built his law to include them; in the New Testament, God himself becomes the “stranger!” Shocking, yes! And if you really seek to love and welcome the outsider, it actually might feel like the cross.
So, join us on Sunday. As we gather as guests to this feast we enact every Sunday, it is helpful to remember that at one time we were all strangers to God and each other, and the reason we gather as family is because God loves strangers and outsiders––loved them enough to go the cross that he might make them his family. If God bore a huge cross to make us family, is it too much to ask for us to bear little crosses to welcome strangers so that they also might become friends?
Hospitality is an industry! It is s specialty. You can get a four year degree in Hospitality, become an expert and make lots of money in your craft. I was on a business trip last week in Denver, meeting with the National Committee on Church Planting. I was staying in the Hotel Indigo and, as I was checking in, was told they had no reservation for me. I admit, I was a little miffed. The lady at the desk, however, took a lot of time to say, “Mr. Holland, we will do everything we can to make sure we find or make room for you.” She then got her boss, who checked her records and, sure enough, she had a room for everyone but me! However, she told me not to worry, she would handle the situation. At this point, another desk clerk got involved and within 20 minutes I had a room. For the next two days, everyone who was involved in this mess would greet me by my first name and ask me if everything was okay. Here, I thought, is the secret sauce of hospitality as an art and craft. This group of workers took a situation that could have given them a black eye and, by taking the time, calling me by name, made me feel welcome!
While that is a great story about the hospitality industry (which we don’t usually see), it does not really speak to real hospitality. It sort of gives us the impression, as I said earlier, that hospitality is a “specialty,” a “craft,” something only certain people in certain industries are to give themselves to. This Sunday, we will again try to deconstruct the prevailing beliefs about hospitality and see that, in the final analysis, hospitality is the way God does mission, the way he turns outsiders into insiders, puts the lonely in families, and gives people their humanity and a seat at the table. To do this, we have to talk about one of my favorite subjects—food! Why? Because Jesus, who had three years to change the world, didn’t start any programs or ministry initiatives or give any grand schemes of ministry—He just ate meals with people. Sometimes he was guest, sometimes he was host––it didn’t matter. Jesus took the most basic thing common to everyone’s humanity and turned it into the focal point of his early ministry. And in this ordinary, simple, and yet subversive daily ritual, managed to change the world. He then says something like this: I want your parties to look like mine!
Yesterday’s Daily Office included John’s account of the calling of Nathaniel as a disciple. It’s a great scene: Nathaniel has been skeptical about Jesus’ background before meeting him, but Jesus greets him so perfectly, he knows he’d been expected. When Nathaniel then sheepishly asks Jesus how he knew about him, Jesus answers, basically, “I saw you before I called you.” Jesus does his research and then gives him such an overwhelmingly personal welcome that the boy immediately recognizes him as the Messiah. That’s just Jesus’ way. He sees us before we see him, and he chooses the perfect welcome with which to greet us. Jesus then follows that up with, “I can’t wait to show you all the other things you’re longing to see.” Nathaniel’s jaw drops, along with mine.
In the same Daily Office, we read from Psalm 145: “The eyes of all look upon you and you give them their food at the proper time. You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing.” Have you ever been invited to a dinner where it seemed like every detail was attuned to your finest sensibilities? I am occasionally a part of a dinner party where the host takes great pains to find out what the expected guests would like and crafts every detail to accommodate them. The right atmosphere, fellow guests, food, drinks, conversation… It’s a rare and humbling experience.
Many people in this world would have to pay for that kind of finely tuned hospitality or else do without: hospitality is a multi-billion dollar industry, after all. But Jesus’ family does things differently. Another reading from that same Daily Office was from Acts, chapter 4, where Peter says, “If you’re asking me to account for such radical kindness, it’s all about Jesus.” Peter then writes in his first letter that the best – and maybe only – way to do evangelism is to live in such a hospitable way that people knock down your door trying to find out how to explain it.
It’s the Divine Art of Making Room, and we can’t wait to welcome you all to the Table this weekend as we explore this new series on hospitality, which may just prove to be the house keys to Kingdom.
We can all feel it. It is in the air. Most of us long for it. We need it! With the turn of the calendar to August, we all sense that we are moving back to more predictable rhythms and habits. As our kids return to school, most of us are forced to live with more intentionality. Is that freedom or death? Is “doing our own thing” freedom? Or is “doing the next right thing” freedom? Great ideas to wrestle with and this fall, wrestle we will! As we move into fall, we are moving from talking about what truth is (The Apostles’ Creed) to what truth does. The gospel has consequences.
This Sunday we are transitioning from talking about the truths we pledge our lives to, (Orthodoxy, “right belief”) to talking about the obedience that flows from those truths—Orthopraxy, “right practice.” Most of us recognize that there is a link between truth and obedience in most areas of life, and yet when it comes to Christianity the link is less obvious. For instance, if I pay someone to coach me and help me with my golf swing, I listen and try to put into practice what he is telling me. I want him to help me correct my bad habits. I want him to point out my flaws. I want him to give me better practices. In other words, I realize that “truth will set me free.” I realize there is a “way,” and the more I align myself with the “way,” the better my scores will be and the happier I will be.
The same is true in the gospel; make no mistake––it has consequences. It is “news” about who we are as humans, how we have tried to make up our lives (and messed up our lives), and how the gospel will set us free. The gospel is not merely words we give a hat tip to on Sunday and then really take our cues as to how we live in the mundane from the culture around us—no, we have to align ourselves with the truth of the gospel. We will labor this point all fall because there is a notion out there that, because we know truth, we are actually doing truth. That is really not true at all!
So this Sunday we will talk about it, and then this fall we will explore Orthopraxy (right practice) as we look at the practice of hospitality (next week) and the book of James.
Sometimes it just all hits you at once. I have the honor of leading the memorial service for our sweet Carol Pope tomorrow while Jim is on the other end of life’s stage, welcoming a new grandbaby into the world. Then, mere hours later, I’ll officiate the wedding of a young couple, part of a whole gaggle of youth on whom I had the pleasure of learning how to pastor. “Marrying and burying,” as they call it, is the erstwhile business of parish ministry - now too often abdicated to uncles with online ordination certificates. It is possible to lose your sense of awe with such events if you turn them into rote function (or self-expression) and distance yourself from the depths of human experience encountered in these holiest of moments.
Yet they are profound: these moments so sacred that we have universally ritualized them and passed down liturgies to guide us through them, desperate to soak up every drop of significance as we process together through a waterfall of human experience. He has set eternity in our hearts, and these are the moments designated for stepping back, trying to take in the infinite. Try to sum up a life, however long it spanned, however wide her impact. Try to imagine all the details of “better or worse” over the long course of “till death do us part.” Speak the mysteries of Christ’s love for the church and the resurrection of our bodies, laid down for good. It is an awesome responsibility and an incredible means of grace.
I noticed that both Carol’s family and this young couple selected “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” to be sung at their respective ceremonies. It is a very true word that “streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.” Weddings and funerals, though vastly different in tone, are part of the same rich stream of mercy, from a Single Fountainhead. His blessings, bitter and sweet, beckon our faith-filled response.
Alongside the depths and heights, funeral potlucks and wedding feasts, we gather at The Table for our daily bread. I can’t help but be grateful to the Lord for preparing this Saturday in concert with this Sunday. As we wrap up our study on The Apostles’ Creed, we’ll look at eternity together: “the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.” So what happens to us after our funerals, and why does God liken it to a wedding feast, and can celebrating these moments well tune our hearts to sing God’s grace in eternity? Let's explore it together.
I remember the first time I came across the Apostles’ Creed in a Presbyterian worship service. I was raised Baptist and was proud of that fact. If we were not the "keepers of the pure faith," we were sure close! But there came a time in my theological thinking that I had to move on. (Not throwing stones, every denomination thinks they are "the keepers of the pure faith!") So, the time came in the liturgy when we were to “profess our faith.” I was familiar with the Apostles’ Creed from reading, but had never been asked to profess it, to say these words aloud with a whole group of worshipers. (I was suspicious of this at first, thinking that it must be that Presbyterians were not good at giving their “personal testimony,” so they had to memorize someone else's!)
At any rate, at this point I was locked in, and I was listening to what I was saying and was surprised how much these Presbyterians had gotten right. Most of the faith I had learned from birth, both in my home and in the local church, was there. God was a Trinity—check. God was Creator—yes. Jesus was born of a virgin—boom. He died on the cross for sinners—yea! Man, I thought, the Presbyterians were doing real good. Raised from dead—so far so good. The Presbyterians apparently were not as theologically naive as I thought. But then, I almost choked at the next line. “I believe in the holy catholic church.” What in the world? Were we professing allegiance to the Roman Catholic Church? Of course, I was told immediately and in no uncertain terms by the pastor that the word “catholic” meant “universal”, as in “one church” across ages, ethnic groups, gender, and time.
There is, of course, more to it than that. It is profound statement to profess belief in a church that is one with Jesus across time, space, and denominations. Can we really confess such a thing with a straight face? What are we really saying? I mean, it is a lot easier to profess an undying allegiance to God than a church and yet—Jesus said, it was for the church that he consecrated himself. That means he lived and died for the church. Not just individual enemies, but “the church.” This Sunday I am going to show you that the church is not an afterthought, nor it is optional; rather it flows from the overflowing love of a God who exists eternally in a community of mutual life, laughter, love and indwelling, and can only make us more human¬¬––more like Himself––as we are in communion with other believers.
You’ve probably never heard the name Martin Bucer, but you should have. He’s basically the Forrest Gump of the Reformation. He mediated the famous debate between Martin Luther and Huldrych Zwingli on the nature of communion, personally modeled for John Calvin much of what he took back to Geneva, and befriended Thomas Cranmer, helping him to shape the Book of Common Prayer. I can’t think of another Reformer who is so quickly claimed by Lutherans, Baptists, Calvinists, and Anglicans alike!
Christ’s Spirit seems to work in a similar way: He’s not a solo artist. He’s never doing anything that draws attention to Himself, but is rather always pointing to Jesus for the glory of the Father. I like to joke that the Spirit is the introverted member of the Holy Trinity. He’s almost bashful, it seems like sometimes. If you know any bashful introverts, then you are probably aware that they are often the most powerful people in the room.
Now, all of this is just my own reflective musing on the Spirit. For some of us, we grew up in a tradition that took the Spirit’s apparent modesty as a sign that He should be ignored, and we’ve foolishly regarded Him as the one Francis Chan has called “Forgotten God.” Others have come close to or crossed the line of actually exploiting Him over and against that apparent preference, forcing Him into the center stage as some “cheap conjurer of tricks.” But the Spirit, like Gandalf and every other person, has a mind and a will and a desire to be known for who He truly is. He can be grieved and blasphemed. He can be loved. And this Person ought to be worshipped.
So this week, we’re going to explore what the Spirit has disclosed about Himself in the Scripture He has inspired so that we can worship God well.
Who can help but think of the Wild West when we hear “He will come to judge the Quick and the Dead?” The Western genre seems to be the official American version of the Book of Judges - the obvious title, sure, but also “High Noon,” “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” and “No Country for Old Men;” the list goes on and on, a litany of lawmen rising up in an attempt to restore balance to a world run amok.
My favorite of these, “Tombstone,” tells the story of Wyatt Earp, legendary lawman of the OK Corral, grasping for retirement as the lawlessness of Cowboys ruling the streets taunts the sense of uprightness in his bones. In the end, Earp is driven to pin the Marshall’s badge to his vest once again and serve justice for the town of Tombstone. As I re-watched “Tombstone” recently, I was struck by three lines that sound an awful lot like a Biblical theology of the Second Coming:
“He tried to bring something fine into your ugly world and you shot him for it… not that you care.” Josephine’s indictment on the murder of her friend Mr. Fabian reveals the core of the coming judgment: good and evil cannot coexist forever, and evil is too callous to ever back down. Replace “shot” for “crucified” and this is a pretty obvious echo of Jesus’ story, whose goodness was infinitely finer and more winsome than the martyred actor’s. Since evil will not be swayed by goodness, it must be ended definitively.
“You tell ‘em I’m coming and Hell’s coming with me.” This might be Earp’s most famous line in the movie. Like the Lord Himself, Wyatt sends a messenger to the evildoers to say, “My presence will not tolerate your wickedness, and I am not backing down.” The Law Man is coming for a fight. It will be decisive, and evil won’t like it.
“Make no mistake, it’s not revenge he’s after, it’s a reckoning.” Doc Holliday’s cool, dispassionate demeanor lends him to some of the most profound observations of the film. He wants to clarify the intent of this coming Lawman: “You will be getting exactly what you deserve here.” He’s not vindictive; he is vindicated.
So where does that leave you and me? If Jesus is coming with fury, isn't there a tension in our wanting him to return? Well, that will be the heart of our sermon this Sunday as we continue in our summer series on the Apostles’ Creed and explore how judgment is actually the most merciful move of all.
Many people who visit here are still puzzled as to why we say words together in church. Some even suspect we might not be that spiritual because we write out prayers! I could say a lot about this but I will mostly just say that it comes down to the old myth and the new myth of freedom. (How is that for muddying the already muddy waters?) Historically the view of freedom was that the closer you followed a particular form, the freer you were. Every endeavor has a form—sports, music, vocations, etc. Freedom in this way of thinking was on the other side of death – of subjecting your body and mind to rigorous discipline until there was mastery. The virtuoso is free, as is the superstar athlete or the surgeon who can with precision cut you open and heal you. None of these got where they were with their craft by “doing their on thing when they felt like it.”
The new myth is just to do your own thing, freedom is sort of being spontaneous, with no stings attached—no rules, no forms. So if you look at worship in all its various forms it usually follows the old myth or the new myth. We tend to follow the old way of thinking and so we have forms that over time become familiar—we script our worship. That is why we have a time every Sunday to profess what we believe. Now we could all just say what we believe about God at the same time I suppose. It would be weird and chaotic, but it might be heart felt. But how much better to have ancient words, words filled with meaning and passion that we all say together. The Creed is to the “holy nation” (the church) what our Pledge of Allegiance is to our earthly nation.
It can become routine, or lose the meaning, and thus we often need to reflect on what we do, why we do it, and what it means. This week we are talking about the Ascension of Jesus into Heaven. It really is a big deal. While the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus have big Holy Days of Remembrance—Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter, the Ascension of Jesus doesn’t really get the same press. (I know there is an Ascension Sunday, but we don’t really make it a big deal.) But should it? Come Sunday, I am going to argue that if the work of Jesus in the various parts of birth, death, and resurrection are like a bomb—the thing that denotes it and makes it all go viral and cosmic—is the Ascension.
I don’t know why I’m surprised that I’m always surprised when Jesus surprises me. I guess after a decade and a half of higher education studies in theology and some substantial experience in full-time ministry, I just expect to be an expert… on the basic things, at least. I certainly didn’t expect to be laid out while studying to prepare my umpteenth sermon on the resurrection. But here we are.
This week Evangelical Presbyterian elders from across the globe have convened in Memphis for our annual General Assembly meeting. Since I’m both participating as a commissioner in our business meetings and committees and preaching this week, I thought, “Well, at least I’m covering ‘On the third day He rose again from the dead.'” This is the ABC’s. I’ve even got an acronym for this one. I teach this to 7-year-old communicants. Slam dunk. But then I decided I’d like to maybe explore a fresh angle, so I dove into the texts to maybe grab one of Jesus’ own prophecies about what was to take place after his death as a springboard. I landed in Matthew 12, and that’s where it all went berserk.
Jonah is a great summer story. It’s the Jaws of the Old Testament. I wish we could get our VBS set back so I could preach from the bow of that great boat. But what I had always assumed was kind of a casual image analogy between Jesus’ future and Jonah’s past turns out to be quite a bit more instructive than I imagined. Turns out I had still been thinking about the resurrection through the lens of a rationalistic and humanist tradition I no longer claim. Catechesis is strong, guys. And Jesus did as Jesus does – He spoke across two thousand years directly into my life and called me to repentance. All I wanted was an easy outline so I could go about my week, and He brought me to my knees.
I wonder if it’s something like what the Ninevites felt that day. And yet greater.
As you read this, our students and staff are returning from what will no doubt have been a deeply refreshing time of Bible study, worship, and quality relaxation together on the Redneck Riviera: Panama City Beach. I’m actually writing this, however, in the midst of VBS week, holed up at Starbucks while the church property is overrun with elementary-aged blessings who happen to believe that I am a pirate. There’s a shipwreck and a waterfall in the sanctuary, drawing the imagination to a mysterious tropical paradise as the context for our leaders to make a compelling case for God’s saving love. I’m incredibly grateful for the staff and 70+ volunteers who have worked like sea dogs to bring our children to God.
It’s actually good that I can get away from the typical rhythms a bit this week and get ahead before the summer gets out of hand. Since I will be at the beach with our youth next week, I’m writing this sermon a week ahead, and it’s proved a weird contrast. While I’m romanticizing over a week of sand and sun, I’m also preparing a sermon on Christ’s suffering, crucifixion, and death. It’s hard to reconcile those vibes. Yet that stark contrast between relaxation and execution actually mirrors what’s going on in the Apostles’ Creed at this point, in a way.
Up until now, everything has been idyllic – God the Father is Almighty, making Heaven and Earth; Jesus Christ, His only Son and our Lord, born such a sweet baby to such a precious young girl and all that incarnational goodness. Then suddenly, Pontius Pilate enters, as Karl Barth laments, “Like a dog into a nice room.” And immediately we get the inconceivable suffering and fatal humiliation of the world’s most beautiful man, followed by his decent into… Hell? It’s a jarring shift, or at least it ought to be.
But one jarring shift leads to another. If his ideal existence doesn’t descend to the very depths of our own brokenness, and in such sublime fashion, there’s no way we, in our brokenness, could have ascended with him to join in the rest of his glorious story. This truly is the crux of the creed: what comes down must go up. I’m honored to share it with you this Sunday as we celebrate the love of a perfect Father, who so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son.
We are blessed to have my hero (and Martha Murphy’s father), Dr. Charles McGowan, with us to talk about the supremacy of Christ. In the Apostles’ Creed that we recite almost every week and which we are talking about this summer, the centerpiece and major focus is on the person and work of Jesus. This is intentional, because in the economy of the gospel the person and work of Jesus is central and supreme. So, join us Sunday as we make much ado about Jesus!
I suppose the biggest news around our church is that VBS is happening next week! If you don’t believe me, come to worship on Sunday, and you will see something up front never seen in the history of St. Patrick. You will have to take my word for it—you won’t be disappointed. I will give you a hint: being “lashed to the mast” is a real possibility!
This Sunday, and for the rest of the summer, we are talking about The Apostles’ Creed, and I can't wait! Here is what is interesting to me about the Creed and the way people think in our day: for the most part, our culture is only excited about the new and the novel. Because of technology, things are changing so rapidly that it is easy to get addicted to the next new thing. For instance, it is hard for me to believe that fifteen years ago there was no such thing as iPhone or social media––two things that have totally reshaped the human landscape. I can’t even remember life without them! Don’t get me wrong, I love technology and it does tend to make life easier, if not always better. Yet I would propose there is more about what it means to be human and to thrive packed into this one short creed than in all the technological advances I have witnessed in my lifetime.
The human things do not change. What it takes to thrive as a human being now was true centuries ago. So, I invite you to slow down and consider the wise words of Chesterton, who says that “tradition is the democracy of the dead.” He said that because, even in his day a century ago, people only listened to what was in vogue at the moment. His statement is a challenge: when a new thing comes along, how do you get wisdom to look at it? How do you keep from being caught up in the provincialism of the moment? Chesterton suggested that we look back at what people have said and done for ages––not that it is infallible, but it allows us to get outside our own little moment and think about things with “the wisdom of the ages.”
So, we will do that this summer; we will look at the Apostolic Tradition, as it was codified into a few statements that describes the heartbeat of Christianity and what it means to be human.
The Hebrew Talmud recounts a story about a man who came to the wise Rabbi Shammai (head of the rabbinic schools when Jesus was of age) and asks the Great Teacher to instruct him in the whole Torah in the time the man can stand on one leg. The respected Rabbi then sagely grasps a rod and savagely beats the man until he runs away. I love that story! I think Proverbs 25:2 sheds a bit of light on what the Rabbi might have been thinking as he “responded” to this audacious fool: “It is the glory of God to conceal a mystery, but the glory of kings is to search it out.”
I’ll unpack that a bit this Sunday as we conclude not just one series, but three. (That feels pretty appropriate for a sermon on Trinity Sunday!) Over the past several months we have walked together through what it means to be disciples of Jesus, “For the Joy Set Before Us.” During Epiphany, we plumbed Psalm 119 to see how we might love God through the upward disciplines of the Soul Room. Then we followed Jesus throughout the inward disciplines of Lent, imitating Him who “came not to be served, but to serve,” loving people with everything he had. Finally, we spent the Eastertide season in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, seeing how we might develop a love for life that becomes an outward discipline: a magnetic light to the nations.
We’ve been making much of the fact through this series that, in his Sermon on the Mount, Christ refers to his church as “a city set on a hill.” Any institution will have its officials, and if Jesus is the Hebrew Messiah that Matthew is trying to demonstrate he is in this gospel, then Jesus must be Prophet, Priest, and King over the great city. There’s a not-so-subtle structure to the sermon that shows us how he is just that: in chapter 5, Jesus is the Greater Moses, the True Prophet who gives the spirit of the law and fulfills it; in Chapter 6, Jesus is the Greater Aaron, the True Priest, who intercedes for us with the Father, teaching us to follow him in our devotional practices; and here in Chapter 7, we see Jesus presenting himself as the Greater Solomon, the True King who offers pure wisdom to those who will heed him.
Just like Solomon, (and perhaps a bit like the old Rabbi Shammai), King Jesus gives us wisdom that is concrete, practical, and might just leave us feeling like we’ve been struck over the head! I can’t wait to worship with you all this Lord’s Day.
You think you’d get a break when you’re reading the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus’ words on money and greed ‘plow a little too close to the corn,’ as my grandfather used to say. Then, before you even have time to recover, Jesus moves from money to relationships! How do the people of God, in our relationships with one another and with our neighbors, provide a healing place in a world that is absolutely toxic in our speech and manners to one another.
The age of civility in our discourse and among people is long gone. The Internet, and especially social media, have made the world a toxic place. I find this so ironic. On the one hand, we are told by those around us in the culture that we are not to tell anyone they are wrong or to admonish anyone that a certain behavior is sin. In theory, this should make us all just one big lovey-dovey community—right? Wrong! Because on the other hand, the very people that tell us we may never judge or criticize a lifestyle, behavior, or sin, will in cyberspace say the most horrific, toxic, scathing things you can imagine. It is like verbal napalm! Is this okay? Is Jesus pleased with this? (I told you this one would be rough!)
Jesus imagines that in his kingdom, these things ought not be named among the people of God. In this text, he talks about patterns of behavior that should not be part of the people of God, and he also talks, in what is commonly referred to as “The Golden Rule,” about how we should replace a critical spirit and an insensitive spirit with a cross-shaped spirit. And let me tell you, in between he lets us know that only those who are drinking deeply of the gospel have a chance of being a healing balm to this toxic world.
Don’t we want to be that? Don’t we want to be the people who see the image of God in others and, because we know God has already taken our judgement, be the people who show a little grace? Well, this is Jesus talking, not me. So out of the frying pan into the fire! Yet, the text says God only gives us bread and fish.
At St. Patrick, we like to point out that Jesus was always eating. It seems he was always going to a feast, coming from a feast, or hosting a feast. I have told skeptics often that, if you read the life of Jesus (or the whole Bible, for that matter) and take note of all the references to food, in the end, while you might not know what it all means, you will have to agree with me that food was a big deal. We could say something similar about money. Jesus talked about money more than almost anything else. He talked about it so much, in fact, that when two brothers saw this young rabbi walking by, they asked him to settle a dispute for them about inheritance. Why? Because Jesus was always talking about money!
Money, in a real sense, is an index of the soul. Money can tell you where your heart really is. In that sense, it is a good tool for spiritual diagnostics. For all of us, we have to master money or it will be our master. I remember when Teri and I got our first real job. We were in Greenville, Mississippi, planting a church, with one child at home and one on the way. Everything we had was old and worn out. The “spiritual” reason I took a church planting job, when I knew nothing about it, was that I felt “called”. The real reason was I needed to make a living! Though it was a blessing, we still struggled with money—it just seemed there never was enough. I mean, we kept having all these babies, and you need money to feed, clothe, and educate a small army! We learned to budget, to not get into debt, to delay gratification, to ask difficult questions about needs and wants, and to give faithfully; we even put money in envelopes to control our spending. (I’m not making this up!) We did all of this because we realized money is an index of values; money tells you what you value. We were trying to learn to be stewards of the resources God gave us and to teach our kids, as they went from being consumers to producers, to know the importance of being both frugal and, at times, extravagant.
Yes, both are necessary! The God who warns us that the love of money is the root of all evil also tells us that we are to be extravagant in our generosity! In other words, the Bible tells us how to value money, use money, and not be a slave to money. This week we will ponder Jesus’ teaching on money, anxiety, and treasure to learn how to break the control of money in our lives. That is what we desire—truth that will set us free from the control of money.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is giving a manifesto about how the gospel produces a new kind of people––notice people, as in community. One person is not a city on a hill. A city implies a whole community of people sharing life together––in this case, under the rule and reign of Jesus. The more this society of people is different (and not in a weird or obnoxious way), the more light they provide to the community around them. This society of folk do not geographically separate from the community around them, rather they are planted in the middle of the existing community to which they love, serve and minister. They work, shop and play in the same space as those around them, and yet their lives are ordered not by wit, passion, instinct or prevailing cultural fancy, but rather by the dictates of their loving Lord.
