St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC

The Transforming Power of an ImageIt is Advent once again. I don't have to tell you this, of course. If you walk into our church building on Sunday, you will know immediately something is afoot. The church is festooned with trees, garlands, wreaths, and candles—in a word, concrete images that suggest something extraordinary is happening. It is like the more glorious a thing is, the more we want to set its significance to both proclaim it and make our joy more complete. Speaking of images, we live in a world surrounded by images. Social media and the internet, not to mention TV, or our computers, phones, and clothing, all bear images. As we drive our cars down the road, our senses are confronted with images that tell a story of a kind of delicious food, a certain kind of attire, or a gadget we might need to make our lives happier or better. It isn't that we discovered the power of images in the twentieth or twenty-first centuries. People have always used images because images are more powerful than words or bullet points. Images are processed 60,000 times faster than text and sort of bypass our critical thinking and factualities. The ancients knew this, and the way Rome held power was through images of Caesar. His image was everywhere, reminding people that they owed supreme loyalty, safety, sons, and daughters to Caesar. You might not see Caesar unless you were a person of supreme rank or royalty, but the poorest peasant knew who he was and that they owed him everything. So when the Apostle Paul writes that Jesus is the image of the invisible God, he essentially dropped a bomb shell on Rome's reign of terror, and it has been subverting lives, communities, nations, and empires ever since. Join us Sunday, and we begin to look at all the excellencies of Jesus this Advent Season. It really is a season of joy and wonder. I am so thankful that we have a whole month set aside to ponder the mystery of the Incarnation!

Not to Be Served but to ServeOne of the favorite things to do is listen to children talk about what they want to be when they grow up. “I want to be a teacher!” “I want to be a nurse!” “I want to be a preacher!” “I want to be a professional ball player!” “I want to be a garbage man!” (Yes, I have heard that) I have heard lots of aspirations from the children I have been around. I have seen in their games the imitation of future vocations, and it is a beautiful thing, something we should not take for granted, the fact that our children even dream of a future. But there is one thing I have never heard a child say they aspire to be or even mimic in their play, and that is, “I want to be a servant.”We should not expect that, the image of a servant being one who serves, one who is not their own master, and sort of lives to do the bidding of another, and yet……In our text, Jesus gives the closest thing to a person's mission statement that I can find in the Bible, and he said this: “I came not to be served but to serve….” The Lord of Glory, creator of all that we see, worthy of all glory and adoration, comes not with the trappings of royalty, but with a towel, at the lowest place, washing our dirty feet. Yeah, Jesus sort of turns the values of the world, the things we value the most, on its head and further declares that the way to gut-wrenching joy is not through power and control but through being a servant, through serving the most. Is this even possible? If so, how do we even wrap our imagination around this? Well, this Sunday, I invite you to wrestle with this with me. Interested? Believe me, I get it if you are not, this is too radical, perhaps too costly, and a bridge too far. But if the one we claim to follow says this is the way, we'd best listen up. Hope to see you this Sunday! 

Won't You Be My Neighbor?Halloween is maybe the last bastion of true neighboring in suburban America. It's a shame that the liturgical story it tells is largely one of glorifying horror. Yet, like those buckets of trick or treating treasures, it's a mixed bag. There's something going on in the dynamics of Halloween that is truly worth celebrating. People come out of their houses. They walk and talk. Their kids run around together, laughing. Driveway fire pits transform into tables of welcome, where weary parents, laden with discarded costumes and strollers, can linger and get warm. Some misguided folks use the opportunity to hand out Nutrigrain bars or gospel tracts instead of candy. (These are the houses the kids know in their wisdom to avoid.) But there's no doubt about it: this celebration of death somehow brings the neighborhood back to life. I was talking with a friend and fellow pastor who serves in Louisville about their vision and mission statement language this week. There was a lot of talk about doing things for others in there, which is a good thing. But I suggested that maybe it's it was too broad. C.S. Lewis has his senior devil Screwtape give advice to keep his patient's mind on "others" in the abstract. He should have him focused on others “out there” so that he ignores the others he can actually love in the everyday.  That's why the Bible talks, not just about others, but about neighbors. I was thrilled the other day to walk in on my wife watching old episodes of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. She said she's been thinking lately about how formative the old pastor's public television show had shaped her as a child. I'm grateful to have shared that formative experience. I didn't know at the time that the nice man in comfy sneakers and a snazzy sweater unashamedly viewed what he was doing as ministry. Reverend Fred Rogers was indeed a passionate and outspoken advocate for “making goodness attractive again.” He did this in the everyday by dwelling richly with his neighbors, whom he defined as “those whose lives move near our own.” Then he would often quote Jesus' command to love these neighbors, the specific others, as ourselves.That's what we're talking about this Sunday: how what James calls “the law of freedom” compels us to creatively use every opportunity to make goodness attractive to our neighbors again. Join us!

Won't You Be My Neighbor?Halloween is maybe the last bastion of true neighboring in suburban America. It's a shame that the liturgical story it tells is largely one of glorifying horror. Yet, like those buckets of trick or treating treasures, it's a mixed bag. There's something going on in the dynamics of Halloween that is truly worth celebrating. People come out of their houses. They walk and talk. Their kids run around together, laughing. Driveway fire pits transform into tables of welcome, where weary parents, laden with discarded costumes and strollers, can linger and get warm. Some misguided folks use the opportunity to hand out Nutrigrain bars or gospel tracts instead of candy. (These are the houses the kids know in their wisdom to avoid.) But there's no doubt about it: this celebration of death somehow brings the neighborhood back to life. I was talking with a friend and fellow pastor who serves in Louisville about their vision and mission statement language this week. There was a lot of talk about doing things for others in there, which is a good thing. But I suggested that maybe it's it was too broad. C.S. Lewis has his senior devil Screwtape give advice to keep his patient's mind on "others" in the abstract. He should have him focused on others “out there” so that he ignores the others he can actually love in the everyday.  That's why the Bible talks, not just about others, but about neighbors. I was thrilled the other day to walk in on my wife watching old episodes of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. She said she's been thinking lately about how formative the old pastor's public television show had shaped her as a child. I'm grateful to have shared that formative experience. I didn't know at the time that the nice man in comfy sneakers and a snazzy sweater unashamedly viewed what he was doing as ministry. Reverend Fred Rogers was indeed a passionate and outspoken advocate for “making goodness attractive again.” He did this in the everyday by dwelling richly with his neighbors, whom he defined as “those whose lives move near our own.” Then he would often quote Jesus' command to love these neighbors, the specific others, as ourselves.That's what we're talking about this Sunday: how what James calls “the law of freedom” compels us to creatively use every opportunity to make goodness attractive to our neighbors again. Join us!

