St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC

Many of you know I am taking this summer as a sabbatical, in large part to make significant progress on my doctoral dissertation. Maybe you even know that the focus of my work is on C.S. Lewis. What you might be wondering is how all this ties directly to my ministry with St. Patrick. Well, to put it simply, what I love about Lewis is what I love about St. Patrick.  If you've never dug deeper into Lewis' thought and writing than his children's stories and popular theology, you might be surprised to learn that he was primarily a literary scholar, focusing on Medieval and Renaissance literature. The thing that fascinated him (and me!) about this era of time is the way people still believed that every jot and tittle of creation was a part of a well-ordered and beautiful picture of God's love for humanity – a cathedral of the grace in which we live, move, and have our being. He was concerned about what kind of discipleship would be required today to invite “modern” people out of the cold, dark, and chaotic infinitude of the myths they're believing, and welcome them into the marvelous light and warmth of God's true story.  Unsurprisingly, the answer for Lewis, and for St. Patrick, has largely been that the better story features at its center a kind of symbolic participation. As we continue on the scenic route along our “Godspeed series,” we stop today to consider the profound fact that the post-resurrection appearances of Christ feature a disproportionate number of episodes involving Jesus sharing meals with disciples. In a world where we often think of meals as logistical interruptions in our workflow, Jesus redirects our attention to the central priority of the table in his own kingdom.  It is unsettlingly revealing that the disciples on the road to Emmaus got a 3-hour Bible study from the Word of God Himself and didn't manage to recognize Him until they stopped for dinner. I can't wait to unpack that with you all!

I have to admit, I am obsessed with speed. I time how fast I can walk, in an attempt to get back to my pre-knee replacement speed. I always time myself. I just bought a new side-by-side, and on the first test run, it would only go 12 miles an hour. I was devastated. I kicked the tires, called it bad names, and then called the dealer to come pick it up. Then I read in the owner's manual—of course, going too fast to bother with that—that the seat belt had to be fastened before it would go any faster. With shame, I called the dealer and told them I would keep it. (To alleviate some of my shame, they hadn't known that either!) I drive my wife crazy on trips. I time restaurant and bathroom breaks to keep us on track in order to beat our previous record time to the beach. All my long cooks and short cooks on my grill are timed, as well.  It is totally ironic to me then that a God who is timeless would make his creatures such that we are bound by time. But I take great comfort in the fact that the same God would enter into our time-bound reality to save us. Jesus, the full radiance of the Godhead, was bound by time and place. He walked everywhere. Though he had just three years to save the world, he was totally inefficient with his methods and use of time, at least by our reckoning. He was always “wasting” time being alone with his Father. He got large crowds, yet shied away from going “viral”. He didn't seem as interested in getting “followers” and “likes” as he did with connecting with twelve guys—guys who didn't believe he would be resurrected, even after he told them repeatedly he would suffer, die, and come back to life.  As we consider the post-resurrection Jesus, it seems he didn't wise up in his use of time. I mean, a dead man walking and preaching—well, what could a good publicist do with that? Talk about getting a crowd! And yet, we find Jesus, with forty days to make a splash and get his eternal kingdom off the ground, walking at three miles an hour with two guys—one so insignificant he is not even named—on a dirt road to a town only remembered because of this seven-mile walk.  What is God saying? A whole lot, especially to us caught up in a cultural moment obsessed with speed and efficiency. I hope you will join us as we talk about it this Sunday. There is so much to celebrate this week, it is astonishing. We have seniors to celebrate, kids to baptize, members to receive, and lots of good news to share with a world obsessed with shock and bad news—all ordinary, all glorious, all at the heart of what it means to be human.  Glory!

As we enter a new series this week, we're going to consider what it means to slow down a bit, to Godspeed. In our zeal for the Kingdom, we often run ahead of the gentle pace of Jesus, or else, we resign to sit the bench and pout. But life with Jesus is a lot like taking a walk with a child. It's taking the scenic route, with a lot of maddening side quests to consider the lilies.  When I was first beginning in full time ministry, I found myself partnered with a very charismatic and thoughtful pastor who was in charge of our young adults' ministry. He was thirty, so I of course supposed that he was in the very prime of his wisdom: he was experienced and educated but still knew all the cool music. Youthful naiveté aside, it truly was a great gift for me to have access to him and I took advantage of every opportunity to annoy him with all the robust curiosity and angst of my 24-year-old self.  If you think I'm an idealist now, you should have met that kid. I was constantly feeling frustrated by the immense gap between the vision I was convinced the Bible had for gospel-centered church life and the realities of parish ministry in the suburban south. Probably the greatest gift Robbyn gave me was to insist on a distinction that I still live by today. He told me I had to figure out how to lower my expectations while maintaining and even increasing my longings. This, he knew, would do three things: lowering expectations would keep me from discouragement; increased longing would keep me hopeful for the future, and the internal tension of that widening gap would keep me on my knees. - 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.

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

Allie and I were in our early 20's when we had our first child, Cecily. It was a lot of fun and truly exhausting, but I got the sense after a while that I may have “hacked” parenting. Surely all babies were the same, and now that I knew “The Method,” it was time to add another. When Eloise came along, I learned that there are actually two different kinds of baby. Whereas Baby Type A needed structure, Baby Type B needed a bit more flexibility. It was like yin and yang. Two different kinds of baby. Yep, definitely just two kinds. When Donovan came, I ditched my grand theories for a little more humility. Parenting is impossible.  There are areas of our lives that are pretty simple. We figure out a system that works and we work it. Once you get a morning routine up and running, that's pretty much that. We may need to make tweaks here and there, but for the most part, the center holds. Then there are areas of our lives that are in constant flux. These are the most human parts, requiring our constant attention and intimate attunement. Relationships are the foremost of these. They cannot be maintained without continuous contact and personal adjustments. It's almost as if some of our life is designed to be auto piloted so that we can focus our best attention on these more worthy matters.  After a season of military successes, Israel was in danger of putting their regular skirmishes with Philistia into an auto pilot mode. The problem with that plan was that Israel's interaction with the nations was not simply a matter of national security. It was one of the primary arenas of their personal covenant with God, irrevocably connected to the very mission for which they had been established and set apart. Israel's dealings with their neighbors weren't simply battles to be won. They were opportunities to develop an increasing dependence upon God, that he might involve them in His larger, un-hackable purposes. Fortunately, the commander in chief of their military forces had a habit of “checking in” with his Superior Officer. And it's a good thing, too.  - js

