Knit Together (Year B-Pentecost 9)

To listen to this message as delivered to the
Tellico Village Community Church on August 2, 2009, click here.

Text: Ephesians 4:1-16

It’s been busy around the church this week as we’ve been settling into our new offices. Among the 1,000 little things accomplished as a part of the move, I had a light bulb replaced in my office, calling to mind one of my favorite church jokes:

-How many Baptists does it take to change a light bulb? At least 15. One to change the light bulb, and three committees to approve the change.

-Episcopalians? Eight. One to call the electrician, and seven to say how much they liked the old one better.

-Unitarians? We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your own journey you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your personal relationship with your light bulb, and present it at our annual light bulb service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including incandescent, fluorescent, three-way, long-life and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

-Charismatics? One, since his hands are in the air anyway.

-Methodists? Undetermined. Whether your light is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved -- you can be a light bulb, turnip bulb, or tulip bulb. Church wide lighting service will be next week. Bring a bulb of your choice and a covered dish.

-Presbyterians? None. Lights will go on and off at predestined times.

-Lutherans? CHANGE?????

-Interdenominationalists? None. We don’t want to make the bulb feel unwanted or uncomfortable.

It’s good to laugh at ourselves sometimes and make light our differences. Here at our interdenominational church, we have people from all of those traditions and more. I thank God for that seminary professor who helped me appreciate all denominations and made a convincing argument that each denomination has its specific job to do within Christendom. The Kingdom of God is so deep, so long, so high and so wide that we need each denomination that all of God’s children might have a home. The challenge, however, in an interdenominational church and within the church universal, is to find unity in the midst of our diversity.

This challenge is as old as the church itself as we learned from our New Testament lesson this morning. Paul, writing to the church at Ephesus, uses a powerful metaphor in his call to congregational unity, saying that the church is, as one translation puts it, “knit together.” With this imagery, we can imagine God as a thoughtful knitter skillfully crafting a beautiful work of art—the church—God’s masterpiece.

When I first read the lectionary text, this phrase, “knit together,” grabbed my attention probably because of the recent launch of our prayer shawl ministry. Here’s one of the beautiful shawls created by the loving hands of someone in our church or community. The idea is simple. With every click of the needles as the shawl is being crafted, a prayer is lifted for the eventual recipient. When the shawl is finished, the artisan presents the shawl to the church and it is dedicated at WednesdayChurch! by simply passing the shawl around, each person lifting a silent prayer for its recipient.

The Apostle Paul compares the church to one of these shawls saying that like a shawl, the church is “knit together.” Consider the symbolism--the interconnectedness of each stitch--how, if you took out a pair of scissors and cut one stitch, it might unravel the whole piece. Every stitch is necessary to hold it together just like the work of every Christian is essential in order for the Church to accomplish her God-given mission: to gather up every person and wrap them up inside the warmth of God’s love. The first order of business in accomplishing God’s purpose “is the unity of the Church.” [1]

So Paul tells the church at Ephesus to “Grow up!” Because mature Christians value unity over personal preference. [2] “Grow up!” Paul says to the Ephesians, because mature Christians cherish harmony over personal triumph. [3]

I think this message is especially fitting for our church right now. It’s an exciting time, but an anxious time for us as we get ready to build. Growth and change are never easy. But from where I stand, we’re going to be OK. Here’s how I see it. When I joined your family a little less than two years ago, you had big decisions to make. Your little family had grown, your house was too small, but you still wanted to find a way to bring in new children. The family appointed some who knew about houses and construction to make their best recommendation, which they did. The family came together to learn about their proposal, and then the family voted. Some voted against it. More voted for it. And here we are today, less than a month away from breaking ground to build a major addition to our house.

Being fairly new to the family, I’ve mostly watched and listened as the family worked the process together. I’ve learned a lot about you—this is what I’ve discovered: you’re the kind of Christians Paul would like to have seen in Ephesus. Because, overwhelmingly, you’re the kind of people who value unity over personal preference. You’re the kind of Christians who cherish harmony over personal triumph. Some of you weren’t on the winning side of that vote last summer. But here you are anyway! Singing hymns of faith with joy in your heart. Serving on that committee. Working in the kitchen. Still using your God-given gifts to build up the church, gathering up every person and wrapping them up inside the warmth of God’s love.

You know why I know we’re going to be OK? Because in your maturity you’ve chosen unity over preference and harmony over triumph. This is the kind of church that can weather the storms of change. Why? Because you do it together! I love this church!

There’s another reason I know we’re going to be OK. It has to do with the other part of the equation that Paul gives the church at Ephesus. In addition to laying down individual preferences for the sake of the whole, Paul urges each Christian to use the gifts God has given. God gifts each of us for specific works of service. Without each stitch working properly, the whole fabric just might unravel. But when every “stitch” works together as it should, it’s a beautiful sight to behold.

Two months ago, our church lost a beloved soul named Barbara, a little red-head with lots of spirit and even more opinions. Barbara spent the final days of her life in a care facility. She couldn’t come to church, but she sure experienced church because the body of Christ stepped up! Every stitch pulled together around this frail life!

Lots of you gifted with friendship visited Barbara. Those of you gifted in prayer prayed for Barbara. In healthier days, some of you gifted in planning led fun day trips that Barbara enjoyed. Folks with cars gave Barbara rides. Some of you with the gift of generosity put money in the offering plate, and by doing so, you were right there with Pastor Tim and a precious Stephen Minister when they took communion to Barbara.