As obvious as it is in the Bible, people are still suspicious of the idea of feasting as a biblical construct. I don't know if it comes from the rationalism of the Enlightenment or just the idea (and many Presbyterians are guilty of this) that the more miserable we are, the holier we must be. As if joy and excess by nature must be sinful or at least suspicious. Nevertheless, most religious people view feasting as an afterthought in spiritual formation rather than being at the heart of the great dance. I only ask that we give the Bible and Jesus a chance to not just explain but demonstrate why God formed his ancient people through feasts. Jesus did the same (and was met by suspicion from the religion community), and the end of the world is a great wedding feast. Feasting is a word in our Lexicon, and at St. Patrick it is of first importance. Make no mistake, feasting is not auxiliary to the action, but at the heart of the action. This Sunday, we will talk, and ponder, and in the end, we will feast. It is all there in the liturgy. Hope you will join us. Oh, and remember the time changes this Sunday. We fall back, which means we all can catch up on that hour of sleep we lost six months ago. I am so excited about that too!

As obvious as it is in the Bible, people are still suspicious of the idea of feasting as a biblical construct. I don't know if it comes from the rationalism of the Enlightenment or just the idea (and many Presbyterians are guilty of this) that the more miserable we are, the holier we must be. As if joy and excess by nature must be sinful or at least suspicious. Nevertheless, most religious people view feasting as an afterthought in spiritual formation rather than being at the heart of the great dance. I only ask that we give the Bible and Jesus a chance to not just explain but demonstrate why God formed his ancient people through feasts. Jesus did the same (and was met by suspicion from the religion community), and the end of the world is a great wedding feast. Feasting is a word in our Lexicon, and at St. Patrick it is of first importance. Make no mistake, feasting is not auxiliary to the action, but at the heart of the action. This Sunday, we will talk, and ponder, and in the end, we will feast. It is all there in the liturgy. Hope you will join us. Oh, and remember the time changes this Sunday. We fall back, which means we all can catch up on that hour of sleep we lost six months ago. I am so excited about that too!

In C. S. Lewis' book, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Eustace, a troubled boy, meets Ramandu, who is a retired star living on an island near the end of the world. (It is sort of science fiction) When he tells Eustace that, Eustace says to him, “In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas.” To this disenchanted statement, Ramandu says, “Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of.”I thought of this when I thought of our subject of tables. Tables are everywhere; some are simple, some are elaborate. They are a necessity in our lives because we are born hungry. They are made of wood, plastic, or perhaps metal. But like Ramandu tells Eustace, that is only what they are made of; tables are infinitely more than just a means of holding food. I say this because tables are everywhere in the Bible. They are sort of a centerpiece. From the dawn of creation when God sets a lavish table for our first parents until the world ends at a cosmic table, tables are infinitely more than elaborate carriers of food and drink. Even in our weekly worship, the climax of meeting with God is at a table. So when we see Jesus reclining at a table, we know tables are infinitely more than just food and drink because there is a violent reaction that takes place among certain folk. Which must suggest that being at a table is a mystery, laden with meaning--doing theology perhaps? Intriguing? I think so. Sunday, we will talk about it, and that afternoon we will experience it! Hope to see you then.

In C. S. Lewis' book, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Eustace, a troubled boy, meets Ramandu, who is a retired star living on an island near the end of the world. (It is sort of science fiction) When he tells Eustace that, Eustace says to him, “In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas.” To this disenchanted statement, Ramandu says, “Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of.”I thought of this when I thought of our subject of tables. Tables are everywhere; some are simple, some are elaborate. They are a necessity in our lives because we are born hungry. They are made of wood, plastic, or perhaps metal. But like Ramandu tells Eustace, that is only what they are made of; tables are infinitely more than just a means of holding food. I say this because tables are everywhere in the Bible. They are sort of a centerpiece. From the dawn of creation when God sets a lavish table for our first parents until the world ends at a cosmic table, tables are infinitely more than elaborate carriers of food and drink. Even in our weekly worship, the climax of meeting with God is at a table. So when we see Jesus reclining at a table, we know tables are infinitely more than just food and drink because there is a violent reaction that takes place among certain folk. Which must suggest that being at a table is a mystery, laden with meaning--doing theology perhaps? Intriguing? I think so. Sunday, we will talk about it, and that afternoon we will experience it! Hope to see you then.

Seek First the KingdomWe all know Rip Van Winkle, who takes a nap in the woods and reemerges to discover he's been asleep for 20 years. When he returns to town, he notices many uncanny changes, but for the most part, life is much the same. For instance, his favorite pub still features its venerable portrait of George… it's just that the George being honored is one “President Washington” instead of the King of England! Van Winkle observes the irony that his nameless wife having passed away while he was “out” has much more bearing on his everyday life than the Revolution could. Yet Irving also wrote The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, in which Ichabod Crane and his neighbors are haunted by a headless horseman. So, maybe he sees a more sinister and terrible angle on how a “decapitated” community might develop a troubled subconscious about their lack of a crown. Who knows how soon after the Revolution people stopped even noticing our headlessness?  Maybe that's a reach. What I do know is that it's a tricky thing to talk at all about Kings and Kingdoms in these United States. Now, I'm not complaining. Many of my professors have been subjects of or members of universities that are subject to a Crown. Their difficulty is often in distinguishing the Lordship of Christ from their experience with human kings and queens. Most Americans don't have the baggage of a people who've grown up in a monarchical government. But that also means that when we approach King language in the Bible, we arrive without any luggage at all. We struggle to imagine what exactly Jesus means when he calls himself a King. I'd much rather do some extra work in getting there imaginatively than try to re-establish a royal government on this continent. But I think it's important to acknowledge this position we Americans are in, stirring up proper affection for someone claiming to be a King setting up a Kingdom. Even if it is Jesus, I wonder if we can't help imagining his Kingdom by default as something of a Democratic Republic with an ideal President. Let's try to imagine it better together this Sunday, 