As many of you know, I'm a little over a year away (Lord willing) from completing a Doctor of Ministry degree on spiritual formation in the works of C.S. Lewis. That's why you may have been thinking to yourself, “Man, that guy talks about C.S. Lewis a lot.” Yes, I do. About as much as psychic chai farmer talks about tea leaves, I would imagine. There's a reason I chose Lewis studies, despite my fear that it was a little too “on the nose” for someone like me, and possibly a bit overdeveloped a field anyway. The reason is, I usually can't think of anything without either having read it in one of his books, or else, having thought that I came to it independently, eventually realizing it was there in his works all along. He's a presence in my thought life I can't escape. At some point, you just have to admit that Mr. Miyagi knows karate and start waxing his car.  It was Lewis who introduced me to the idea of the Numinous. It's what “awesome” used to mean. It was uncanny before The X-Men. It's not fear, exactly; more like the source of fear. We fear whatever we know to be dangerous. We stand in awe of the Numinous: that terror which we cannot possibly comprehend. Often, we sense that by studying doctrine and behaving ourselves, we can avoid “upsetting” the Numinous and thus avoid dealing with it all together. As if we could tame the ocean itself and send it off on our errands! No, the great beast won't do our bidding, and besides, fear alone doesn't exhaust our experience. There's also a sense of humble gratitude at our invitation to behold the sublime beauty of the thing-which-cannot-be-named-or-otherwise-tamed. What are we to do in the presence of such things?  The crisis of our text this week is a failure to reckon with the Numinous. You can be beloved, and brilliant, and on your way up in life, and forget this one thing, and the entire world will crumble around you. David messed around and found out: God is not your little mascot. He is holy. The most radical truth in the world is that He is for you, but this is his idea, not yours. And he's doing it in his way, not yours. I could use an encounter with the Numinous this week. How about you?

As many of you know, I'm a little over a year away (Lord willing) from completing a Doctor of Ministry degree on spiritual formation in the works of C.S. Lewis. That's why you may have been thinking to yourself, “Man, that guy talks about C.S. Lewis a lot.” Yes, I do. About as much as psychic chai farmer talks about tea leaves, I would imagine. There's a reason I chose Lewis studies, despite my fear that it was a little too “on the nose” for someone like me, and possibly a bit overdeveloped a field anyway. The reason is, I usually can't think of anything without either having read it in one of his books, or else, having thought that I came to it independently, eventually realizing it was there in his works all along. He's a presence in my thought life I can't escape. At some point, you just have to admit that Mr. Miyagi knows karate and start waxing his car.  It was Lewis who introduced me to the idea of the Numinous. It's what “awesome” used to mean. It was uncanny before The X-Men. It's not fear, exactly; more like the source of fear. We fear whatever we know to be dangerous. We stand in awe of the Numinous: that terror which we cannot possibly comprehend. Often, we sense that by studying doctrine and behaving ourselves, we can avoid “upsetting” the Numinous and thus avoid dealing with it all together. As if we could tame the ocean itself and send it off on our errands! No, the great beast won't do our bidding, and besides, fear alone doesn't exhaust our experience. There's also a sense of humble gratitude at our invitation to behold the sublime beauty of the thing-which-cannot-be-named-or-otherwise-tamed. What are we to do in the presence of such things?  The crisis of our text this week is a failure to reckon with the Numinous. You can be beloved, and brilliant, and on your way up in life, and forget this one thing, and the entire world will crumble around you. David messed around and found out: God is not your little mascot. He is holy. The most radical truth in the world is that He is for you, but this is his idea, not yours. And he's doing it in his way, not yours. I could use an encounter with the Numinous this week. How about you?

I'm sure that my first introduction to Robin Hood was Disney's charming fox. It's honestly a pretty faithful telling of the myth, (maybe even more so because of all the talking animals). But in the Year of our Lord 1991, when I was a mere second grader, there was just one Robin Hood: Kevin Costner as the Prince of Thieves. We were not a movie-going family, but the theaters advertised their hopeful blockbusters on broadcast television, and they really sold this one. The trailer ended with a shot from the point of view of an arrow racing through the forest to split another and claim the bullseye. Pull back and behold the shooter: The Field of Dreams and Dances with Wolves guy! WHAT!?!? I had to see it.  I actually did watch it eventually on VHS at Preston Jones' house with the GIANT 36 INCH TV. I became obsessive, begging my parents for a real bow and arrow that I would absolutely not shoot my sisters with (denied). But the thing that sticks with me still is the killer ballad featured over the end credits. “Everything I Do, (I Do It for You)” by Bryan Adams forever changed couples' skating and slow dancing in Cordova, Tennessee and probably across the whole dang world. I didn't know it then, but these compelling twins of honor in romance and warfare were interwoven as the DNA of the genre that birthed the very first tales of Robin Locksley. This was a chivalric romance, and I was hooked.  I think this is connected to how much I love the stories of King David and his Mighty Men. No doubt the setting and cultural dynamics are hundreds of miles and centuries apart. But for me the common themes trigger all the trappings of a good medieval adventure. A noble warrior and rightful heir becomes an outcast in his own country because of the oppression of an unjust authority. In his exile, he finds the love of the people is on his side, and the most formidable of these band together to see him installed in his rightful place, where he can best care for the poor. Only the return of the High King, (who knows when?), will end this conflict. Until then, the most tragic episodes will occur inside the camp. What's not to love?  This week we're really going to dial in on the band of merry mighty men and how their friendship to David becomes an indispensable part of his ascent. It's a model for our own friendships for those who have ears to hear. Looking forward to it. 