And when Barbara went home to be with the Lord, many of you, gifted with compassion, came to her funeral. Did you notice that someone with accounting skills had paid the electric bills? Someone crafted a beautiful program on a computer fixed by someone else earlier that week. Someone with the gift of service had straightened the pews. Someone who knows about sound systems turned on the microphones and someone gifted in music played the organ. A gifted speaker talked about her friendship with Barbara. A gifted organizer rounded up folks to bring cookies, and many of you proved your giftedness in the art of cookie baking! Someone with muscles set up tables and chairs. Someone with a compassionate smile stood at the guest book and welcomed those who loved Barbara into our church.

Every stitch pulled together and wrapped this frail life up inside the warmth of God’s love.
A few days after Barbara died Pastor Tim received an e-mail:

"Dear Tim, My name is Tom and I am a Hospice Chaplain. I recently had a patient who had a blanket made by some caring person in your congregation. She recently passed away, but that blanket meant a lot to her. I would like to say thank you to whoever was responsible for this kind gesture."

One person “knit together” that precious shawl, but it took a church to “knit together” the kind of loving farewell most of us can only hope for.

Church, we’ve got work to do! People like Barbara are all around us . . . people who need to know God’s love expressed in tangible ways. This is no time to rest! We’ve got a church to build! So let’s pull together and gather up every person and wrap them up inside the warmth of God’s love. Are you ready? Let’s go!
__________
[1] Rollin Russell, “Pastoral Reflection on Ephesians 4:1‐16,” http://www.nccouncilofchurches.org/Acts_of_Faith_Year_B/Part_2_Year_B/ecumenism_pastoral_reflection.pdf
[2] Paul V. Marshall, “Ephesians 4:1-16: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, 2009, p. 304.
[3] Jaime Clark-Soles, “Ephesians 4:1-16: Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, 2009, p. 303

Hanging Around (Year B-Pentecost 10)

To listen to this message as delivered to the
Tellico Village Community Church on August 9, 2002, click here.

Text: 2 Samuel 18:5-9

Thanks be to God for the word of the Lord! For Holy Scriptures that often inspire us, that frequently challenge us, and that sometimes even make us laugh out loud, as was the case for me when I read the Old Testament lectionary text for this week.

The main character in this story is Absalom, the third son of King David. Absalom was, in the words of Frederick Buechner, “the thorn in [David’s] flesh, but he was also the apple of his eye.” [1] The scripture tells us that he was the best-looking man in all of Israel from his long, thick, flowing hair all the way down to his French-pedicured toes. [2] The scripture goes so far as to tell us that once a year, when Absalom got a haircut, the trimmings alone weighed three and a half pounds! Not only was he easy on the eyes, but he had personality too. A hottie and a charmer! Lethal combination. And lethal it proved to be.

So lethal, in fact, that Absalom murdered his oldest brother, the first-born son of King David and first in line for the throne. Though this was done to avenge the rape of his sister, Absalom had to leave town for a few years. Eventually David welcomed him back into the fold, and Absalom got busy using his beauty and charm to steal the hearts of the Israelites. He rallied the people around himself and conspired to overthrow and kill his father. He levied such a following that King David was forced to flee from Jerusalem.

Eventually David mustered his remaining troops together against his son. He explicitly told his men to spare Absalom, the thorn of his flesh, but still the apple of his eye. Absalom’s army met defeat that day in a bloody battle that left 20,000 dead.

Picture Absalom riding away from battle that day, defeated but handsome as ever. Like Fabio riding gallantly along, his beautiful, thick, long hair flowing along behind him until—whoops! His luscious locks get snagged in an oak tree, yanking him (literally) off his ass. The mule laughs as he trots away with a much lighter load. And now we see the handsome Prince Absalom, just hanging around.

If you read further, you get the sense that Absalom hung there by his hair for quite a while . . . long enough for his enemies to ride by and notice, long enough for them to find their leader and debate his fate, long enough for them to ride back to Absalom.

In the meantime, there Absalom dangles. But one thing strikes me as odd. If there was one piece of equipment a soldier in those days would carry to the battlefield, what would it be? A sword! So the glaring question from the text today to me is, “Why didn’t Absalom take out his sword and cut himself down from that tree?”

Now we don’t know for sure, but it certainly seems like a lack of ingenuity or resourcefulness on Absalom’s part. It seems that Absalom had an absence of industriousness or creativity.
We all get stuck from time to time.

Like the time I got on the wrong ski lift. If you’re familiar with skiing, you know that slopes are ranked according to difficulty. Green slopes are the easy ones—the bunny slopes. Blue slopes are moderate. Black diamond slopes are the most difficult slopes that only the most advanced skiers should attempt. Me? I’m a great skier! So long as I stay on the bunny slopes!

When I got off of the lift that day, my friends and I realized that we had made a mistake. The only way down the mountain was the way of the black diamond. We made it half way down the mountain when we found ourselves in 6 feet of fresh powder. Have you ever tried to move in 6 feet of powder? Not easy. As we trudged through the snow, we took different paths and got separated, and suddenly I found myself alone. The path I chose was no path at all, rather, I ended up in a 30-foot snow drift, the only things I could see were trees and snow. The only thing I could hear was the wind whistling “Taps.” If you think it’s hard to move in six feet of powder, try 30! I could barely move. So I thought I’d try a different approach. I took off my skis. Mistake number two. I sunk even further into the snow. Now I really couldn’t move. I was stuck. Snow up to my chin, buzzards beginning to circle above me.

I remained there for quite a while, wondering if I might die there. And then I heard voices in the distance. Snowboarders! I started yelling, “Help!” A voice yelled back, “Are you hurt?” I answered with a hesitant, “Well, no.” The voice yelled back, “Then just walk out, dude!” Then I heard them go on their way.

I was irritated at first, thinking they should have immediately come to my aid. So I hung out in my snow bank a little longer, waiting for more voices. There were no more voices. So I did the only thing I could do and mustered every ounce of strength I could muster and inch by grueling inch I shoveled my way through the powder until I made my way out of the snow bank.