Seek First the KingdomWe all know Rip Van Winkle, who takes a nap in the woods and reemerges to discover he's been asleep for 20 years. When he returns to town, he notices many uncanny changes, but for the most part, life is much the same. For instance, his favorite pub still features its venerable portrait of George… it's just that the George being honored is one “President Washington” instead of the King of England! Van Winkle observes the irony that his nameless wife having passed away while he was “out” has much more bearing on his everyday life than the Revolution could. Yet Irving also wrote The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, in which Ichabod Crane and his neighbors are haunted by a headless horseman. So, maybe he sees a more sinister and terrible angle on how a “decapitated” community might develop a troubled subconscious about their lack of a crown. Who knows how soon after the Revolution people stopped even noticing our headlessness?  Maybe that's a reach. What I do know is that it's a tricky thing to talk at all about Kings and Kingdoms in these United States. Now, I'm not complaining. Many of my professors have been subjects of or members of universities that are subject to a Crown. Their difficulty is often in distinguishing the Lordship of Christ from their experience with human kings and queens. Most Americans don't have the baggage of a people who've grown up in a monarchical government. But that also means that when we approach King language in the Bible, we arrive without any luggage at all. We struggle to imagine what exactly Jesus means when he calls himself a King. I'd much rather do some extra work in getting there imaginatively than try to re-establish a royal government on this continent. But I think it's important to acknowledge this position we Americans are in, stirring up proper affection for someone claiming to be a King setting up a Kingdom. Even if it is Jesus, I wonder if we can't help imagining his Kingdom by default as something of a Democratic Republic with an ideal President. Let's try to imagine it better together this Sunday, 

EmbodyI enjoy rollerblading. And I enjoy getting made fun of for enjoying rollerblading. So do your worst. I'm not that good at it, but I'm trying to get better.There's a strange disconnect in me when it comes to rollerblading. I watch so many YouTube videos on how to rollerblade better. And every time I watch one, I strap on my rollerblades with 110% confidence that I can do it. If you ever want to see me fall hard, the five minutes after watching rollerblading videos is the prime time to do so. If I fall, it must be because I didn't watch enough YouTube or I didn't have the right wheels or the right socks or the right surface.That same disconnect happens in many areas of my life, perhaps most often in the way I live out my faith. I walk out of the Soul Room with 110% confidence that I can do it. If you want to see me fall hard, find me in the five minutes after reading the Bible. My expectation is that reading good truths about Jesus or thinking good thoughts about the Gospel is enough for me to live it out. But the disconnect remains. I feel like the Apostle Paul, "Who will deliver me from this body of death?"After years of watching this happen, it's easy to give up, to move towards apathy, or to think some secret knowledge can help us escape this fleshy prison. How can the truth of the Gospel go from my heart to my hands? How can I not only know the love of Jesus but embody it? May Scripture be our guide on this as we consider the word "embody" from our Lexicon this Sunday morning.

EmbodyI enjoy rollerblading. And I enjoy getting made fun of for enjoying rollerblading. So do your worst. I'm not that good at it, but I'm trying to get better.There's a strange disconnect in me when it comes to rollerblading. I watch so many YouTube videos on how to rollerblade better. And every time I watch one, I strap on my rollerblades with 110% confidence that I can do it. If you ever want to see me fall hard, the five minutes after watching rollerblading videos is the prime time to do so. If I fall, it must be because I didn't watch enough YouTube or I didn't have the right wheels or the right socks or the right surface.That same disconnect happens in many areas of my life, perhaps most often in the way I live out my faith. I walk out of the Soul Room with 110% confidence that I can do it. If you want to see me fall hard, find me in the five minutes after reading the Bible. My expectation is that reading good truths about Jesus or thinking good thoughts about the Gospel is enough for me to live it out. But the disconnect remains. I feel like the Apostle Paul, "Who will deliver me from this body of death?"After years of watching this happen, it's easy to give up, to move towards apathy, or to think some secret knowledge can help us escape this fleshy prison. How can the truth of the Gospel go from my heart to my hands? How can I not only know the love of Jesus but embody it? May Scripture be our guide on this as we consider the word "embody" from our Lexicon this Sunday morning.

I was on the phone with my eldest son yesterday, and we were talking about a passion of his—frisbee golf. I called him to invite him to come to Black Mountain, North Carolina, where I will be at a Church Planting Conference. One of the things I do when I go to this conference is cook and set a lavish table in the evenings, an immersive experience in hospitality and a place for church planters to just be. I used frisbee golf to sweeten the deal, as many of these church planters are devotees of the game. His comment was what interested me, as I had just put the wraps on a sermon on discipleship. He said, “Yeah, I need to play with some guys better than me. I am sort of plateaued. YouTube videos are just not the same. I need to actually see someone do it right and who can point out what I am doing wrong." I said, “Yeah, you just described my sermon on discipleship.”Abide. That is what Jesus said to his disciples. The word is rich in meaning and captures the heart of discipleship. To abide is much more than getting a little more knowledge, whether in a classroom or on a screen. To abide is much richer; it suggests dwelling with, being with, making yourself at home. It means a disciple spends time with, and is deeply attached in a loving relationship with both God and his people. It is a necessary corrective to the rationalism that endlessly chases more Bible information yet neglects the more difficult task of abiding. Interested? We will talk about it on Sunday.  

I was on the phone with my eldest son yesterday, and we were talking about a passion of his—frisbee golf. I called him to invite him to come to Black Mountain, North Carolina, where I will be at a Church Planting Conference. One of the things I do when I go to this conference is cook and set a lavish table in the evenings, an immersive experience in hospitality and a place for church planters to just be. I used frisbee golf to sweeten the deal, as many of these church planters are devotees of the game. His comment was what interested me, as I had just put the wraps on a sermon on discipleship. He said, “Yeah, I need to play with some guys better than me. I am sort of plateaued. YouTube videos are just not the same. I need to actually see someone do it right and who can point out what I am doing wrong." I said, “Yeah, you just described my sermon on discipleship.”Abide. That is what Jesus said to his disciples. The word is rich in meaning and captures the heart of discipleship. To abide is much more than getting a little more knowledge, whether in a classroom or on a screen. To abide is much richer; it suggests dwelling with, being with, making yourself at home. It means a disciple spends time with, and is deeply attached in a loving relationship with both God and his people. It is a necessary corrective to the rationalism that endlessly chases more Bible information yet neglects the more difficult task of abiding. Interested? We will talk about it on Sunday.  