I'm sure that my first introduction to Robin Hood was Disney's charming fox. It's honestly a pretty faithful telling of the myth, (maybe even more so because of all the talking animals). But in the Year of our Lord 1991, when I was a mere second grader, there was just one Robin Hood: Kevin Costner as the Prince of Thieves. We were not a movie-going family, but the theaters advertised their hopeful blockbusters on broadcast television, and they really sold this one. The trailer ended with a shot from the point of view of an arrow racing through the forest to split another and claim the bullseye. Pull back and behold the shooter: The Field of Dreams and Dances with Wolves guy! WHAT!?!? I had to see it.  I actually did watch it eventually on VHS at Preston Jones' house with the GIANT 36 INCH TV. I became obsessive, begging my parents for a real bow and arrow that I would absolutely not shoot my sisters with (denied). But the thing that sticks with me still is the killer ballad featured over the end credits. “Everything I Do, (I Do It for You)” by Bryan Adams forever changed couples' skating and slow dancing in Cordova, Tennessee and probably across the whole dang world. I didn't know it then, but these compelling twins of honor in romance and warfare were interwoven as the DNA of the genre that birthed the very first tales of Robin Locksley. This was a chivalric romance, and I was hooked.  I think this is connected to how much I love the stories of King David and his Mighty Men. No doubt the setting and cultural dynamics are hundreds of miles and centuries apart. But for me the common themes trigger all the trappings of a good medieval adventure. A noble warrior and rightful heir becomes an outcast in his own country because of the oppression of an unjust authority. In his exile, he finds the love of the people is on his side, and the most formidable of these band together to see him installed in his rightful place, where he can best care for the poor. Only the return of the High King, (who knows when?), will end this conflict. Until then, the most tragic episodes will occur inside the camp. What's not to love?  This week we're really going to dial in on the band of merry mighty men and how their friendship to David becomes an indispensable part of his ascent. It's a model for our own friendships for those who have ears to hear. Looking forward to it. 

I looked at my phone as it hung on the magnetic charger the other night, before I turned over to go to sleep, and thought something was off. It sits there in this miraculous thing that wirelessly charges my watch, phone, and AirPods. A glorious invention, a three-in-one. No plethora of wires hanging out of the drawer like snakes getting all tangled up. I love it so much I bought a new one over Christmas because my other one, while it worked, had a crack in the arm that held the phone, and so it sort of smushed my watch. I sent it up to the guest bedroom, plenty good enough for there. This new one is marvelous: it just works with an economy of effort and folds up to nothing.            When I woke up the next morning, I looked at my watch and it was not charged. In fact, nothing was charged. I could feel my anger rising as I opened the drawer where it was plugged into a power strip and immediately saw the problem. I saw my charger unplugged to make way for Addy's iPad charger. This is not the first time this has happened, and I was ticked. Addy and I had a little heart-to-heart, and I feel quite certain that this will not happen again—at least, until the next time she is on my bed watching her iPad and it needs charging!            I was thinking about that as I finished up studying the text this week, staring out the window of my study, longing for the snowpocalypse, and wondering why we haven't spent more time in Chronicles. I suppose it is because we feel like we got all this same stuff in Samuel and Kings; or maybe it's because, if this were like a movie, it starts with 9 chapters of credits before we get to any real action. But when the action starts, it is full throttle.             The reason I was thinking about my charger is because—as good as it looks—without a power source, it is worthless. Last week, we saw Israel's first king was the epitome of form: he looked the part, for sure. But the huge problem was, he was not connected to the real Source of kingly power and authority; he refused to bow to a greater King. This week, we burst into the story of David, kingship and covenant. David is connected and humble enough to know that the source of his power and authority is not found in himself. So this week we see a new king of kings, one that not only looks the part but is the kind of king Israel has longed for and needed. What is interesting is, the rest of the book will chronicle David's life, ironically demonstrating that he (in himself) is not enough and the thing that dominates his imagination is pondering the mystery of what God is doing in the tabernacle and temple. David is great, but he is not enough. The rest of the book will scream that.            I hope we have lots of snow and, if so, I hope I can walk by Sunday. It looks like we will be good for having worship, as we are taking precautions to make sure our parking lot is clear. But who knows? We will keep you posted if anything changes before then. Have fun in the snowpocalypse! I sure will! 

I looked at my phone as it hung on the magnetic charger the other night, before I turned over to go to sleep, and thought something was off. It sits there in this miraculous thing that wirelessly charges my watch, phone, and AirPods. A glorious invention, a three-in-one. No plethora of wires hanging out of the drawer like snakes getting all tangled up. I love it so much I bought a new one over Christmas because my other one, while it worked, had a crack in the arm that held the phone, and so it sort of smushed my watch. I sent it up to the guest bedroom, plenty good enough for there. This new one is marvelous: it just works with an economy of effort and folds up to nothing.            When I woke up the next morning, I looked at my watch and it was not charged. In fact, nothing was charged. I could feel my anger rising as I opened the drawer where it was plugged into a power strip and immediately saw the problem. I saw my charger unplugged to make way for Addy's iPad charger. This is not the first time this has happened, and I was ticked. Addy and I had a little heart-to-heart, and I feel quite certain that this will not happen again—at least, until the next time she is on my bed watching her iPad and it needs charging!            I was thinking about that as I finished up studying the text this week, staring out the window of my study, longing for the snowpocalypse, and wondering why we haven't spent more time in Chronicles. I suppose it is because we feel like we got all this same stuff in Samuel and Kings; or maybe it's because, if this were like a movie, it starts with 9 chapters of credits before we get to any real action. But when the action starts, it is full throttle.             The reason I was thinking about my charger is because—as good as it looks—without a power source, it is worthless. Last week, we saw Israel's first king was the epitome of form: he looked the part, for sure. But the huge problem was, he was not connected to the real Source of kingly power and authority; he refused to bow to a greater King. This week, we burst into the story of David, kingship and covenant. David is connected and humble enough to know that the source of his power and authority is not found in himself. So this week we see a new king of kings, one that not only looks the part but is the kind of king Israel has longed for and needed. What is interesting is, the rest of the book will chronicle David's life, ironically demonstrating that he (in himself) is not enough and the thing that dominates his imagination is pondering the mystery of what God is doing in the tabernacle and temple. David is great, but he is not enough. The rest of the book will scream that.            I hope we have lots of snow and, if so, I hope I can walk by Sunday. It looks like we will be good for having worship, as we are taking precautions to make sure our parking lot is clear. But who knows? We will keep you posted if anything changes before then. Have fun in the snowpocalypse! I sure will! 