The church can be a city on a hill because they think about all the things humans care about differently. Yes, to be human is to care (and care deeply) about marriage, sex, work, play, and, as we will see this week, money––mammon, filthy lucre! Disciples of Jesus are not called to abstain from these human things––rather, we are called to crucify their tendencies to become idols in our lives.
So it is with money. We have a clue to the hidden power of money in Jesus’ own words. He tells his disciples at one point to “watch out for all kinds of greed.” Strange, isn’t it? It is because greed is so hard to see in our own lives. As a pastor, I have heard confessions of almost everything; and yet, in thirty plus years of ordained gospel ministry, no one has ever confessed to me, “Pastor, I need help with greed.” Greed’s power is that it blinds us to its very presence in our lives. Make no mistake, money is power––coined freedom, the ability to get things and stuff. Jesus even calls money mammon. Mammon is the Carthaginian god for wealth. In short, money has the power to be a false god in your life. And, according to Jesus, often you are blind to it!
On Sunday, we will talk about money and how Jesus’ new community will use money. Hopefully, we can unmask the hidden power of money to blind us to areas where it is harming our families, the community around us, and even our own souls.
In Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, a libertine strikes a magical bargain that enables him to impose the physical consequences of his hedonistic lifestyle onto an iconic portrait of himself, hidden away in an attic. The arrangement leaves his own body youthful and striking as ever in a high society that admires him with envy. The novel was written a hundred thirty years ago as something of a satirical horror story, (and ironically was oft-censored) but something tells me that many of our contemporaries might be inspired to view the protagonist as a hero. We seem to be living in an age that desires image and identity entirely divorced from content and character: the former pair upheld by carefully curated public personae while the latter are a matter of inviolable private discretion. Yet despite all vain attempts to set them asunder, it would seem that God has immutably joined these realities together with cause and effect. The truth of our character never stays hidden for long.
Jesus seems to think this is a good thing, and not because he’s laboring under the delusion that what's going to come out will be flattering. In our passage this week, Jesus warns against our instinct to hide the truth of our desperate situation, from others, from God, and even from ourselves. This is especially important when it comes to the area of our life where we’re in the best position to bring those awful insufficiencies to God. In our haste to be seen as we wish we were, we miss the opportunity to be transformed into that very image! If we can resist the urge to be seen by others as impressive, we can begin to see ourselves as broken before the gaze of God, and then what the world will see is a people being made whole again.
The image of the church that Jesus imagines is a City on a Hill. In Jesus’ day a city was a place of culture, life, and protection. It was a refuge for people who were adrift and who needed all the things that make for human thriving. The image is startling, breathtaking actually. Jesus is saying his people—collectively, in their common life of holiness, care, community, and love are a beacon of hope for world weary people. One of the big things about the Sermon on the Mount which we are discussing on Sundays is that the assumption is that salvation is never just “me and Jesus,” rather collectively the people of God are the social strategy that will make the God we can’t see, taste, touch, or hold—real and visible. As one writer puts it, “The most creative social strategy we have to offer [the culture around us] is the church. Here we show the world a manner of life the world can never achieve through social coercion or governmental action. We serve the world by showing it something that it is not, namely, a place where God is forming a family out of strangers.” (Unverified quote)
This Sunday we are talking about how this is possible. Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, is talking to religious people for the most part and yet he has to correct the teaching of the religious community he was born into and was a part of. Under the religious leaders of Jesus’ day and all the added list of things to do and rules they came up with—it was impossible for the people of God to even interact with the society of “sinners” around them, much less welcome them into a community of life, love, and thriving.
So, on this Sunday we will talk about it and what St. Patrick has been trying, by God’s grace, to do for the past twenty years—not to have a great church, so much as to be a blessing to our town and neighbors. Jesus gave a grand vision for his people, that though persecuted, marginalized, or just generally ignored, his people would, by their life and love, make the city of God visible to the world around them. Jesus is saying that we are to be to the world around us what Jesus was to us when we were his enemies—a life giving and welcoming presence. Only the gospel can help us to that.
It is one thing to hear Jesus talk about life in the Kingdom of God as being poor in spirit, being meek, mourning, and hungering and thirsting after righteousness. It is quite another for Jesus to tell his disciples that unless their righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, they will never enter the kingdom of God. On the surface of hearing this, the disciples must have thought, “Who of us can be saved?” I mean, nobody was more religious than the scribes and Pharisees, who were famous for their fastidious keeping of the 248 commandments and 365 prohibitions (by their calculations) found in the law. Plus, there were over 600 additional laws they had added to keeping the Sabbath. So, when Jesus says that they had to be more righteous than these guys, the disciples must have wilted. I would have! However, as we contemplate this Sunday, what Jesus is talking about is actually the death of religion! Jesus hated religion! In the hands of religious people, the law always gets misused and abused. As Brennan Manning says in Abba’s Child, “In the hands of the Pharisees…religion became a tool to intimidate and enslave rather than liberate and empower. The joyous celebration and covenant stressed by the prophets disappeared.” There is probably no one reading this who does not have some scars or hasn’t had to go through therapy because of religious people.
So, pray tell: what does Jesus mean when he says that our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees? I mean, before this, Jesus says when we really love God, love people, and love life, we are like salt and light in a culture. God’s people bring joy, light, hope, and make things in the culture around them better. How can this be? I don’t know about you, but the religious people I know tend to kill the party, not enhance the party. They major in guilt, not joy; control, not freedom; and they tend to be very mean. I am not making this up––Jesus’ harshest words were uttered against religious professionals!
On Sunday, we will talk about the difference between religious goodness and gospel goodness—one is death and the other is life. One puts burdens on people they can’t bear, and the other brings joy. Hope you are ready; this will be fun because the gospel really, really, really is better than you can imagine!
So, we come to the Sermon on Mount. As John Stott says of this portion of Jesus teaching, “The Sermon on the Mount is the most complete delineation anywhere in the New Testament of the Christian counter-culture. Here is a Christian value-system, ethical standard, religious devotion, attitude to money, ambition, life-style, and network of relationships—all of which are totally at variance with those of the non-Christian world. And this Christian counter-culture is the life of the kingdom of God, a fully human life indeed but lived out.” (John Stott, Sermon on the Mount) We turn here because during the season of Eastertide we are talking about “A City on A Hill.” That is what Jesus has in mind, that his people will be in the Kingdom he will create by his life, death, and resurrection.
As a pastor, I have mixed feeling about preaching this and I realized why when Tim Keller put his finger on the rub. He says, “… when you read the Sermon on the Mount, you know this is exactly how you want the people who live around you to be. You suddenly realize that all of your life you have been demanding the people around you live like this… You’ve been demanding it of everybody else, yet you know you fall infinitely short of it. You can’t even come close to what you’ve been demanding of other people, and it condemns you and exposes you and disgusts you.” Ouch! Those words “plow too close the to corn,” as my grandfather used to say.
And yet… ”truth sets of free.” I want that. I want to live in freedom and not by lies. I want the robust life that Jesus talks about. I want the “blessedness” that the Beatitudes are talking about. It is, however, costly and without Jesus utterly impossible! So join us Sunday as we seek to discover that all the joy in the world, all the deep satisfaction, and that being fully alive all starts with seeing how poor we really are—“blessed are the poor in Spirit.”
About this time of year I entertain my doubts and pull them out and mull them over. As Charles Taylor said so eloquently, and I paraphrase, “In 1500 it was virtually impossible not to believe in God, while in 2000 it is virtually impossible to be believe in Him.” I bring out my doubts this time of year because Christianity is either true or it is not and the truthfulness of Christianity is bound up in the historical event we celebrate on Easter Sunday—the resurrection of Jesus.
I ponder my doubts and wonder why I would believe something our age calls ridiculous. As scientific knowledge has drained the world of wonder, enchantment, and “thin places,” I want the story of the resurrection to be true, so I run back through all the rationality there is for believing that a dead man defeated death. I do this because, as Taylor says, our secular age does not make belief easy. And yet, as I ponder this question and rethink the rationality of the Christian Faith, it becomes clear again. It seems that if you really are interested in truth and explore the life of Israel, Jesus, and the church—something supernatural is the only explanation there is.
Also, as we will ponder this Easter Sunday, the Resurrection means so much more than that Jesus just died to forgive you of your sins and get you to heaven—much more. In fact, as we see the full implications of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection and what Jesus is really up to—the impact is immediate—Jesus didn’t come to take you out of this fallen and broken world—he came to make you a participant in making “the sad things come untrue.”
It is because of the wide ranging implications of the resurrection that Christianity will never be a safe religion—it will always be an adventure that moves out of comfort and into risky places. I think most of us have forgotten that. If we are like Jesus, we will always be moving out into places where it is not safe. I was reminded of this by Teri, my bride, the other morning. I had been an “ass” for lack of a better term. It had been a hard morning with Addison and my reactions were not like Jesus. Teri reminded me of the life you live when your leader forever bears the marks of the cross. It healed my heart a bit and has helped me this Lenten season and prepared me for Easter morning. I leave you with this Maundy Thursday prayer:
Who would have thought that you— God of gods and Lord of lords- would fasten on such small, innocuous agents whom the word scorns to turn creation toward newness? As we are dazzled, give us the freedom to resituate our lives in modest, uncredentialed, vulnerable places. We ask for freedom and courage to move out from our nicely arranged patterns of security into dangerous places of newness where we fear to go. Cross us by the cross, that we may be Easter marked. Amen
(Walter Brueggeman, Awed to heaven, Rooted to Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggeman)
So, the most eventful, meaningful week in human history begins this Sunday as we celebrate Palm Sunday. Jesus enters Jerusalem to a hero’s welcome. It also starts the plot to finally arrest and crucify Jesus as a religious subversive and blasphemer. It is curious to me how quickly the tide can turn, as it does between the next two Sundays when the same crowd that was waving palm branches and saying, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” is yelling, “Crucify him, crucify him,” and are spitting on him.
And so, we find ourselves this Sunday ironically talking about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. We finish up our series on serving by looking at Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. It is shocking really. Feet have always had a certain stigma about them. I mean, even when I did a wedding where the bride and groom washed each other’s feet, I cringed. Really! I was close––I was right there––but to do this publicly was almost too much. These feet were sort of clean, and they were getting married; but in antiquity feet were in sandals in an arid, dusty climate, walking on streets and paths where fresh animal dung was always a hazardous landmine you didn’t want to land in! You get the picture.
For a superior to wash the feet of an inferior was not done in the Roman world. And in the Jewish world, no Jewish servant could, by law, be required to wash the feet of a fellow countryman––only a Gentile servant could be asked to stoop so low. And yet, Jesus washes the feet of his disciples.
I suppose the place that Palm Sunday intersects with this scene is pretty clear to me. Sovereigns (royalty) have always had special insignia they hand out to certain people to honor them and induct them into elite orders. Some of them are Order of the Garter, Royal Victorian Order, Order of the Thistle, Order of Bath, Order of St. John, and I could go on. These orders are given by the sovereign to worthy recipients amid great pomp and circumstance to sort of set them apart from lesser mortals. And hey, if you were inducted by the king or queen into an order, you wore the insignia every chance you got. Jesus does the same, but not like the rulers of the world do it. In one of his last acts to his disciples, he inducted them into an order and the insignia of his love, his life, his ministry, his kingdom, and his rule and reign through his disciples in time and space—is a towel.
So Jim, Will, and I were standing around in the kitchen the other day, surveying the wreckage of some great feasting gone wild, and I made the confession that I'm not sure I could be induced to clean up such a mess without knowing it would be noticed and appreciated. Jim said he would, but only for the reward of having a fresh clean palette on which to paint his next culinary masterpiece. Will chimed in with the admission that he is more likely to do something like that for fear that someone might notice he hadn't done it!
Each of us, walking in the light, had to assent to the simple fact that selfless altruism alone was probably not going to motivate a single one of us to pick up the towel and clean that kitchen. We came to two conclusions: people's motivations tend to be diverse even when their behaviors (or inactions) are similar, and it must be true that none of us really understands or believes just how great the rewards in heaven will be for thankless acts of service. It's amazing how philosophical men can get while they're busy not cleaning!
I like to joke that I only leave nasty jobs to others to give someone else a chance to cash in on all those heavenly rewards. I thought about that as I was digging through gag-worthy bags in our home trash can looking for an expensive AirPod case we had misplaced. (I feel free to tell you about this "act of service" because I assure you I did that for selfish reasons, too!) But if we could truly believe that we will be rewarded for all the secret ways we selflessly serve one another, we might just find ourselves doing these disgusting things more and more, and without feeling the need for immediate approval or reward. We might just be willing to bear the unbearable cost of feeling unseen; unappreciated; invisible. And we might just find ourselves closer to the heart of God, which would alone constitute more than enough compensation.
"I believe, Lord, help my unbelief!"
It started with a question. The timing of the question is ironic, to say the least, given what had transpired over the past few days. There is a point in Jesus’ life where he sets his face in the direction of Jerusalem; and when he does this, the die is cast. He has a date with destiny and will enter the city public enemy number one in the eyes of the religious leaders. In the eyes of the Roman overlords, he will be deemed a subversive—a threat to the complete control that is Rome. Jerusalem means death!
The question is ironic because the brothers who ask the question have heard Jesus tell them on at least three occasions, in explicit terms, that he is going to Jerusalem to die. And still… they ask Jesus if they can have the chief seats of power when he comes into his kingdom. Can you imagine? I suppose in one sense it is understandable that they would want to cement their positions; the brothers who ask the question have been singled out by Jesus as having more authority than the other disciples. So, I guess that, before everything hits the fan, these two brothers want to make sure they get the first cut of the spoils, the best cabinet seats, a ride in the front car in the ticker tape parade—in short, they want power and authority, but not the way Jesus is thinking.
The text for Sunday is tough. It is flesh-withering, pride-draining, and counter-intuitive. In fact, I have told many of you, in very candid moments, that it is so demanding that the only way God has achieved anything that looks like what this text is talking about in my life is that God has had to trick me, put me in hard situations, humbled me greatly, or wounded me deeply. I am talking about the second hardest thing we ever do. Only the grace of the gospel will allow you to become so weak and only the sustaining grace and love of the Father will give you the courage and grace to continue to live as Jesus talks about.
This morning I emerged from sleep with a jolt. That dream again. Half my life ago, I nearly failed my second semester of a one-semester economics class in high school. I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it. My mother was and is a financial secretary and has always instilled in us a sense of frugal responsibility that has kept me mostly out of trouble, but I still view economics as an absolute inscrutable mystery on par with magic and where the internet really is. Eventually, my teacher impressed upon me the economic reality that lay ahead if I didn't pass, and I managed to make it through. But the post-traumatic anxiety followed me and shows no sign of diminishing returns. Needless to say, I was not tempted to pursue a business degree, and while I'm grateful that others have and can keep commerce moving, I sometimes take great pleasure in the fact that God will just as soon undermine our financial plans as honor them. It is against this backdrop that I was at first horrified to discover that the Bible has loads to say about money and then relieved to realize that most often it's used as a metaphor to talk about stewardship in general, (and then horrified again to realize that this stewardship also includes money). So it seems I'm destined to have to figure out how to navigate this thing. While I'm still not the guy you want to ask about world markets and trade, I have begun to piece together the economic principles of at least one foreign government, which I believe will come in handy in years to come. Jesus came talking about His Kingdom, one that has already been established, will never be conquered, and is coming quickly to our town. Every nation has a way of establishing and regulating value and thriving, which is just another way of saying it has an economy, and Jesus' economic plan is so backward it seems like absolute foolishness. "The first shall be last?" "The least shall be greatest?" "Blessed are the poor?" Turns out, money is the least significant kind of wealth in the Kingdom of God. Even gold is so worthless, they use it as pavement. The Greek word from which we derive "economics" is oikonomos: it's the word we translate as steward or manager in the New Testament. What we see in its use is that God wants us to manage everything in our lives according to his "oikonomics," figuring out the wisest ways to leverage our resources and relationships toward spiritual gain. Here's an insider trading tip for you: it turns out that serving others is the single most valuable activity in the Kingdom of God, and it has been dramatically devalued in our current market. Buy low and sell high, people: the bubble is soon to burst! See you Sunday. - Josh
One of the hardest gospel teachings we ever learn is that Jesus “came not to be served, but to serve.” Jesus turned the whole world on it’s head when he started saying things like, in his kingdom “the last will be first; to live you have to die; the greatest will be like a little child; to lead you have to serve; those who are humble God will exalt; etc. etc. etc.” Jesus came bringing a kingdom. And you can tell from just the small sampling of things Jesus taught that his kingdom, doesn’t look like the kingdoms of the world, or more specifically the culture we inhabit. And yet...
Jesus also said that to live in his kingdom was to know true human flourishing. Jesus came to give you and me abundant life and for the next six weeks we will ponder that true human flourishing is not instinctual, nor can you pick it up in the places you work and live. It will be you becoming a servant not a celebrity. I will tell you that the tools you need are a basin and a towel to wash feet, rather than a scepter to rule. We will come to see that the gifts and graces God has given us are to help create human thriving anywhere we go, especially for those who have no power or have not been given a seat at the table.
Jesus modeled all of this of course and it is not just rhetoric. So this week we will look at where it all starts—humility. And as we did with prayer we will be giving you practical ways to “improve your service” among the family of God here.
As we finish up our six-week reflection on the habit of daily prayer, what do I say? Over the past few weeks, I have met with people who come for Morning Prayer to pray and get “immersed" with others in the practice. I have talked to people in my study, including a young man who came in and said, “I need you to teach me to pray.” On occasions like these, especially after six weeks of pondering the “whys and wherefores” of prayer, I feel shame because there is just so much to say and experience that I can’t gather it all up in a neat little bundle so––“Boom”–– we would all know how to pray.
And yet, nothing in life is like that. With almost anything we give ourselves to in life, we find the door in and we think we’ve got it figured out. But just when we think we know everything, alas, we realize we are just in the first room of a seven-storied castle, and it will take a lifetime to explore and understand all the different rooms and floors. For example, I love to cook and, to some people, I am pretty good at cooking; and yet when I open a French Cookbook or am talking to my son James (who has far surpassed me), I realize I am like a child playing at large and wonderful things. So how does that make me feel? To think, on the one hand, that I have mastered something, and then to be reminded, once again, that I am just at the beginning of an adventure? Here is where it leaves me—somewhere between praise and repentance. I feel great thanksgiving at what I do know and can experience in my craft; at the same time, I must in humility acknowledge that compared to some, “I just ain’t that good.”
I think this is a proper posture to end our meditations on. Prayer, like any subject you give yourself to, is so vast that the more you know, the more you realize what you don’t know. This is where prayer lives, not just because we know so little, but because of who we are and the subject of our quest––God! Prayer is a pursuit of God and is only made possible because of God’s overwhelming, gracious, and seeking love—Praise. And yet, I am so messed up and am such a lost sheep, I know that I wouldn’t even know God if He wasn’t seeking me, even in my sin—thus, repentance. You will never outgrow this posture, nor should you.
In the now-classic film Groundhog Day, Bill Murray plays a man cursed to repeat his least favorite day of the year over and again until he “gets it right.” Experts calculate that the exact number of consecutive Groundhog Days meteorologist Phil Connors endures is 12,403, or nearly 34 years. That means he spent pretty much my entire lifespan thus far re-experiencing a single day until he lived it flawlessly, all so that he could win the love of his producer, Rita.
As strenuous an effort as that seems, according to the Scriptural testimony this is a very optimistic estimation of a man’s ability to self-perfect. My own experience bears this out, too. Sometimes I can let myself tend toward the impression that if I could only execute my devotional life with enough disciplined consistency for a long enough time, I would finally be “good at life.” Then I remember Groundhog Day and I become completely disabused of that notion. The odds are just not in my favor (read: hopeless). Days keep changing on me, bringing new things to deal with, for all of which I am woefully inadequate.
Even though I strongly affirm that a long faithfulness within the habits of grace will posture me to receive the grace I need to increasingly live and love well, it will never be enough to "fix" me. ("That's Pelagianism, Patrick!") But that’s really not the point of the habits! In the Groundhog Day universe, Phil had to earn a relationship with his love through performance; but the gospel reverses that order completely. I inhabit the Soul Room because that’s where I experience the friendship of my Father, who meets me where I am and gives me what I couldn't get for myself. We don’t have to repeat our days until we get them right (as if we could): His mercies are new every morning. He's made the way to meet with us in our extreme need, and that's good news for us.
This Sunday we’ll peek over the Psalmist's shoulder in the Soul Room once again, and see the Father meet him once again exactly where he needs it most.
As the days start to lengthen and we draw closer to the season of Lent, I start to think about my garden. When I'm standing by my grill, or am romping with Addison in the backyard, I am more and more drawn to the mystery around me. My yard is a mess of brown grass; my beds are full of death and decay; and the place where I grow my herbs, vegetables and asparagus looks forlorn and hopeless. But all is not lost. This is not my first rodeo. I know that lying dormant under their cold dead ancestors is life and glory waiting for the right conditions to call them forth. Lent will officially signal the time for weeding and clearing out-from death will come resurrection.
The most profound mystery of all of this is that I will put seeds in the ground; and with sunlight, warmth, and water, from seemingly dead seeds will come forth an abundance of tomatoes, peppers, and herbs--things that will bring delight to my table and joy to my heart. I suppose folk have always been struck by the mystery of this. Before we had farmer co-ops, planting charts, or knew anything about DNA, folk have been planting and harvesting time out of mind for both necessity and the joy of seeing a well-turned field that was seemingly devoid of life turn into something that looked like the Garden of Eden. People knew that life was in the seeds they carefully harvested and painstakingly saved for the next year.
So, when James calls God's Word "seed" in James 1:21, he is capturing both the mystery and the power of God's Word and the fact that it is a "living thing." James says, this "implanted word" (seed) has the power to save our souls. This week we are talking about why the centerpiece of a life with God is the Bible. We are talking about why we have to be immersed in the word.
I am continually struck by what it means to have communion with God and to know God’s friendship. It is outrageous if you think about it. When I was in Egypt I walked through the second largest ancient temple in the world, in the city of Luxor. It was called Karnak Temple. It was built during the time of the Pharaohs, when Egypt was an ascendent power. It represented what any and every ancient culture seemed to grasp intuitively—there is a great chasm between human beings and the divine. I saw the same thing in ancient sites when I was in Ireland. The gap between God and people was so great no one would have the audacity to just approach the deity without temples, priests, sacrifices, and offering. God is big and we are small. God is perfect and we are flawed. In fact, temples, priests, and sacrifices were present to bridge this gap. Yet even with all this elaborate rubric no one actually thought that friendship with the deity was possible, the best you could do was appease them, manipulate them, or keep them off your back.
And yet… Christianity teaches that we can approach God – not with servile fear, but with audacity – like a child to his parent. Yes, even though at our best we are prone to wander, this Sunday we are going to talk about how we come to God in the Soul Room and what our posture ought to be in the presence of the God of the Universe.
My son is in the "monkey-see-monkey-do" phase of toddlerhood, and it is both a joy and a terror, as I'm sure you can all imagine. Often when I leave the house in the morning, My daughters and I will give the ASL sign for "I love you" as I pull out of the driveway. I had to teach them to do this, and now it's just a part of our routine. But for my son, it wasn't taught at all - it was caught. I don't think he even really knows what it means, aside from "Daddy's leaving and we like that guy." Most manners and liturgies are like that - we train the habits and the meaning comes later to fill the forms and fit our hearts for Heaven.
If it's true, (as Jim and I insist it is), that not only instruction but also immersion and imitation are necessary for discipleship, then we desperately need access to the Soul Room habits of fellow believers. You can't imitate what you don't see! Fortunately, the Bible, and the Psalms, in particular, open a window into the private chambers of a Godly person's heart. This week we'll join the Psalmist in the Soul Room and watch him wrestle with God by engaging the Word and offering his not-good-enough best as an act of true worship. I've been so blessed through my study in a week when I've really had need of good devotional times. I hope it encourages you as well in your own resolutions.
So, we have a first this Sunday at St. Patrick, we are baptizing a bunch of babies and an older young man who is making a profession of faith. It is a first because we have so many babies that we can’t schedule them all on separate Sundays. I will confess to you the sentimental part of me hates this, especially since my little girl is one of many and doesn’t get to just stand out in all her glory on her baptismal day. But baptism isn’t really about that, is it? It is so much larger than that and yet strangely enough, I suppose the only one who will remember this day or the fact his pastor drenched him in water is our young man who is saying publicly, “Jesus is my King.” Matter of fact, not only will the infants never remember this day, they might even be downright irritated that a man in a big black robe would subject them to a bath when they are festooned in their best outfits and not properly naked. They might be even more offended when they look to their parents for relief and protection and their parents are beaming as if what is happening to them is the greatest thing in the world. As mundane as this sounds and as peculiar as it appears, what is happening in the baptism of our children—believer or infant—leaves me gasping in awe and overcome with amazement at the strange ways of God, when I can see them for what they really are. The eternal God who spoke worlds into existence and (looked at in that light) is power personified, has chosen to throw down empires and raise up new ones with a few drops of water! We properly stand in awe at the power of the hurricane, storm, or latest and greatest armament capable of leveling city blocks; but what of a God who chooses to work through weakness—the weakness of water? A God who, through love and not power, continually rewrites history?
So again we come in awe, wonder, and great faith and trust that God will do as he says and use the meager and mundane things like water, word, bread, wine, and people to renew the world and to reweave the broken threads around us. Again we will ask God to knock us in the head so that with eyes of faith we can see—really see—that for the joy set before him, Jesus went to the cross to make us and our children his special people. Glory!