Last weekend, I had the privilege of participating in my nephew's wedding. It was a cross-cultural event in many ways, as his bride is a Vietnamese American from a large and traditional family. I beheld with wonder the union, not only of husband and wife, but of two very culturally distinct households. Most of the wedding mass was in Vietnamese, and the day was filled with succulent foods, tea ceremonies, and exotic rituals I'd never even heard of. Often there was translation into English and idioms for the sake of us bewildered white southerners, and often there was not. Most of their overwhelming hospitality was nonverbal, but there was never any doubt that we were honored and valued guests and witnesses to another world.  Toward the end of our celebration, the father of the bride approached, and we continued the chat he and I have been having off-and-on for almost a year now. He knows I'm a pastor and a student of culture and it's been such an education for me to get to ask questions and bounce ideas off of him. But in this moment, the conversation had been fully eclipsed by experience. I had spent nine hours of full immersion, eating nine courses of unbelievable food, with his nine siblings and their own branches of the family. I commented on how elaborate and extravagant it all was, full of gratitude and awe. He poured me another glass of champagne, looked into my eyes, and then said something I will never forget: “There are no shortcuts to culture.” This week, we're talking about the word “covenant.” A covenant, as you've heard me say many times, is a promise that makes a family, where lonely people can belong and matter. It is the institution of a culture. For Israel, from calling to constitution to calendar, all the elements of God's covenantal action toward His people are a slow building of a culture from generation to generation, culminating at last, in a final and glorious consummation. There are no shortcuts. There is only faithfulness. And it's something worth celebrating.  So, join us this Sunday as we step back and try to take in the better story!

Last weekend, I had the privilege of participating in my nephew's wedding. It was a cross-cultural event in many ways, as his bride is a Vietnamese American from a large and traditional family. I beheld with wonder the union, not only of husband and wife, but of two very culturally distinct households. Most of the wedding mass was in Vietnamese, and the day was filled with succulent foods, tea ceremonies, and exotic rituals I'd never even heard of. Often there was translation into English and idioms for the sake of us bewildered white southerners, and often there was not. Most of their overwhelming hospitality was nonverbal, but there was never any doubt that we were honored and valued guests and witnesses to another world.  Toward the end of our celebration, the father of the bride approached, and we continued the chat he and I have been having off-and-on for almost a year now. He knows I'm a pastor and a student of culture and it's been such an education for me to get to ask questions and bounce ideas off of him. But in this moment, the conversation had been fully eclipsed by experience. I had spent nine hours of full immersion, eating nine courses of unbelievable food, with his nine siblings and their own branches of the family. I commented on how elaborate and extravagant it all was, full of gratitude and awe. He poured me another glass of champagne, looked into my eyes, and then said something I will never forget: “There are no shortcuts to culture.” This week, we're talking about the word “covenant.” A covenant, as you've heard me say many times, is a promise that makes a family, where lonely people can belong and matter. It is the institution of a culture. For Israel, from calling to constitution to calendar, all the elements of God's covenantal action toward His people are a slow building of a culture from generation to generation, culminating at last, in a final and glorious consummation. There are no shortcuts. There is only faithfulness. And it's something worth celebrating.  So, join us this Sunday as we step back and try to take in the better story!

Over twenty-seven years ago, in the very first worship service at St. Patrick, the very first day we went public, if I asked you to tell me what I preached on, those of you who know me would, without hesitation, answer, “Jim, that's easy, you preach on the gospel.” And if you said that, you would be right. That was a statement and an announcement of what St. Patrick would be about! The reason is simple—the whole Bible is about the gospel. The word gospel actually means "good news.”  This week, as we continue our exploration of the St. Patrick Lexicon, we are talking about a word you hear every Sunday, in every small group, or anytime we meet. The reason is simple: you never outgrow the gospel; you only grow deeper into its depths. To gather and not hear the gospel would make us no different than any other self-help or religion, because the gospel is the true story of the time when the true king of the world entered time/space history as one of us, and what he did in order to heal all the brokenness of the world. And what a time for us to hear this good news. If you are like me and our staff, we will gather as broken, weeping, angry people and ponder our posture and positions in the midst of the kingdoms of the world we find ourselves in—so yes, we need some good news!  Thankfully, Jesus, though dead, has been raised from the dead and is still on this throne. He still rules and reigns through his broken children and is not ashamed to call us his own. I can't wait to gather with you on Sunday and talk about it!

Over twenty-seven years ago, in the very first worship service at St. Patrick, the very first day we went public, if I asked you to tell me what I preached on, those of you who know me would, without hesitation, answer, “Jim, that's easy, you preach on the gospel.” And if you said that, you would be right. That was a statement and an announcement of what St. Patrick would be about! The reason is simple—the whole Bible is about the gospel. The word gospel actually means "good news.”  This week, as we continue our exploration of the St. Patrick Lexicon, we are talking about a word you hear every Sunday, in every small group, or anytime we meet. The reason is simple: you never outgrow the gospel; you only grow deeper into its depths. To gather and not hear the gospel would make us no different than any other self-help or religion, because the gospel is the true story of the time when the true king of the world entered time/space history as one of us, and what he did in order to heal all the brokenness of the world. And what a time for us to hear this good news. If you are like me and our staff, we will gather as broken, weeping, angry people and ponder our posture and positions in the midst of the kingdoms of the world we find ourselves in—so yes, we need some good news!  Thankfully, Jesus, though dead, has been raised from the dead and is still on this throne. He still rules and reigns through his broken children and is not ashamed to call us his own. I can't wait to gather with you on Sunday and talk about it!

Have you ever walked into a place you are really excited to be, but also fearful because you really don't know anyone? You look around and it seems everyone knows each other's name and are chatting amiably, and seems to know everyone. I remember the most alone I have ever felt was when I uprooted my family from Greenville, Mississippi, to come and plant a church in Collierville. I left a place where I was deeply embedded in a community of which, with God's help, I had helped create, and it was the most life-giving thing I had ever experienced. There I was known and embraced, and my large and unwieldy family was taken in and loved. When I came to Collierville, I really didn't know a soul. I was at Second Presbyterian Church while I figured out what and how to go about planting a community of believers in Collierville. Staff meetings were lonely, and Sunday mornings were really lonely. I would walk into a Sunday School Class and everyone knew each other, in a sense belonged to each other, and I just stood and felt like a stranger. I was a novelty because I would be introduced as someone planting a church, so no one was really getting to know me beyond, “How is it going in Collierville?”  I remember telling Teri, “What have I done? I am so lonely.” I realized, as I pondered this, that if you lose your community, you lose a part of yourself, and you lose your rhythm. But that same realization helped me see, if you don't have a community, just how lost you feel.  This week, we are talking about loneliness and how, because of the fall, we are all lonely. But loneliness really is a gift. As Chip Dodd says, “In truth, loneliness is the gift that speaks to how much is right with us while also pointing to how much has gone wrong.” (Voices of the Heart) We were built to know and be known, belong to a people and a place. We will talk about our condition of loneliness and also God's gracious provision!  Not only that, but we will conclude our worship in our backyard as we take a few moments to give thanks to God for his gracious provisions of helping us build space for real community to take place. The fence is up, an excavator is in the backyard, and we are about to break ground! Join us as we give thanks together for God's goodness to us!