Others get stuck far worse than that! Perhaps you recall the story of Aron Ralston, the rock-climber who got his arm pinned underneath an 800-pound boulder a few years ago. He became the stuff of legends when he saved himself after six days of hanging around a rock face in Utah. He freed himself the only way possible—by using his pocketknife to amputate his own arm.
I trudged 100 miles through 700 feet of powder. Aron Ralston cut off his own arm. Prince Absalom couldn’t even cut off his hair.

“Why didn’t Absalom take out his sword and cut himself down from that tree?”

Maybe it was vanity.

Maybe his good looks were a curse . . . maybe he was so attached to his outward appearance that to lose his luscious locks would be a fate worse than death. Maybe vanity kept him from freeing himself from the grip of that oak tree.

Vanity can kill a person, you know. People can get so wrapped up in what others think about them that they let the gifts inside them die. The painter who never paints for fear that their painting isn’t perfect. The singer who never sings for fear that their song isn’t spectacular. The poet who never puts pen to paper for fear their poem isn’t profound.

Each and every one of us is made in the image of God, the scripture tells us. To be made in the image of God means that each of us harbors the capacity to be like our Creator and create! That creative capacity has gone dormant in far too many of us, however. We “grow up” and take on utilitarian roles, and our creative capacities get crowded underneath the deadlines and demands of practical living.

Julie Gammack describes how during her years as a newspaper columnist and entrepreneur, “the artist within was hibernating.” She said that retirement has been so liberating and freeing because she’s finally let go of the what-people-think syndrome. When Julie was in fifth grade, her art teacher singled her out for a scholarship to take classes at the local art center. She went on to take private lessons and considered studying at an art institute. She eventually decided against it, however, because she was advised that “art was something to do as a hobby, not a career.” Her gift remained latent for twenty years. Like so many of us, she allowed her gift to atrophy under the pressures of family and work. [3] But now, in retirement, she is able to stoke the fires of the gift burning inside her. Her artwork is in high demand in a niche market.
Back to our scripture lesson. “Why didn’t Absalom take out his sword and cut himself down from that tree?” Maybe it was vanity. Maybe our handsome prince had not let go of the “what-people-think” syndrome. Maybe his vanity impeded his ability to find a creative solution to his predicament. And still we see the handsome Prince Absalom, just hanging around.

I know some folks who are just hanging around. I know a quilt maker who hasn’t sewn a stitch in nearly 25 years. I know a poet who hasn’t written a verse in nearly 20 years. I know a woodworker who hasn’t turned a piece of cedar in nearly ten years. I know a songwriter who hasn’t written a song in nearly five years. Life has a way of crowding out our creative capacities underneath the deadlines and demands of practical living. However, the moments when we are most creative are the moments when we’re most living into our true nature as children born in the image of God.

I know some folks who are just hanging around, but I also know lots of folks who are taking out their swords and freeing themselves from the grip of death. I know lots of folks who are discovering that retirement, for instance, can open up doors of discovery, adventure, and creativity if one is willing to take a risk. I know a retiree who’s learning to play the guitar. I know another who’s recently written her first song. I know yet another who’s learning how to compost, using that skill to enhance her beautiful garden. I know someone who’s finally able to participate in theatre.

Some of you have the opportunity to explore the divine creative spark inside you like you’ve never had before! Seize this opportunity. Some of you, like me, are still faced with the demands of a career or still responsible for the care of some other soul. And for you, especially, I challenge you to let go of narrow definitions of creativity, ones that confine creativity to the realm of artists or children, because “creativity is so much more than art making. It’s a tool for navigating through everyday experiences to find the sacred in each God-given moment. Creativity does not die; it simply waits to be unearthed and set free.” [4]

Poor Prince Absalom never figured out how to get down from that tree. Maybe it was vanity. Maybe his vanity snuffed out any glimmer of creativity and industriousness that could have helped him escape his predicament. He saw “hanging around” as his only option, and that mistake led to his death. His enemies came back to that big oak tree. Absalom was easy prey. He died hanging there from that tree. But I think his spirit died long before that. He died the very moment he allowed vanity to kill his creativity. Poor Prince Absalom.

But not us! You won’t catch us just hanging around because we know that being like the Creator means that we are born to create! May each and every one of us find the courage to look and listen deeply, to find the divine creative spark within and release it into a world desperate for something authentic and fresh. Amen.

[1] Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures: A Biblical Who’s Who.
[2] 2 Samuel 14:25.
[3] James A. Autry, The Spirit of Retirement: Creating a Life of Meaning and Personal Growth.
[4] Karla M. Kincannon, Creativity and Divine Surprise: Finding the Place of Your Resurrection.

The Building Blocks of Eternal Life: Gratitude (Year B-Pentecost 17)

To listen to this message as delivered to the
Tellico Village Community Church on September 27, 2009, click here.

Text: Deuteronomy 26:1-11

I’ve got a news flash for you this morning: scientists have recently discovered that gratitude is an indispensable component of health, wholeness, and well-being [1]. Of course preachers and religious thinkers have known this for a long time! Why didn’t they just ask us?
These researchers have discovered that:

• Those who kept gratitude journals reported fewer physical symptoms, felt better about their lives as a whole, and were more optimistic.
• They reported lower levels of depression and stress.
• Grateful people were rated as more empathetic, more generous, and more helpful to others.
• Here’s some good news for you this morning: research shows that those who regularly attend religious services are more likely to be grateful!

So in light of the fact that gratitude is good for health, and church attendance increases one’s sense of gratitude, we’ve come up with a new church slogan . . . what do you think . . . “Come to Tellico Village Community Church! It’s good for your health!”

