St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC

In the whimsy of youth and on a long winter break from college, some guy friends and I were looking for a last-minute adventure that wouldn't cost us anything. I think we were mostly bored. We landed on spending the whole night around a campfire — in mid-January —  and then watching the sunrise over Big Hill Pond, about an hour east of Collierville. It was an epic time...until about 2 am, when the fire had died down and the s'mores sugar rush turned into the inevitable crash. Morale really went downhill as things started to lighten and we realized the entire sky was totally overcast. Surely the sunrise would scatter the clouds and still be glorious, right? We came all this way and we were so tired and so cold. Alas, we watched dark gray slowly turn to light gray and then drove home in silence, with me just trying not to nod off at the wheel.  This Sunday, we come to the end of Mark's gospel: the Resurrection. Without the Son's rise at sunrise, promising the dawn of a new, eternal Day, all of human history and effort is watching gray turn to gray. But instead, in the words of Isaiah, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.”

Is a hot dog a sandwich? Is cereal cold soup? Is pizza a pie? And if tomatoes are fruit, then is ketchup a fruit smoothie?These are some fun classificatory paradoxes and boundary debates for your dinner table. They are a few examples of things that break our categories. These are the kinds of things we encounter every now and then that make us rethink our categories or rethink the thing in front of us. Sometimes, all we can do is watch our categories fall and stand back in wonder.That's what our current series is all about in the Gospel of Mark. Story after story of Jesus annihilating people's categories. People have to rethink their categories or rethink Jesus, because something isn't fitting quite right.This Sunday we'll look at a story of wonder from Mark 15 in which Jesus seems to do the opposite. He lets himself be fit into a category by his enemies so that He might redeem us from our categories. And even the way he does that leaves a powerful ruler flabbergasted. Hopefully we are as well.

From our guest preacher for this Sunday…Over the last few weeks, various pastors at St. Patrick have preached on the profound messages of Jesus in the book of Mark. The thoughts are not shocking because they contain some wildly philosophical sayings…but they are amazing because they are true.  Throughout the Book of Mark, the people that surrounded Jesus - his followers and his disciples - heard his words and their minds were blown. Many of Jesus' sayings seemed complicated, and most didn't really understand…why? Because they were working off an equation given to them by the world around them…and what was the equation? You only get what you give. You earn rewards for whatever you worked for. Even believers today – that get the good news of Christ – still think same way.The rich, young ruler that we will be discussing this week is a prime example. He was confronted by Jesus in a way that not only challenged him to give up what was most valuable…but called for him to substitute it for something better.

From our guest preacher for this Sunday…Over the last few weeks, various pastors at St. Patrick have preached on the profound messages of Jesus in the book of Mark. The thoughts are not shocking because they contain some wildly philosophical sayings…but they are amazing because they are true.  Throughout the Book of Mark, the people that surrounded Jesus - his followers and his disciples - heard his words and their minds were blown. Many of Jesus' sayings seemed complicated, and most didn't really understand…why? Because they were working off an equation given to them by the world around them…and what was the equation? You only get what you give. You earn rewards for whatever you worked for. Even believers today – that get the good news of Christ – still think same way.The rich, young ruler that we will be discussing this week is a prime example. He was confronted by Jesus in a way that not only challenged him to give up what was most valuable…but called for him to substitute it for something better.

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

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

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! 

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 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.

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:- 32 minutes for a doctor's appointment- 28 minutes in the security line at the airport- 21 minutes for their wife to get ready- 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.

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:- 32 minutes for a doctor's appointment- 28 minutes in the security line at the airport- 21 minutes for their wife to get ready- 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!  

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!

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!

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. - jsP.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!

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. - jsP.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.

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!  

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!

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.  

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!). 

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! 

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!!

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.

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.

View this email in your browserWho 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!

View this email in your browserWho 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!

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

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