Have you ever walked into a place you are really excited to be, but also fearful because you really don't know anyone? You look around and it seems everyone knows each other's name and are chatting amiably, and seems to know everyone. I remember the most alone I have ever felt was when I uprooted my family from Greenville, Mississippi, to come and plant a church in Collierville. I left a place where I was deeply embedded in a community of which, with God's help, I had helped create, and it was the most life-giving thing I had ever experienced. There I was known and embraced, and my large and unwieldy family was taken in and loved. When I came to Collierville, I really didn't know a soul. I was at Second Presbyterian Church while I figured out what and how to go about planting a community of believers in Collierville. Staff meetings were lonely, and Sunday mornings were really lonely. I would walk into a Sunday School Class and everyone knew each other, in a sense belonged to each other, and I just stood and felt like a stranger. I was a novelty because I would be introduced as someone planting a church, so no one was really getting to know me beyond, “How is it going in Collierville?”  I remember telling Teri, “What have I done? I am so lonely.” I realized, as I pondered this, that if you lose your community, you lose a part of yourself, and you lose your rhythm. But that same realization helped me see, if you don't have a community, just how lost you feel.  This week, we are talking about loneliness and how, because of the fall, we are all lonely. But loneliness really is a gift. As Chip Dodd says, “In truth, loneliness is the gift that speaks to how much is right with us while also pointing to how much has gone wrong.” (Voices of the Heart) We were built to know and be known, belong to a people and a place. We will talk about our condition of loneliness and also God's gracious provision!  Not only that, but we will conclude our worship in our backyard as we take a few moments to give thanks to God for his gracious provisions of helping us build space for real community to take place. The fence is up, an excavator is in the backyard, and we are about to break ground! Join us as we give thanks together for God's goodness to us!

I remember well all seven of my children when they were infants. When they were born, they couldn't really say anything, but that didn't mean they were not communicating! It just sounded like gibberish, and yet these sounds that pass from parent to infant, though not articulate speech, are rich in meaning. There is no lexicon for this speech, and yet what is happening in these screams of frustration being answered by soothing words is incredibly profound—trust is established, faces are seen, and the foundation for a life of love is established. Soon names are known, categories are learned, and slowly a child learns to make sense of the world through language—words and vocabulary. Each family will develop its own lexicon of formulary words that are particular to their little tribe, and what is important to the family will be established—the words will shape them and be shaped by them. I use the word lexicon because that is the title of our new series starting this fall. A lexicon, simply put, is the set of words used in a particular language or field of knowledge, or profession, or subject—a vocabulary. This is true of the Bible and the story of redemption we find ourselves in. There is a vocabulary particular to the believer. These words have incredible meaning to shape our souls. This is true also of each particular family of God's people, like St. Patrick. We use certain words often because they express our heartbeat and passion about the gospel and our mission in the world.  They are so important that we will spend the next twelve weeks looking at 12 words that shape who we are as a community of faith. They are so important that our children will be looking at them in Sunday School and Sonshine—for them, we made twelve videos from our pastors. For our Community Groups, we have written questions that will be discussed and reflected upon at our scattered tables. This week, we will look at the word you hear all the time around here: Grace. We will ponder the question, “What is so amazing about grace?”  Also, to aid in preparation for our worship time on Sunday, we have linked the songs that we will be singing in worship on Sunday. Check it out, it might be a new song you are unfamiliar with, and now you will have a chance to learn and rehearse it before worship.  I hope you will join us this Sunday as we kick off a new semester of worship and ministry!

I remember well all seven of my children when they were infants. When they were born, they couldn't really say anything, but that didn't mean they were not communicating! It just sounded like gibberish, and yet these sounds that pass from parent to infant, though not articulate speech, are rich in meaning. There is no lexicon for this speech, and yet what is happening in these screams of frustration being answered by soothing words is incredibly profound—trust is established, faces are seen, and the foundation for a life of love is established. Soon names are known, categories are learned, and slowly a child learns to make sense of the world through language—words and vocabulary. Each family will develop its own lexicon of formulary words that are particular to their little tribe, and what is important to the family will be established—the words will shape them and be shaped by them. I use the word lexicon because that is the title of our new series starting this fall. A lexicon, simply put, is the set of words used in a particular language or field of knowledge, or profession, or subject—a vocabulary. This is true of the Bible and the story of redemption we find ourselves in. There is a vocabulary particular to the believer. These words have incredible meaning to shape our souls. This is true also of each particular family of God's people, like St. Patrick. We use certain words often because they express our heartbeat and passion about the gospel and our mission in the world.  They are so important that we will spend the next twelve weeks looking at 12 words that shape who we are as a community of faith. They are so important that our children will be looking at them in Sunday School and Sonshine—for them, we made twelve videos from our pastors. For our Community Groups, we have written questions that will be discussed and reflected upon at our scattered tables. This week, we will look at the word you hear all the time around here: Grace. We will ponder the question, “What is so amazing about grace?”  Also, to aid in preparation for our worship time on Sunday, we have linked the songs that we will be singing in worship on Sunday. Check it out, it might be a new song you are unfamiliar with, and now you will have a chance to learn and rehearse it before worship.  I hope you will join us this Sunday as we kick off a new semester of worship and ministry!