I hope your trees are lit friends: Christmas lasts for twelve whole days, from the 25th till Epiphany arrives! One tradition has it that underground Roman Catholics developed the 12 Days of Christmas song during the English Reformation as a way of covertly catechizing their children in their faith. In addition to the gifts of whimsical birds, jewels, and performers, each numbered day represented a significant theological gift given to the Church by their True Love. While I partially doubt the veracity of those origin claims, I do enjoy making much of the song’s alternate symbolism with my family in the afterglow of the Nativity. Any excuse to extend Christmas and make theology fun and consistent!
And so today is the fifth day of Christmas, celebrated with the resounding refrain of “Five golden rings!” The rings are supposed to represent the five books of Moses, also referred to as the Pentateuch, Torah, or Law. One of my seminary professors used to say the other 61 books of the Bible were just commentary on Genesis through Deuteronomy. Though I’m sure that’s overstated, this portion of text certainly does provide the immovable context for everything else we receive in God’s Word.
Foundational beginnings and a renewed interest in the Habits of Grace certainly seem to accompany a New Year. This Sunday we’ll be evoking the Epiphany (in advance of the feast day on January 6), pondering the connections between stars and wise men and Gentiles and Scripture. I hope this will set us up well for the whole season of Epiphany, which precedes Lent and considers the nature of light in the darkness. To that end, (after the Baptism of Our Lord on January 7), we’ll be spending five golden weeks in Psalm 119, considering the illuminating power of a robust devotional life. We hope it will be an encouragement to keep up your resolutions with regard to the Soul Room.
So the waiting, the longing, and build up is almost over. This Sunday is the fourth Sunday of Advent and it just so happens it is on the eve of the Great Feast of the Nativity in which we celebrate the incarnation of God. There are some things in life I can’t get to the bottom of, fathom, or wrap my brain around and we have arrived at one of them again during this season of Advent. Every time I start to write about God coming into the world and taking our flesh I feel like I have run out of words, metaphors, and stories to “get at it” in all its fullness, wonder, and glory. It is truly one of those things that “passes understanding.” So that which my brain can’t fully take in and describe in words—my heart sort of grasps in awe and wonder.
We are at the time of year of which T. S. Eliot says,
“Signs are taken for wonders. ‘We would see a sign!’ The word within a word, unable to speak a word, Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year Came Christ the tiger” (Gerontion) We will ponder Revelation 12 in worship on Sunday morning. In one chapter you have a story of the whole history of the world and the struggle we see around us everyday, and also in our own hearts. Our morning service will be somewhat briefer because we have Lessons and Carols at 5:00 that night. It will be a day to ponder Christ in word, sacrament, and song. I encourage you to invite your neighbors, family, and friends to our 5:00 service. Year in and year out this service has been a fitting culmination to the season of Advent. Just a reminder that we will have a nursery and you better arrive early to get a seat.
So here is to the Incarnation of God! May we keep the feast of Christmas well!
I opened my Twitter account on Monday to discover a popular sentiment, the spirit of which you may well recognize. It read, “Merry season of holidays to you and those with whom you identify and celebrate with in the way in which you’ve grown accustomed to based on your upbringing and personal convictions whether they be religiously based or secular.” While I could not have written a tweet like that without it being taken as a mean-spirited parody, I believe the author would stand by the message. This is a woman who is honestly searching, grasping, for language that can acknowledge something wonderful humans share (the seasonal celebratory impulse) while maintaining her commitment to a diversity of meanings (Postmodernism). She’s saying, “What’s fundamentally important to me is that I want everyone to feel like what they are doing is special and good.” Hers is the tweet version of basically every child’s holiday special out this season (trust me, I’ve seen them all). Each lighthearted cartoon short is carefully crafted to teach kids living in an impossibly pluralistic world that “even though your family or tribe is basically alone in how you celebrate, what you’re doing is fine and what everyone else is doing is fine, and the thing that can join all the different peoples together is to say that everything is fine and focus on what we have in common.” Compare that to the Charlie Brown Christmas Special of 50 years ago, which assumed that everyone knew the true single meaning of Christmas but had just backslidden into consumerism. This is something altogether different: a new age has dawned.
I believe the above “good vibes” tweet is authentically heartfelt and not at all ironically meant, and I can affirm the author's abstract feelings of goodwill while also saying that what is fundamentally important to her is not at all what is important to me. I feel more pity for her than camaraderie with her. I think the object of her faith (humanity) is powerless to do what she desperately wants it to do. So sadly, the unity she desires with humankind is out of her reach because her fundamental value is not shared with everyone, and she will undoubtedly reserve her goodwill exclusively for the people who can affirm her own fundamental conviction as fundamental. Which will also make her tweet pretty empty when she realizes she doesn't actually mean it!
It’s hard to muster, “live and let live” when we know, along with Paul McCartney, that it actually means, “live and let die.” For the Christian, the most fundamental significant thing about us is that we cannot accept that. Jesus Christ did not “live and let live,” nor did he “live and let die.” He died to let live. The Almighty God of the universe made himself nothing, lowered himself to be the only significant common denominator, to gather the nations, humans from every tribe and tongue, to a common table for a united, eternal, Holy Day. He alone can provide a bond for humanity that is radically inclusive and yet infinitely meaningful. Only He can make the biggest possible family out of the impossible pluralities of humankind. And that's the core of my merry season of holidays which I and those with whom I identify and celebrate in the way we’ve grown accustomed to based on our upbringing and personal convictions, religiously based, secular, and granted by grace through faith in Christ alone.
What does real peace look like? It is a profound question and one that we talk about during Advent. I think what most people mean when they talk about peace is a sort of subjective peace, you know, “that peaceful easy feeling.” A sort of calm in the midst of the storm. That is a good thing and most of us crave that—especially during Advent when the pressure is on to throw parties, buy presents in the midst of traffic jams, or to deal with armies of family who maybe come along only a couple of times a year. But that kind of peace comes and goes, doesn’t it? It is here one minute and gone the next, especially if you have children or are in traffic.
But the Bible imagines something deeper and more lasting and not just an individualistic kind of thing. The main way the Bible talks about peace is in an objective sense—peace with God. The whole story of the Bible is that the world is not the way it is supposed to be. Because of sin, people are not at peace at all and, in fact, the message of the Bible is that because of sin we are actually at war with God. Imagine that, if your whole life you are in an unreconciled relationship with the God of the Universe?
Another way the Bible talks about peace is in terms of human flourishing—when things are rightly related to each other. We all long for both of these. We long to know that in a real sense we are in right relationship with the creator of the universe and we long to see human flourishing around us. The good news is that long before Jesus came in his first Advent in Bethlehem, the prophet Isaiah said the one who would come would be called, “The Prince of Peace.” Jesus Christ came to be our peace and to bring a kingdom of peace.
This Sunday we are looking at a passage in Revelation 19 (it would be helpful if you read this before Sunday). In this passage we have a bizarre picture of Jesus as the bringer of peace. It is not like you think, it is highly imagined and was given pastorally to a people who lived in a time much like today. It is full of wild promises that assure us that we can have peace with God now, and also tells how we are to be the kind of people who bring peace now.
We begin Advent this Sunday. I am excited about talking about Advent through the book of Revelation. We are calling this series Advent Apocalypse. I know many people approach the book of Revelation with fear and trembling because it is, well, bizarre! But what brings Revelation down to earth is that it is a letter to a bunch of churches that are losing their way because the circumstances of the world are not going the way they thought they should. Sound familiar? So, in a real sense, John the author is first and foremost a pastor, and Revelation is a letter to help shepherd his people through the sin-soaked landscape of dragons, beasts, and things that can really hurt you––and hurt you bad.
This week John peels back the veil and we see into heaven, and we see God’s perspective on how things are going in the universe. Along the way, we see truth God can and will use to electrify his people who are losing heart. I know for me personally, having lived in Revelation, marinated in Revelation, and having just been caught up in the mystery of it, the Apostle John has pastored my fragile heart well; and I hope he will do the same for all of us.
A couple of things to remember about today and also about this Sunday. Today we invite more people to be on our campus than we will see at Christmas Eve and Easter. We open up our church, our land, and our parking lot to throw a party for the town—at our expense. We don’t charge admission, and this isn’t a fundraiser. This is just a group of people who are trying to witness to the town that grace is everything, that heaven is local, and that Jesus is known through life laid down. I hope to see you there and hope you can help greet folk and make them feel welcome.
Also, please turn in your pledge cards this Sunday as we wrap up Setting the Table. If you can’t give, please turn in a card and indicate that so we can bring closure and make plans for our next steps. These cards really, really, really help our leadership as we assess God’s plans for our future. So here is to Advent. Here is to the Incarnate Lord, who humbled Himself and took on flesh!
I suppose it is fitting to end the church calendar year with Christ the King Sunday. I mean, after the year we have had it is fitting that the church father’s set aside Sunday to knock us in the head and remind us that the kings that reign over super power nations are accounted by nothing by the King of all Kings. I don’t know about you but I am glad that the final word in history is not written by the rulers around us!
This Sunday we are starting to think about Advent as we think about Jesus as our King. We are going to be looking at the book of Revelation for the next month! Yes, you heard me, Revelation. Most of us are afraid of Revelation except to note that it is the last chapter of the great story of God and as we peek ahead in our fears and anxieties we are comforted to know that God and his people win in the end.
Another thought has occurred to me lately as I have studied in this bizarre world of slaughtered lambs, dragons, thrones, and beasts; this book has strangely pastored my soul well. Yes, this book which reads and looks like an adult graphic novel is written in such a way as to stop you in your tracks, wake you up, or to take you by the hand and say—‘Look!’ Look and see behind the veil to what is really true. Look and see how a slaughtered lamb will make all the bad things come untrue.
So, this Sunday we are going to look and ponder how we “come at” the book of Revelation so that it makes sense pastorally and also instructs us well as we ponder Advent—both the first coming of Jesus and the second coming of Jesus.
Thank you.
It’s not hard to feel grateful right now. We’ve received a third of our Setting the Table pledges back already and our project is 40% funded. This means that, provided we have full congregational participation, we should be able to move forward as planned to make room for both the current and anticipated growth of our family here at St. Patrick. Your generosity is such a faithful witness to God’s own self-sacrifice for us, setting a table for those who are far away.
I’m deeply grateful looking over the past year to see how graciously you’ve welcomed my family and the Weirs into your tribe and on your staff, not to mention 60 new church members, as well as all our homemade disciples (my community group alone has seen three new babies this semester!). In years past when Jim and the leadership cast vision for Future Thriving, this is what they were dreaming of: our present. I’m thankful to be here.
But we’re not always enjoying a season like this, and we certianly have no reason to feel entitled to such favor in the present. Jim is always reminding us of the tension between how Heaven is local and yet you can’t get all your Heaven here and now. We’ll explore that tension in depth over the Advent season. I’ve experienced more than one Thanksgiving (and I’m sure you have too) in which the blessings are mixed at best. For some, the holidays are a marathon of grief and you’re frankly tired of being told to acentuate the positive and count your blessings. Does God really want me to be grateful for all this pain? This weekend we’ll explore that with the question, “What do I do when I can’t give thanks?” I hope to see you there.
We are at the conclusion of our “Setting the Table Generosity Initiative”. For several weeks, Josh and I have cast the vision as to why we believe that God is calling us to enlarge our building space so we can “make room” for more people at the table. I have often asked myself, “Is this the right time?” “Couldn’t we better spend the money on something else?” “Why not use the money and plant more churches?” These are all questions I have pondered. I don’t take it lightly to ask people to sacrifice creature comforts, or put off large purchases, so they can invest in what God is doing at St. Patrick.
I had those same questions four years ago when I asked a much smaller congregation of St. Patrick folk to give a lot more money per capita than we are asking for now. Was it worth it then? Was it wise a few years ago to raise money for the present facility we are in? Well, you be the judge. We have almost doubled the number of people we minister to on a weekly basis. We give twice as much money to church planting as we did then, and we now support not just the two churches we have planted but two other churches in our presbytery. This is possible because our missions budget has almost doubled in the last two years. A much larger percentage of our people are being shepherded in Community Groups than when we were much smaller. I should also add that that means they are experiencing more life and better care! Our move to this new building, which cost a lot of money, forced that. It forced us to see that if we were going to shepherd people we had to get all our members in people’s living rooms to do life as family. It forced us to say that we will not get bigger just to get bigger, but as we grow we must maintain our core value of “Community is Family” and not let people get lost in the numbers.
And, on top of all that are all the new faces! In our context, buildings communicate! Space matters. I am not saying you can’t grow without buildings, but had we not built this last time, there are so many blessings which we take for granted now that we simply would not know. So, we do feel that now is the time to build the kind of facilities that will help us make more and better disciples of Jesus who love God, love people, and love life. Mission is the only reason to sacrifice time, talent, and money!
So, think about that as you fill out your pledge card. We are almost twenty years old now and the first group of people at St. Patrick had a seat at the table because people at Second Presbyterian gave over three hundred thousand dollars to a minister they didn’t know, entrusting him to help make God real in the suburbs, and for people they might never meet. Many of you that now have a seat at the table do so because people that were here before you invested in you without even knowing your name! And now we all have an opportunity to expand the kingdom and offer a seat at the table to people that right now we don’t even know. How glorious is that?!
Do pray and give sacrificially, generously, and joyfully. This Sunday, at the climax of the worship service, when we all walk the aisle yet again to both give ourselves to Jesus and be welcomed by him, we will bring our pledges. There will be a place where they will be collected. This is an exciting time in our church. Pray that God will open our hearts in rich generosity, not only with our money, but also with all we have.
The Bible uses a lot of different metaphors to describe the people of God as they relate to God and to each other. Jesus said the church related to him like a vine to a branch. Which suggests that we are deeply connected to him and apart from him there is no life. It is a powerful picture of how we abide in him. The people of God are also likened to a holy temple and together we form a place where God dwells in and through us. Another image is that we are a “holy people,” that is, we are like a commonwealth with God as our king.
All those metaphors move my soul and suggest something of privileges and responsibilities we have as being part of the people of God. However, the one that moves my soul when I am very, very low and also very, very joyful is that God calls us his family. “We are members of his household.” But also the astonishing truth that we have been adopted into God’s family. I mean, it is one thing to be forgiven for your sins, and it is perhaps a greater blessing for God to say not only do I pardon your sins, but now I am making you my son or daughter. I think you will agree with me that while we are all soldiers in God’s redemptive army, the thought of being a son or daughter at his table is more than I can articulate with mere words.
Of all the things God could have said about how he relates to his people—family is the one that melts my heart when I am cold and takes my joys to new heights when I am singing opera. This Sunday we are going to explore what it means for the people of God to be family. And instead of teaching the whole truth in one sermon, it will be a sermon in three movements. I have never done this, but since we are having new people join, I just imagined what it would be like to narrate the action throughout the whole liturgy. I am intrigued by this and I hope you will be too. We learn better when we are “shown,” than by mere words.
I think one of the things my wife, Allison, does best – and she’s multi-talented for sure – is to set a beautiful table. Whenever we host people in our home, she will transform our biggest room into a majestic banquet hall with one long table in the center, featuring all kinds of crystal and silver and pewter, complete with seasonal accents and vibrant, overflowing centerpieces. Care will be taken to ensure everyone’s place is well thought out, that the menu accommodates everyone’s needs, and that the mood and lighting are cozy. My job is generally to set up the table and chairs and then get myself and the kids out of the way for a while as she casts her spell, transforming our humble toy-encrusted domicile into this otherworldly temple, where the lines between the temporal and eternal seem to waver just a bit.
Jim says all the time that the family dinner table is the most formative place to the human soul. The manners and social cues we pick up there have profound effects on our everyday interactions with the world. The table is the center of our liturgy, in both the church and the home. I know there were decades of imaginative play that preceded Allie’s table-scaping abilities: years and years of pretending, which led to the skills and insights and intuitions that enable her almost effortlessly to put together a place of blessing and abundance to share with those we love. And yet there’s an extent to which we’re all still pretending. Every time we sit down to a meal, we’re rehearsing and imitating both our heritage and our destiny, and in a way that has real benefits for us and all those whom we welcome to join us. We are a feasting people, and the way we shape our feasts shapes our very souls. What is it about setting a table and enjoying a feast that brings us so much closer to who we are in Christ? We’ll explore that a bit this Sunday as we continue our new series, Setting the Table.
This Sunday we will be talking about money, buildings, and generosity. We start a four week conversation about our vision and values, and how these are fleshed out by brick and mortar. The way we are going to talk about money and the buildings we need will be in the context of our values. There is no reason whatsoever to build and to ask people to make huge sacrifices and investments if it is not to fulfill the family values of St. Patrick. So we will talk about grace, family, feasting, and making heaven local. It ought to be fun.
The place we always start is grace. Grace is everything! We are the people of grace, we are saved by grace, we serve God out of grace, and everything we have is because of the grace of God. When you look at the cross and the whole context of what God was doing in the death and resurrection of his son Jesus—you are talking about a God who is not just generous but the most generous! This Sunday we are going to look at how a group of people called the Macedonias pondered the cross and God’s grace in giving Jesus, and as they worked this out in their lives, they realized that that, to be like Jesus, they must become a people known for generosity.
I am about to get in the car and head home as I write this. I just finished a couple of day meetings with a board I serve on called Reformed Youth Ministries. It serves youth by putting on conferences, training Youth leaders, and has lots of resources for youth and parents on their website. It is impressive the way the ministry has grown, but the most impressive thing was a letter a sixteen year old girl wrote to the speaker of the Colorado conference telling him that she came an atheist and left a daughter of Jesus! (I will read you that letter Sunday.) But what struck me is this—what made that possible is that a whole lot of people have given a whole lot of money so that a whole lot of young people they don’t even know can hear about Jesus. That is the reason I will urge you to give and pray about giving generously during this crucial time of thinking about our stewardship of money and how it can bless and build the kingdom!
You know what’s not my favorite part of a movie? The credits. Studios will sometimes put effort into getting people to stick around for them by interspersing bloopers, running bonus footage, featuring a great pop song, or even placing trailers of coming attractions afterward. But mostly they just run them as quickly as possible across a black background; fulfilling their legal obligations while embracing the fact that no one cares that it took hundreds of highly skilled craftsmen working thousands of hours to make this magic happen. Viewers may pause to acknowledge the handful of star-power names at the top, usually A-list actors and directors, then resume kicking their empty popcorn buckets down the aisle and out the exit before the “best boy grip” has his time to shine.
I used to have a similar contempt for lists of names in the Bible, too. I’m pretty sure I grew up thinking the genealogy in Matthew was just in there to ensure the Christmas Eve service wasn’t too much fun. Then my friend Jason decided to do his doctoral dissertation on it, and his work opened my eyes to the depth of inspiration in every word of Scripture. I couldn’t believe how much significance there was in even just the structure of those kinds of passages. I won’t say 1 Chronicles is now my favorite book of the Bible, but I definitely don’t breeze past Biblical begats, greetings, and cast lists like I once did.
This weekend, as we conclude our series on “Colossians: The True Humanism” by preaching the “ending credits,” I hope you’ll be open to receiving the gospel gifts that this passage has in store for us. Trust with me that God dignifies every human as a divine image bearer in every instance one is mentioned. (That alone is good news for us!) Behind every name listed in this passage is a story; a heart; a collection of relationships that help to explain a mystery: Why, in the very last verse of Colossians, does Paul tell a group of people he’s never met that what he wants them to remember him by are his chains?
The debate has always raged in the Christian community about what our involvement in the world should look like. Some seem to think the world a dangerous place and our best hope of survival is to retreat from it, keep our children safe, and wait for the new heavens and new earth. Others seem to think we should charge recklessly into the world, and become like the world in order to save it. Thus, some of us are more eager to shelter our children and others more eager to expose them to the world. Even in a healthy church family opinions differ. My wife and I have forever had discussions about equipping our children for life in the world and we have often disagreed about what that looked like and at what age we turned them loose.
The world and the culture we live in is a dangerous place, not because it looks so bad, but because it looks so good. Sin always looks attractive and, by most accounts, offers short term pleasures. What advertisers don’t show you is the long term consequences. Sex sells, so lets get all we can. You deserve this or that consumer gadget because you owe it to yourself. We see little, however, of the consequences and the dead bodies that abound because of living only in the moment.
Christianity on the other hand seems to suggest that there is always short term denial and often pain, but long term consequences of joy and thriving. What is our stance in this crazy culture we live in? This week we will engage that discussion because Paul tells us flat out to, “walk towards outsiders.” Our posture is towards the world and the culture, to enter it with a new kind of vision of what it means to be human, a new vision of pleasure, a new vision of marriage, a new vision that all abundant life begins with death to self and a life laid down.
But the difficult part is what he says is necessary to live a wise, salty, well-seasoned life.
Christianity has often been said to be “subversive.” I take it what we mean by that is that the gospel will, when lived out in a robust manner in a particular place, tend with God’s help to undermine the established cultural order. The genius of Christianity is in fact that this is the way God works. The frontal assault is not usually the way God works. He did with the Apostle Paul, but then again most of us are not in that league. Usually God’s way is slow and indirect, planting a seed that might not germinate for a long, long time.
I think about this a lot. I want to see the gospel change things sooner rather than later. I have reminded God a lot this week that it actually looks to the human and untrained eye that we are losing the culture wars and people in general are increasingly finding it hard to believe in the divine, let alone Jesus and the cross. And then God reminds me of mustard seeds and parables and farming and feasting. God obviously doesn’t have my time table. His method is not usually direct but subtle and subversive. Put a seed in the ground and nothing happens. And then, after patience, weeding, watering—abundant fruit.
This week we will look at how Christianity was uniquely subversive in the Roman Empire and totally subverted the established order in less than three hundred years. The good news is it was not with political parties, democrats or republicans—not with cohesion or because we had “Christians” in office to legislate morality. It was quite the opposite. It was local communities living out a different vision of what it meant to be human that brought about human thriving.
Last week, a new barista at Starbucks asked me what I do, and before I could think, I heard myself say, “I’ve been set apart as a conspirator for human thriving.” This is why I typically preach from a manuscript: I never know what’s about to come out of my mouth. It’s true, though - I really do think of my vocation like that. Words like “pastor” and “preacher” seem to obscure rather than illuminate what it is I actually do. At this time in history, there are too many connotations and so much baggage to go along with words like that, and none of it matches. I might as well say I’m an ecclesial engineer for all the clarity it would provide.
This weekend, after a year of preparation and written examinations, I will stand before an assembly of Evangelical Presbyterian elders at one of our Central South Presbytery’s seasonal meetings. There, they will publicly examine me on my knowledge and views according to Scripture and the Reformed tradition. If they are satisfied (Lord, let them be satisfied!), then they will receive my ordination on transfer and I will be installed by a commission on Sunday as your Associate Pastor, (since our members so graciously voted to call me to serve as such last week). We've invited my cousin, best friend, and fellow pastor, the Rev. Dr. Matthew Sliger to preach the gospel to us from Colossians 3, since he's a man who has known me both dead in sin and raised to new life in Christ.
If all that seems a bit cumbersome to you, suffice to say I gladly and willingly submitted to the yearlong process of courses, interviews, and exams, because I believe it allows me to serve you with integrity and allows you to trust that I’m qualified to do so. But after all that Presbyterian pomp recedes into the background of circumstance, I’ll be left with you, and you with me. “Life in the mundane” at St. Patrick Pres. will resume, and my accepted scruples with regard to Chapter 21 of the Westminster Confession probably won’t come up in conversation too much. But rest assured, you and I will spend quality time as co-conspirators to see the church in Collierville embody Christ in the everyday as we make disciples who Love God, Love People, and Love Life. And for that, I am very glad to give my life.
Paul says we ought to be “heavenly minded.” I confess that I don’t like that language. I suppose it is because so many people accuse Christians of being “so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good.” I get that. I see that. I am ticked about those kinds of people too. I know Jesus is as well. It is easy to just make Christianity an ethereal thing that doesn’t relate to this world in any shape, form, or fashion.
However, I think what Paul is trying to say about being heavenly minded is that the more heavenly minded we are the more rooted we will be in a robust life on earth. Paul would say that the more “awed to heaven we are” it will come out as being radically concerned about the here and now in the places we live a common and ordinary life.
So, on Sunday we will look at how the more we ponder the heavenly rule and reign of Jesus, the more we will be able to do as Paul says later, “And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Knowing and seeking Jesus will make us infinitely more useful in this world.
In the South when you get really ticked and you just lay into someone tooth and claw, you might describe that as “losing your religion.” It is a statement that means you have lost all civility, grace, and decorum—you are in a bad place and out of control. R.E.M made that popular and the writer was learning a new instrument when he come up with the lyrics. The same might be written by me when I am learning a new shot in golf.
While losing one’s religion is typically not a good thing, this Sunday we will be talking about ‘losing your religion’ as a good thing! In fact, in the South the best thing that can happen to most people is to lose their religion. It might just be that religion is keeping more people from Christ than irreligious activity is! Jesus actually hated religion! Most of what Jesus had to say in the gospels is not setting up a contrast between true faith and irreligion, but true faith and religion. He said to the religious leaders, “You have heard it said, but I say…” So I hope to see you Sunday and hope to convince you that you really need to lose your religion.
I keep thinking about those who will grieve the devastation that unveils as their sense of shock recedes with historic floodwaters this week. I’m not so taken with the colossal damage to the infrastructure of a major city, although that too is of significant concern, but with the everyday people who will have to face the irredeemable remains of their once meaningful work. A flower garden planted with delightful botanic wisdom and fanciful aesthetic hope, now undone by an unthinking, unfeeling force of nature. A backyard fort ingeniously, painstakingly assembled over the summer now disheveled, its pieces carried and strewn about the neighborhood by a meteorological bully. A decent home that once represented years in equity earned in an otherwise entirely unsatisfying job now robbed of its value, utterly uninsured.