It is abrupt, to say the least. When reading I Chronicles, after slogging through nine chapters of lists of people, suddenly and unexpectedly you are whisked away into a narrative about the death of the king. I mean, you have been lulled to sleep by names you can't pronounce, skimming over the names at times, glancing to the bottom of the page to see how long it will go on. And then this?!—The king is dead. Make no mistake about it, chapter ten is about one thing: the King is dead. (It reminds me of the way A Christmas Carol starts off, but more on that Sunday.) Maybe that is the point, to rouse your slumbering soul to wake up and pay attention. This word of God comes to a people who, after wandering through the exile, find themselves back in their land and utterly lost. They don't know who they are or how to form a community shaped by God's Word. So God sends them a story of who they are—a story that connects them to their ancestors, who have been formed by God since the dawn of creation. The story might also serve as a cautionary tale, a word of hope, or both. In the death of the king? Yep, it is all there in our text this week, and we will talk about it this Sunday. I look forward to getting back into normal rhythms again. Make no mistake, I do love the chaos of the holidays but there is something satisfying about stepping back into the same ole patterns and habits—yet refreshed. Or you get may back into them just to catch some rest! Either way, I can't wait to see you all Sunday.  Also, don't forget our Epiphany Brunch in this Sunday at 9:15. The church will provide smoked ham and rolls. If your last name begins with A-M, bring something savory to share. Last names N-Z, bring something sweet. Happy New Year to all! 

It is abrupt, to say the least. When reading I Chronicles, after slogging through nine chapters of lists of people, suddenly and unexpectedly you are whisked away into a narrative about the death of the king. I mean, you have been lulled to sleep by names you can't pronounce, skimming over the names at times, glancing to the bottom of the page to see how long it will go on. And then this?!—The king is dead. Make no mistake about it, chapter ten is about one thing: the King is dead. (It reminds me of the way A Christmas Carol starts off, but more on that Sunday.) Maybe that is the point, to rouse your slumbering soul to wake up and pay attention. This word of God comes to a people who, after wandering through the exile, find themselves back in their land and utterly lost. They don't know who they are or how to form a community shaped by God's Word. So God sends them a story of who they are—a story that connects them to their ancestors, who have been formed by God since the dawn of creation. The story might also serve as a cautionary tale, a word of hope, or both. In the death of the king? Yep, it is all there in our text this week, and we will talk about it this Sunday. I look forward to getting back into normal rhythms again. Make no mistake, I do love the chaos of the holidays but there is something satisfying about stepping back into the same ole patterns and habits—yet refreshed. Or you get may back into them just to catch some rest! Either way, I can't wait to see you all Sunday.  Also, don't forget our Epiphany Brunch in this Sunday at 9:15. The church will provide smoked ham and rolls. If your last name begins with A-M, bring something savory to share. Last names N-Z, bring something sweet. Happy New Year to all! 

Greetings from the calendar-less abyss of the week between Christmas and New Years! I'm excited to share that St. Patrick is going to spend a significant chunk of 2025 in a single book of the Bible. Most of us are just familiar enough with the Bible that we know that 1 Chronicles is a book that begins with nine chapters of tedious genealogies and then peppers in several more along the way, just for good measure. It's one of the places people simply give up on their chronological reading plans. Most of its juicier content is largely just reruns from 2 Samuel anyway, right? So, why on earth would we choose this of all books!?  First, a word on genealogy. My mom is one of those who's obsessed with family trees as a kind of historical research. She lights up when she gets to tell stories and unveil charts littered with names of people most of us have never even met, with whom we just happen to share bloodlines and surnames. I don't share the vigor, but her interest has caused me to consider that it made a big difference to my interest level about the Huguenots when I discovered they were my ancestors.  That's one of the many reasons why the author of Chronicles includes these lists. He wants the people to know that they have a part in the story he's telling. 1 Chronicles was written for the returning exiles to connect them on a personal and spiritual level back to the city they were trying to rebuild and the purpose for which they labored. That's important motivation when things get hard, as they inevitably do.  But rest assured, we're only going to spend one week in the genealogies of 1 Chronicles. I'll cover the broad strokes this Sunday, and then we'll get right into the life of David, the main character in this book. Although, I guess technically the main character would be the Temple of God. That's why we're calling the series Temple and Throne. You see, 1 Chronicles is a book about the centrality of worship to the life of the people of God. David is a warrior-poet: the King of Singers. The way he's depicted here is all about his job as the chief worship leader of a great nation, called to lead all other peoples in the praise of our God and King.  So, this year, we'll be dialing in on the same vision: we're a people who tell a better story – who sing a better song – than the world has to offer. This is not simply to compete for our supremacy among the voices of the world, as though we're on an international version of one of those televised singing competitions. We sing a better song (the story of Scripture worked out in our lives) in order to tune the whole earthly choir for our climactic moment in God's magnum opus. There will come a day when humanity outshines the angelic host, and we'd better be busy in our rehearsals until then! Join us this Sunday as we dig into the prologue to this story and see that there's a lot of gold to be found in that valley of bones.  

Greetings from the calendar-less abyss of the week between Christmas and New Years! I'm excited to share that St. Patrick is going to spend a significant chunk of 2025 in a single book of the Bible. Most of us are just familiar enough with the Bible that we know that 1 Chronicles is a book that begins with nine chapters of tedious genealogies and then peppers in several more along the way, just for good measure. It's one of the places people simply give up on their chronological reading plans. Most of its juicier content is largely just reruns from 2 Samuel anyway, right? So, why on earth would we choose this of all books!?  First, a word on genealogy. My mom is one of those who's obsessed with family trees as a kind of historical research. She lights up when she gets to tell stories and unveil charts littered with names of people most of us have never even met, with whom we just happen to share bloodlines and surnames. I don't share the vigor, but her interest has caused me to consider that it made a big difference to my interest level about the Huguenots when I discovered they were my ancestors.  That's one of the many reasons why the author of Chronicles includes these lists. He wants the people to know that they have a part in the story he's telling. 1 Chronicles was written for the returning exiles to connect them on a personal and spiritual level back to the city they were trying to rebuild and the purpose for which they labored. That's important motivation when things get hard, as they inevitably do.  But rest assured, we're only going to spend one week in the genealogies of 1 Chronicles. I'll cover the broad strokes this Sunday, and then we'll get right into the life of David, the main character in this book. Although, I guess technically the main character would be the Temple of God. That's why we're calling the series Temple and Throne. You see, 1 Chronicles is a book about the centrality of worship to the life of the people of God. David is a warrior-poet: the King of Singers. The way he's depicted here is all about his job as the chief worship leader of a great nation, called to lead all other peoples in the praise of our God and King.  So, this year, we'll be dialing in on the same vision: we're a people who tell a better story – who sing a better song – than the world has to offer. This is not simply to compete for our supremacy among the voices of the world, as though we're on an international version of one of those televised singing competitions. We sing a better song (the story of Scripture worked out in our lives) in order to tune the whole earthly choir for our climactic moment in God's magnum opus. There will come a day when humanity outshines the angelic host, and we'd better be busy in our rehearsals until then! Join us this Sunday as we dig into the prologue to this story and see that there's a lot of gold to be found in that valley of bones.  