In the Soul Room this week, we've been wading through what I call the “Dirty Thirties.” The Psalmist is in the pit, and he wants God to hear about it. I have often found great refuge in these Psalms in my own seasons of distress. But one of the beauties of following a lectionary is that you often come up against a Psalm you wouldn't ordinarily read on purpose in your current state of heart. I'm having a great time folding back into everyday embodiment at St. Patrick. I don't feel attacked or abused (yet!). So, the thing that strikes me is how often in these moments David seems to fall back on treasured memories of thriving and the promises of future flourishing. He's intentionally forgetting the forgetfulness his situation tempts him toward, and he's using the good times as treasures of fodder for faith.  It's that word “treasure” that has my attention at the moment. Twice in Luke 2, we hear that Mary was treasuring things in her heart. The first time is when she hears about her role in the gospel story, and then again when her twelve-year-old son expresses his messianic precociousness in the Temple. She doesn't know what it means, but she knows it's special, and she takes a sort of snapshot of it in her heart. No doubt in times of distress and despair she pulled out these little treasures and remembered with intentionality.  As we close our series on Remembering from Psalm 105, we begin our portion of the text with more treasures. Israel leaves Egypt with the wealth of that nation in their knapsacks. They don't know what we do: that it may have taken a night to get Israel out of Egypt, but it will be another 40 years of wandering before God gets Egypt out of Israel. In all their wandering, these treasures gave them the opportunity to reflect. Sometimes, they used them to make idols. Sometimes, they used them to grumble. But they were meant to adorn a future temple in a promised kingdom. Even the memories they collected in those 40 years, distilled and fermented by time and grace, lose all the dross of failure and become new treasures for these people to cling to in the years of exile that would follow hundreds of years later, when that first city and temple were in ashes and rubble.              In seasons of plenty, we must not forget to receive and safeguard treasures. Some stories of redemption and faithfulness. Tokens of his covenantal love. You never know when you might really need them! Let's talk more about that this Sunday. 

In the Soul Room this week, we've been wading through what I call the “Dirty Thirties.” The Psalmist is in the pit, and he wants God to hear about it. I have often found great refuge in these Psalms in my own seasons of distress. But one of the beauties of following a lectionary is that you often come up against a Psalm you wouldn't ordinarily read on purpose in your current state of heart. I'm having a great time folding back into everyday embodiment at St. Patrick. I don't feel attacked or abused (yet!). So, the thing that strikes me is how often in these moments David seems to fall back on treasured memories of thriving and the promises of future flourishing. He's intentionally forgetting the forgetfulness his situation tempts him toward, and he's using the good times as treasures of fodder for faith.  It's that word “treasure” that has my attention at the moment. Twice in Luke 2, we hear that Mary was treasuring things in her heart. The first time is when she hears about her role in the gospel story, and then again when her twelve-year-old son expresses his messianic precociousness in the Temple. She doesn't know what it means, but she knows it's special, and she takes a sort of snapshot of it in her heart. No doubt in times of distress and despair she pulled out these little treasures and remembered with intentionality.  As we close our series on Remembering from Psalm 105, we begin our portion of the text with more treasures. Israel leaves Egypt with the wealth of that nation in their knapsacks. They don't know what we do: that it may have taken a night to get Israel out of Egypt, but it will be another 40 years of wandering before God gets Egypt out of Israel. In all their wandering, these treasures gave them the opportunity to reflect. Sometimes, they used them to make idols. Sometimes, they used them to grumble. But they were meant to adorn a future temple in a promised kingdom. Even the memories they collected in those 40 years, distilled and fermented by time and grace, lose all the dross of failure and become new treasures for these people to cling to in the years of exile that would follow hundreds of years later, when that first city and temple were in ashes and rubble.              In seasons of plenty, we must not forget to receive and safeguard treasures. Some stories of redemption and faithfulness. Tokens of his covenantal love. You never know when you might really need them! Let's talk more about that this Sunday. 

The story of the Exodus is the central salvation event of the Old Testament. Exile and exodus are major motifs all over the Bible, not just in the Old Testament. Josh brilliantly plowed the field of Joseph's story last week as we remember the wondrous words God has done. This week, we move to the exodus itself, the main event, if you will. But even then, if we fill in the gaps in our minds, we realize it was a long, long time from the exile into Egypt to the actual exodus itself and the journey on to the promised land. It is all so slow. God does plod along at three miles an hour, it seems. The question I kept asking myself as I read, and re-read this part of the Psalm is what are we supposed to feel when we read it? The account in Psalms is not a mere list of the 10 plagues; rather, some are omitted, and they are out of order. In other words, it is not a mechanical retelling of the story but a vivid re-imagining of the story set in verse, a song meant to be sung, almost like an epic poem. In other words, it is meant to stir the blood, knock you out of spiritual lethargy, and ignite passion. We all need this because spiritual formation is a long obedience and much of it is incremental or just annoyingly slow… In a poem called Patient Trust, I came across this week, the writer captures this idea: Above all, trust in the slow work of God.We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.We should like to skip the intermediate stages.We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.And yet it is the law of all progressthat it is made by passing through some stages of instability—and that it may take a very long time. --Pierre Teilhard de ChardinLook forward to seeing you all on Sunday as we gather to worship and remember!

The story of the Exodus is the central salvation event of the Old Testament. Exile and exodus are major motifs all over the Bible, not just in the Old Testament. Josh brilliantly plowed the field of Joseph's story last week as we remember the wondrous words God has done. This week, we move to the exodus itself, the main event, if you will. But even then, if we fill in the gaps in our minds, we realize it was a long, long time from the exile into Egypt to the actual exodus itself and the journey on to the promised land. It is all so slow. God does plod along at three miles an hour, it seems. The question I kept asking myself as I read, and re-read this part of the Psalm is what are we supposed to feel when we read it? The account in Psalms is not a mere list of the 10 plagues; rather, some are omitted, and they are out of order. In other words, it is not a mechanical retelling of the story but a vivid re-imagining of the story set in verse, a song meant to be sung, almost like an epic poem. In other words, it is meant to stir the blood, knock you out of spiritual lethargy, and ignite passion. We all need this because spiritual formation is a long obedience and much of it is incremental or just annoyingly slow… In a poem called Patient Trust, I came across this week, the writer captures this idea: Above all, trust in the slow work of God.We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.We should like to skip the intermediate stages.We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.And yet it is the law of all progressthat it is made by passing through some stages of instability—and that it may take a very long time. --Pierre Teilhard de ChardinLook forward to seeing you all on Sunday as we gather to worship and remember!