For the past few Sundays, Marty has had us thinking about the building blocks or basic elements of the eternal, abundant life that Christ promised. Today I want to add gratitude as a key ingredient in the recipe for the abundant life Christ promised to us.

It’s the central expression from our text today. Picture with me Moses standing on the banks of the Jordan River addressing the people in his final sermon before he hands the reigns over to Joshua. He’s telling them how to act . . . what kind of people they are to be once they cross the river and assume the land promised to them. He tells them that once they’ve settled, they are to bring an offering, and as each one brings his offering before the priest he is to recite a litany prescribed by Moses paraphrased like this, “I have arrived. I have come into the land promised to my forefathers. But I haven’t always been so blessed. You see, my father was a wandering Aramean . . .” Then Moses instructs them to tell the story of how they came out of a nomadic lifestyle into slavery in Egypt through forty years in the desert to bring them to the present in the land flowing with milk and honey. “I have arrived, but let me tell you how I got here,” Moses instructs them to say as they bring their offerings.

Why would Moses demand such a litany from the Israelites?

Because it is important to REMEMBER!

At WednesdayChurch! last week, I led folks through a prayer experience, prompting them to give thanks as they walked back through time remembering the different stages of their lives and all of the people that supported them along the way. I want to offer you the same opportunity.

So in a spirit of prayer, I invite to recall your very first days on earth. Who was there to feed you and clothe you and nurture you in those fragile first years? REMEMBER, and give thanks.

As you grew older, your world expanded. You started school. Maybe you went to Sunday school. Recall those teachers, those neighbors, those family members, those friends and mentors who taught you and loved you and supported you through the carefree days of childhood into adolescence. REMEMBER, and give thanks.

You became a young adult. Maybe you met someone special and got married. Maybe you were blessed with children. Maybe someone helped you get started in a meaningful career. Maybe you were proud to serve your country or perhaps you had the privilege of going to college. REMEMBER, and give thanks.

You grew up and moved to East Tennessee. What sustains you now? Who are the meaningful people? A job, investments, or a 401k? REMEMBER, and give thanks.

The first step towards becoming a person of gratitude is to REMEMBER. Chances are, you weren’t always as good-looking, as charming, as powerful, as wealthy, as respected as you are today! Once, you were a tiny baby completely dependent on another person for your very life. REMEMBERING brings with it certain humility, doesn’t it? REMEMBERING is prerequisite for gratitude.

Last week I took my vibrant two-and-a-half-year-old son to the pediatrician. She calculated that he will grow to be about 5’10”. I’m 5’2”. Eventually, my son will tower over me. Should he ever get cocky and try to intimidate his sweet mama, I’ll pull out the pictures from his premature arrival on earth. His frail, four-pound body with tubes and wires all over the place. Tender skin hanging on tiny little bones. I’ll show him those sad pictures and cause him to REMEMBER. I’ll say, “You may have arrived, son, but let me remind you how you got here!”

When we REMEMBER, we are humbled, because it is only by the grace of God that any of us are here now! It evokes humility, gratitude rises up in us and causes us to REJOICE!

Last week I attended a celebration dinner with the leaders and volunteers with the Good Neighbors Shoppe. Do you know they’ve recently marked the milestone of giving $500,000 to important causes in our community? What a remarkable story of how foreigners to East Tennessee like Gene and Roberta Burwell and many of you can come into a new land and REJOICE with your neighbors by becoming “Good Neighbors.” With every dollar the Good Neighbors Shoppe gives away it’s like every person who has ever volunteered there is saying, “God has been so good to me, and now I’m doing what I can to be a Good Neighbor!” 500,000 thanks be to God!

When we REMEMBER, it causes us to REJOICE.
When we REJOICE, it causes us to RETURN.

A life marked by gratitude has the natural by-product of generosity. Moses knew it in his sermon to the Israelites. He was no dummy. In his stewardship sermon he didn’t use guilt. He didn’t preach duty or obligation. He preached GRATITUDE.

REMEMBER . . . REJOICE . . . RETURN.

We RETURN thanks. We RETURN time and talents. We RETURN offerings of material goods that are not our own, for we would have nothing but for the grace of God. We don’t really give, we RETURN. We reciprocate. We repay. Why? Because we REMEMBER!

This week our church begins our annual stewardship drive called “Trails Through Tellico” in which each member is asked to prayerfully consider what financial contribution God is leading us to give to the church during the next year. Like many of you, my husband and I will seek God’s leadership in this important decision, and we’ll make our pledge. Can I be honest with you about this? It’s hard for me to get excited about pledging to a budget. It’s hard for me to pledge to an institution just so it can pay its bills. The good Lord knows I have a hard enough time paying my own bills!

But here’s what I can get excited about . . . I can get excited about lives being transformed in the name of Jesus Christ! I hear about these transformations nearly every day! Join me on a little journey to see how this church is transforming lives every day . . .
· Let’s go see Jennifer and young Sean now living in the Habitat Home we built alongside them.
· Let’s visit each of our scholarship recipients and find out what kind of transformation a college education is making in their lives.
· Let’s join our parish nurse as she goes in the middle of the night to administer morphine to someone dying of cancer.
· Let’s travel with our Kindred Spirits as they have a blast soaking up all the wonderful sights of East Tennessee.
· Let’s slip inside an AA meeting one Monday night in our CLC, and see how people are being freed from the power of addiction.
· Sit inside a pastor’s office as we council those dealing with difficult issues of life and faith.
· Join the missions team as they tally the thousands upon thousands of dollars given to local causes like the Good Samaritan Center and Good Shepherd Center, providing relief to people struggling with their very survival.
· Visit with one of our 25 active Stephen Ministers as they offer hugs and hope to someone who needs a healing touch.