Grief is a lonely and sad place. Though it is a natural response to loss, grief can shatter our peace like a sledgehammer. The sobering fact is, we are all one phone call away from it. This week we find ourselves with the disciples as Jesus is telling them he is going away, and we see the disciples in the throes of grief and loneliness with Jesus' words.  As we have seen, times like Christmas turn up the volume on our expectations of happiness. The expectations we have built around the Christmas season are unrealistic and often harmful. We may get a temporal distraction from the pain of these things, but then reality sets in. Many have said the third Monday in January is the saddest day of the year. I suppose you could make a case for this— debt from Christmas, failed expectations, dealing with family stress, and, after a couple of weeks in to the new year, you already see the resolutions you made have not formed you.             In our passage, Jesus confronts the loneliness and grief of his beloved disciples with compelling truth. He confronts it with the peace he gives. He does this because he will be leaving, and he knows that their hearts are about to be ripped out. He is offering a new kind of peace, not a peace won and guarded with a sword or power, but one given through sacrifice and blood. He is offering himself. But it is more than that. While Jesus' death will bring peace to their troubled hearts, he is preparing them to carry on his mission of being peacemakers in a world of loneliness and grief.             Sound depressing? Actually, it is a message of hope and a challenge to all his people who are part of his kingdom of peace. Join us as we wrap up our series on the Prince of Peace and prepare our hearts to really celebrate his coming!

I didn't grow up with brothers, having been providentially flanked on either side by siblings of the fairer sex. My sisters were (and are) fierce, uncommonly beautiful, and socially graced bringers of social and domestic order. They exercised their influence in working alongside our mother to civilize me in ways for which my wife, who took over the impossible mantle, is forever grateful. They initiated me into a world of subtext and subtleties that has been very helpful to me as a father of daughters, uncle to nieces, and worker alongside women of many stripes. Any amount of chivalric charm in me began in their labors; all else must not be held against them.  What recalcitrant wildness remains is in part because I did, in addition, have boy cousins who lived across the street. Because of them, I also had close proximity to the strange and savage world of fraternal relations without ever actually belonging to such an order. I was older than I should have been when I learned that pears were for eating and not for plucking off the tree half-ripe in order to bean someone in the head and other sensitive areas. I was victim and villain in the execution of all kinds of dangerous dares. I was competitive in many of the less seemly bodily arts. I still bear scars for which rational earthly ambitions cannot account. I belong to blood pacts.  I therefore find it impossible to believe that Jesus was not profoundly shaped by his own upbringing in a household of four brothers and at least two sisters. These are our first friends: the “secret society of people made… somehow… by Mom and Dad.” The little we get in the New Testament about Jesus' family of origin shouldn't lead us to believe that this immersion experience failed to form the default settings of his adult social life – for good and for ill – just like the rest of us. What did it mean for Jesus to apparently replace his mother and brothers and sisters with strangers in Mark 3? How did he feel having his ministry mocked by his brothers in John 7? Did he know in those moments that some of them would convert after his death, would write books of the Bible declaring their complete devotion to him, and even die for him? Did they have regrets?  This week we look at the incarnation of God through the dynamics of Jesus' family of origin. A dear friend related to me this week how his experience with the death of his father has convinced him that the holidays “turn up the volume” on everything: our joys, yes, but also our pain. As we slow down and lean into family this time of year, many of those dull pains can become acute again, even as they intermingle with laughter and fondness. So, let's look to the Savior, who laid down his life for his brothers, for a bit of perspective on all that.

Nothing can wreck our peace and fill us with anxiety like money—yes, filthy lucre! It is a big factor as we come into this season of Advent. Let's admit it, Christmas costs a lot of money! Not just the gifts, but all the parties with friends and family gatherings. When we entertain people we haven't seen in a long time or invite cherished friends over in a gesture of love and gratitude, we do not tend to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So, is it possible to enter and enjoy this season of wonder, pondering the Incarnation of God, with a deep sense of peace on our hearts?            Apparently, Christmas is a huge time of anxiety for folk. Just google it, and you'll get either statistic after statistic about folk going into debt during this season of glory or you get advice about how to reign in our passion. This Sunday we look at how Jesus teaches us a whole new way to approach peace during this season of largesse, without killing our passion. It is all there in a story about a little boy with essentially 5 cheap crackers and 2 sardines. Leave it to Jesus to find buried treasure in a small lunch box and throw a lavish feast for the masses. I can't wait to talk about it.            Also, I'm excited to share an update on Our Big Backyard! We're so thankful for your generosity and look forward to what God will do with the funds raised.