Earlier this year, I received the mind-bendingly generous offer of a couple of weeks “at sea” this summer to really drill down on writing my dissertation. It was the first time I was able to set aside every other beautiful burden in my life and focus my whole attention on turning tens of thousands of words on the Christian imagination into a single thesis. My soundtrack for those sabbatical weeks was the only Jeff Buckley album, entitled, appropriately, Grace.  Memphians are usually vaguely aware of Buckley, primarily because of his tragic death by drowning where the Wolf River meets the Mississippi. These are the two rivers we are told not to swim, often with Buckley's name added to the haunting testimonials. I myself was taught to fear the big waters by the invocation of his name. Jeff Buckley's shocking death in 1997 was one of many stories of young, talented, beautiful people whose early promise was cut short. Critics and listeners had praised him as “the next truly great artist,” citing his soulful tone, soaring range, and out-of-the-box sensibilities. And then he was no more. I've thought about Jeff Buckley a lot this week, for a few reasons. As I transition back into life at St. Patrick, I still have the taste of that fruitful couple of weeks scored by his album. I will forever be transported back to St. George Island whenever I hear him. Also, this past week a new documentary on his life opened in theaters and I've been foaming at the mouth to go see it. There's something about his album and story that touches “life eternal” for me. It's somehow both a product of its time and also an echo of past and future. Most meaningfully, I've been immersed in Psalm 105's brief coverage of Joseph this week in preparation for this Sunday's sermon. From Israel's perspective in Genesis, (at least for several decades), Joseph's was another story like Jeff's. A beloved young man, full of vision and promise and vitality, stolen from this world too soon. We could easily learn defensiveness and cynicism from such apparently senseless losses: “how to shoot someone who outdrew you.” The world doesn't fight fair, so why should we?  Yet a wider perspective shows us that “it's never (really) over.”  In fact, if we can see the whole picture, we might just take a posture in the mean-times that looks more like worship, even if “it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.”   Can't wait to be with you all!

Earlier this year, I received the mind-bendingly generous offer of a couple of weeks “at sea” this summer to really drill down on writing my dissertation. It was the first time I was able to set aside every other beautiful burden in my life and focus my whole attention on turning tens of thousands of words on the Christian imagination into a single thesis. My soundtrack for those sabbatical weeks was the only Jeff Buckley album, entitled, appropriately, Grace.  Memphians are usually vaguely aware of Buckley, primarily because of his tragic death by drowning where the Wolf River meets the Mississippi. These are the two rivers we are told not to swim, often with Buckley's name added to the haunting testimonials. I myself was taught to fear the big waters by the invocation of his name. Jeff Buckley's shocking death in 1997 was one of many stories of young, talented, beautiful people whose early promise was cut short. Critics and listeners had praised him as “the next truly great artist,” citing his soulful tone, soaring range, and out-of-the-box sensibilities. And then he was no more. I've thought about Jeff Buckley a lot this week, for a few reasons. As I transition back into life at St. Patrick, I still have the taste of that fruitful couple of weeks scored by his album. I will forever be transported back to St. George Island whenever I hear him. Also, this past week a new documentary on his life opened in theaters and I've been foaming at the mouth to go see it. There's something about his album and story that touches “life eternal” for me. It's somehow both a product of its time and also an echo of past and future. Most meaningfully, I've been immersed in Psalm 105's brief coverage of Joseph this week in preparation for this Sunday's sermon. From Israel's perspective in Genesis, (at least for several decades), Joseph's was another story like Jeff's. A beloved young man, full of vision and promise and vitality, stolen from this world too soon. We could easily learn defensiveness and cynicism from such apparently senseless losses: “how to shoot someone who outdrew you.” The world doesn't fight fair, so why should we?  Yet a wider perspective shows us that “it's never (really) over.”  In fact, if we can see the whole picture, we might just take a posture in the mean-times that looks more like worship, even if “it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.”   Can't wait to be with you all!

Reminders are a big deal at my house. Teri has a list of all the things that need to be fixed or done in the house and yard. My mind is like a sieve; things go right through it, and if I don't attend to something right that minute, it might be forgotten. It is so bad that she has left packages that need to be returned in front of the door, and on my way out, I will still just go around them without a thought and drive off. We all use calendars, sticky notes, and alarms to help us remember. In an age where we are flooded with information coming at us in every conceivable form, we are overwhelmed and thus enter reminders. These are needed and helpful, but there is a far deeper kind of remembering we desperately need. In fact, the assumption in the Bible must be that we have spiritual amnesia because from Genesis to Revelation, we are exhorted to remember. For the next four weeks, we are looking at a long song of remembering. Psalm 105 is an exhortation to the people of God to remember. Remembering is crucial for identity formation and knowing who you are. Remembering our shared stories gives us identity and shapes the way we live in the present and in the future. This is not the call to remember the good ole days, nor a longing for nostalgia. It is not a sentimental or maudlin pining for a different age, but a robust call to remember the past wonders of God's love, and in doing so, remembering who you are and whose you are. I hope you will join us as we start settling into a fall rhythm. I felt a little of that on Wednesday when I took my daughter Addy to meet her teachers. It was a reminder that we are all about to enter a more structured existence, and for many, it will be a new kind of freedom. 

Reminders are a big deal at my house. Teri has a list of all the things that need to be fixed or done in the house and yard. My mind is like a sieve; things go right through it, and if I don't attend to something right that minute, it might be forgotten. It is so bad that she has left packages that need to be returned in front of the door, and on my way out, I will still just go around them without a thought and drive off. We all use calendars, sticky notes, and alarms to help us remember. In an age where we are flooded with information coming at us in every conceivable form, we are overwhelmed and thus enter reminders. These are needed and helpful, but there is a far deeper kind of remembering we desperately need. In fact, the assumption in the Bible must be that we have spiritual amnesia because from Genesis to Revelation, we are exhorted to remember. For the next four weeks, we are looking at a long song of remembering. Psalm 105 is an exhortation to the people of God to remember. Remembering is crucial for identity formation and knowing who you are. Remembering our shared stories gives us identity and shapes the way we live in the present and in the future. This is not the call to remember the good ole days, nor a longing for nostalgia. It is not a sentimental or maudlin pining for a different age, but a robust call to remember the past wonders of God's love, and in doing so, remembering who you are and whose you are. I hope you will join us as we start settling into a fall rhythm. I felt a little of that on Wednesday when I took my daughter Addy to meet her teachers. It was a reminder that we are all about to enter a more structured existence, and for many, it will be a new kind of freedom. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was in Destin, Florida some years ago when a Category 1 hurricane was headed our way. We were in a condo, right across from the beach. We had stayed there a few times, as it was owned by a member of our church. It was not an aesthetically beautiful building, but it looked like it would withstand a nuclear bomb. What it lacked in external beauty, it made up for by providing the secure feeling of being in a bunker. The inside was a different story—plush furnishings, a huge kitchen, and a balcony that went on forever with a charcoal grill. We were faced with a dilemma: should we leave or stay?            These days, about the worst thing for us to imagine when going to Florida is a hurricane coming and ruining our yearly trip to the Redneck Riviera. I mean, if you are from Memphis, you dream of this hallowed ground all year, and so, to get canceled because of a hurricane or have to leave once you get that is almost unbearable. I know this is a first world problem, yet I suspect you know what I am talking about.             Anyway, back to my story, we debated whether to pack up and leave or stay, and my wife (who is a lot more cautious than I am) agreed that, since it was only a Category 1, we should be okay. So we, along with the other residents, sunk the pool furniture in the pool, secured the grill with bungy cords, and hunkered down to ride out the storm. I admit, I was sort of looking forward to it! There is a romance about a storm that brings a certain fascination—until you are in it and can't leave. Reality has a way of correcting fanciful notions.            When the lights go off and the roof starts leaving, you begin to wonder if the windows will blow in. Children are terrified and wonder why they didn't get to choose wiser parents. It is a completely helpless feeling because there is literally nothing you can do. The real terror hit me when I opened the door, just to get a feel for the storm, and almost had the door ripped out of my hands. It was raining sideways and sounded like a freight train might come through the building any second. All I could think was when would it be over. Storms are terrifying!            That is where we find the disciples this week—in agony, fighting for their lives, rowing into the teeth of a storm. In the Bible, storms are both real and metaphorical—places where even the most resourceful and powerful are drained of self-sufficiency and find themselves totally helpless. Storms are also where we meet Jesus. We will talk about it this an