There are so many important, life-changing ministries that flow out of our church there’s no way I could name them all in a manner that would allow you to beat the Baptists to lunch! What we do here makes a real difference in the world around us! That’s something that I can get excited about!

So as we get ready to launch our stewardship drive, I’m going to REMEMBER all that this church has done and is doing, and I’m going to give thanks and REJOICE! Then I’m going to RETURN some of the blessings God has given me to this church, and I’m going to take three steps to put my money where my mouth is:

1. I’m going to call our business office, and see how much more I need to give to meet my pledge for this year.
2. While I’m on the phone, I’m going to get set up on automatic withdrawal, because there’s absolutely nothing less spiritual about it, and it will cause my inconsistent giving to become consistent.
3. And when the pledge cards come around, my husband and I will increase our pledge by $200, which means I might have to give up one café mocha per week.

If every household would join my husband and me in adding $200 to our 2010 pledge, we’ll have an extra $127,000 to support the transformational ministries of this church. Our missions budget alone will have an additional $14,000! I wonder what they’ll do? Will they offer MORE scholarships? Will they sponsor ANOTHER Habitat House? Will they launch a new, transformational missions initiative? I can’t wait to find out!

It’s exciting to think about the possibilities when we REMEMBER God’s grace, when we REJOICE in grateful celebration, and when we RETURN just a small portion of the bounty God has given.

In the words of Winston Churchill, “We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.”

Now go and make a life for yourself! Amen.


[1] Robert Emmons & Richard McCullough, “Highlights from the Research Project on Gratitude and Thankfulness,” http://psychology.ucdavis.edu/labs/emmons/

Let Your Life Sing! (Year C-Advent 2)

To listen to this message as delivered to the
Tellico Village Community Church on December 6, 2009, click here.

Text: Luke 1:57, 67-79

I don’t know much about my great-great grandfather. I know his name was William Lawson. I know he owned a beautiful piece of land in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, land passed down through the generations to my own family. I know that my great-great grandfather owned a country store, one of only three stores in the small community of Townsend, Tennessee. I know that he sold all manner of items at that store, from flour and meal to candy to one or two sample headstones for grave sites. I know that he let my grandmother sneak candy from his supply when she was a little girl, a secret her mother never discovered. And I know the story of Albert Peoples.

The year was roughly 1918. Albert Peoples was a young black man. He was free; slavery had been outlawed, but he lived long before the birth of Martin Luther King Jr., years before Rosa Parks, and decades before Brown vs. the Board of Education. Albert Peoples lived in the difficult days between slavery and Civil Rights, but at least he had a job building roads, which brought him to the small community of Townsend. The story goes that while Albert was working in Townsend, he got a little too close to another man’s girl, and he found himself with a bullet in his head. Shot with a rifle at close range. Murder in the first degree. But there was no trial. No conviction. No justice for a black man far from home in that day and time.

The next day, the foreman of Albert’s road crew went around asking local landowners if they would allow the young black man to be buried on their land. Prejudice ran high; no one would hear of such a thing. No one, that is, except William Lawson, my great-great grandfather. Apparently he had compassion on “Poor Albert.” He found a remote spot on the family land, and there Albert Peoples rests to this day. Grandpa Lawson even donated one of the sample headstones from his store, though it had a ladies’ name on it. When my grandmother was a little girl, she and her sister would go place flowers on “Poor Albert’s” grave every spring. And one of these days, I’ll take my little boy to visit the grave of Albert Peoples, and I’ll tell him the story about his great-great-great grandfather, who had compassion for a man when no one else would. You see, I don’t know much about my great-great grandfather, but I know he was a compassionate man.

We don’t know much about Zechariah, the central figure from our text today. We know he was a priest. We know he married a woman named Elizabeth. We know that both of them were card-carrying members of the AARP. We know that they were good folks, and that they had never been able to have children. We also know that old Zechariah was quite the skeptic. He was so cynical that even when the angel Gabriel stood there face to face and told him that he would have a son in his old age, he dared to doubt Gabriel’s promise, so Gabriel taught him a lesson and snatched his ability to speak. So old Zechariah spent the next nine or so months mute. And ladies, we know that those were the best nine months of Elizabeth’s life!

When I think of Zechariah, I imagine him as a grumpy old man, performing his perfunctory duties at the temple much like the character from the 1983 Dunkin Doughnuts commercial. You know, the old curmudgeon famous for the line, “Time to make the Doughnuts.” That’s how I picture Zechariah at the temple. And then, BAM! An angel of the Lord appears and changes his life forever! Zechariah leaves that encounter that day speechless, but a little bit frisky. He goes home to his wife, turns on some Kenny G, lights a couple of candles, pours a couple of glasses of wine, and pretty soon ripe old Elizabeth has a baby bump.

Now for nine months, Zechariah remains mute. And then comes baby. When he was eight days old they brought him to the temple as was the custom of the day, Zechariah confirms the baby’s name as “John,” and instantly his speech returns. Nine months of frustrated silence, and do you know the first thing does? He sings! Zechariah sings a song of praise to God, a song of blessing over his newborn son. The song ends with a promise of God’s peace, “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (NRSV)

That’s the story we know about Zechariah. But have you ever wondered how Luke, the supposed author of our text today, knew this story about Zechariah? Luke wasn’t there at the temple when Zechariah saw the angel and lost his speech. Luke wasn’t there when Zechariah brought his infant son to the temple and uttered his first words in nine months in the form of a song of praise and peace. He wasn’t there, so how did he know these things? Simply put, someone must have told Luke the story.

The gospel of Luke was written 60, maybe 80 years after these things happened to Zechariah. By the time the gospel was written, Zechariah was almost certainly dead and gone. Gone but not forgotten. Why? Because he sang a song of peace! He is remembered two millennia later by American suburbanites like you and me because he sang a simple song of peace!