I just read about the number of people going through the Memphis airport this weekend. It is mind boggling. With air travel what it is, that is a lot of anxiety in one place. Thanksgiving is the most traveled holiday of the year. It kicks off a season of joy, to be sure, but also one filled with hustle and bustle—chaos! This Sunday we begin the season of Advent, and we will be talking about the Prince of Peace—the one who is Peace in himself and brings peace to his people. We are doing this for two reasons. The first is, it sort of keeps our theme going from this fall—love, joy, and now peace. Things only the Spirit of God can give us. Secondly, as joyous as the next month of festivities is for us, it comes with a great challenge to our peace of mind.            So, during Advent we will talk about peace and keeping our peace from God in the midst of our anxiety over the busyness of the season, the way our consumeristic model feels us with dread and debt, how family conflicts (as extended family gathers) can wreck our peace, and how grief and loneliness sap us. That sounds about right! So how do we, in the midst of all the distractions, keep a calm, stead, confident trust that all will be well? I hope you will join us during Advent as we seek to wrestle with this question, right where we live.            Also, remember, we have an Advent Wreath Workshop for all ages during the Sunday school hour this Sunday. I hope you will join us. It might be a great aid in helping you and your family shape and frame this extended time of pondering the greatest mystery of all—God taking on our flesh! 

I just read about the number of people going through the Memphis airport this weekend. It is mind boggling. With air travel what it is, that is a lot of anxiety in one place. Thanksgiving is the most traveled holiday of the year. It kicks off a season of joy, to be sure, but also one filled with hustle and bustle—chaos! This Sunday we begin the season of Advent, and we will be talking about the Prince of Peace—the one who is Peace in himself and brings peace to his people. We are doing this for two reasons. The first is, it sort of keeps our theme going from this fall—love, joy, and now peace. Things only the Spirit of God can give us. Secondly, as joyous as the next month of festivities is for us, it comes with a great challenge to our peace of mind.            So, during Advent we will talk about peace and keeping our peace from God in the midst of our anxiety over the busyness of the season, the way our consumeristic model feels us with dread and debt, how family conflicts (as extended family gathers) can wreck our peace, and how grief and loneliness sap us. That sounds about right! So how do we, in the midst of all the distractions, keep a calm, stead, confident trust that all will be well? I hope you will join us during Advent as we seek to wrestle with this question, right where we live.            Also, remember, we have an Advent Wreath Workshop for all ages during the Sunday school hour this Sunday. I hope you will join us. It might be a great aid in helping you and your family shape and frame this extended time of pondering the greatest mystery of all—God taking on our flesh! 

We all know the classic trope about a genie who grants the wish a bit too literally. Perhaps it's exploiting an interpretive loophole. A middle-aged man asks that his wife become half his age, and he's instantly turned into a 90-year-old. Or maybe the genie isn't dolling out just deserts to wicked men but is victimizing them unprovoked. One commercial shows a man asking for long life who then gets turned into the Energizer Bunny. In other versions, the wisher gets exactly what he wants for, but then his desires change over time and now he's stuck with fame he no longer enjoys. In any case, the old adage warns, “be careful what you wish for.”  These stories resonate because we know that desire is a dangerously powerful phenomenon with an uncanny capacity to ruin lives. After all, “The heart is deceptive above all things. Who can understand it?” Well, the Lord says in the next verse of Jeremiah 17, “I the Lord search the heart and test the mind, to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his deeds.” Be careful what you wish for, indeed!  This often leads the more risk-averse among us to bury our desires and lower our expectations. But what if God isn't like that genie at all? What if he's listening, not like a lawyer, but like a Lover? What if he's hearing the core of our longings, the heartbeat underneath even our more frivolous petitions, and interpreting our wishes in their most favorable light? Paul seems to read Jeremiah this way, in Romans 8:  26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 27 And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. 28 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. This weekend we wrap up our series, Surprised by Joy, with a look at the longings that lie beneath our most cherished fantasies. We will find that the things we believe will bring us joy are not too extravagant, but instead far too mundane. So, Jesus invites us in John 15 to wish big, and to hang on. The fruit that follows might just look like James' Giant Peach!

On Wednesday afternoon, I blew in later than expected to get ready for our Community Group to arrive at our home. It was pouring down rain, buckets of rain. (My weather app said to expect flash flood warnings.) I was thinking about the three large packs of chicken thighs I was planning to grill and staring at the quart of heavy cream, chicken stock, white wine, a stack of sage leaves from my garden and shallots, all on the counter by my stove, that would make up the quasi-French sauce (a sage cream sauce). Also, the patio still needed work before it would be ready for guests. Ben Weir was coming to help cook, and yet I could feel anger and self-pity threatening my joy. I love to host, but let's face it, hospitality is hard work. Then, looking at the rain, Teri commented, “If we were not hosting, I don't know if I would get out in this rain." “Great," I thought. "And God, you are no help. I am sort of doing this for you, and you are raining on your own parade!"            Then I recalled a story, a story I will share with you Sunday, that lifted me out of my despair and into the realm of love and joy. Just recalling it made me look around and see things with new eyes—to really see! After all, I had a good friend showing up to help prepare a delicious feast, a beautifully cleaned house because of my bride, and, on top of that, a German Chocolate cake she had worked on in the wee hours of the morning, just to bless me. And I saw a grander vision of, not just this endeavor, but all the mundane endeavors we do that make up a life. I can't wait to talk about it with you on Sunday. Another thing I can't wait for is this: Sunday is when we bring our gifts, our investment—our pledge—to further the work of God's kingdom in Our Big Backyard. We have talked, dreamed, and challenged ourselves for a few months, and now we have the privilege to invest in future glory. I can see kids playing on this playground—my own child, some of my grandchildren, and yours, as well. I can see parents idling close by in the pavilion to make sure no one gets hurt too badly. I can easily imagine that one day the children on the playground are now the ones in the pavilion, watching their own children play and telling stories of grace, wonder, and joy—and giving thanks that their parents and others had invested well. 

It may feel a bit jolting to shift our focus from national politics back to mundane life in the local polis, to our own homes. Yet, as Samuel Johnson famously observed, “To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavor.” Even in 1750, this was not a new or novel idea. “The return home” forms the basic premise of the book of Genesis, Homer's Odyssey, Virgil's Aeneid, and just about every other story you can think of. “Domestic tranquility” is even at the heart of our Constitution. So, why do we pretend that joy is somewhere “out there?” Why do we expend so much time, energy, and money on our questing and conquering and other ambitions? Well, in part it's because we are not yet home, and we know it. Even at our “permanent” addresses, we are, as the Bible puts it, strangers in a strange land, foreigners and exiles.  As I read a very appropriately timed Psalm 137 in the Soul Room on Election Day this week, I was arrested by how the Psalmist would rather be cursed to lose his gift of song than fail to direct its powers toward the vision of Jerusalem. It would have been so easy to assimilate to Babylon, or even to harden his heart against wistful longings for deliverance. Only the persistently stirred vision of Zion could prevent him from taking those easy outs. As we look this weekend to a passage that talks about “no greater joy,” it's important to have in mind that there's something even “above [our] highest joy.” It's the thing to which we point all our work and longing and ambitions. Jerusalem is not merely a city. It is rather the fulfilled promise of God's dwelling richly with us, in a place overflowing with the harvested fruit of all our well-directed joys. It is a place where our children might peacefully walk in the truth together, welcoming the stranger and exile home again, and for the first time. 