I keep wondering what that old Biblical character Lamech was thinking when he named his son Noah, (which means “rest”), saying, “Out of the ground that the Lord has cursed, this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the painful toil of our hands.” What Noah thought about his name when he looked out over a world entirely unmade, knowing that he was another kind of Adam and this carnage was his inheritance over which to exercise dominion by the very sweat of his brow. If that’s what drove him to despairing drunkenness so soon after God renewed his covenant with him. If he could have known that God’s promise to him meant that even the promise of his name would be God’s work to do and not his own?
This weekend, millions of Americans will celebrate the patriotic endeavor of labor by getting as far away from their workplaces as humanly possible. As they do, few will stop and reflect upon the fraught yet indissoluble relationship between the work they do and the rest they long for and what that tension means for humans in light of our creatureliness. Honestly, I’m not sure if I would either if it weren’t part of my job! Thanks be to God that I have been given this thoughtful work to do and for the opportunity to share the fruit of those labors with you this weekend. We are taking a break from Colossians, but will continue in the theme of our series (The New Humanism). I want us to hear God speak through Paul to the Ephesians for us Sunday on how the unending cyclone that is our miserable attempt at a work-rest balance points us to the New Creation reality we’ve inherited in Christ, the Supreme King over all creation.
In the movie, “The Lion King” we have the story of a young lion named Simba who, by lion standards, is not exactly living well as he grows into an older lion. He was, in time, to succeed his father Mufasa as the king of the Pride lands. As a cub he lost his father, his homeland, and his identity. It was stolen by his uncle Scar who murdered his father. Shame overcomes Simba as he thinks he is responsible for his father’s death and flees into exile. He finds, or thinks he finds, his identity (who he is and his purpose) in the company of two rascals—a meerkat and a warthog. Essentially, they become his parents and teach them a philosophy of life.
Meanwhile, because Simba has been held captive by a “no worries, no responsibilities” lifestyle, his homeland is being destroyed. He only learns this because a hungry lioness almost eats his best friends but from her he learns where he came from and what is happening to his home. Nala, this young lioness, insists that he come home and do something. He refuses to leave but is wracked by guilt and shame. In this crisis of identity, Rafiki, a kind of holy man, comes to him and tells him he doesn’t know who he is.
That night he sees a vision of his father who tells him, “You have forgotten who you are, and so forgotten me… You are more than what you have become… Remember who you are. You are my son.” You know the rest of the story!
Colossians is a book about living well, what it means to be mature in Christ. But like the story in “The Lion King,” it is easy to lose our way, to forget who we are, and thus to be less than what we can be by God’s grace. This week we’ll talk about it as Paul reminds this group of young believers who they are, alerts them to the threats around them, and finally rehearses to them their true identity.
“I saw, early in the morning, the sun diminish against a backdrop of sky. I saw a circular piece of that sky appear, suddenly detached, blackened, and backlighted; from nowhere it came and overlapped the sun. It did not look like the moon. It was enormous and black. If I had not read that it was the moon, I could have seen the sight a hundred times and never thought of the moon once. (If, however, I had not read that it was the moon—if, like most of the world’s people throughout time, I had simply glanced up and seen this thing—then I doubtless would not have speculated much, but would have, like Emperor Louis of Bavaria in 840, simply died of fright on the spot.) It did not look like a dragon, although it looked more like a dragon than the moon. It looked like a lens cover, or the lid of a pot. It materialized out of thin air—black, and flat, and sliding, outlined in flame.” – Annie Dillard, “Total Solar Eclipse”
My wife has a way, like the ancient magi, of knowing when certain celestial events will occur and whether or not they will be worth experiencing in person. Our best-laid plans rarely come to fruition, (mainly due to our stage of life), but we do fully intend on being outside late Monday morning to witness the blotting out of the “fair sun” by that “envious moon,” whether we make the grand trip a bit northeast or end up just staying home.
If you had asked me a few days ago how many celestial bodies are involved in a solar eclipse, I would have answered two, and I would have been wrong. The Sun and Moon are two, and Earth is the third. It seems so obvious once you point it out, but the planet we most easily forget when we gaze at the stars is the one that makes our gazing possible. The celestial spheres do innumerable fantastic things each second, and the moon is always between the Sun and something else– it’s when the earth is in the path of that great shadow that this becomes an Astronomical Event. Humanity, as Carl Sagan famously observed, is the point at which the universe looks back on itself in wonder. Because the earth falls within this event’s line of totality, and because humans – the creatures who marvel at Majesty – live there, a “total solar eclipse” is a thing.
As we continue our series in Colossians, we find ourselves once again in the line of totality. Heaven and Earth collide and Christ is revealed in glory: God and man, King of all creation. And as the cosmos align in a spectacular array, here we are, just so positioned to participate; just small enough to look up in wonder.
It is exciting because we are talking about one of the most important passages in the Bible, Colossians 1:15-23. It is important because it is a poem about Jesus—Jesus as the true King of the universe. Christianity sort of rises or falls on this sort of passage. This passage leaves no doubt that Jesus is not just a good man who was done wrong, a prophet who found a bad end, or a would-be Messiah who was killed. No, this passage portrays Jesus as the one to whom all creation owes allegiance because of his Deity and also because of his death on the cross for sin.
To say Jesus is the true king has staggering implications for us today just as it did for the community who first heard these words. These words about who Jesus was took such hold in the imagination of this church and many like it, that slowly those who came under Jesus’ kingship subverted the throne that dominated their lives—Rome! This Sunday we are looking at Jesus’ rule and reign and then, for the rest of the book, we will look at how this works out in ways that totally turn the culture on its head.
This Sunday we start a new series of studies in the book of Colossians. We are calling this series, Colossians: The True Humanism. I looked back through my files and realized that in the past nineteen years (while at St. Patrick) I have never preached on this small yet weighty book. I think the reason is that in the grand scheme of things we look at Philippians, Galatians, or Ephesians, and the one that gets left out is Colossians. Colossians is sort of the bridesmaid to the book of Ephesians. They are similar, written around the same time, but Colossians at first glance seems like an overture to Ephesians.
Colossians, however, may be the most subversive of all the books Paul wrote. I want you to imagine what it would be like to live in this small agrarian town of Colossae in the first century: Because it is a small town, you know most of the people in the town. You know that there is a new sect of people in town who call themselves Christians and, while they seem like nice people and don’t seem to want to hurt anyone, you can’t help believe that there is something dangerous about them. Here is the reason: they say Jesus is Lord, and not Caesar. That alone is enough to get you too close to the action of the gladiatorial games! Amazingly enough, they have a mixture of both Jews and Gentiles in their community. They also seem to be undermining the societal structure that the whole empire is built upon! The latest illustration of how radical this is comes when a man named Onesimus returns to town bearing a letter from one of their key leaders. Onesimus is a run-away slave, and instead of being killed by Philemon his master (who is one of the Christians), as he should have been, he is forgiven and welcomed back as a brother!
Can you imagine what this community must have looked like to the larger community around it? Well, if you can’t, we will try in the next couple of months to unpack how radically different the Christian Community is, and also attempt to get a grasp of how Christianity makes you human. Yes, we will have the difficult task of deconstructing a lot of myths about Christianity to show, in bold relief, that real human thriving is found by following a man who hung on a cross, but this is what we will attempt to do.
Today as we were touching base in the Starbucks line (our unofficial “southern campus”), Jim told me with great enthusiasm that he’d just ended a yearlong “stoic standoff” with my two-year-old by finally getting the boy to laugh. It’s true: Donovan is not one to warm quickly and is less and less inclined the harder one tries to draw him out. Jim swears the apple has not fallen far from my tree in that regard. Now I’m perhaps not as “stoic” as Jim often jokes I am (compared to a sanguine character like him, who isn’t a little melancholy!?), but he’s right that I’m not aptly described as a “jolly” fellow. I prefer dark chocolate, stout beers, and Russian novels. Just the idea of being forced to stir myself into a happy frenzy makes me very, very tired. The more superficial marks of gladness notwithstanding, I do believe it’s possible to experience the joy of the Lord as a more reserved human being, and I suspect it has something to do with being able to engage the messiness of reality in a way that the Psalms model well.
So, this weekend we’ll wrap up Psalms! The Voice of the Heart with a look at Psalm 126 and that emotion known as gladness, or joy. If you’ve stuck with us through the summer, you’re no doubt as wrung out as Jim and I are and are perhaps glad that we’re moving on! Maybe you felt like I did the first time I came across Chip Dodd’s list of the eight feelings and thought, “Surely there’s more than just one positive emotion, right?” Hopefully, you’ve seen by now that in fact all our emotions are designed as bearers of good gifts, which we receive when we learn to listen to the voice of our hearts. Even those “negative” emotions are pointing our hearts prophetically to the “positive” blessings of a life in Christ. I’m excited (maybe even enough to smile!) about the opportunity we have to step back and look at the culmination of our work throughout this series by landing on gladness. Thank God for the help of the Psalms in sharing and shaping our hearts in the image of Christ! Prepare to be propelled into full-hearted hope for what our Father has in store for those of who trust him with the most vulnerable and raw places within.
I did not grow up in a shame culture. I grew up in a guilt culture. For purposes of clarity - guilt is what you feel when you do something wrong, say, lie or cheat. It is objective and you know you did it. Shame is when you feel like you are wrong, there is just something wrong with you. It is not that shame was not around when I was growing up, but it was more isolated and you just didn’t hear about shame unless someone did something really awful and it was usually that they had brought “shame on the family.”
Times, they are a changin’. In the space of the last ten years “shame” is something that has become part of the national conversation. There are two reasons for this. The first is because of the amount of broken homes we see around us. Trauma produces shame. Children that never did anything wrong, have this sense that, “I am wrong,” or, “I am not enough,” and they don’t even know why. The second reason is iPhones and technology. When I was growing up I remember my senior year doing something that was utterly shameful. In fact, I feel shame for it to this day. I was with a few of my teammates and they gave me a hard time about it and it left a mark on my heart. However, no one had cell phones, no one posted what I did on Facebook or tweeted a video of my shameful deed, so that the only reason that you now know about it or that anyone other than a few guys knows about it, is because I told you.
This is not the world we live in today. As Andy Crouch says in his article, The Return of Shame, "An American 13-year-old today has never known a day without the internet, mobile technology, and social media. He or she started kindergarten the year the iPhone was released and Facebook opened its site to the public." Think about that! In my day I was at school and then I went home and left the pressure of the youth culture behind. Now with smartphones, tablets, and the internet, kids take their social environments into their bedrooms! What this means practically speaking it that if I had done that shameful thing I did nowadays—everybody would know my shame! It would be broadcast, commented on by total strangers, and by the next day when I walked into school I would walk in shame and disgrace.
Shame is so bad it will destroy your soul as it isolates you and condemns you with feelings of self-loathing and worthlessness. Shame is our first response to sin according to the creation story in Genesis 1-3. Shame is everywhere but here is the good news—Jesus took our shame! That is sort of abstract, but let me say this, that is our only hope of dealing with our shame in a healthy way. This Sunday we will talk about shame, and how we pray our shame back to God (who already knows it anyway) and ultimately how the cross of Jesus is the place we find healing for our wounded hearts.
Because we cannot help but sin and do harm to God, to others, and to ourselves we must traffic in the currency of guilt and forgiveness. I confess, I have been around people who are almost incapable of admitting they are wrong. I know people for whom it is almost impossible for them to simply say, “I am sorry.” On the other hand, I know people who, God forbid, you do sin against because they will remind you of it for the next 20 years. I have been around people who catalog every offense and injury and refuse to grant absolution even when you are in sack cloth and ashes. I don’t know about you but I try to avoid people like this. I am simply not good enough!
Guilt is a "merciful pain in the heart.” Merciful - because guilt works on the heart like pain does on the body. We need pain to alert us that if we keep using that skill saw on our finger it will be removed. Pain is elemental, it reacts and with good reason, it mercifully protects our bodies from further and future harm. Guilt works like this on our hearts. Guilt is the warning system that alerts us that we have broken God’s law or are bringing harm to a relationship that is close to us. Guilt is the thing that makes us feel awful until we deal with it.
The Bible has a lot to say about guilt and well it should, we stand as a people condemned. We were born sinners who are guilty and need a savior. Thankfully we know what to do with our guilt as we look at Psalm 51 and see what a man who committed adultery and killed a good friend did when his guilt almost crushed him. Also, we only have to go to the cross to see what it will cost us when people sinned greatly against us and they seek our forgiveness.
Have you ever taken one of the online quizzes to find out which Avengers character you are, or which Hogwarts House you’d be sorted into? One result of this popular personality profiling trend has been a widely held (false) belief that the world is filled with only two kinds of people: extroverts, those party animals who can’t keep a thought to themselves, and introverts, the shy, socially inept wallflowers. However, (as research suggests is actually true of most people), when I take the quizzes, I find that I am neither extreme introvert nor extrovert, but somewhere in between (ambiverts, they call us, which is sort of a non-name). I guess I’m just one of those boring freaks who likes to be with people sometimes and likes to be alone at other times.
While I enjoy much about the popular craze of personality profiling, and especially some of the more reliable scientific archetypes behind it, I also recognize that identifying one’s preferences (even exaggerated caricatures of them) is not quite the same as recognizing one’s bona fide needs. But even for those at the extreme ends of the spectrum, just because someone might have a real preference for solitude or socialization doesn’t mean they know how those preferences either serve or hinder their real human needs in those areas. We don’t often crave the best things for us - this is especially true when it comes to our needs as relational beings.
I have a beautiful copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in my library. Until recently, it was a part of that long and illustrious list of works I supposedly read in school and am now trying to actually read as a way of penance toward my poor teachers who endured me. Walden always seemed to fit that category for me of individualistic romantic nonsense, so I was somewhat surprised to discover how much that book is really about good relationships and true intimacy. First of all, no genuine isolationist would write down and publish his private experiences and musings. He would just wander into the woods and die. There’s a real kind of social vulnerability in writing. It assumes an audience – someone who can see you and decide whether to accept or reject whatever part of your soul that’s been exposed on that piece of paper. Thoreau wanted to be seen and heard, because he was a human. Second, with great social awareness, he explains that one can be lonely even surrounded by companions if one's heart is not open to them. (Surely Thoreau anticipated the digital age!) Even in his solitude, he always left three chairs for visitors and observed that he had more quality visitors in his solitude than he ever did in the city saturated with strangers. Although Thoreau is probably a bit more interested in self-reliance than in his own self-interest, he’s not quite the hermit that I thought he was, or even that he himself claims to be.
But whatever our preferences or baggage, whether hard-wired or trauma-induced, we must all reconcile ourselves to the twin facts that we were made in the image of the Triune God for relationships, and we as fallen humans engage in these relationships very poorly. This is where the gift of loneliness comes in – yes you read that right, the gift of loneliness. If we can learn to listen to the voice of our hearts when we experience loneliness and receive it for the gift that it is, we can be re-shaped as healthy relational beings in the image of our fundamentally relational God. I’m excited to continue in this series with you all this weekend as we look to God’s own self-revelatory writing and see his heart for our hearts in the Psalms.
In Lord of the Rings, it is Sam who asks the question, sort of rhetorically, "Is everything sad going to come untrue?” He asks this question when he sees that Gandalf, who he thought was dead, is indeed alive. He also asks this question because everything in his world that he loved had been lost—his home, his friends, his pipe weed, his pots and pans, and he even believed himself dead. So to see something he loved not lost sends him into deep wonder, and you can almost feel the sadness melting away, a sadness that had grown and intensified for almost a year. For almost a year, he had watched the world he loved systematically taken away.
Sadness is what you feel when something you love is taken away or lost. In a fallen world, we have no choice but to deal continually with sadness. The deeper we love something, the more sadness we feel when it is lost. In fact, as uncertain as the world is, there is no way we can avoid sadness. I remember thinking that, with six children, I had multiplied my capacity for deep joy and also deep sadness. Chip Dodd in his book Voices of the Heart says, “We cannot delight deeply in anything or anyone unless we are willing to walk in a world of sadness. Sadness allows the intimacy and impact of love to be much richer because it exposes the heart to its ability to value and honor.”
Sadness is the ability to feel the pain, not deflect it or act like we don’t care. Sadness is what leads us to grief, healing, and an anticipation for our true home—heaven. We will never get to a place where we are free of sadness in this world. However, sadness is so hard that many people either choose never to love at all, and thus avoid getting hurt, or when they are hurt, they deflect it to other people in the form of self-pity. Self-pity is the way we guard our hearts and make other people hurt.
This Sunday we are going to talk about sadness and how it is both a gift and a blessing. And yet like most good gifts given by God, if they are neglected or used the wrong way, we wind up impaired, and we wind up hurting ourselves and other people—particularly those we love the most.
Can’t wait to see you all Sunday. After being gone for almost two weeks, Teri and I were talking the night before we came home and confessed to each other a certain sadness; we missed our home—our people and place. The lodging was great, the friends and conversations excellent, and California and Colorado were breathtaking. So why so sad? We weren’t home! One of the other things about why sadness is a good thing—it makes us long for home. Our true home—heaven.
(Yes, that’s an R.E.M. reference, from that revolutionary 1992 album, “Automatic for the People.”) Jim and I have spent this week with a thousand other EPC pastors in sunny Sacramento, California, for our denomination’s General Assembly – learning, networking, strategizing, and voting as participants in the wider connectional body into which they are vowed. It’s a pretty awesome and humbling responsibility we have to stay committed, supportive and accountable to an extended family beyond our family at St. Patrick, but we are vow-keeping covenant people. So while there’s been a whole lot of socializing and sweating (it’s been 110 degrees all week!), it’s nothing at all that we could classify as “suffering for the Kingdom.”
As I’ve been mulling over these themes of hurt and healing for Sunday’s sermon in our “Psalms! The Voice of the Heart” series, we’ve also been sharing in many conversations with other pastors and missionaries about what Jim jokingly calls “The Doctrine of the Sneakiness of God.” The more we reflect on the best, most healthy decisions of our lives, it seems we’ve nearly always been sort of “tricked” or “pushed” into them. It’s as if God knew what was truly good for us, but He also knew if we’d had any inkling as to what He was up to, we’d have turned and run the other direction! Humans rarely walk headlong into pain (thank you, amygdala!), and there’s a real wisdom in that kind of caution. But since our pain-averseness also often keeps us from experiencing the very fullness of life in Christ, God just has to have the whole thing kind of rigged in our favor. “For I know the plans I have for you…” kind of assumes he’s been orchestrating some kind of benevolent mass conspiracy for us, doesn’t it!?
So many complaints toward God seem to revolve around this idea often called “The Problem of Evil.” It goes something like this: since God either can’t or won’t prevent suffering; He must be either powerless, evil, or nonexistent. While we can certainly empathize with the kind of heartache that causes one to doubt God and His goodness, there’s a flip side to that argument. It’s called “The Problem of Goodness.” If God really is as evil or powerless or nonexistent as one might resentfully assert, then where does all the goodness and power from? How can you explain redemption and beauty and self-sacrificial love? How come so many of life’s best gifts come right on the heels of its most excruciating moments? At the end of the day, intellectual difficulties abound no matter what philosophical positions you take. But here’s something we can all bank on: “Life is hard and you can’t get all your Heaven here” (again, Jim’s words).
So what do we do with the pain we experience but didn’t ask for, that we would have fiercely avoided, if only we’d seen it coming? Well, the short and always correct answer is “repent and believe the glorious gospel of Jesus Christ,” but the longer conversation will just have to wait for Sunday. Hope to see you there! In the meantime, here’s a helpful tip from the great southern philosopher-poet, Mr. Michael Stipe:
When your day is long and the night, the night is yours alone, When you’re sure you’ve had enough of this life Well hang on – don’t let yourself go ‘Cause everybody cries, and everybody hurts sometimes.
Sometimes everything is wrong, now it’s time to sing along
I’m noticing a rising trend of people willing to publicly broadcast their struggles with anxiety. This was once a hush-hush condition, but today a Google search of TED talks on anxiety produces 340,000 results. Teenagers talk openly about their anxiety as if it were akin to acne – unwanted, but basically unavoidable. “Pop a Xanax” is becoming a common and often lighthearted prescription for just about any level of emotional discomfort. This uptick is actually not too surprising, given the kind of society in which we live. An entire population of deeply anxious individuals is just one of the logical conclusions of a capitalistic society.
Let me explain: in our free market, the work of the advertiser is to actually create a tension in the consumer that only the purchasing of their product can relieve. The wildly successful AMC series Mad Men was based on this idea and its consequences. Fear mongering is at work underneath not only toothpaste and auto sales, but also cable news channels and educational choices. When I was young, I used to be afraid of monsters; now I’m afraid of rising interest rates. We then pick up on that pattern and begin peddling anxiety to those around us, even when we have nothing to sell but our approval. Because we’re social creatures, the last thing any human wants to be is on the outside looking in. Everyone is trying to sell us something, and it’s easy to become either brutally cynical or perpetually gullible in our endless search for reprieve from those pressures.
I’m not making an argument against capitalism – there is no problem-free social model, and this is simply the other side of a pretty shiny coin. I’m just pointing out the phenomenon is not likely to go away. But aren’t you tired of being manipulated? As I’m writing this, I even have to check my own fear that I’m trying to manipulate you into “buying” into St. Patrick’s worship service this Sunday. Yet I don’t have to manufacture your anxiety for you. Right now, there are probably a dozen potential dangers you have your eye on, and you just want a solution. Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s famous attribution, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” is widely accepted as a true proverb but it’s almost entirely unhelpful, and I’d like to even challenge its truthfulness. What if fear isn’t actually a burden, but a gift? What if even manufactured fear can be a conduit to something we were actually made for – something that can’t be manipulated? What if fear itself is not a curse, but a blessing? I’ll tell you I think the Psalmist has the responses to those questions you need, and they can be yours, at the low, low, price of…
As we delve into the proper content of our summer series, Psalms! The Voice of The Heart, exploring the language of the emotions through the lens of the prayer book, I find myself experiencing and engaging all kinds of emotions in my own heart. There’s gladness, of course – I genuinely enjoy preaching, and as a musician the Psalms lay special claim to my affections. But there’s also fear in talking about emotions to emotional beings, with all of our baggage we bring. There’s a bit of loneliness thinking of how I’ll miss bouncing ideas off my coworkers as we’re all traveling in and out over the next few weeks for church trips and vacations. There’s also some shame when I think about how daunting these texts and concepts are and how limited I often feel before the colossal Word of God. But most of all, what I feel is anger.
If that sounds strange to you, maybe it’s because we typically think of anger in one of two caricatures: the first is the kind of blind vindictive rage, bitterness, or resentment that destroys relationships and nations, that wildfire blazing out of control and consuming all life in its path, leaving nothing but ash and rock in its volcanic wake. The other is the cartoonish lid-flipping that the Warner Brothers are so famous for: Yosemite Sam, Daffy Duck, the Tasmanian Devil and the others – these clowns who are constantly foiled by either circumstance or their own foolishness and simply can’t keep their tempers in check when their best laid plans go awry.
Why on earth would I admit to feeling such base and immature emotions with reference to a sermon series?
As I was coming of age in the 1990’s, (yes, I’m that young), the quintessential angry man of comedy was Mr. Adam Sandler, who somehow embodied both of the above parodies in one. He built a filmmaking empire out of playing essentially the same immature character surrounded by the same cast of misfit man-boys in movie after movie about guys whose inconsequential outbursts are just so gosh darn funny. But after a decade or so of diminishing returns on the same shtick, most people had simply stopped watching. Those people probably missed Punch Drunk Love. In 2002, Paul Thomas Anderson hired Sandler to play Barry Egan, essentially the same character Sandler had always played, but with one significant difference: this was no comedy. Barry was without that supporting cast of buffoons who never held him accountable for his actions; without those fortuitous coincidences that left him on top in spite of his failures. In this story, his depression isn’t funny and his intermittent violent outbursts aren’t working out for him. He finds himself isolated and alone as his mistakes come back to roost and he falls victim to an extortionist. But throughout the course of the film, Barry also falls in love with a young woman and learns that the proper end of anger is pure passion and a willingness to suffer for the object of one’s beloved. “I have so much strength in me you have no idea.” Barry tells his abuser. “I have a love in my life. It makes me stronger than anything you can imagine.” His anger has found its purpose and he stands poised to fight for honor.
For all its insight, Punch Drunk Love is a pretty obscene film and I certainly wouldn’t give it a blanket endorsement. But that scene in particular always stuck with me, and it describes well the way I feel about this sermon series. I have such a great burden and passion to share with you all that I’ve seen in the scriptures; it is literally propelling me to the pulpit. I feel like the prophet Jeremiah, who declared, “If I say, “I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,” there is in my heart as it were a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.” That’s me this week. I am angry for the word of God and for His people and I can’t wait to tell you about how we can righteously reflect God’s true, good, and beautiful anger for us.
This Sunday is Pentecost Sunday–the day we ponder God pouring out his Holy Spirit, without measure on his church. It is an interesting thing that Jesus’ ascension to the right hand of the Father and the subsequent outpouring of the Holy Spirit actually means we have more of Jesus! We are indwelt by God’s Spirit who testifies that we are children of God.
A curious thing about the Holy Spirit is that he is the author of the Holy Scriptures. The Bible says that, under the influence of the Holy Spirit, the Scriptures were written:
“For no prophecy was ever brought about through human initiative, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.” (2 Peter 2:21)
Often in our rush for the new and the novel in a life with God, we miss the fact that, when we have the Bible, we have the voice of the Holy Spirit right at our finger tips!