I don’t know about you, but when I’m dead and gone, there’s a part of me that wants to be remembered—remembered fondly like Zechariah. The good news from the story of Zechariah is that I don’t have to be famous. I don’t have to be the President of the United States or discover the cure for cancer. I don’t have to win American Idol or crash a state dinner at the White House. I simply have to let my life sing a song of peace. If I can accomplish that, that’s a legacy I can live with.

What about you? What kind of song does your life sing? It’s never too late to sing a song of peace! It’s never too late to show compassion to those the world rejects! It’s never too late to volunteer for a local charity or give to a worthy cause. It’s never too late to send a card to someone who’s lonely or downtrodden. It’s never too late to take soup to a sick neighbor. It’s never too late to let your life sing!

Last week I was visiting one of our members at NHC, the rehabilitation center on Kingston Pike. As I was leaving, I walked by the nurses’ station. A number of employees were there dutifully doing their paperwork. A woman older than God sat in a wheelchair, a young male employee stood behind her. As I passed by I heard her announce throughout the hall, “There’s nobody I’d rather have push me around than you!” Laughter erupted! Paperwork scowls transformed into sheer delight. The old woman continued in loud voice, “He is so handsome!” Laughter heightened. The young man beamed through slightly reddened cheeks. That old lady had made their day. She made my day! She taught me that it’s never too late to make somebody’s day.

I don’t know much about my great-great grandfather, but I know that his life sang a song of peace. A song of compassion. My family is still singing his song nearly 100 years later. I hope and pray that my song will be one of peace and compassion like his. I hope and pray that your song will be one of peace and compassion, too. Amen.

God's Great Joy (Christmas Eve Homily)

To listen to this message as delivered to the

Tellico Village Community Church on December 24, 2009, click here.

Text: Luke 2:1-16

Two years ago our congregation built our first Habitat House. Being fairly new to the church, I was amazed by the inundation of volunteers ready to hammer, paint, and landscape. This outpouring of labor resulted in a wonderful new home for Jennifer and her young son, Sean. It also resulted in a great sense of joy resonating throughout the people of our church. We were thrilled to be able to come alongside this family, offering our hearts and our hands that they might own their very own home. What a joy it is to give such a wonderful gift!

Now that I’m a parent, I understand this truth more than ever before. At my house, there’s a two-and-a-half year old little man fast asleep in his bed. When Terry and I get home, we’ll nibble on cookies and milk placed thoughtfully on the table for us. And then we’ll get to work. You see, Jake gets his very first train set tomorrow. When we were at his cousin’s house for Thanksgiving, a small wooden train set kept our two-and-a-half year old enthralled for two-and-a-half hours straight. Nothing has ever captured his attention like that before. He loved that train! So when we get home, we’ll get busy setting up the most incredible train set ever for our little man. We’ll put the table in just the right spot. We’ll assemble the track and the buildings and accessories. We’ll line the train up in just the right spot. We’ll stand back to admire our work, and then we’ll fall exhausted into bed for a couple of hours until an excited little boy wakes us up before the break of dawn. And in the morning, when he comes down the stairs and sees the most wonderful gift he’s ever received, we’ll feel a deep sense of joy, knowing that our son loves the gift we gave him. What a joy it is to give such a wonderful gift!

Have you ever wonder how God must have felt on that very first Christmas? Every year we dissect the Christmas story—we look at it from the perspective of Mary and Joseph or the shepherds or the angels or the wise men. But what about God? What was God feeling on that very first Christmas?

I imagine that God felt like the parent of a young child on Christmas day. I imagine that God was giddy, excited for humanity to wake up on Christmas morning to the most wonderful gift we’ve ever received, wrapped not in ribbons or bows, but in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. “I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people” the angel declared to the shepherds. That great joy? That’s God’s great joy! Joy that flowed from God’s very own soul into the course of human history. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord!” What a joy it must be to give such a wonderful gift!

And what was true 2,000 years ago is still true today. God delights in giving wonderful gifts to God’s children. God finds great joy in giving wonderful gifts to you. Won’t you open your hearts to receive all that God wants to offer to you this Christmas? Won’t you open your hearts to receive the greatest gift of all? Jesus Christ the Lord! Amen.

A Word for 2010 (Year C-Christmas 02)

To listen to this sermon as preached to the
Tellico Village Community Church on January 3, 2010, click here.

Text: John 1:1-14

Happy New Year! Today we mark the first Sunday of 2010, and the first Sunday of a new decade! An exciting day, right? OK, I have to admit, today’s not really an exciting day at all. The holidays are over. The presents have been opened, the visits with family complete, the very thought of another turkey sandwich made from holiday leftovers leaves us nauseous. At my house, we took down the decorations on New Year’s Day, much to my toddler’s protest, “No wanna clean up!” “Yeah, kid I no wanna clean up either, but people will talk if we leave our tree up until next Christmas.”

There’s something very anticlimactic about the first days of January. We’re often left with a cloud of ambivalence, left with the question, “Now what?”

It reminds me of when my son was born. Before his birth we were busy with all kinds of preparations, painting and decorating the nursery, organizing sleepers and diapers and where do you keep socks the size of a thumb nail? Like any new mom, I wanted to make sure everything was “just so.” Then came the excitement of the birth, the rush to the hospital, the anxiety of a premature birth, the days in the hospital nursing a four pound baby to health. When the doctors cleared our baby to come home after two weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit, we had the thrill of baby’s first car ride. I rode in the back seat with the baby while my husband drove 10-miles-per-hour all the way home. We carried this tiny little human into our home, set him down in his carrier on the floor, and stood there looking at him. “Now what?” we wondered. Little did we know it had only just begun!