I sometimes wonder if joy is not the new apologetic for a world that no longer believes in rational argument. I read this week a story about David Barrett. He was an Anglican missionary who studied evangelism globally. He was giving a talk to a group of influential businessmen. During his talk, a gentleman raised his hand and asked, “Professor Barrett, can you tell us what's the most effective missionary tool the church has.”  Barrett replied, “Based on our research, I'd have to say the answer is martyrdom.”             There was a long silence, then another man asked, “Professor Barrett, can you tell us what the second most effective missionary tool would be?”            I suppose what Barrett is getting at is that, while history is full of stoics who would die for their country or for a person, only the Christians have died with joy. This was unprecedented. It was because of hope!             This week we are looking at joy as it relates to hope. Hope and joy are bound up together in the Bible. Hope in the Bible is not a wish that something in the future would come true, though that has power as well. But hope in the Bible is a certainty not just that all will be well in the future but that all will be restored! It is so powerful, it actually is fuel for our lives when things are hard, not in spite of the hardship but in the midst of it, and can actually color our lives with joy.            There is a “way” to joy. Psalm 98, while an unabashed celebration of joy unspeakable, also offers a way out of bitterness and self-pity. As we know, “pain is unavoidable, but we can miss joy.” (Tim Hansel, You Gotta Keep Dancin') What a story we might tell if we were the people of joy even and especially in the difficulties of living in a fallen world. We will talk about this and more on Sunday.             Also, as we move into our third week of raising money for our place of joy, Our Big Backyard, begin to prayerfully consider what investment you can make in future joy at St. Patrick. Then, in faith, fill out a pledge card and drop in the offering plate or in the collection box in the Narthex as you leave.  

There is this incredible scene in our text in Ezra this week. It is about God's people coming back from Exile. Home! They are finally back to their own land. The first thing they do is to begin spiritual formation, which means they reinstate the annual feasts God commanded. The first one is the feast of joy, The Feast of Booths, a week-long remembering of God's faithfulness to them in the wilderness. The crescendo of the celebration is the laying of the foundation of the new temple. Can you imagine? A people forbidden to sing the songs of Zion in a strange land are now home and about to cut loose in song. Song that has been absent in their ruined homeland for seventy years. Song that will celebrate God's goodness in keeping his promise to bring them back to the land. And celebrate they do! The joy is so great, it must have felt like revival, but then we hear another sound—weeping. The text seems to indicate that, as loud and joyful as the people got, the ones weeping in sorrow were trying to drown them out. It is kind of sad, really. The ones in sorrow were older folk who had seen the former glory and were weeping at this paltry beginning. I wondered at that, and then both Haggai and Zechariah both in their letters rebuke them! Straight up, telling them not to despise the day of small things because the real point is, God is at work!  The Apostle Paul says something instructive to the Corinthians, and I think it helps us understand why the Israelites' sorrow was rebuked: “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death.” (2 Corinthians 7:10) Their sorrow was not godly sorrow but more like self-pity or nostalgia—a mourning of “the way things used to be.” Much like happiness and joy look similar on the surface, so sorrow and self-pity look similar in the external presentation. This Sunday we will talk about it. And then we will feast like there is no tomorrow at our Annual Fall Festival at 4pm. Hope to see you there!

A couple of weeks ago, I (like many of you) packed my van and headed to the beach. At other places around the state Tennessee and in Mississippi, others were doing the same thing. Our destination was a hallowed beach in Florida where all my children and their children make an annual pilgrimage to be together for a week. It is a lot of work but, really, we do this for joy. We do nothing productive while we're there—we build sand castles, lay out on the beach and read, swim, eat delicious food, play card games, make signature drinks, and just talk and be! It is sort of a celebration of God's goodness to us that produces nothing of value, as the world counts value. But as I look around and see all these folk together, the fruit of Teri's and my life together, I experience stabs of joy, sometimes almost too much to drink in. As I said, we really produce nothing, but that is not the point. The point is to be fully human and give thanks.            This week, as we ponder the way God forms us and what he wants to see in us, we see something similar. When God formed his people, who were to be like him—his images in the world to reflect to the world what he is like—he did it through annual festivals. Under command, three times a year, a family would pack up all their extended family and head to Jerusalem. The feast we are looking at this week to start a new series called Surprised by Joy is the Feast of Booths. So they packed all these people in sort of like a caravan and went to Jerusalem and lived in booths for a whole week. It happened after the harvest was in and was to be a reminder of God's grace to them while they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, when the only way they survived was his great grace. It was also to give thanks for the harvest. But what is more interesting about this feast is, it is the only festival with the explicit command to rejoice!             I have thought about that a lot. Why joy? I suspect it is because, as C. S. Lewis says, “Joy is the serious business of heaven.”  (C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer)  Even before the world was created, God existed in himself full of joy. Joy is intrinsic to God. Quite simply, we serve a happy God. The good news is we don't have to wait to get to heaven to experience joy—we can experience it right now. And so, for the next several weeks, we are going to dive into this joy and explore the feast of joy God has for his people.             We are also relaunching Our Big Backyard generosity campaign as we seek to build a place to house and express this joy—a place that screams joy, a place of festival and celebration for all of us and for our neighbors. I can't wait to talk about this with you. 