I say all that as introduction to the new sermon series we are starting. It is called, Psalms! The Voice of the Heart. The Psalms are the prayer book of the church. They are a key to a praying life, which is to say, a life that knows God’s friendship. The Psalms contain 150 prayers inspired by the Holy Spirit. They are unique as Holy Scripture in that they are people answering God from their heart. I must confess that, until I really considered what was being said to God in the Psalms, they remained a mystery to me–like window dressing at funerals, brought out at lofty occasions that needed a poetic touch to add gravitas to the situation. Boy, was I ever wrong.
What I learned from my “spiritual directors” about the Psalms changed my life and showed me that I could live a life of integrity before God and not hide or hold anything back from him. I learned that half the prayers in the Psalter were about trouble or enemies, and that sounded about right in my prayer life as I lived out my days in a broken world with a heart that was constantly prone to wander. I saw for the first time the same emotions I felt–often it was white, hot anger at Go––and I found a new freedom to go to my Father when I was ticked off and broken. I found a new voice and permission to bring my troubled situation and lay it alongside God’s great power and grace. I discovered that freedom for me was not “God get me out of the mess I have made”, but “God, just be with me in the mess I have made, and it will be enough.” In short, I found a God I could love and delight in and a vocabulary to express it. The Psalms are the heart of the believing church and always have been.
This Sunday is Ascension Sunday. Jesus moves from death, burial, and resurrection to ascend into heaven on clouds of glory. Literally, it is a picture of Jesus being enthroned! He is elevated to the right hand of the Father to rule and reign till he brings all things under his Lordship. It is no accident that after spending 40 days with his disciples and mostly dealing with their doubts and fears and all the things we know that keep us from believing the gospel—it is at the point of his Ascension that we see the church unleashed. We see it literally go viral and spread like wild fire across the Roman Empire.
It is a moving picture, it is a powerful picture, and it is also instructive. This Sunday for those of you not out of town (it is also Memorial Day weekend and a day we remember those who have served our country in the military!) we will talk about it. This is the conclusion of our Eastertide series of Jesus’ appearances and what an epic conclusion. From Acts 1 on, the world would never be the same. (So if you are out of town I encourage you to watch the livestream or listen to the message on our app. Not because I am so good, but because it it thrilling to see Jesus use unqualified and disqualified people to change history!)
Finally, this Sunday we are talking about the freedom that comes with confession and repentance. If there is one thing I know it is this, we can’t know true freedom until we learn that an authentic Christian life is one of continual confession and repentance. While the cross saves us and removes all condemnation from us, we still are sinful and live in a fallen world, and as Job says, “…but man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.” So how do we walk in the light? How do we live a life of integrity? We have to lead a life of continual repentance. We have to candidly admit that we are not that good even on our best day and be quick to run to Jesus for grace in our brokenness.
A lot of bad things can happen in the silence. In the silence you cannot allow others in. In the silence you can get paranoid. In the silence you can start believing lies—you start “listening to yourself rather than talking to yourself.” But silence, on the other hand, is a thing I crave because I can’t really hear God’s voice unless I get alone and still. But still there is a silence that is rather bewildering and perplexing and we all know what it feels like—it feels like Monday morning!
On Sunday everything seems so clear—we hear the gospel, rejoice with a few hundred of our friends, we sense God’s presence with us, and we are certain of what his message is for us for the next week. Then, once Monday morning comes and you begin going into your own personal context trying to live out the faithful presence of the gospel, all those great abstract ideas about God don’t make sense anymore. What does it mean to follow Jesus in this work situation? What does it mean to bring this area of my life under the Lordship of Jesus? What can I really do to make a gospel impact in this unique situation? All these questions, which seemed so simple on Sunday, leave you utterly bewildered throughout the week.
To further complicate the problem, you then pray about how to apply the gospel to a certain part of your life and you get no answer—now what do you do? What do you do when God is silent? I think most people just do nothing, but I don’t think this is what God expects of us. Interestingly enough, we are not left to wonder what our obedience should look like because our text this week deals with this perplexing situation!
This Sunday we are looking at the poster child of doubt. Just as Judas is associated with being a traitor, Thomas is associated with doubt. If you are the one in your group who offers the skeptical or cynical opinion you might hear someone in the group look at you and say, "Well, there is old 'Doubting Thomas.'" Doubt can be a paralyzing and dehabilitating thing. Not that all doubt is bad. In the bible half the Psalms are prayers that echo some kind of doubt. However, doubt can go toxic and lead to losing hope and joy.
In our text we see that in Thomas. Thomas is so lost, feels so abandoned and so hopeless that while the other disciples gathered on the Sunday of the resurrection, Thomas did not. Why was he not with the others? Was he that forlorn? Did he just have to be by himself? We don’t know exactly but we do know that he did not abandon the others and that when he was told that Jesus was in fact alive, he showed his real heart when he said I won’t believe unless I put my hands in his wounds. It is almost like he had killed the possibility of hoping again. It is like his heart was so broken at the death of Jesus he wouldn't allow hope to even flicker.
So how then does "Doubting Thomas" become "Believing Thomas," the one man in all of scripture who gives the greatest confessional statement of faith about who Jesus is? How can that be? How can his life change so radically. This Sunday we will talk about it. Everyone of us has doubts, has periods of hopelessness and feeling abandoned. Can that be redemptive? How do we move from doubt to faith? Good questions! I hope to see you Sunday when we will explore these things together.
I watched his face light up like a Christmas tree. This was a face that had previously featured the permanent furrow of an 80 year-old accountant on the brow of a nine year-old. He was sitting, absolutely swallowed up by my bulky, brown, microsuede office couch, next to his mother, her own face fixed in the Virgin Mary's adoring-yet-quizzical "no seriously, what child is this" repose, and he had been asking some very complicated questions about the metaphysics of our faith. I was (and still am) the new pastor who had not seen this coming, but I recognized it from the mirror of my own past.
In our tradition, a few times a year we invite elementary and middle schoolers who would like to make a personal profession of faith and join the church to participate in our Communicants' Class. There, they have the opportunity to (re)hear the basics of our faith and practice and to process it over several weeks along with their parents. At the end of the class, each child schedules an "interview" with a pastor, a parent, and usually another staff member to make sure we're all on the same page about this next big step. Occasionally the tables are turned and it's the pastor and not the child who ends up being interviewed! Sometimes we decide it's best to wait until next time to let some things simmer. Our young friend was one of those who had previously decided to give it time, and here he was a year later, visibly troubled that twelve months hadn't been enough for him to gain a comprehensive and unassailable understanding of the greatest concepts in human history. The brightness came when I told him who else wrestled with doubt: "All of us," I said.
There's an inherent tension in the linear relationship between believing and belonging, and it always comes up when we talk about church membership. The traditional question with regard to the membership process is, "What must we believe in order to belong?" It's an important consideration if we are to faithfully safeguard the gospel we've been given. But I think an equally important question is, "If part of what we are to believe is that we belong, then how much belonging do we need to experience before we can truly believe it?" At the height of Enlightenment Rationalism, renowned French thinker Blaise Pascal challenged his earnestly doubting friends to join the local church and actually experience the liturgy, the sacrament, the fellowship of Christ's body. Then, he wagered, they would know it to be true.
I think that's what Jesus is showing us in this week's text, too. Sometimes, for whatever reason, a thing feels just too good to be true. Jesus doesn't then command unthinking allegiance but invites his disciples to taste and touch and see, to experience his goodness firsthand, and through that experience to receive the most potent arguments for the truth of his resurrection. As my young brother comes through the line to receive the body and blood of Christ each week, I can't help but smile as I think about the devout parents who love him, the wider community to which he is vowed, and the word, sacrament, and prayer into which he is constantly immersed as he willingly "belongs" himself to Christ's bride, even as he wonders along with the greatest theologians at the mechanics of it all. More and more, as he belongs, I trust he will come to realize that those truths about which he has real and rational doubts are in fact simply too good to be false.
We start a new series this Sunday. We are in the Eastertide season of the church. Eastertide begins on Easter Sunday and runs till Pentecost Sunday, roughly the next six Sundays. At different seasons of the year we tend to focus on different aspects of Jesus' life. For instance, during the season of Advent we ponder who Jesus is in his unique person. He is the ‘incarnate’ son of God. I confess, it never gets old pondering the God-man, and looking with wonder at the God who would give up so much to make me his son. During the Easter season we ponder the work of Jesus, what he came to do - “heal all the brokenness of the world” through his death, burial, and resurrection.
So for the next six weeks we are going to talk about the various appearances of Jesus after the resurrection. It is utterly fascinating! It is so fascinating that the whole case for a resurrected Messiah rests on the various eyewitness accounts of Jesus' interaction with real people in space and time. After the resurrection, Jesus didn’t just disappear, he showed himself to the Apostles and, according to Paul, over 500 people. Is this a big deal? Well, it is to Chuck Colson.
Chuck Colson, you may remember, was part of the Watergate cover-up in the Nixon Era. He and others were involved in an array of clandestine and illegal operations, including breaking into the Watergate office complex, which housed their political opponents - the Democratic National Convention, to tap phones and carry out other nefarious acts. What turned the whole thing into a political scandal was the attempt to cover up the whole thing. However, in the middle of the crisis Colson was converted and became a tremendous apologist for the Christian faith. What is so interesting and what speaks to our point of “eyewitnesses” of the resurrection is his reflection on his attempt, along with a handful of other men, to “cover-up” the whole Watergate debacle. Listen to what he says about their attempt to cover it up.
“I know the resurrection is a fact, and Watergate proved it to me. How? Because 12 men testified they had seen Jesus raised from the dead, then they proclaimed that truth for 40 years, never once denying it. Everyone was beaten, tortured, stoned, and put in prison. They would not have endured that if it weren't true. Watergate embroiled 12 of the most powerful men in the world - and they couldn't keep a lie for three weeks. You're telling me 12 apostles could keep a lie for 40 years? Absolutely impossible.”
Yes, that is the title to our Easter message. I struggled with whether to use the world “revolution” or not. I even called Josh and asked his opinion. Revolution is an emotionally charged word. The two most famous ones for us in America are The Americian Revolution and The French Revolution. We could name others but when we talk about revolution it is typically to speak of a new regime coming in to take over. It is usually done with power, coercion and force. We think of weapons, dead bodies, and carnage, whether it was a righteousness cause or not and what the outcome was. What ever your stance on ‘revolution’ it is typically the most powerful side wins.
So to talk about Easter as a revolution is risky and yet, it seems the only word appropriate to describe the aftermath of what happened when Jesus rose from the grave. It did affect a revolution, but not like any the world has ever seen. When a man gets up out of the grave in the middle of human history – it changes everything – you have to deal with it. Only a god could do that and if he has the power over life and death we must listen to him.
And yet, this risen savior started a revolution that has gone forth without coercion, without guns, without twisting people’s arms and after 2000 years roughly 31% of the population would say they are part of this “Jesus revolution.” Jesus’ resurrection changed everything, and his revolution proceeds with love – his own of course. To say this Easter Revolution was without bloodshed would be misleading, but when we look at the violence and bloodshed that started it – it is what draws us in – Jesus took violence to himself to bear it away. This is a game changer.
Jim calls these the "Dog Days of Lent," and boy, is he right. As you know, I've been over any delusional sense of my own spiritual fortitude ever since The Infamous Latte Debacle of week one. I'm just not that good at being anyone's superhero of discipline, even though I am passionately committed to the power of habit as a means of grace. But now it feels like the rest of the congregation has finally joined me in the doldrums, and we're all just sitting in mud and ashes, ready for joy again. Proverbs 13 tells us that "hope deferred makes the heart sick," and our hearts are sick and tired of lenten waiting. We want to celebrate the resurrected life through the season of Easter, with all its robust feasting and restful enjoyment!
And yet, there's still that persistent cross with its long shadow looming in the foreground of life, casting darkness over everything in its narrow path. It's why I'm grateful that just before the ultimate Lenten darkness of Maundy Thursday and languishing despair of Good Friday, we celebrate Christ's triumphal entry with Palm Sunday. Even though there remains a cruel irony lurking beneath the surface of colts, hosannas, coats, and branches, these images still point with stunning brilliance toward the fulfilled longings of every healing heart: that the rightful King shall be enthroned and reign forever, and we along with him!
That same proverb from before also tells us that "desire fulfilled is a tree of life." If I can dare to see a tree that curses the man who hangs upon it as the hinge upon which all my hopes and longings hang as well, then even the cross of death becomes a tree of life. Even a broken body can be nourishing bread and spilled blood the wine of sacred ceremony. Even my failed attempts to control the world and people around me; my guilt and shame and fear and sorrows - all my needs and neediness - can exist in the shadow of the cross as sign-posts of the Kingdom. And I can begin to hope again.
Hosanna in the Highest! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!
We all have dreams that are unique to our own vocations and personalities. As a speaker, I have many times awakened in the middle of the night after a dream that went something like this: I realize at the last minute that my sermon is on my computer at my house (this actually happened recently). I get to my truck to run back and print it off, but after I get to the house, my computer won’t work. I try everything and, all the while, I am looking at my watch. Slowly, the clock is ticking and I know worship has started and I am still okay, it won’t take but a second to send it to my iPad and I can still make it in time, and no one will really know. But nothing I can do will retrieve the sermon. When I finally get the sermon printed and I calculate that I can still make it to the church before I have to preach, and before anyone knows I am absent, I can’t find my truck keys. I am looking at my watch and now it is getting really close. In my haste I am knocking over stuff, leaving the house a wreck, and I am now in a cold sweat. When I finally get my keys and I am going to call ahead and tell the band to play one extra song or just let the greeting go on for a while (which people would love anyway), my truck won’t start and at this point, I am breaking out in hives and then mercifully I wake up.
A variation of that dream is that I am standing in front of an audience and suddenly realize I am naked. Yep, not a shred of cloths on my body - naked as the day I was born. I told you recently that I felt a little bit of this shame when I was talking to newcomers and realized in the middle of my talk that my fly was undone. That was painful. All of this is comical to say the least, but imagine what it would be like to actually be stripped of all your cloths in front of a sneering crowd that was riveted to the spectacle? I shutter to imagine…
And yet, that did happen to Jesus. His last worldly possessions, his garments and inner garments were removed before the leering eyes of a multitude. He bore it, all while elite soldiers, dressed in the regalia of military power, pitched dice for his garments. Just days earlier he had come into the city as a King, with people throwing their garments down so he could pass. They shouted praise and hailed him as Messiah. Just the night before Jesus had spoken a word as guards came to arrest him, just one word, and the soldiers fell dead. Yet here he takes it. He bears it.
It is Thursday night in Mobile, Alabama as I write this. I am tired, but have to get this written before I go to bed. I am exhausted. The week has been exhausting and glorious, but for now I am just exhausted. Michael Parsons, the leader of Soundscape, has lead his merry band of high school students through five shows in this tour of the Gulf Coast. In this tour I am the chief roadie and cook. I have found that a band, like an army, moves on it’s stomach, and this is the third and final year of my tenure as roadie and cook. I do this because I love it and because I love my son Eliot, who plays banjo. I am not a musician, nor the son of a musician – I love my son and I love to cook, thus I get up at 5:45 in the mornings to cook delicious food and I drive a big truck with a twenty four foot trailer into tight spots so we don’t have to carry the equipment very far.
We finished the last gig this afternoon and Michael took the chaperones to a great dinner and I saw heaven when they put a plate of sixteen oysters in front of me, cooked in four different ways. We then went back to our hotel and I was exhausted. I grabbed my computer and went outside to grab some quiet and finish up things, so I could be in bed early for the drive home. I had done my part, crossed the finish line, and was going to just sit outside and, for the first time all week, enjoy the warm coastal weather. I had driven like a fiend, cooked delicious food from chicken wings to steaks, and now wanted to retreat inside my head and coast… but alas it was not to be.
When I sat down, Ron, the shoe shine guy, pulled up a chair and we talked for a long time about life and the gospel. Then a homeless man, who was sick and hungry, came up to talk. When things were finally getting quiet and I was secretly hoping they would all leave, a guy who was from New Iberia came out and it was obvious he wanted to talk too. I’ll admit I was sort of churning inside. Outside I was gracious and charming, but inside I was saying, “I just want to be left alone”
Have you ever felt like that? And after you think that, do you feel guilty for not being eager to minister to people because you really feel like you have done enough? I was thinking about this as I was about to write about Sunday, and what was staring me in the face was Jesus and his compassion on a group of women who were in the city of Jerusalem for Passover and were witnessing the kangaroo court that sentenced Jesus to die. Jesus had taken our beating, our shame, our punishment, and was used up – if anyone needed compassion it was him. If anyone needed to be wept over it was Jesus. And yet, despite all this, Jesus is not taking our compassion – he is giving it. Even when he is used up, worn out, beaten beyond recognition, publicly humiliated, and about to die – he is thinking of others and the hard things that are coming to them.
Here I am grumbling and thinking to myself, “If you knew what all I had been through, you would leave me alone.” And here is my savior thinking, “I know what you are going to go through, let me help you avoid the judgement that is coming.” No wonder they call him savior! The one who should have been the judge is taking judgement – willingly for us.
I was going to write about something slightly different today, but as I was typing on the virtues of fasting I reached for my warm, frothy latte and realized something humiliating. Espresso with hot steamed milk is one of my favorite treats in the world and it’s been over a week since I’ve had one because I gave up dairy for Lent. You may be doing the math in your head and wondering what I’m doing drinking a latte on a Friday when I gave up dairy for Lent, and that would be an excellent question. Some of our more generous friends probably just assumed that I’m using soy or almond milk, but my wife would assure you and them that I would never stoop to participate in such vulgar sacrilege. I’m convinced the ancient Hebrews turned to cattle worship in part because the milk is just that good.
No, I’m drinking a latte on a Friday in Lent because I accidentally ordered one and was halfway through it before I realized my mistake, and I’m not a legalist. I’ve got good theology that reminds me that there’s no condemnation for those in Christ. I have a habit of ordering the same thing in the same size for the same price on the same days of the week and so it was an autopilot decision for me; not an intentional flouting of my solemn vows to the Lord. I don’t deal with a whole lot of guilt in life because Jesus has freed me from the bondage of works-based righteousness. I’m not fasting to earn merit with Christ by proving my discipline power but in order that I might be more mindful of my own limitations. (Mission accomplished, I’d say!) And so I’m going to finish my silly little drink, thank God for small pleasures, and not worry about "doing penance" for this illustration of my comical lack of self-awareness.
But that’s not the end of it: I may not be dealing with guilt because I didn’t really do “wrong,” but I am dealing with something else just as powerful. This past Sunday Pastor Jim reminded us that the difference between guilt and shame is that while guilt is the painful awareness of our wrong doing, shame is the painful awareness of our wrong being. I don’t feel guilty about the latte - but I do feel ashamed. I’m ashamed that I often get grouchy or anxious over a denied treat. I’m ashamed that I couldn’t go just 6 days at a time without one, whatever the reason. I’m ashamed that so much of my life runs on habits, I can make very few conscious choices. I'm ashamed that even when I do make a conscious choice, I don't always have the strength it takes to follow all the way through with it. I’m ashamed that I just exposed those facts to my mom and whoever else is reading this, despite the fact that you all already knew it.
This weekend we’ll continue to look at the Stations of the Cross and what it meant for Christ to endure that curse, despising its shame, for the joy set before him. It brings me a great deal of hope and peace in the midst of my vulnerability, and I hope it will do the same for you too.
This is the first Sunday of Lent, the season of wounded joy. This is the season where we think about the work of Jesus and what passion and death really mean. If you are new to our church we have two particular seasons of the church that focus on two aspects of Jesus life. In Advent we think about who Jesus is - the Incarnation. In Lent we think about what he did - his death, burial, and resurrection. So, here we are thinking in a focused way about Jesus and his work on the cross. That is so huge, how do you get your head about? What categories do you use? How can we think about it in a way that makes sense? I mean, Charles Williams, a good friend of C. S. Lewis, says this, “In Christianity, the cross is the center and there is no circumfrance.” That is true. Here at St. Patrick we alway talk about the cross, it is our glory, because on it Jesus took our shame.
So I move to the previous question, “How can we talk about the cross in a way that does justice to the subject matter?” I'm glad you asked. People far smarter than Josh and I have thought about this and, in fact, they were thinking about this centuries ago, and so one of the helpful ways to think about the cross is called The Stations of the Cross. This language is not original with me but has been used by the whole church across time and space for centuries, to contemplate the work of Jesus in salvation. “Stations” is another word for “events,” or “scenes.” So from now until Palm Sunday we will look at various scences in Jesus' life from his condemnation to his atoning death on the cross.
This is exciting stuff for me because all the answers to life's problems are found in the work of Jesus on the cross. I’ll be the first to admit, I get bored with things easily. I like to create things and move one, I like to see and experience the new and novel or things never done before and yet here is one of the great ironies of my life - I have never out grown the cross! It continues to be the center of my salvation and joy. The cross of Jesus I have never gotten over and I pray I never will. In fact, Paul says it well, "I will boast in nothing but the cross!"
If you want to know what all the fuss is about join us this Sunday and during Lent as we walk with Jesus from Pilate’s hall of condemnation to his final hours on the cross as he bears our sin and shame away. In fact, we will start there this Sunday and look at Jesus bearing our shame. We also have some of our youth taking vows, so I hope to see you Sunday,
Blessings, Jim
If you are new to St. Patrick or come from a non-liturgical tradition, you might wonder why you are hearing about Lent, fasting, Fat Tuesday, and Ash Wednesday. You might even be thinking, do these things have anything to do with the gospel? Or, I thought only Catholics did those sorts of things? Or, is St. Patrick into “high church” stuff? Whatever your questions are, I am glad you are asking them. What once looked weird and mysterious to me is now bread and wine to me. So, I am glad if you are asking why St. Patrick is totally dedicated to a Liturgical Calendar which includes a season of fasting and rubbing death into your face. Let me start with our calendar.
Liturgical Calendar
Why do we celebrate special days and seasons in the church? Well, the short answer is this: we all have personal calendars that mark birthdays, anniversaries, and special events known only to our families. We all live by a civic calendar that has twelve holidays that determine our vacations and time off. We also have the Hallmark calendar, which monitors our romance and reminds us when to send valentines and spend money on our children or beloved. If we go back in ancient history, God’s ancient people Israel didn’t have a catechism to teach their people; they had seven feasts. Everything that a faithful Jew needed to know, he lived out every single year through these feasts.
So, the ancient church, knowing that we are people that live by a seasonal and civic calendar, made a liturgical calendar so that on certain days each year we walk through the life of Christ. Annually we have the seasons of Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Pentecost, etc. On these days we mark and remember the redemptive work of Jesus in our lives.
I say this to some of my evangelical friends and the usual response is: “Well, I thought we celebrated Christ’s death and resurrection every Sunday, so why do we need to make special days for these things?” Here is what I say to these friends, who are unknowingly liturgical in their personal and civic lives, yet not in their redemptive lives: The reason we set aside days of remembrance, like Christmas and Easter (Ironically, my friends who think Lent is a little much still celebrate the Incarnation and Resurrection with special days!) is because familiarity breeds not contempt but indifference. In other words, we hear about the gospel all the time, and the tendency is for it to lose its wonder. It is for this reason we set aside special days of remembrance and celebration – to restore the wonder!
In essence, when we do this we are doing the same thing we do when we set aside time for our children’s birthdays. I asked Teri on Monday morning what she was up to that day. She told me several things and then said she was going by Bethan’s house to help prepare for our granddaughter Betsy’s first birthday and to talk with her about her own mother’s birthday. My clan will celebrate both of these events this weekend. To get ready for these birthdays, there is much preparation. My women folk will spend hours on flowers, banners, invitations, cakes, and getting the house ready. I will get calls from my boys on what delicious things we will cook, and we will spend hours getting ready to feed masses of people that come to celebrate a small child’s birthday. Why? Why all this? Are we saying that Betsy is special and loved on this one day only? Do we only love Betsy on this one special day? Of course not! But Betsy is one year old, and she is a lot of work. As cute as she is, it takes a lot to keep her rolling. So the reason we make a big deal out of birthdays in my clan is to set aside time to remember – “Our family members are special; they are, in fact, amazing and, lest we take them for granted, we are setting aside this time to honor them.”
This is the logic of Lent, Christmas, and Easter. We set aside days that sort of knock us in the head and say, “Look! Wake-up!” We need this to help recalibrate our hearts to the rhythms of grace.
Lent
Lent — The word Lent comes from a word that means “springtime.” The season of Lent is the 40 days in which we prepare our hearts for Easter. (Sundays don’t count; in the Bible they are always “feast days.”) You say, well, why 40 days?” Short answer — If you prepare like my family does for birthdays, anniversaries, graduations or vacations, don’t you think we should have a good long runway to prepare for celebrating the greatest feast day of all – Easter, Resurrection Sunday!
The season of Lent comes, appropriately, in the springtime, and a good way to look at this time of preparation is like a gardener looking at his garden and beds this time of year. This time of year every year, I spend hours weeding, tilling, cutting, fertilizing, and preparing my beds to receive seed. It is backbreaking, hard, sometimes boring, and often you see little fruit in it. The reason I do this is to prepare for fruit. Lent is much like that. Lent is a time of preparing our hearts and, for this reason, the focus is on repentance. Repentance is turning from our sin and self back to God. We weed sin out of our life, we water new habits, and re-align our hearts with the truth of the gospel. Is this hard? Yes! Is it worth it? Yes, because as Jesus says, “…truth sets us free.” So as you prune and weed sin in your heart this Lenten season, let me give you a few things to think about: - Self-examination: Lent is when we take inventory of our heart to see what needs to be confessed and forsaken. - Self-denial: Lent is a time of fasting. For many of us, this is a time we give up things we love, like certain foods or drinks – good things in and of themselves, but things that, when we give them up, remind us that only Jesus can fill the true hunger of our souls. - Self-giving: Lent is also a time that, as we turn from sin, we turn to our neighbors and think about how we can serve them better. The Prophets often said a “true fast” was to take care of people in the culture who had no cultural power or who added nothing to your reputation. - Habits of Grace: Lent is a time to turn back to daily and weekly habits of Bible reading, prayer, and engagement in community and worship. You simply can’t say you are serious about Jesus if you neglect the “Habits of Grace.”