As Christians, the days after Christmas prompt us to ask the same question. The Christ-child has been born, the carols have been sung, the manger given back to the animals, the baby Jesus sleeps in his car seat as Mary and Joseph wonder, “Now what?” “Now what?” we wonder along with them. “What was all that about anyway?” [1]

That’s where our scripture lesson comes in. John helps us answer that question. “That life,” John explains, “that little life we’ve been celebrating? That life is the light of all people. That light shines through our darkness. Don’t you get it?” the apostle begs us through the ages. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us! That’s what!”

The other part of the good news is that Jesus opened the door for you and me to become sons and daughters of God as well. Listen to verse 12: “But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.” The life and ministry of Jesus Christ is basically summed up in that one statement: Jesus gave you and me the power to become the very child of God.

Barbara Brown Taylor says it this way, “Jesus is not alone in this word-made-flesh business. He has brothers and sisters able to do the works that he does and more. Almost everyone has a word that he or she has a gift for bringing to life.” [2]

Think about that for a moment:
· Think about that person you know who has the knack for bringing to life the word, “generosity.”
· Think about that person you know who has the knack for bringing to life the word, “compassion.”
· Think about that person you know who has the knack for bringing to life the word, “integrity.”

“Until someone acts on these words,” Taylor suggests, “they remain abstract concepts—very good ideas that few people have ever seen. The moment someone acts on them, the words become flesh.”

So my question for you on this, the first Sunday of a new year and a new decade is this, “What word in you wants to become flesh?” What word in you is ready to live and breathe and have life in this New Year—in this new decade?

I want to give you a hint as you think about this, don’t think about this as a way to correct a weakness. That’s the stuff of New Year’s resolutions that often fizzle out before the first light of February. Think about this as harnessing your strength . . . that God-given quality in you that comes so naturally that you don’t even realize how special it is. What is your most natural gift?

· Is it really easy for you to make friends? What a gift! Harness that gift and become a friend to someone who needs companionship!
· Is it really natural for you to do little things in service to others? Harness that gift—the world needs those who can offer acts of kindness!
· Is it second nature for you to care about those marginalized by society? Harness that gift—and work for a world in which justice reigns!

Here’s another way to think about this challenge from scripture today: Frederick Buechner said that our true vocation, that deepest calling from God, is where our deep passion meets the world’s deep need. The world has innumerable needs. We can’t meet them all. We may have lots of passions. The challenge is connect our passion with the world’s need.

We have to fight the tendency to become complacent. The ruts we find ourselves in become very comfortable, but our habits can also imprison us and lead us to a kind of emotional death.
In one of my favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption, there’s a powerful scene in which two prisoners have a deep conversation about the future. Red (played by Morgan Freeman) tells his good friend Andy (played by Tim Robbins), “I don’t think I could make it on the outside, Andy. I been in here most of my life. I’m an institutional man now,” he confesses to Andy. In stark contrast, Andy tells Red about his dreams of owning a small hotel and charter fishing boat off the coast of Mexico. As Andy talks about his dream you can see the hope emanating from him. Red thinks that kind of hopeful thinking is bad for Andy’s psyche. “I don’t think you should be doing this to yourself, Andy. Mexico’s way down there and you’re in here and that’s the way it is.”

Andy replies, “Yeah, right. That’s the way it is. It’s down there and I’m in here. I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.”

One of the silver screen’s most compelling lines: “Get busy living or get busy dying.”

Prison is a powerful metaphor for the habits and routines that can eventually control us. Several years ago I had a dream in which, like Andy and Red, I was a prisoner. As I walked the halls of the prison, I happened upon a room where other prisoners were being executed. I knew that if I continued to stay in that prison, I would die as well. Later on in the dream, I stood in the prison yard. The gate was wide open—I had the freedom to walk out, but the gate was closing slowly. I stood there in the prison yard with a choice. I could stay or I could leave, and in the dream I stood there unable to decide simply because I was terrified of the unknown outside that gate. Because of my crippling fear, I stood there imprisoned, frozen, watching the gate to freedom close in front of me.

“I don’t think I could make it on the outside, Andy.”

That dream opened my eyes to how fear was holding me hostage and keeping me from the freedom God had in store for me. Fear can hold us captive and keep us from living into our full potential. Fear often prevents us from being the men and women that God is calling us to become.

For me, my calling was to become a pastor. My prison was my denomination that prevented me from such a thing because of my gender. That dream showed me the folly of my fear, and I eventually walked through that prison gate into the freedom that eventually led me here to be your pastor. God gave me the courage to live into the calling God placed inside me.
“But to all who receive him, to those who believe in his name, he gives the power to become the children of God!”

So child of God, what are you afraid of? What Word in you is dying to get out this year? Open the gate to the freedom of living into God’s deeper calling for you.

May you find the courage to let that Word inside of you become flesh. Amen.

[1] Stephen Bauman, “John 1:(1-9) 10-18: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C Volume 1, David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, 2009, p. 190.

[2] Barbara Brown Taylor, “John 1:(1-9) 10-18: Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C Volume 1, David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, 2009, p. 191.

Go Deep! (Year C-Epiphany 5)

To listen to this sermon as preached to the
Tellico Village Community Church on February 7, 2010, click here.

Text: Luke 5:1-11

It’s Super Bowl Sunday! The most holy day of the year in American sports culture. It’s Yom Kippur, Ramadan, and Easter Sunday all rolled into one. It’s also the “holy grail” for advertisers with last year’s Super Bowl holding the highest viewer rating of all time with 98.7 million viewers. Tell the truth, how many of you will pay more attention to the commercials than to the game itself?