A couple of weeks ago, I (like many of you) packed my van and headed to the beach. At other places around the state Tennessee and in Mississippi, others were doing the same thing. Our destination was a hallowed beach in Florida where all my children and their children make an annual pilgrimage to be together for a week. It is a lot of work but, really, we do this for joy. We do nothing productive while we're there—we build sand castles, lay out on the beach and read, swim, eat delicious food, play card games, make signature drinks, and just talk and be! It is sort of a celebration of God's goodness to us that produces nothing of value, as the world counts value. But as I look around and see all these folk together, the fruit of Teri's and my life together, I experience stabs of joy, sometimes almost too much to drink in. As I said, we really produce nothing, but that is not the point. The point is to be fully human and give thanks.            This week, as we ponder the way God forms us and what he wants to see in us, we see something similar. When God formed his people, who were to be like him—his images in the world to reflect to the world what he is like—he did it through annual festivals. Under command, three times a year, a family would pack up all their extended family and head to Jerusalem. The feast we are looking at this week to start a new series called Surprised by Joy is the Feast of Booths. So they packed all these people in sort of like a caravan and went to Jerusalem and lived in booths for a whole week. It happened after the harvest was in and was to be a reminder of God's grace to them while they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, when the only way they survived was his great grace. It was also to give thanks for the harvest. But what is more interesting about this feast is, it is the only festival with the explicit command to rejoice!             I have thought about that a lot. Why joy? I suspect it is because, as C. S. Lewis says, “Joy is the serious business of heaven.”  (C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer)  Even before the world was created, God existed in himself full of joy. Joy is intrinsic to God. Quite simply, we serve a happy God. The good news is we don't have to wait to get to heaven to experience joy—we can experience it right now. And so, for the next several weeks, we are going to dive into this joy and explore the feast of joy God has for his people.             We are also relaunching Our Big Backyard generosity campaign as we seek to build a place to house and express this joy—a place that screams joy, a place of festival and celebration for all of us and for our neighbors. I can't wait to talk about this with you. 

Along with everyone else during Covid, I got pretty into making sourdough. I read a lot of recipes and watched a lot of Instagram reels. I bought a cheesecloth. I fed my little starter faithfully and fretted over its temperature, color, and volume. I timed whole Saturdays around its needs until, finally, one glorious evening, I pulled out of our oven my first-ever homegrown sourdough. It was basically flat and kind of a sickly gray color. (Imagine a slightly inflated Olympic discus.) But it tasted great, and that was the whole point of the thing. Add a little Irish butter and some flakey salt: transcendent.  I've since put the starter out to pasture (my last one turned orange while I was on vacation), but preparing to wrap up this series on divine love had me thinking. I grew to appreciate the process of making sourdough not because I was excited about my home's airborne yeast cultures but because I had tasted the glory that is BREAD! Sometimes we forget this order when thinking about God. Our first experience of the love of God isn't a treatise on the Trinity (though we will get into that!); it's the experience of that love in the person of Jesus Christ, who loves us to death. Join us Sunday as we peer into the wonders of love, from the mystery of being to the mundanity of bread. 

Along with everyone else during Covid, I got pretty into making sourdough. I read a lot of recipes and watched a lot of Instagram reels. I bought a cheesecloth. I fed my little starter faithfully and fretted over its temperature, color, and volume. I timed whole Saturdays around its needs until, finally, one glorious evening, I pulled out of our oven my first-ever homegrown sourdough. It was basically flat and kind of a sickly gray color. (Imagine a slightly inflated Olympic discus.) But it tasted great, and that was the whole point of the thing. Add a little Irish butter and some flakey salt: transcendent.  I've since put the starter out to pasture (my last one turned orange while I was on vacation), but preparing to wrap up this series on divine love had me thinking. I grew to appreciate the process of making sourdough not because I was excited about my home's airborne yeast cultures but because I had tasted the glory that is BREAD! Sometimes we forget this order when thinking about God. Our first experience of the love of God isn't a treatise on the Trinity (though we will get into that!); it's the experience of that love in the person of Jesus Christ, who loves us to death. Join us Sunday as we peer into the wonders of love, from the mystery of being to the mundanity of bread. 

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” - 1 Corinthians 13:12 Maybe you remember with me how that phrase in King James was, “through a glass darkly.”  As a child I always imagined myself peering into a glass orb at some magical world, (maybe even Heaven), but not quite making out the shapes. That held some real mystique for me. I had no idea nor care what this could have to do with love, which was still an icky concept to me anyway. Alas, that was when I was a child. When I became a man, I put away childish things and got back to fairy tales.  I have since learned that it was ‘glass,' as in Alice's ‘looking glass.' The mirror mix-up reminds me of the astronomer Percival Lowell, who was convinced that he was seeing spoke-like features on the surface of Venus, yet unable to replicate the findings for other observers. As it happens, the ambitious stargazer had unwittingly turned his telescope into an ophthalmoscope and was actually just seeing the blood vessels in his own eyeballs reflected back onto his vision. Alice, too, thought she was peering into an alien world, when it turns out she was only learning about herself.  But how does focusing on yourself help you love God and others? Isn't love about self-denial? Well, we often cause hurt to others merely by being ourselves around them. They need us to be better, and love demands we try. So, I'm starting with the man in the mirror, and I'm asking him to change his ways.  Squint with me this Sunday and we'll see what we can see about all that.  

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” - 1 Corinthians 13:12 Maybe you remember with me how that phrase in King James was, “through a glass darkly.”  As a child I always imagined myself peering into a glass orb at some magical world, (maybe even Heaven), but not quite making out the shapes. That held some real mystique for me. I had no idea nor care what this could have to do with love, which was still an icky concept to me anyway. Alas, that was when I was a child. When I became a man, I put away childish things and got back to fairy tales.  I have since learned that it was ‘glass,' as in Alice's ‘looking glass.' The mirror mix-up reminds me of the astronomer Percival Lowell, who was convinced that he was seeing spoke-like features on the surface of Venus, yet unable to replicate the findings for other observers. As it happens, the ambitious stargazer had unwittingly turned his telescope into an ophthalmoscope and was actually just seeing the blood vessels in his own eyeballs reflected back onto his vision. Alice, too, thought she was peering into an alien world, when it turns out she was only learning about herself.  But how does focusing on yourself help you love God and others? Isn't love about self-denial? Well, we often cause hurt to others merely by being ourselves around them. They need us to be better, and love demands we try. So, I'm starting with the man in the mirror, and I'm asking him to change his ways.  Squint with me this Sunday and we'll see what we can see about all that.