So there it is! The whole season of Lent is to help you get more of Jesus! More joy! More freedom! More love for the broken world and people around you! Don’t you want that? At St. Patrick, there is no magic in this, in fact the opposite; this is hard! This is death! This feels like a cross! Death before resurrection. If you are still not convinced, please join us in fasting from something; ask God to be more real and see what happens. You don’t have long, the season of Lent starts today with Ash Wednesday!
Ash Wednesday
We start our Lenten journey as a community at St. Patrick here today with ashes – with death rubbed on our foreheads. Why, pray tell, that? Ashes? Isn’t that medieval? Again, the short answer is this: for birthdays, we have a cake and candles. For anniversaries, we have flowers and pledges of renewal. For the beginning of Lent, we have ashes. Alas, we are not ghosts, but spirits that inhabit bodies and as such we need physical things – signs and symbols to represent or enact things we value. In the Bible, ashes are a sign of repentance, brokenness, mourning. That is why we do this. We come admitting what we know is true – repentance is the only way to our Father in heaven. We are reminded of our mortality with the ashes. We are reminded of what the gospel tells us, “You are a lot worse than you think we are.” And, like in communion, we don’t just say those words, we enact them; but on Ash Wednesday, we wear the mark of our mortality and brokenness on the most visible part of our body – our forehead!
Isn’t this a bit much, you say? Are we not taking this whole “sin” thing a bit too far? Well, here is what I will tell you: the more deeply we believe how broken by sin we are, the sweeter grace will be! So, we end our Ash Wednesday with the body and blood of Jesus and taking into our body His life – life that says the second great truth of the gospel, “You are more loved than you ever dared hope or imagine!”
So this is the journey we start as a community of believers at St. Patrick. It is the way of the cross. What works death in us is also working life in us. Our journey ends at Easter and an empty tomb. It is there that we arrive back where we started and remember that, even in the little deaths Jesus calls us to make in this life, the last word is always joy!
Have you ever gone to a Redbox and been amazed to see a flat out awful counterfeit version of a popular movie? I recently discovered a truly ludicrous "mockbuster" - the title and artwork were designed to fool the less discerning into believing they had rented the newest Disney hit. Nothing but disappointment in that house tonight. I shouldn't be surprised: for every true, good, and beautiful thing, there exists a counterfeit. This is even (especially?) true when it comes to the habits of grace. We have a true gift for the shaping of our souls in the cycles of feasting and fasting that have been handed down to us through the ages. Even a cursory glance at pop culture reveals the parody versions of these are binging and purging.
Like feasting, binging is all about excess and extravagance. I’m not one to pine for “the good old days,” but anyone over the age of 20 remembers what it was like to wade through a season of television over several months, having even each individual episode regularly interrupted by commercials. One was forced to digest large amounts of content slowly and patiently. Now, we are given high quality content in massive chunks to consume at will, with many of us spending the weekend to “catch up” on an entire series. I like television and I’m not here to decry the advent of streaming services. I just want to point out the subtle but dangerous difference between binging, which is common, and feasting, which is necessary. Binging says, “I need to get as much as I can of the best that I can while I still can.” It represents an economy of scarcity. That’s not the Kingdom that’s coming. Feasting, on the other hand, is (or ought to be) the ritualized, generous sharing of a common table and the plenty of the land with all who would come. Binging is about consumption: it sees the content as an end in itself, a thing to be ingested, that is one’s best chance at satisfaction. Feasting is about consummation: it looks toward something outside itself, standing as a sign and symbol of a hunger that will ultimately be fully satisfied at a table prepared for us. Each is excessive and extravagant, but only one is a gift to the human soul.
This brings us to fasting, and its shadow twin, purging. We’ll look at this at length on Sunday, but a few words here would be helpful. You may be familiar with the popular horror series, The Purge. I won’t go into the details, but suffice to say, “horror” is the correct genre classification for it. Purging looks at the past with regret and says, “I’ve got to change myself, as quickly and violently as is necessary.” It looks ahead to the future and says, “perhaps I can earn another feast if only I’m miserable enough for long enough to justify it.” It’s a tragic outlook on life. Fasting, in contrast, looks at the past and says, “I have seen plenty before, and it was not by my hand.” It looks at the future and says, “This longing I have goes deeper than my body. One day I will be fully satisfied, body and soul, but not by my own hand.” Fasting is a discipline that says with Christ, “My life is about more than momentary relief. I can wait.”
The cycle of binging and purging is one of regret and shame, but the cycle of feasting and fasting is one of joy and sorrow. We will not escape pain in this life, but we can receive it punctuated with pleasures that point to an extravagant lover and moderation that looks to a gracious provider. We don’t have to celebrate the liturgy of the world, with its binging and purging, which testifies only to our guilt and shame. As we celebrate the last feasts of the Epiphany season and move into the Lenten fast (with its own smattering of Sunday feasts for relief!), let us remember that we have been given an opportunity to celebrate a life that looks to Christ alone for its meaning and ultimate satisfaction.
What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus? I am asked this question all the time and, as a minister, I spend most of my time helping people become better disciples of Jesus. A disciple of Jesus is simply someone who is continually learning to become more like Jesus. Now notice that I didn’t say a disciple is someone who has arrived at a level of profound maturity or moral perfection. This Sunday we will see a lesson in discipleship as we look at the life of one of Israel’s greatest kings. In fact, we have to say that other than King David, “the man after God’s own heart,” he was their greatest king. His life is a cautionary tale to us in many ways, one of which is that a life of faithfulness is never a life of perfection, but one where we deal with our own sin honestly and purposefully before God. It is strange actually. The writer gives us eight verses of the amazing godliness of Hezekiah and then the other two and a half chapters deal with Hezekiah struggling with his own sin!
This Sunday we will also ordain James Daniels as a minister of the gospel in our denomination, the Evangelical Presbyterian Church. James is a son of our church and is planting a church in Chelsea, AL. So we will have some friends in for this day of oath taking and vow making. This is good! This is how family works! This is how the gospel goes out - through ministers so weak we make them swear publicly that, like Hezekiah, they will not try to be perfect but they will lead the people of God well, especially by being the chief repenters among God’s people.
We don’t like to talk about sin these days. One of the reasons we need the prophetic word of the Old Testament is to see God’s love in all its aspects writ large across the landscape of Scripture. In our text this week, and I humbly ask you to read in advance II Kings 13-17, we see the darker aspect of God’s love for his people manifest. Or, at least, that is what the Bible seems to say about why Israel wound up exiled to a strange land. We have to ask ourselves when we get to the parts of the Bible where God brings hard things or even judgement into his peoples lives - why? How did this happen? Is God fickle? Does God just flip out one day and bring down the hammer? Or does God make good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people?
The writer of our text is very calculating in his instruction, the road to judgement for Israel is littered with God’s acts of kindness and mercy. It is as if God is begging his people to “wake up.” Yet, like the love a father has for his son, or an artist has for his most precious work, love demands the unloveable parts be dealt with and the ugly things be removed so that the beauty can shine through. That, or something like that, is at work when God finally says, "No more, I will spit you out of the land." God is not saying he is through with Israel, but he letting them feel the “wages of sin.”
At St. Patrick we believe that “grace is everything” and it really is. But we always have to remember why grace is amazing and why it is everything - it is because what we have been rescued from is very, very, very bad. Maybe you have forgotten. Maybe you have taken God’s grace for granted. Or maybe you have forgotten how bad sin is.
Groundhog Day is a weird tradition. Somehow we got it into our heads that the meteorological scheme of an entire planet depends on whether an oversized rat named Phil sees his shadow or not. And so this week, millions gathered to force a rodent to predict the weather, and then blithely berated him for getting it wrong. The 1993 film by the same name added a mischievous twist by forcing its weatherman antihero, played by Bill Murray, to relive February 2 over and over again until he got it right. Hilarity ensued.
Now what does all this have to do with our study in 2 Kings, and what, you might ask, is a Candlemas? The tradition of predicting weather on February 2 actually predates the whole groundhog phenomenon and was originally a whimsical celebration held on the Candlemas Feast Day, which celebrates the consecration of Christ in the temple 40 days after Christmas. You may remember Jim preached that text back in November as we reflected on Christ's fulfillment of the Messianic promises. The traditional time to remember that text is around February 2, on Candlemas. Here, we get the chance (just like that cranky weatherman) to deepen our celebration by repetition.
These themes rise and converge as we continue our study of Privilege and Power with 2 Kings chapters 9-12. Like a blockbuster event, we'll see fast and furious driving, zealous rage, a grisly end for Jezebel, and the quiet miracle of subversive mothering. In the end, we'll be very grateful that there is One who actually did get it right - whose zeal for his Father's house consumed him, and who is putting an end to that repetitive cycle of abuse and neglect once and for all. As we prepare our hearts for worship this weekend, reflect with me on this Candlemas sonnet by poet Malcom Guite:
They came, as called, according to the Law. Though they were poor and had to keep things simple, They moved in grace, in quietness, in awe, For God was coming with them to His temple. Amidst the outer court’s commercial bustle They’d waited hours, enduring shouts and shoves, Buyers and sellers, sensing one more hustle, Had made a killing on the two young doves. They come at last with us to Candlemas And keep the day the prophecies came true We glimpse with them, amidst our busyness, The peace that Simeon and Anna knew. For Candlemas still keeps His kindled light, Against the dark our Saviour’s face is bright.
What is a girl who has been taken from her country and made a slave in a foreign country doing helping the man who enslaved her? Why do we find God setting a table “in the presence of Israel's enemies and feeding them instead of slaughtering them? Why are lepers feasting when a city is starving and mothers are eating their children? Why do we see a poisoned pot of stew made whole and a lost ax head float? What has all of this got to do with the Kingdom of God? For those of us who are “too spiritual for our own good,” apparently nothing. But for the people of God who needed a Word from God, apparently everything!
In II Kings 3 - 8:1-6 we have a series of seemly random events happening in and around Israel. The country is still going to hell in a hand basket. The leaders are mostly corrupt, as is the clergy. The laws of the land tend to exploit the poor and further alienate the marginalized. We also see one of Israel’s enemies, an actual “lord of war,” become a devote follower of God. We have to ask ourselves this question, “What have these scenes from normal, mundane, everyday domestic life have to do with the larger Kingdom of God and bringing down the powers that be?” Apparently everything!
Shocking, isn’t it. We cower because we think that because we have no power, or are too small, we have no impact in the Kingdom God is bringing. That kind of thinking permeates our religious cultures now as it did in Jesus' day. This Sunday we will see that God’s Kingdom is always taking place amid the cultural ruins. God’s Kingdom is always an affirmation of life in a culture of death. God always works in the domestic sphere, muddy rivers, out of the way places, and with marginalized, lepers, and outsiders.
So, this Sunday before you come read this strange text from II Kings 3 - 8:1-6. It is a strange few chapters in the grand scheme of the book, but I think it is a pointed Word from God to his church today. Here is what is true - there is love in the ruins! You may not see it. You may not see how you have a part in it. You may be too discouraged to even believe God is at work. God begs to differ. God is still on the throne, there is on panic in his face or sweat on his upper lip. Join me as we see how God uses his people to actually create love, joy, and beauty in the the ruins around us.
I watched the Inauguration with awe. Not because Trump was being sworn into office but because of the peaceful transfer of power that exists in our country. It is hard to believe that Obama and Trump were on the same platform together talking amiably. Then they walked off into the sunset, as Trump walked Obama to an awaiting helicopter, leaving the White House for the last time as the most powerful man in the free world. This is a rarity in most countries, is it not? Whether your party won the White House or not, you have to be in awe of the wisdom of the Founding Fathers of our nation to make a Constitution that makes this possible. Most transitions of power in the history of the world are soaked in bloodshed.
Such is the case when we look at the folly and blessing of power this Sunday (mostly folly when in human hands). This week we will conclude looking at one king who abused power more than any other in Israel’s history. When power is abused - justice is squashed, people are coerced, wickedness reigns, and there is no peace in the city. It all looks so familiar and that is why the writer includes this in Holy Scripture, is it not? In a broken world, power tends to corrupt and God’s people seem to continually be asking Him, “How long, oh Lord?” However, there is another voice we will see in our text and it is summed up by Ronald Wallace in his book Elijah and Elisha. Ponder this as we prepare to gather Sunday and seek to re-narrate our lives and loves as we worship God. I encourage you to read I Kings 20-22 and II Kings 1-2. Enjoy!!
"For to see Elijah appear so suddenly reminds us that we need not despair when we see great movements of evil achieving spectacular success on this earth, for we may be sure that God, in uexpected places, has already secretly prepared His counter-movement. God has always His ways of working underground to undermine the stability of evil. He can raise men for his service from nowhere… Therefore the situation is never hopeless where God is concerned. Whenever evil flourishes, it is always a superficial flourish, for at the height of the triumph of evil, God will be there, ready with His man and His movement and His plans to ensure that His own cause will never fail."
During this season of Epiphany, we are looking at the subject of Privilege and Power. There is a pastoral method to the madness, and it is simply this: we live in an age where Christians have lost all their privilege and power in the culture. (If we’re honest, even when we had it we didn’t do a very good job with it, did we?) Anyway, what hope is there for us? Truthfully, I have never seen so many Christians, both liberal and conservative, who act like God is off asleep somewhere. I mean, they are beyond concerned—they are despairing! Is that the right posture for us? Do we the people of God need to be known as people who blow up Facebook and Twitter and make fools of ourselves when we don’t get our own way?
Welcome to the world of Kings in the Old Testament! It is a dark time in the passage we look at this week, and I am asking you to do something I usually don’t ask you to do and that is get out your Bible and read I Kings 16:29 – 19:18. I know that, if you weren’t raised Baptist, you most likely don’t even know where Kings is in the Bible. Don’t be embarrassed to look in the index at the front of your Bible, and you will be able to find it. But I want you to read this because the sermon title pretty much sums up these chapters. The narrative is so long that we won’t be able to read all of it in worship and will only read selectively. So please take a few minutes and read the text ahead of time; it will make what we talk about on Sunday come alive!
So, this Sunday we will see how God brings hope to a people living in a seemingly hopeless age. You and I need this! We need both the hope and consolation of the gospel so we can be people of hope to a world that has basically lost its way. I hope you will join me this Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend as we celebrate that we live in a land that has fought hard for civil rights for all people. May we be people who are continuing to bring peace and reconciliation to all the places in which we live and move.
This Sunday is the first Sunday after Epiphany, as such we ponder the promise of God that he would one day bring salvation to the nations. Typically when we think about Epiphany we think about the three wise men who came bearing gifts to the Christ Child. That act prefigured and foretold of what would happen after the death of Jesus - the gospel would go viral to all the nations!
This Sunday and during the season of Epiphany we are in a new series called Privilege and Power and we will be looking at the books of First and Second Kings. It seems a strange title, doesn’t it? It also seems strange to preach through Kings, but I can’t wait to open up these books that unfold the story of Israel from the golden age of her history until the exile. I don’t know about you, but it is tempting to just kind of skim over the book of Kings when you are reading the Bible. I mean, there are two kingdoms, the narrative moves back and forth between the two, there is always a new king showing up, but also in this narrative we find the greatest Old Testament prophets - Elijah and Elisha.
Does God speak to his people today through the prophetic words written to his ancient people so many years ago? All I can say is that you will be surprised how relevant these text are for the people of God today. So, enjoy the snow, build up a big fire, sled with your kids, cook delicious food, and bask in the wonder of today. Then come on Sunday and we will begin to look at God’s stubborn love for his ancient and future people!
Today (Friday) is the sixth day of Christmas this year, marked, according to the famous song, by the gift of "six geese a-laying." Far from just lying around (like many on winter break), these geese are in active labor, for they aptly represent the six days of creation. Friday is creation's final day, the crowning achievement of which is the formation and inspiration of God's image-bearers, man and woman. This year, that next and seventh Christmas day falls quite appropriately on Saturday, or the Sabbath, whose swimming swans remind us of the Spirit's charisma gifts. Nothing like a gift and a day of rest to remind us that we aren't the earners in this relationship! Then the eighth day of Christmas, again most appropriately, falls this year on a Sunday, the eighth day in Scripture being that of New Creation, circumcision, and new life - now that's a great day to celebrate a New Year! I just love it when little things work out like that. Although it doesn't always fall on a Sunday, the eighth day of Christmas is always New Year's day, and its "eight maids a milking" are a sign of Christ's eight beatitudes, which serve as the prologue to his Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5. This was the inauguration speech that launched an Unshakeable Kingdom, one whose peace would be established over all of creation, and the glory of which has no end. The final and eternal heir to David's throne wanted to set up some surprising expectations for his new kingdom with this speech, the tone of which cast vision for a world very much upside-down from this one: the last would be first, and the weak would be strong. I can't think of a more Christmassy set of themes, and certainly none that scoff so subversively at the secular liturgies of New Year's, which hype us up with promises of arbitrary clean slates and miraculous self-improvements. I've lived with myself long enough to say you can give me grace any day. I'm one of the losers, and I'm counting on my True Love's gifts and resolutions, not mine - because however unreliable I am, I can't break God's promises.
We will have worship on Christmas Morning. I feel a little embarrassed to mention this, but even though many people won’t have services, know that we will. We view this like Easter, we will worship as a family and then we will go and feast like there is no tomorrow with our own families. But since it is a day when children wake up to toys and celebration, our service will be much shorter than usual (45 minutes), and feel free to bring your kids in their pajamas! We will talk about the Ultimate Misfit of Christmas and why Jesus did not just use misfits, but he came as the ultimate misfit. I look forward to seeing you a few times this weekend. I can’t wait to celebrate this unspeakable glory with all of the misfits of St. Patrick!
Yesterday, while writing a sermon, I spent all day smoking meat for Christmas presents I give to family and friends. I will spend most of this afternoon preparing the meat for a feast for my staff. Just two days before, on Tuesday night, one of my children and his friends were home from college so I spent a good amount of time on a grill cooking them the best food of their lives. And Saturday night will be another family shindig and so hordes of family will descend and, of course, must be feed. Next week too, other children will arrive home and Teri told me she was shooing out one guest to make way for more.
Then next week it will happen, the actual Feast of the Nativity of Jesus will arrive, the reason for all this celebration. This will come with a liturgy of worship, singing, reflection, festivities, and more feasting. For the record, when we talk about “feast days,” they are historically not days where an actual feast was celebrated, but days of reflection, prayer, and wonder. Of course, being human, joy and praise can’t be done alone and because God made us to not only need food but delight in it, we gather and eat delicious food, often special food that only comes on a particular day or season of the year.
So Advent preparation for me is not just certain reflections, but also a host of cooking for people I dearly love and who do me the great grace of giving me something more interesting and delightful to tend to than myself. I have noticed in my own soul that the cross really is true - the more I think of others and tend to their needs and ponder ways to make their lives more delightful or easier, the more joy I have. Conversely, the more time I pander to myself and my own comfort, the less joy I find.
This Sunday is the Fourth Sunday of Advent and we celebrate in a particular way - love; or as I keep imagining it in my mind, “When Love Comes to Town” (I can’t keep the words of the U2/B. B. King song out of my head). Indeed, when Jesus came, love itself, not just the idea of love, but true love, love incarnate, moved into our broken world and took up residence with us to share our dirty streets, eat our special and mundane food, be in relationship with different, indifferent, and down right mean people and to experience all the drama that is life. There is a reason that 1 Corinthians 13 says that of all the virtues love is the greatest, and this Sunday we will talk about just that, looking at a couple of new misfits take the stage - Mary and Joseph. All I can say to you is this, love does things.
As a kid, my image of angels was indelibly shaped by a few dubious sources. One was the hit television show Touched By an Angel, where the characters ranged from the almost unbearably sweet Roma Downey with her Irish lilt and eternal patience, to the wise, maternal sass of Mrs. Della Reece. Andrew, the Angel of Death, was a polite, well-dressed fellow with golden locks and a winning smile, and they all walked among us in the everyday, subtly setting right the wrongs of this world before the big finish, when the music swells and the light shines down on their heads and they break that shocking revelation: “I am an angel, sent by God.” Then there was Frank Capra’s dopey angel Clarence, who just wanted to earn his wings by showing George Bailey that it really is a Wonderful Life. And let’s not forget Raphael’s chubby cherubic children, who grace the imagination with innocuous Hallmark visions of cuteness and warmth.
Now picture with me a spirit-being so imposing and terrible that every time one appears, even the most hardened of warriors falls on his knees, begging for mercy. Something so radiant with glory that even our most sainted apostles must be admonished not to worship them. Their opening line is almost always, “Fear not,” which is only the sort of thing you lead with if you actually are incredibly scary. As a 5’7” baby-faced Anglo-Irishman, I have never had to open with that line. Even when we discover that perhaps we have entertained them unawares, our knees grow weak at the thought that we were so close to such power, that we might have misstepped and forever reaped the consequences.
My goal here is not really to get into accurate angelology and pop-culture versus Biblical witness, but I do hope you can begin to sense the tension. There is likely a wide gap between what we generally accept as our inherited picture of angels and what the shepherds actually experienced on the night of Our Lord’s nativity. I couldn’t have been more proud of my wayward little sheep and my radiant, annunciating angel as our girls performed their parts in the Sonshine program this past Wednesday night, decked out in their traditional children’s nativity garb next to the Slaughters’ live animals (not to be confused with live animals slaughtered!*). I love that we re-enact and retell this story every year in so many ways and with so many participants. That’s part of humanity’s liturgical calling – to tell the story over and again in fresh and illuminating ways. So this Sunday, as we return to the fields again, imagine with me the stone cold terror of a sky rent wide and an army of terrible supernatural warriors breaking into your drowsy night shift with an urgent message from the Sovereign Ruler of the cosmos. It was not a silent night!
Speaking of Sunday, are are talking about misfits, and this week it is the shepherds. We tend to think of shepherds as nice, pastoral people. Our kids fight to be shepherds in the annual Christmas Program. Not so in Jesus day. Shepherds were the ultimate outsiders and yet they are the ones that God chose to announce the birth of the Messiah to the world. Isn’t that just like God?
This Sunday marks the beginning of the new year at St. Patrick. Advent marks the the four weeks where we start telling the story of redemption and where it all began - with the Incarnation of God. Is this a big deal? Should we celebrate this with such abundance? Should we deck and guild the church so that everywhere you look there is a reminder that we are in a special season? Many look at the way the Christmas Season has been highjacked by consumerism and suppose we should tone it down. Here is what I have to say to that: even if I tried I couldn’t!
The story of the incarnation of God into our world is the greatest story ever told. In fact, I would suggest that all great stories follow this one. All great stories that really last and move the moral imagination are stories of rescue where the hero will stop at nothing, even giving his life, to rescue his beloved, his people, or something very dear to him. So what we celebrate for the next four weeks leading up the The Feast of Christmas (on a Sunday this year) is the fact that there is absolutely nothing God will not do to save you and me. Imagine with me for a second what it means for God to become one of us? It would be sort of like you or me becoming an ant. Yes, a lowly ant. We must look like god’s to a colony of ants, and with ease we can crush them, poison them, or run over them with a lawnmower. To us, ants are insignificant. Our size and power render them small and vulnerable and of no value. Now, to God the same could be said of us, could it not? God is so far above us in power, glory, holiness, splendor, and love as to make us insignificant. He could wipe us out with a word and in most religions of the world, the god(s) are always contemplating how to rid themselves of the vermin called humans who are always trying to usurp their power.
Here are the facts. God is big, we are small. He is holy, we are not. He lovingly made us and we don’t reciprocate. We deserve to be destroyed and we are not. He rules and we try to usurp his rule. So does God long to destroy us or punish us? No! In fact, the exact opposite! God has gone to elaborate lengths to turn rebels into his friends. That is such good news that we will spend the next four weeks celebrating Jesus becoming one of us. So, let the feasting that began this week in a great civic holiday - Thanksgiving - keep going for the next month as we celebrate not just temporal blessing, but eternal blessings.
We humans are inescapably calendar-shaped and calendar-shaping creatures. Even long after we abandoned agrarian society for the industrial, we still habitually mark the seasons: civic year, school year, sports and leisure, and just about everything else we do. They say history doesn’t repeat, but it does rhyme. We can’t help but to settle into a sort of cyclical annual rhythm, building traditions that build us in turn, creatures of habit that we are. And we’ve always been this way – think back to the Hebrews, with the calendar of feasts God gave them when he delivered them from the Egyptians and their own yearly rhythms of pagan worship. What about Stonehenge and all the other ancient agrarian artifacts that testify to human wonder at the turning of seasons on the wheel of time?
Christians, too, have a historic calendar, a way of remembering and rejoicing together at God’s redemptive activity in space and time. It begins each year with Advent – usually the Sunday following Thanksgiving – as we begin to count down the days, (long after Macy’s gets their early start), to Christmas: the high holy day for our celebration of the incarnation of God. But the Sunday prior to the beginning of the year is the final Sunday of the year, which for a long time was simply the Final Sunday of Ordinary Time, and has since come to be known as Christ the King Sunday.
On Christ the King Sunday, we celebrate the triumphant climax and conclusion of our hope, just before we set our hearts to remembering anew His humble beginnings in a manger. We gather together to picture Christ seated upon His throne, reigning and ruling over the restored universe with perfect justice and peace, having put down once and for all the dark rebellion that so tenaciously clung to the world from its foothold in our hearts.