I’m a football fan and I’m kind of excited about the game, but I can’t decide which team to cheer for. On one hand, you’ve got the New Orleans Saints. Their presence in the Super Bowl is the best thing that’s happened to the city since the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. I’d kind of like the Saints to give the people of New Orleans a real reason to celebrate. But on the other hand, my favorite NFL player is in the game—Peyton Manning. Being a lifelong fan of Tennessee football, he’s my boy! “That guy’s pretty good. If you like six-five, 230-pound quarterbacks with a laser rocket arm.” [1]

There’s nothing like watching a quarterback like Manning take the field late in the 4th quarter, his team down by a touchdown. Lots of teams would be doomed, but not a team with Manning at the helm. Go deep, Peyton! Go deep! It’s always exciting to watch a good quarterback throw the deep ball. It’s a high risk/high reward play. A good quarterback knows his bread and butter are the short passes—the screen plays and the quick slants. The game calls for that kind of safe, methodical play. But every now and then, the game calls for the risky deep ball. And when that kind of play is called, you can almost sense an extra intensity from the offensive line—you can almost feel the receiver’s heart pound a little faster. And when the quarterback launches the ball high into the air, the fans on both sides hold their collective breath. It’s why we pay our hard-earned money to sit in rain, snow, sleet, and hail just so that we can witness that kind of defining moment. Go deep, Peyton! Go deep, Drew! Go deep!

In our scripture lesson today, we read about a defining moment in the lives of the three men closest to Jesus throughout his ministry. We find Peter, James, and John going about their daily routine, trying to earn an honest living as fishermen on the Sea of Galilee. They’re exhausted, frustrated from working through the night with no fish and consequently, no income.

Defeated.

They’ve given up, and they’re washing their nets as a final, dutiful act before calling it quits. They notice a crowd gathered around their friend, a carpenter and teacher; he asks if he can use one of the boats to sit and teach the eager assembly. Peter says something like, “Go ahead, it’s not doing me any good.” After his friend completes his lesson for the day, he turns to Peter, and asks him to do something ridiculous. “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets.”

All due respect, Teacher, but you’re a carpenter. Leave the fishing to the professionals. “We’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything.” We’re tired; we’ve already washed our nets, for crying out loud! And you want us to go deep? And there it is. Their defining moment.

They’re presented with an invitation, and they have a choice. Now the decision rests in their weary, weathered hands. Peter, James and John can play it safe. They can give into their doubt, surrender to their cynicism—or, they can take a chance. They can do something completely out of character, something nonsensical. They can take a risk.

I had a friend in seminary named Steven. Steven was several years older than me—I was one of those bright-eyed seminarians straight out of college, but Steven was one of the many middle-aged people there making a career shift. In Steven’s previous career, he had been a photographer for the local newspaper in Waco, Texas. But his work had grown stale. He was beginning to wonder if God might be calling him into vocational ministry, but the idea seemed irrational. It would take years of schooling. How would he support his wife and kids? He was looking for a sign . . . something that would send him full-steam ahead in his career as a photojournalist, or something profound enough to send him down an unknown and illogical path into a new vocation.

Steven was standing at that crossroad when the biggest news event in the history of Waco, Texas broke. It was April 19, 1993. The FBI was staging the infamous raid at the Branch Davidian compound where David Koresh and his followers lived. This was Steven’s big chance as a photojournalist, to have his name in newspapers and magazines around the world. Steven wanted to find a way for his pictures to stand out from the rest so that his photographs would stand a better chance to be picked up by news media outside his own newspaper. The way to accomplish that, he thought, was to take aerial photographs. Many others would be on the ground getting those shots, but he would capture the event from the sky.

With great fervor and excitement, he quickly made plans, grabbed his gear, and soon found himself strapped inside a helicopter heading toward the compound. This would most certainly be the defining moment of his career. But as the helicopter made its way to the site some 9 miles outside of town, the pilot received some bad news. The FBI was shutting down the airspace. No helicopters—no planes—no pictures. Steven missed his big chance.

Not only did he fail to capture the aerial photographs, the detour cost him any opportunity he may have had to get good ground shots as well. I imagine Steven must have felt like those fishermen from long ago: exhausted, frustrated from working through the night with no fish and consequently, no income.

Defeated.

And it’s right there, right when the fisherman were ready to hang up their nets, right when Steven was ready to put the lens cap on and leave it there forever—it’s there when Jesus steps in and issues an invitation: “Break from your routine, go against everything instinctual, “put out into deep water” and trust me with the results.”
For Steven, this became a defining moment. Not in the way he ever imagined. The world didn’t see his photographs. He didn’t rise to the top of his field. But this was the sign Stephen needed to “put out into deep water.” He cashed in his cameras, moved his family to a new town, and became a student once again.

A high risk play for sure. For Peter, James, and John, once they stated their doubt and their protest was made clear, they followed their carpenter friend’s advice, and went back to work. To their great amazement, the deep waters were filled with fish! The nets began to break, and two boats nearly sank because of the remarkable catch!

Perhaps even more notable than the catch that day is that Peter, James and John walked away from it. It didn’t seem to mean as much to them now that they had found their true vocation. They left everything, the scriptures tell us, to follow the carpenter.

A high risk play for sure. Isn’t it those moments that make life exciting? When you follow your heart into the deep waters where unimaginable blessings await? When you find yourself beyond what you know, beyond what you think, beyond what you can imagine.

Jesus calls out to you and to me, “Don’t wash your net just yet! Put out into deep water!” It’s risky—don’t let anyone tell you it isn’t—but high risk often yields high reward.

Is there a deeper life waiting for you? Is there a deeper wholeness Christ wants to show you?

Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” Don’t be most men. Don’t be most women.

Go deep, my friend. Go deep!


[1] Peyton Manning in a commercial for Sprint.