By great serendipity this feast day does coincide for us Americans with our civic day of Thanksgiving. And how appropriate it is that we look with gratitude both backward over a year of plenty and forward to our great Hope on His throne, like the two-headed Janus, for whom January is named. So again, I say, happy New Year’s Eve! I hope you can celebrate with us this weekend as we conclude our study in Philippians, a book that so perfectly captures these themes and stirs our affections with a joy unspeakable.
Heaven is not something we only wait for in the future - it is now! That is what we are talking about because Paul says the people of God are a “colony” or an “outpost” of heaven on this earth. I don’t know about you but when I let that roll around in my imagination, it moves me much more than just obeying the rules. When I think about my life right now being about bringing heaven to earth - that moves me far beyond any prohibition or command to not do something. When I think about creating heaven now - that causes me to think about building something that is not only true, but good and beautiful.
The implications of this are enormous. For the next to weeks we will talk about how the whole life of heaven works in our imagination and works itself out in the mundane and common life.
Jack T. Chick died this week. Even if his name doesn't ring a bell, you may still know his work if you've ever been on the giving or receiving end of a "Chick Gospel Tract." He published hundreds of these little well-drawn comics on a wide range of evangelistic topics (my personal favorites are hilariously earnest denunciations of rock music and non-KJV Bible translations). The primary result of his and others' work to conserve "the moral majority" at the turn of this century led many, myself included, to grow up thinking that true spiritual warfare consists primarily in reforming the world "out there." It was Christians versus Secularists - and the primary battlefield was God's own America herself.
I have since been forced to face the stark reality that true spiritual warfare consists more often than not in the resistance of my own capricious flesh against the steadfast Love of God. It's not some social evil "out there" - it's the natural bent of my own wicked heart to reject the grace of God, "in here." The bloody battlefield is my own everyday life and the relationships and choices and habits that make it up. How can I fight for God's reign "out there" if I'm so busy trying to dethrone him in my own heart every moment of every day? As I heard a counselor say recently, "Jesus may be in your heart, but Grandpa's in your bones." It's a hard and lifelong journey to break the cycles of generations of human sin in us as far as your participation with the Spirit of Christ will take us.
I don't know about you, but for me, that sounds overwhelming and impossible. I didn't sign up for this - I'd rather just hang onto my eternal security and look forward to escaping all this and getting into heaven when I die! But Jesus has a much, much, better plan than getting us out of earth and into heaven. He's bringing heaven to earth, and he's starting in our hearts. This Sunday, we'll finish the third chapter of Philippians as we see a call to join together as a band of brothers in this effort to see heaven come to earth and become local in us.
There is power in vision and focus. The power comes in vision and focus puts blinders on you so you can only see one thing. Focus gathers up all the energy that is going in a thousand different directions and, like a laser, gives that energy direction and purpose. When I walk into a room and hit a light switch amazingly the light chases the darkness away and I can see. But if I take light, gather it up, and focus it in one place, like happens under a magnifying glass, it is a different story. The magnifying glass gathers the light up into a pin-point like beam that is so intense it will burn through paper.
In the passage we will look at this Sunday, Paul uses this image to talk about Christianity. He says he is about only one thing. Paul is so captivated by what he knows and sees in Jesus that his life has a focus and an intensity about it - and that is knowing Jesus. He doesn’t mean that other things are not important, but that knowing Jesus puts every other good thing in it’s proper focus. That is Christianity. If it is true that we were made to know God, that it is what we were built for, that it is the fuel that drives our passions and imagination, then it makes sense that the more we lay hold of that one thing, the more human we will become.
As I have thought about this this week, I can see the fault lines and problems that come into my life are always a result of losing this one thing. So, Sunday we are going to talk about the dynamics of the Christian Life and how pursuing one thing will not make us weird, but more human.
Back in April, The Guardian published a story about Princeton Professor of Economics Johannes Haushofer and his CV of Failures. The anti-resume, which he distributed widely via social media, contains sections titled, "Degree programs I did not get into," "Research funding I did not get," "Paper rejections from academic journals," "Academic positions and fellowships I did not get," and "Awards and scholarships I did not get." Haushofer hopes the document will give his students some perspective when considering his successes.
While it's a bit easier to talk about one's failures on the other side of great success (we're looking at you, Thomas Edison), it's still a noteworthy act, if only for it's extremely counter-cultural nature. We are professional curators of our own image, preening and protecting, as though the best things about us (and only the best things) ought to be, must be, projected far and wide. We're all cynical enough to know that your reputation determines your standing in this world, and we all naturally assume that this extends to life in God's world as well. But Paul tells the Philippians (and us!) in chapter 3:1-11 that this is the most dangerous leap of logic you could possibly make. You'd be better off bringing your "CV of Failures" to God than to try and approach him with your most meticulously manicured resume of merits. He'll also give them some insight into how the qualifications we present to God will be those which we demand as credentials from others. More on that this Sunday. Until then, I leave you with what Professor Haushofer calls his great meta-failure: “This darn CV of Failures has received way more attention that my entire body of academic work.”
Perhaps there's something to that.
I am not a plumber or the son of a plumber. I can roof your house or do your yard work. I might help you with home improvement things that do not require much skill, but plumbing - not my cup of tea. However, when Teri got four sets of faucets for the various downstairs bathrooms, what choice did I have? Last Monday, I had a list of things to do around the yard and putting in bathroom fixtures was not one of them. I had been avoiding them like the plague, actually hoping someone would break in and steal them, when Teri asked me in a kind voice, “Why don’t you put in the faucets.” I smiled and in an equally nice voice said, “I would be happy too.”
It took over three hours, two trips to Lowe’s, and a long conversation on the phone with Master Plumber Chip Taylor to finally get the first one in. It was awful. I mean, it looks easy, but I was reminded in putting in the faucets that there is a difference in knowing about plumbing and knowing plumbing. I almost flooded one bathroom. Nothing in the doing of the thing looked like the pictures and I simply couldn’t figure out how to get the drain out of the bottom of the sink.
I called Chip; I was a broken, mad, frustrated, and defeated man. He calmly talked me off the ledge and because he “knows plumbing,” instructed me in what to do. After this conversation, I was able to finish the first faucet. The amazing thing is that the next three took less than an hour and a half! I have thought about this all week and especially as it relates to the text we are looking at this week. Paul makes an amazing statement. He says to his young congregation as they work out their salvation, that they will be like “lights in the darkness” to the world around them. As their lives are changed by the gospel they will actually bring heaven to earth. We are going to talk about that this Sunday and how God changes us and makes us more like Jesus. As we will see, it is a little like my plumbing project - you learn in the doing, you need mentors and models and... well, I won’t preach the sermon here.
This Sunday we are looking at what is perhaps one of the five most significant passages in all the Bible. By that I am not implying that other passages of Holy Scripture are not important, but I am saying that there are some passages in Scripture that stand out in bold relief and give such pointed and clear teaching that we are forced to bow in repentance and faith before them, or ignore them. The passage in Philippians we are looking at this week is called “The Christ Hymn.” Most scholars agree that Paul didn’t write it, but that it is one of the oldest hymns of the church, circulated and sung by congregations from Jerusalem to Rome. This hymn is a celebration of the person and work of Jesus. We say all the time at St. Patrick that the Bible is “The Story of God.” In this story, God is the hero. "The bible is not about you, but it is for you.”
In this passage is the clearest teaching in the Bible from the hero of the story - Jesus. But more than that, Paul tells us in this text to have the same mind that Jesus had. You hear that? We actually have a window into what the God/man was actually thinking. We have the distilled essence of the mind of God, and Paul then pointedly says - we are to have the same mind that Jesus had. In other words, our thinking about life, reality, the self, and culture is to be that of Jesus. Our goal at St. Patrick is very simple - to help people become more like Jesus in every area of life. This Sunday, if you want to know what is at the heart of this, or we might say - ultimate reality, what is real, what is lasting, how to be truly free - it is all in this text.
In a little while, Teri and I will be headed to Oxford to a big, beautiful, glorious tailgate in Oxford, Mississippi. I am totally jazzed about it. As a loyal son of the University of Memphis I will be a minority but that is okay; I will see relatives, old friends, and many of my friends from St. Patrick, Collierville, and Memphis. I will reconnect with people from my seminary days and from my old parish - it will be a blast. But you know what, I have thought while sitting outside, thinking, pondering, and becoming lost in wonder at the astonishing truth of this “Christ Hymn,” I am more excited and electrified by the good news we will celebrate this Sunday at St. Patrick. Jesus really is the best news!
It is a busy weekend around St. Patrick. In just a few hours, ministers from all around our geographic area will descend upon our church to meet, deliberate, feast, meet some more, feast some more, and finally adjourn and all go home to be back in their local parishes on Sunday. It is mind boggling how much work is involved. So let me say a special thanks to our staff at St. Patrick and to all the volunteers who will no doubt show all my preacher friends a real good time.
On Sunday, we will be looking again at the book of Philippians. One of the main things that struck me as I was pondering this passage was that when Paul says we are to "live a life worthy of the gospel," he leaves no doubt that a life worthy of the gospel is only possible when that life is lived out in deep community with other people. The bottom line is this, “we do the Christian life with people.”
Paul says when we are part of a community of believers, “the church,” and when we are striving together in mission and in service to each other, it actually brings heaven down to earth. Yes, he did say that, he says “we are a sign.” That is utterly amazing to me.
Joy! Oh, to have more joy. Not just happiness, but the Fruit of the Spirit that the Bible calls Joy. Joy is not like happiness. Happiness is a circumstantial thing, like the tide - it ebbs and flows according to mood, whims, and feelings. Joy, however, according to the bible, is constant - it is not tied to our physical circumstances or feelings. In fact, we are commanded to be joyful always! Is this possible? Is this just more Christianese? More Pollyanna, pie-in-the-sky type rhetoric that well meaning Christians like to traffic in but don't really take into consideration the fact that life is hard and bad things happen to good people?
This Sunday we’ll talk about joy that is unshakable, abundant, and is even there when you are weeping! I know this is true because of Jesus. Even at the hardest places, Jesus had joy. It was, “for the joy set before him he went to the cross.” No one was more aware of the brokenness of the world than Jesus and yet he was the man of joy - so it is possible. In our text this week, we will look at Paul while he was in prison talking about how even in the hard place he is in, he is full of joy. He experiences joy, not only in spite of his bitter circumstances, but because of them. Sure, he didn’t ask to be put in prison. He wasn’t a masochist, but as Paul looks at Jesus and puts his life in the perspective of God’s eternal purposes and overwhelming goodness -he is laughing!
I don’t know about you, but I want that life and the abundance that flows from the cross and God’s overwhelming love for sinners like us.
This Sunday morning we start a new series of sermons called "Joy Unspeakable". From now till Advent, we will be going through the book of Philippians from start to finish. That really is the best way to study the Bible. The Bible is like other works of literature in that it tells a story–the story of God’s amazing, relentless, never stopping, never wavering, always overcoming love for his broken creation and creatures. It is so relentless that God would rather lose his own Son, than lose you. God would turn his back on his Son, for a season, so that he could always smile upon you.
While life is hard–suffering abounds, sin is real, life is hectic—the keynote of the Christian life is joy! The Apostle Paul labors this point in this letter to a congregation of real people in a town called Philippi. Josh and I can’t wait to share all this gospel goodness with you! Just this week I have talked to people who have problems in marriage, kids in the hospital, friends with cancer, people who are depressed, etc. How does joy fit into that? Is joy possible when life looks like a tunnel, and all you can see is headlights coming at you? Paul would say yes! Paul would say you can have joy even when you are weeping. He would say that pain is not optional, but misery is. He would say joy is a gift from God, and also a choice we make in the crucible of life.
So join us Sunday as Paul shows how joy is wrapped up, swaddled in, part and parcel of being part of a community of people who know and love Jesus. I guess I will stop there lest I start preaching! I hope to see you on Sunday as we seek to understand how joy has the last word in this crazy world in which we live.
One of my more guilty pleasures has been the quirky television show Arrested Development. There's a running gag about how one of the primary characters let the excitement of a first date get just a little bit carried way. As narrator Ron Howard explains, "GOB met a woman one night, and after a series of escalating dares, married her." One can only imagine how intense these characters must have been to have allowed things to escalate from playful flirting to legal documents so quickly! But perhaps we can all relate to the exhilaration of a relationship that stretches us beyond our normal propensity to take a risk. I can't be the only other one besides GOB who has gotten caught up in the moment and done things due to social pressure I would never have done alone.
The writer of Hebrews recognizes this universal human phenomenon and actually exhorts believers to capitalize on it when he says in chapter 10 that we are to "spur one another on toward love and good deeds (NIV)." It seems that the writer pictures the Christian community as participating in a series of escalating dares, to the glory of God. Paul adds his own voice to the chorus of positive peer pressure when he encourages us in Romans 12 to "outdo one another in showing honor." This Sunday as we conclude our study on "The Lost Tools of Loving," we'll explore that Hebrews passage together a little more closely, and we'll find that in many ways, the proof really is in the Church, and how we inspire one another to great things in the name and image of Christ our Great High Priest.
There is a saying in Africa that goes, “a person becomes a person through other people.” I read that statement in a book this week and have thought long and hard about it. Being deep in a series about love and how love is the final proof of God’s existence, that statement, it seems to me, runs deep. Truth has a way of becoming abstract, does it not? Or sometimes we distort the gospel to be only about “me and Jesus.” This is why we can see people who know so much about the Bible and yet they can be incredibly off putting, or critical, or even mean-spirited. Why? They have a distorted view of truth and because they know the facts, well by golly, they're the keepers of the pure faith. That feels insane to write, but as I look around, it seems like a lot of religious people seem to fall into this.
However, in Christianity, we do become persons by other persons, do we not? We can’t grow without other persons. We can’t know who we are apart from knowing and being known, can we? As attractive as it is to think how good life would be without the burden of others, the reality is that life without others would be hell. So once again, this Sunday we are talking about how love serves others. Love by definition is about people. The essence of holiness is to love God and love people. We can’t say we are being transformed by Jesus if we are not growing downward in humility and outward in love towards others. Sunday, we will talk about what that looks like.
We love a freedom story, don’t we? We are suckers for a narrative that speaks of liberation and the loosing of the chains of tyranny. The story of freedom, like a good love story, is something that to us humans apparently never gets old. One of the first epic freedom stories I showed my first two boys (when they were way too young) was Braveheart. This was years ago and I thought it was time to bring my boys into this glory of this moving tale of William Wallace and the liberation of Scotland.
As it turned out, while I was utterly captivated by this story of William Wallace, who sacrificed everything including his life to see his country set free, my boys were just moved by the spectacle of a warrior painted with blue woad, gratuitously killing other people! Needless to say, it was a parental miscalculation, however it was born of good motive. I want my boys to be moved by the narrative of freedom and what that actually means for us mortals.
This Sunday, as we consider what it means to love well, we come across a very familiar aspect of love - "love serves." However, what is strange about this is that the Apostle Paul puts "serving other people" as the way we use our freedom! That is so strange to us who live in a culture where "freedom" is defined in terms of having no obstructions to doing what I want, when I want, as long as no one else gets hurt.
Now notice this, that definition is about "freedom from something." I am free when no one is in my way. I am free when I can get rid of this authority and can do my on thing. But what if the way people look at freedom is all wrong? What if the real view of freedom is that we are not free from things but that in the gospel God set us free for something! Free to be what we were made for. And what if the more we became what God intended for us to be, the more joy and freedom we naturally found?
I don’t know about you, but I want freedom! I don’t want to abuse freedom but I want to be free. I want the wild freedom and joy that Jesus promised his disciples. I suspect you do too.
Paul said, that in the end, “… faith, hope, and love abide, these three: but the greatest of these is love.” (I Corinthians 13: 13) Love is the greatest because love does things, heroic things, sacrificial things, beautiful things, and unimaginable things. So paramount is love, Jesus told his disciples that the way the world would know him, was the quality of their love for each other. Yes, real love for people does things like tear roofs off of a building to get a friend to Jesus, real love gives time, resources, and life to help make life a little easier for others. This is what we will talk about Sunday. Love is not for sissies and the faint of heart, but it is for all who are weary and will run to Jesus with their burdens.
I can't wait to introduce Josh and his bride, Allie, this Sunday. Josh joined our staff as Assistant Pastor this week and is preaching Sunday! And next week, during the Sunday School hour, you will be able to greet them and their three small children in a more personal way.
I am excited for you to meet Josh for many reasons - he is theologically sharp, a great communicator, and loves the church. But more than anything, I think Josh models our vision - he has a passion for God, loves people, and has a robust appreciation for life.
Forgiveness, or the lack thereof, is costly. There is no use sugar coating it or denying it - if we honestly forgive someone it is very costly to us personally. However, if we are seriously wronged and we chose to not forgive, it is perhaps even more costly. We live in a fallen world where offenses occur. Heaven knows, I try to be good and even when I am on my best behavior, I can still wind up offending someone. In a fallen world - sin happens.
In fact, we are so prone to sin that I marvel at how much civility there is around us. Sin fractures, it alienates, it sours, and ultimately it will destroy us. How do we mitigate the harmful effects of sin, both to ourselves and to those we wrong? Is it possible to live in unity, love, and harmony with people? Or, if we are determined to live in peace with people, do we have to walk on egg shells lest we offend?
The good news is that it is not only possible to live a real, robust, physical, face to face, wild, passionate, and loving life with other people, but we are called to do so. In fact, most of what makes life good is found in the deep ties of friendship and kinship. So what do we with all the sin among us. I mean, if you get two people together, somebody eventually is going to be offended or get their feelings hurt. It will happen just as surely as the sun will come up tomorrow - there is no ideal community because there are on ideal people, just broken sinners who need Jesus.
How do we keep things robust, passionate, full of life, and free of dead bodies? I am glad you asked, we’ll talk about it Sunday. I’ll give you a hint - Jesus carved a wide path in his life and death on the cross.
Well, it has been an epic week of national events, has it not? I, like most of us, watched with baited breath as the events of Sunday night played out and, by God’s good grace, no one was hurt. I went to a meeting at Hope Presbyterian Church on Monday night with clergy from all over Memphis and was encouraged that there was a spirit of “forbearance” among us. It is interesting that in God’s providence I would be preaching on how we love one another well, at a time when it seems the “center might not hold.”
Forbearance is a foundational manifestation of real giving - people forming love. We are all so broken that there is no pursuit in life that we have gone after and achieved which we cannot look at and attribute some of our success to the forbearance of a teacher, coach, parent, mentor, friend, or community of people. Life is hard, relationships are hard, the work and responsibilities God gives each of us are hard. None of us are self made. We need forbearing people to get along in life.
Some of us in our community need more forbearance than others. This is true because a lot of people come from less than ideal homes, where the soil was toxic and the relationships poisonous. The way to wholeness and healing for all of us, and especially those who come from abusive backgrounds, is forbearing love.
What does that look like? How do we develop this virtue? Is it costly? I can’t answer all of those here, but I will answer the last one - is it costly? Yes, very costly, just look at Jesus. It is about as costly as a cross! But also life giving and freeing! You can’t have one without the other.
We just started a series called The Proof is in the Church, Recovering the Lost Tools of Love. Here is why - we really don’t know how to love like Jesus loves. Oh, we know how to love according to Pop Culture, but Jesus’ kind of love is bound up in sacrifice and service. I think we like the idea of love, we like to hear stories of love, we just don’t want God to ask us to do much of the sacrifice and service part! Is that not okay? Is it really that big a deal? Yes, because Jesus said that as the world sees the love people in his body have for each other they will know Jesus is real. How are we doing on that one?
Not so good if we can believe the perceptions of people outside the church. Even 20 years ago, when people outside the church were surveyed, they talked about the church in a positive light - they brought healthy morals to the culture, they were first to help in times of crisis and disaster, and quick to take in strays. Now the findings by the Barna Research Group and others tell a different story. Now the church is perceived by those on the outside as "hostile to the culture," "not willing to listen," "not interested in broken people," and most disturbing is there is a perception that the church is an evil influence on the culture and many are straight up scared of the church!
How can this be? Jesus was so gentle, "a bruised reed he wouldn’t break." Jesus was so accepting of morally bankrupt people - he welcomed them. Jesus always had time to listen and he ran to the kinds of people both the culture and the religious crowd ignored. The only groups who were scared of Jesus were the political structure and organized religion! The man on the street wasn’t. The broken people weren’t. Why? Well, come Sunday and we will take about it as we talk about how beautiful it is to see the grace of true welcome to people we don’t know, or to those who are different or indifferent to us.
You have heard the old saying, “The proof is in the pudding.” Originally that proverb went like this, “The Proof of the pudding is in the eating.” Both of them are saying the same thing - you can look at something and it may look good, but until you put it in your mouth, until you bite into it and taste it, you really don't know if it is good. I was on Study Leave this week planning and praying about what God would have us study for the rest of the year after spending so much time on the "Habits of Grace.” I confess that I had been stumped - no light from God, nothing that jumped out to me. I had quizzed our Session for insights because last time I asked them, one of our Elders suggested the "Habits of Grace," which was not what I had been planning. But as it turned out, it was wise to listen to wise counsel.
Anyway, I was praying and there was nothing, but then I was meditating on John 13, where Jesus says, “all men will know you are my disciples by your love.” He didn’t say "by your knowledge," he said by your love. And in a moment of clarity I thought - this is it. "The proof is in the church." Jesus is known not in buildings or budgets, programs or preaching, but by the quality of our love for one another. The New Testament then in a very unique and concrete way tells us how this love for one another plays out. I won’t tell you how, you will have to come to worship on Sunday to hear that.
Speaking of coming this Sunday, you will also have to come to find out who our new Assistant Pastor is! We have hired a great guy, a Jedi actually, though he is too humble to call himself that. The Session (the group that has spiritual oversight at St. Patrick) issued a call to this gentlemen and he has accepted. I could tell you more but, I love surprises (don’t you?). So, on Sunday we will announce who we have hired as Assistant Pastor at St. Patrick, show you a picture of his family and let you know when he start his ministry among us.
Before I talk about winding up our series on The Habits of Grace, let me say something about fathers. Should we celebrate Father’s Day? Do fathers really matter to us - any of us? All of us? Of course, we should regale our good dad’s with a day of appreciation. But, if being in the Foster Care System has taught me anything - it is the beauty of good fathers.
As I sat in court and then in the Foster Care Review and I reflected on the massive brokenness of families in our city, I believe that about 95% of these problems are caused by bad fathers, absentee fathers, or abusive fathers. Think about it. If every man that fathered a child was totally committed to the future glory of that child and was totally committed to making the mother of that child more beautiful every day, what kind of society would we live in? It would be a little heaven on earth, would it not?
Most of the problems I deal with in people of any and every age come back to father wounds. So when I say, a good dad is a thing of breathtaking beauty, I am not making that up. The power of a father is so great that in his book The Faith of Christopher Hitchens, Larry Taunton makes a point of how fathers influence their homes and he quotes a statistic about fathers that is astounding: "...when a mother converts to Christianity, 17 percent of the time the children do too; when a father converts, the figure rises to an astonishing 93 percent." (This is according to Polly House in a paper “Want the church to grow? Then bring in the Men.” April 3, 2003)
So dads - let’s be worthy of any honor we receive this Sunday!
On Sunday we will finish up this series by asking the question, “What now?” In other words, if I am making these things habits in my life, what should I expect? If we are all seeking to live out the Christian life with intentionality and passion, why do we all look so different and grow at such different paces? Good question. That is the question before the house this Sunday as Tribe St. Patrick gathers to give God glory and know his deep friendship with us.
So, we are in the start of summer and just thinking about worship this weekend makes my heart happy. It is not always like this. Even though I am the Senior Minister, I don’t look forward to worship all the time. I was interviewing a young eight year old theologian for church membership recently and when I asked him why Jesus had to come and die he said, without missing a beat, “We just keep on sinning.” So true. Often I bring a cold heart into worship pleading with God to re-narrate my heart and life so I not only know, but feel, the pleasure and delight of God for me. I always know this in my head, but it is my heart that needs adjusting.
Anyway, what a weekend of worship this Sunday - a celebration of many things that are true, good, and beautiful. If you haven’t read our recent communications (which many don’t) we finished VBS this week. It was glorious, not just good - glorious. Aside from the cool design, great skits, off the chart fun, and amazing songs - the thing that makes VBS at St. Patrick so great was articulated to me by my daughter Bethan. We were in the back holding her two youngest children watching the skits and songs, and Bethan pointed out her two boys, who are five and seven, and said this, “Look at Eero and Elijah, see the boys that are playing with them, and delighting in them? I taught them at VBS a few years ago.” Multigenerational faithfulness, you get that glory only when you are committed to a "long obedience in the same place.” So this Sunday after worship we will see what happened this week at VBS at St. Patrick.
Also, we will be baptizing three of our children. Who can’t celebrate when we see God’s special regard for our children (and grandchildren) coming to pass in vows and water? I get to baptize my granddaughter this Sunday which is especially special to me, but also a time for us all to ponder God’s great promises of grace to our children. We can’t ever hear that enough. We are also baptizing a couple of young guys and we will do it outside in a cattle trough! After you take communion you will process outside and there we will conclude our service of worship with two baptisms outside. This ought to be wild and joyous!
If that is not enough, Brian and Erica Henson will be visiting and speaking breifly about what God is doing at our church plant, St. Patrick in Austin. If there is any time left from all this oath taking, covenant making, praise giving, and joyful and inexpressible worship, I will be winding up the Habits of Grace this week and next.
Time and money, checkbook and calendar. Can there be any more difficult things to get right than how we allocate the precious resources of time and money? As I have thought about about how good stewardship is a habit, I had to review my week to see where the fault lines in my life were. I’ll give you the travel log Sunday but most of the things that cause me stress, anxiety, and worry center around time and money!
So what do we do about this? Is money evil? Does redeeming the time mean we are always in Bible studies? Hardly. One look at Jesus (the living image of obedience to God) and you see him not leaving the culture around him or retreating from the demands of everyday life; no - he dove in. Jesus loved to throw lavish feasts and participate in lavish gatherings around food and drink, and he does this without censure or condemnation. In fact, it was the religious crowd that tried to throttle Jesus. Jesus hallowed marriage, and thus sexual desire, as a human good. Jesus wasted time in long conversations at people’s houses and put people off while he could hang around with children. Jesus never condemned money, in fact he told us to make friends with it. However, Jesus was very realistic about money. He called it “mammon.” In other words, money is so powerful, it has almost the power of deity.
So what is the solution to the tensions we live in with money, time, and desire? Stewardship. Jesus never condemned “things and stuff,” he condemned the inordinate love of them. God, in fact, gives us physical things that answer the deep desires he also gave us. Stewardship is the habit of grace that helps us not make “good things,” like money, sex, time, children, marriage, or status, into “ultimate things.” None of these can save us, only Jesus can do that.
I recently sat in Starbucks and had a long conversation with a young man. He told me his story, what God was doing in his life, how he wanted to grow, redeem the wasted years, and become more like Jesus. What does one say to that? What would you say? Is it possible to see this young man become more like Jesus? Do I tell him to read a few books or just show up for worship? Do I shove him off on someone else?
I sat and listened to him for a long time, I didn’t say much, then I told him that what he wanted to do had the shape of the cross - death to self. There is freedom and joy on the other side, but when Jesus bids a person to follow him, he bids them to come and die! Then I told him some of the things I have been preaching about the “habits of grace,” that is, how God forms us to be more like Jesus. The last thing was for him to meet with me a lot and I would be something like his “spiritual father,” coach, or mentor - whatever he wanted to call me. I told him that I would say hard things to him sometimes and that it didn’t mean I didn’t love him. I told him that he would have to trust me when I did this because I had lived longer than him, sinned badder than him, and repented more eagerly than him. I told him that I would ask him “heart questions” about his walk with God and that he had to walk in the light with me when I did. And I told him that he could do the same with me. I told him my job was not to get him out of pain but help him confront his pain and his deepest idols so that he could run to Jesus and experience his power and grace. I told him anybody could be good when things were easy but character was formed when things were difficult. Then I told him, somewhere along the way, that I am going to ask him to go and do the same thing with another man who God puts in his path.
That is the essence of disciple making. It is not sexy, it is not flashy, it is not in the spot light, it is not just more information - it is life on life, it is personal, it is raw, it is real, and it is the what Jesus spent most of his three years in public ministry doing. It appears that Jesus' philosophy of ministry was not large crowds - did that. Not a public healing ministry - got that t-shirt. It was not putting on a magnificent feast - Jesus could always get a crowd. No, while Jesus did all of these things, you see his real philosophy of ministry in where he allocated most of his time. Most of his time was spent in the mundane give and take of life with a few men. And get this, I don’t even think they were converted till after the resurrection! Jesus spent most of his time being with a few guys - discipling, apprenticing, or coaching - who had total access to his life. And when he was ascending, he told them that the plan to take over the world is simple - do with people what I did with you - make disciples.
This Sunday we take our offering for Future Thriving to raise money to build additional parking. Why? Why sacrifice that money? Why give an extra $100.00, $1,000.00, $10,000.00, or even more? Why? For me it is simple - to have the opportunity for me and all of you who are part of the St. Patrick tribe to sit in Starbucks, or Square Beans, or at your work, office, or school, and have the kind of conversation I had with the young man in Starbucks this week. It is real simple for me - more parking is more people that will become new/better disciples of Jesus.
So, this Sunday, at our Future Thriving Celebration, I will talk about what is at the core of what we do - develop disciples to develop more disciples! I am so jazzed that I can’t see straight! Nothing is better than sitting with someone and seeing the lights come on as they “get” the gospel! After we worship, we do what comes naturally to a broken people who know they are delighted in by the God of the universe - we will give thanks and feast. A high day. A holy day. A day to make a big fuss about Jesus.
I love to learn. I really do. I read all the time, I ask questions to people who are artisans in their craft. I am fascinated by people who are experts in their field. I intend to keep on learning until I die, which I hope is not anytime soon. Then, when I die and get to heaven I will be filled with both wonder and questions. We will have all eternity to continue to learn and think God’s thoughts after him.
As disciples of Jesus we are called to be life-long learners as well, that is what a disciple is: "…someone who is continually learning to become more like Jesus in all areas of their life.” How do we do that? How do we learn to be more like Jesus? I can tell you this, it has to be more than just getting more information. I pondered this for many years and of course the answer was in the Bible all along and also embedded in all real learning I ever had.
To really become more like Jesus we need people who, in flesh and blood, not only tell us but show us what it means to follow Jesus well. We need truth to take flesh and blood and say, “Imitate me as I imitate Jesus.” All true learning and knowledge is hard to come by. It also takes doing things you don’t want to do. That is why to really be a disciple of Jesus there needs to be people who take abstract concepts and show you what they look like in flesh and blood, in a real human life. This is discipleship, this is disciple making.
This Sunday I will argue that if you are a follower of Jesus you are not only his disciple, but you are called to be a disciple maker. I am going to argue that it should be part of your weekly rhythms and Habits of Grace. I am going to press the point, that we have to create space to allow people into our lives so they can see what a real sinner saved by grace looks like.
To be made in God’s image is to be a “culture maker.” By definition each of us is called “to make something of the world.” We talked about this last week and we will continue the discussion this Sunday morning. For some, it might seem less than spiritual, or less spiritual than worship or reading your bible. Here is what I would say to that. I think there are habits that are for our character formation and they tend to be more private. In fact, Jesus said that we should keep some habits of grace private and not parade them around. If that is the case, why?
Here is why: a lot of life is private and is preparation for a public life, or a “life before the world.” I read the bible and pray as a daily thing, not so I can tell everyone how much I read the Bible and pray, but so I can re-calabriate my life and my orientation to the world that God created. This is much like what practice in football is to a real game. “We play like we practice.” It is my hope and prayer that out of continually soaking my life and affections in God’s redeeming love for me and his redeeming love for the world, what will come out in my public life, “before the world,” will be a grateful making and remaking of the world around me so that people around me are blessed and know that there is great God back there somewhere.
This Sunday we are going to talk about it, but before we talk about it we will experience it tomorrow in Crawfish! The annual Crawfish Boil at St. Patrick is part of our cultural life. It is a an expression that flows from our place in the deep south, our people who have deep knowledge of cooking Crawfish, and our deep love of feasting as an expression of our deep gratitude, thanksgiving, and appreciation of the world God as given us.
Not only that but there will be Chili Dogs after worship, so lots of places to feast, talk, and be human. If you are new here, I encourage you to stick around where you can enter into the cultural life of St. Patrick in “slow time” over food and drink. It is a life giving and fun place to be.
I just sat with a young couple who will be getting married next month. I always talk with people who are about to get married before I do their weddings, so this was just part of the deal. As I sat there looking at them all full of life, love, and yearnings I calmly told them near the end, “Your marriage will be what you make of it.” It can be a home filled with laughter, joy, grace, and a feeling that a little bit of heaven must have somehow gotten loose and broke into space-time reality. Or it can be a home where people exist, do their thing, don’t really bother each other, and not much really memorable ever happens.
I was thinking about that because I am preaching this Sunday on Culture Making. Marriage is the place where two people begin to make a real culture that they will inhabit. Culture is what we make of the world. We all make something, we have to - humans are going to fill our lives with something. If the Bible is to be believed, then I would suggest that for each of us culture making ought to be with a view of human thriving for those who orbit around our sphere of influence.
Look around you - your family, your business, the where your community exists; what have you made of it? Do you enjoy it? Is it life giving? Is it memorable? Do people thrive in it? I ask that because it is what you have made it to be. This Sunday we will talk about how one of the most important tasks God gives us is to participate in the making and re-making of the world. You ask if that is actually possible? You bet it is.
Last week we started thinking about the Habits of Grace that are more public, if you will. By that I mean that they are things you do “in the world” or “before the world.” Certainly, when we think about “culture making” we are talking about something very public, very open, and very concrete. I would even go so far as to say this - people judge Christianity by the culture you create. The culture you create in your life is really the real you, it is an expression of what you really and truly love.
This week and next we are going to look deeply at this aspect of being human. Some are, of course, skeptical when I talk about “culture making” because it sounds to “worldly.” Well, that is just what I hope you will see about Christianity - it is “in the world” and “for the world.” We can’t do Christianity on a reservation, we are called to be “worldly Christians” in that Christianity happens “in the world.” You can’t be more spiritual than God. Jesus came into the world to bring in a new kind of culture. So if you are curious, we will talk about it Sunday. I hope you will join us.
Also we welcome Beckham into the family this Sunday. He is the Mark and Amanda McMinn’s son and part of the baby wave at St. Patrick. Every time I place water on the head of an adult or infant, I marvel at the audacity of God who says his kingdom will overcome the kingdoms of the world with such common fare as bread, wine, water, and broken people.
This Sunday we are back in the Habits of Grace after a month long hiatus from the subject. It seems like everyone is interested in spiritual formation these days. There is so much written about how weak the outward expression of Christianity is. In other words, while believers talk much of the “Lordship of Jesus,” there is not much evidence of that when it comes to Christians being much different in their views of sex, money, power, etc. I have long contended that most people who profess faith in Jesus think that if they know a certain truth it means they do it. That is simply not true. Truth must be inhabited, it must be “habited” - that is, it must become a habit of your real life, not a theoretical abstraction recited on Sundays and when the religious crowd gathers.
Thus, “Habits of Grace.” Just this week I read a couple of new books and both spoke at length about the formation of not only right beliefs, but right practices. Both talked of character formation as the formation of habits that form and inform what you love.
"Character is transformed by three things. First, you have to aim at the right goal (Loving God). Second, you have to figure out the steps you need to take to get to that goal. Third, those steps have to become habitual, a matter of second nature." (N.T. Wright, After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters)
"... if you are what you love and love is a habit, then discipleship is a rehabituation of your loves… The orientation of the heart happens from the bottom up, through the formation of our habits of desire. Learning to love [God] takes practice." (James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit)
So, would we love Jesus more? Would we be an adequate reflection of his glory in our mundane lives where we work, shop, and play? Good question. Hope you’ll join us as we talk about the habit of “culture making.”
Palm Sunday... the beginning of Holy Week. Holy Week is literally one week that changed the world. So yes, this is a big deal. Yes, this story of God punching a hole in the universe and jumping into our broken reality as one of us is a story so counter-intuitive to all the religious stories of the Divine that proceeded it and that have come after it - that it demands you take pause and listen.
Every religious story you hear is a variation of a single theme - what do I do to get God to accept me? Why have people always felt that we are somehow not right? Why is all religion about “propitiation” - trying to turn God’s anger from you? Why are both sacrificing and being good as a way to God a universal proclivity of mankind in every culture and every generation in the whole history of the world? It must be, it can only be, that deep in our DNA is shame. Deep in our DNA, so deep we can’t condition it out or breed it out of ourselves, is the haunting realization that we are deeply broken and we can’t fix ourselves or make ourselves happy or free by just existing.
So we have religion - systems of belief that tell us that the gods are angry with us and we have to sacrifice to get in their good graces (or keep them off our backs) and we need a certain list of things (that usually looks like the ‘Golden Rule’) to prove our worth. From culture to culture it is just a variation of the same theme, the gods are different but the demands they make so we can justify ourselves are pretty similar. No wonder that until Jesus came along, the idea of “Loving God” was never part of the religious vocabulary. Love God? Are you kidding me, you didn’t love God, you appeased God, you used sacrifices to keep God away.
One week changed everything. When Jesus came and entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday he came as a King. He came to bring a kingdom. He came to rule and reign - HE WAS KING! But his rule and reign is not like you think. It is not like religion. The donkey tells a story. When he came to the temple he came to cleanse it and also to make it obsolete. What he did at the temple cleansing was so terrifying that the religious leaders knew they had to embrace Jesus or kill him. Temples tells stories.
This Palm Sunday we will see what donkeys and temples tell us about Jesus. Let me give you a hint. They tell the story of the God of the Universe turning the tables on religion and instead of making us pay - God paid. It is the ultimate love story, ultimate adventure story, ultimate hero story, and if it is true, it changes everything we think about reality. Indifference is not an option.
We're over halfway through Lent. Lent is a long season - 40 days. Forty days to ponder in a focused way what Jesus' death on the cross means. Forty days to think in a focused way about how Jesus' death on my the cross is the defining moment in history. It is, isn't it?
Think about it for a moment. Because Jesus died on the cross we have hope for a better future - all things being made new! Because Jesus died on the cross we know God will bring justice and right all the wrongs - evil will not win. Because Jesus died on the cross we are assured that God can use the bad things in the world to bring about our good and His glory. Because Jesus died on the cross I know that I have value and that I don't have to prove or justify myself.
I've just scratched the surface. No wonder the Bible says that "angels long to look into these things." Angels, who have never sinned and have no need of forgiveness, stand in awe of what God has done for his broken people! Do you? Do you stand amazed that God could love you? Are you still lost in wonder that a sinless God would become sin for you?
If not, Lent is a perfect time to spend a lot of time under the shadow of the cross! We'll talk more Sunday as we stand amazed in Jesus' presence.
I think that most of the Habits of Grace we have talked about play into our need to “prove ourselves to God.” What I mean is this - for many of my formative years, I thought that the reason you cultivated things like reading the bible, prayer, and going to worship was that because if you didn’t, God wouldn’t love you. Grace is such a hard thing to get our minds around that we take the things which we should do in response to being delighted in by God because of Jesus, and we turn them into things we do to get his love. There is, however, one of the “Habits” that is not like that at all. In fact, it is so far removed that you can’t use it to make God love you because of the simple fact that it is permission from God to be nonproductive!
Everything in society tells us we get our identity from what we do, the gospel tells us that we get our identity when we rest - rest in what someone else has done for us. No wonder we are all nervous wrecks. No wonder we are all stressed out. If you listen up - God actually commands you to rest and celebrate. In fact, if you do not rest and celebrate, you are not only unlike the God who went to the cross for you, you are being disobedient! The Bible gives us permission to play, frolic, feast, and to live a robust life here "on earth as it is in heaven." Yes, that is right, feasting is "as it is in heaven."
Yes, I hope that when people think of the St. Patrick Tribe they will think, "They sure know how to feast!" Incidentally, that is what was said of our Savior before us, except the religious people who said it were casting Jesus in a negative light! Are you interested yet? Most people are afraid to tell you that God gives you permission to spend money on food and drink to celebrate God’s goodness with your Christian and non-Christian friends. Here at St. Patrick we say just the opposite, our logic runs like this - If Jesus was master of the feast, and the first assembly in heaven will be a wedding feast, then being a disciple of Jesus must include the habit of recreation. We not only remake the world as we work for the glory of God, but as we play to the glory of God.
We’ll talk about it Sunday. A perfect Sunday to do so, because what a week it has been! We have babies coming out of the wood work. If you can’t bust a gut, dance a jig, gild the lily, and embody your joy in food, drink, and song in the presence of God - come Sunday and let Scripture cut the breathing holes so that you can breath the air of gospel, joy, and freedom!
One of the most obvious things about worship should be this: it is not about you. The irony of that is that most people reference worship not with about what they "gave" in worship but about what they “got out of it.” I have thought and pondered on this all week and have come to the conclusion that the reason we are so disinclined toward worship is that our approach is so wrong. Hear me out. The air we breath in the culture is a that of a consumer culture. We consume things. And maybe that unconsciously becomes what we do with worship as well. So we come into worship and unwittingly make it about us and our needs. In essence we come to “get” something.
Here is why that will never work and maybe why many have found themselves bored with worship or at least wondering why it is a big deal when we can just read the bible and pray and not have to get up on Sunday when the "devil is in the house," and "go to church." In the Bible and in Christianity the “law of the harvest” says that “you get what you give.” That is basically the message of the cross, is it not? So if you give sparingly, you receive sparingly. While, if you give generously, you receive generously. See, one approach to worship is consumer driven - what can I get? The other approach is away from self - what can I give?
There is no doubt then, that true worship is not what you get but what you give. But let me say this, those who come to give the most are those whose heads are cocked back in laughter and who delight in God is contagious. Those who come to give are those who are overwhelmed that God would love them and go to the cross for them. Those who come to give are constantly amazed at grace and overwhelmed by mercy. They take nothing for granted.
In worship, “you get what you give.”
When I think about the the Habits of Grace, corporate worship is seemly the easiest one to neglect without it being a detriment to the formation of our soul. I mean, one writer titled her book (tongue in cheek) “A Royal Waste of Time.” Well, on the surface it is.
I mean really, what does ‘going to church’ look like? Horror stories, that is what. I don’t know of anything we do that is attended with so much confusion. If there is ever a time of the week when marriages are tried, children are looking like walking,talking models of total depravity, and we are thinking to ourselves, “In my mental state, and after how hard I have worked this week, ‘Why am I doing this?’” - it is on Sunday morning when we are trying to get everyone to corporate worship.
Years ago, an elder in this church summed it up best. I would see him come into worship with his bride and three girls looking like he was shell shocked. I would ask him, “Mike, how are you doing this morning?” I asked him this because he was the master of the cliche and had a saying for everything and what he said about Sunday mornings was about right. He would shake his head and say, “The devil's in the house, boys, the devil's in the house!”
If it is so hard, we have worked so hard, and it is the only morning for many of us to sleep in, why should we make this a habit that we do? Or should we? Can’t we just read our Bible, be part of a community, and get to sleep in on Sunday? This Sunday. and the next, I will try to answer that question. I will start by giving you something to ponder before we talk on Sunday. I often hear people say this, “Well I went to church and I just didn’t get anything out of it?” Hmm, could this be the source of the problem for so many people who value worship so little? Do we really go to worship to get or to give?
Our culture loves to talk about community and the need for community but at the end of the day one wonders if there is any community most people can abide! When our culture talk about community it usually means an “affinity community.” What that means is a group of people who gather around a common affinity like “fantasy football,” or a tennis community or whatever the group of people have in common. Those are good communities to be in and we all have them, but if you are looking for formation and deep face-to-face “knowing,” that is not the kind of community you want.
The Bible talks a lot about community and I promise you it is not an “affinity community” that it is talking about. In fact, it is the exact opposite. When God comes into your life through believing the gospel, he puts his people in local communities. The way you get into the community is strange to say the least, it is so opposite of an affinity community as to make you shake your head in disbelief if you really think about it. To get into a “gospel community” you have to confess how bad you are, and how much you need Jesus and other people to help you along the way! Furthermore, to get in, there are no conditions. Which means in a “grace community” all kinds of people join, and low and behold, God says something like this, “These are the friends I have chosen for you and they will be the people who will make me ‘real’ to you and help you become more like Jesus.”
You will never grow more like Jesus unless you are part of a community of believers who you are face-to-face with and when you have carved out the social space in your busy schedule to live life together with them. You think I jest? You think I am overstating the case? Well, join me Sunday and we will talk about community as a “Habit of Grace” that God has given you to make you more like Jesus. And on top of that, what could be more delightful than being part of a people who know you to the bottom and still love you!
Why do I need to meet God? Is that much really at stake for me in this? Is this really a big deal? Tuesday, I was praying the Psalms when I read this: “Don’t turn a deaf ear when I call you, GOD. If all I get from you is deafening silence, I’d be better off in the Black Hole. I’m letting you know what I need, calling out for help and lifting my arms toward your inner sanctum.” (Psalm 28:1-2, The Message). When I finished reading several other passages of Scripture, I came back to this passage to ponder and meditate. It became the focal point of my prayers for many of my friends who are suffering and are in tight spots.
The next day, out of the blue, I got an email from Jeanna Cantey (who gave me permission to share this). I actually had written in my journal that I was especially praying this for Jeanna! So imagine my surprise when she sends me an email. It started off like this:
Dear Jim,
Hope your day is going well! Not sure why I felt like I needed to email you, but maybe it’s a God thing, I don’t know.
David said he talked to you yesterday, as always thank you for your prayers. I’m going to assume you are angry at God right now, I don’t know. If you aren’t, that’s good… disregard the rest of this e-mail. If you are. then read on…
Jeanna is my kinsman by marriage (on my wife’s side - kinswoman for politically correct folk). When I read that opening I just laughed because she knows me so well from other pastoral visits. If I were a Catholic Priest I would have said “Last Rites” over her a couple of times. I have confessed to her that I was angry at God over her condition and so, like good kinfolk, she worries about me - when she is sick!!! We joke about this, but it is funny that she is writing to comfort me when she is the one who has had a double lung transplant and wrestling with rejection issues right now.
I will read you the rest of her letter Sunday, because it is from someone who really trusts God. It reads like someone who knows that the one we pray to is called “Father.” This Sunday we will talk about how we “encounter God,” the real God in the Soul Room. I will tell you, Jeanna was right that I was angry, and the glorious thing to me is that it is not just a duty but a delight to be able to run to “My Father,” with all my anger and know that he delights in communion with me. It is really not anything I read or pray that will melt my anger, it is just being with God and knowing I have his friendship.
For three weeks now I have pushed that to be formed more into the likeness of Christ, we need to develop what I am calling “Habits of Grace.” Habits are things that we consciously set out to do, because they are the right things to do, or because love demands we develop certain habits, or because they demonstrate love to the beloved. After a period of time, habits become so ingrained in us that we just do them. “Habits” form us in all areas of life. The real question is not "Will I develop habits that form my life and character?" but "Will I intentionally form Godly habits that develop my life into the kind of person I want to be?"
So, I am suggesting that we all take a look at our lives and the “habits” we now have and ask the question "Did I consciously form these to be like Jesus or are the habits that make up my life things that I either consciously or sub-consciensly picked up from the culture without reflection or intentionality?" That is a tough one.
Anyway this Sunday, we are talking about why it is that at the heart of not only the Soul Room but most of the “Habits of Grace” is the primacy of the Bible. This Sunday, before we get too deep into the “habits,” I want you to see why the psalmist could look at the Scripture and say, “It was like honey to my mouth.”
There is a consensus among theologians and people who help in “spiritual formation,” that the number one indicator of spiritual growth and maturity in wisdom and love for God is this - will you develop the habit of reading the Bible and praying on a daily basis? Well, that seems fair enough, doesn’t it? I mean, as believers we are, and always have been, a “people of the book.” It would make sense that, if we believe in the God who revealed himself in space/time history by coming in the flesh and also chose to leave a revelation of his love and his story to his people, it would be a thing of singular interest. And yet, every survey I read says something like this, “Less than 20% of people who call themselves believers actually read the bible with any regularity.” Also, “about 25% say they never read the Bible at all.”
This week we are going to talk about that. For years, even as a minister, I found it hard and even resisted the habit of carving out time to read the Bible and pray. I also thought that I was doing my congregation a favor by not putting another legalism on them like that. I am a little older now and the very thing I used to find such a burden and so hard, I know would submit is sort of a lifeline in the formation of my love for Jesus.
Sunday I will share my journey with you and also start to answer questions like, “How do we hear God speak to us in the Bible?” “How can I pray without my mind wandering?” “Will God really meet me as I set out to be in what I am calling 'The Soul Room?'”
One of the most amazing things is happening right now with my grandson John-Wendell - he is learning to talk. I have had a front row seat to this “wonder” six times with my own children and four times with my grandchildren, and it never gets old. All I need to hear to make my heart sing opera these days is John-Wendell’s voice trying to get my attention, “Pa! Pa!” I am utterly amazed that being almost two years old he is now joining the rest of the human race in speech - and he has a lot to say. At first it was just one syllable, now he is stringing three words together. Next thing you know, he will be using the volumn of his voice to get a word in edge wise with his other brothers and pretty soon little sister.
Here is the funny thing about human speech. You do not realize how complex it is until you get into elementary school and suddenly they start naming and categorizing all the things you have been an expert at for the past three years. Long before John-Wendell knows all the parts of what he is doing, he will know “how” to do it. How did that happen? I mean human speech is the most complex thing we do and yet, like magic, it just happens by being around a community that uses words all the time. Think about it - most of us are “formed” way before we are educated in the classical sense of the word.
I think our age has forgotten this. I think because we have forgotten this, our learning models tend to be very poor. I think most of our models for learning are little more than the passing on of information. Also, I think the reason that our learning models are now just lectures of giving more information, is that real formation is a lot messier and requires more of us. But I would also argue that the way Jesus taught was a lot more robust, engaging, and more fun.
I am also starting a new series of sermons on Sunday morning called “Habits of Grace.” So, during the season of Epiphany and Lent, leading up to Easter, we are going to talk about how being a disciple of Jesus really is about our habits.
I would even say this, “you are your habits.” See, the way to change is not getting more information - heaven knows we have more good information than we can shake a stick at. Why do you think there will always be ten best sellers with “new and exciting information" on how to change? Why do you think there will always be a multitude of “weekend seminars” on how to be a better parent, better spouse, better worker, or better leader. Here is why - we want to believe (even though we know deep inside it is not true) that all we need is “the right information."
The whole idea of just getting “more information” ignores a fundamental reality of the human soul - “You are what you love.” For me to change, I have to change my loves and just getting a little information will not undo what appetite and affection long for. This is why we are going to talk about habits. Habits are not just ideas, they are the actions you do, repeatedly until they become second nature. Habits go after more than the head, they go after the body, the appetites, the desires - the heart. All change comes from getting our “loves” right. And to get the loves right it takes truth that is put into habits.