I was in Destin, Florida some years ago when a Category 1 hurricane was headed our way. We were in a condo, right across from the beach. We had stayed there a few times, as it was owned by a member of our church. It was not an aesthetically beautiful building, but it looked like it would withstand a nuclear bomb. What it lacked in external beauty, it made up for by providing the secure feeling of being in a bunker. The inside was a different story—plush furnishings, a huge kitchen, and a balcony that went on forever with a charcoal grill. We were faced with a dilemma: should we leave or stay?            These days, about the worst thing for us to imagine when going to Florida is a hurricane coming and ruining our yearly trip to the Redneck Riviera. I mean, if you are from Memphis, you dream of this hallowed ground all year, and so, to get canceled because of a hurricane or have to leave once you get that is almost unbearable. I know this is a first world problem, yet I suspect you know what I am talking about.             Anyway, back to my story, we debated whether to pack up and leave or stay, and my wife (who is a lot more cautious than I am) agreed that, since it was only a Category 1, we should be okay. So we, along with the other residents, sunk the pool furniture in the pool, secured the grill with bungy cords, and hunkered down to ride out the storm. I admit, I was sort of looking forward to it! There is a romance about a storm that brings a certain fascination—until you are in it and can't leave. Reality has a way of correcting fanciful notions.            When the lights go off and the roof starts leaving, you begin to wonder if the windows will blow in. Children are terrified and wonder why they didn't get to choose wiser parents. It is a completely helpless feeling because there is literally nothing you can do. The real terror hit me when I opened the door, just to get a feel for the storm, and almost had the door ripped out of my hands. It was raining sideways and sounded like a freight train might come through the building any second. All I could think was when would it be over. Storms are terrifying!            That is where we find the disciples this week—in agony, fighting for their lives, rowing into the teeth of a storm. In the Bible, storms are both real and metaphorical—places where even the most resourceful and powerful are drained of self-sufficiency and find themselves totally helpless. Storms are also where we meet Jesus. We will talk about it this an

My favorite part of summer? All the extra time I get to spend with my kids! They're always around! My least favorite? . . . Look, I love them, but they're always around!As I was studying our passage this week, Fiona interrupted me, and I didn't respond as I should. In my ideal world, there's no such thing as interruptions. Everything is planned. I know, I've still got some growing to do. Henri Nouwen said, "My whole life I've been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work" (Reaching Out). As I turned back to the passage, I was convicted to find Jesus responding very differently than I to a fatal interruption. And it only builds the wonder of His actions and attributes in our story this week. In Mark 5, we get to sit on the front row and marvel at Jesus in all of his power, authority, and glory. But we're also confounded by His incredible compassion. Let your jaw drop this Sunday at the wonder that is Jesus Christ.-Greg

My favorite part of summer? All the extra time I get to spend with my kids! They're always around! My least favorite? . . . Look, I love them, but they're always around!As I was studying our passage this week, Fiona interrupted me, and I didn't respond as I should. In my ideal world, there's no such thing as interruptions. Everything is planned. I know, I've still got some growing to do. Henri Nouwen said, "My whole life I've been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work" (Reaching Out). As I turned back to the passage, I was convicted to find Jesus responding very differently than I to a fatal interruption. And it only builds the wonder of His actions and attributes in our story this week. In Mark 5, we get to sit on the front row and marvel at Jesus in all of his power, authority, and glory. But we're also confounded by His incredible compassion. Let your jaw drop this Sunday at the wonder that is Jesus Christ.-Greg

The Gospel of Mark is often called the most dramatic, and this Sunday's flabbergasting episode is no exception. Among a big crowd in a small house in a modest village, Jesus performs not one but two miracles. It would have blown the roof off the place if four audacious guys hadn't already razed it to lower their friend - a crazy story! What we find, though, is more than just a remarkable story. This scene presents a claim to an eternal throne, lights the spark that would lead to Jesus's murder, and displays a model for the church's mission. Join us on Sunday and we'll talk about it! 

The Gospel of Mark is often called the most dramatic, and this Sunday's flabbergasting episode is no exception. Among a big crowd in a small house in a modest village, Jesus performs not one but two miracles. It would have blown the roof off the place if four audacious guys hadn't already razed it to lower their friend - a crazy story! What we find, though, is more than just a remarkable story. This scene presents a claim to an eternal throne, lights the spark that would lead to Jesus's murder, and displays a model for the church's mission. Join us on Sunday and we'll talk about it! 

I suppose wonder always takes you by surprise. Wonder, being the sort of experience that takes your breath away. It is rational, in that you take it in and process it; but it is more than rational, in that it is emotional and beyond your understanding. It is a mixture of fear, curiosity, and delight—kind of like joy on steroids. It challenges your categories and forces you to ask questions. Often you feel humbled because it feels too vast for your present understanding. It is uncontrollable and yet you are drawn deeper in as you try to get to the center of things. It arrests your full attention and causes you to feel like, if I can understand this, it will change me. Like, if I could get beyond the surface of this thing, I would be more fully alive and present.  We are going to spend this summer talking about wonder. Why? Because we were made for it, even in our fallen condition. The world is full of God's glory and to live a life without wonder is to be dehumanized, but don't just take my word for it. This summer, we will be looking at passages in the book of Mark. Over thirty times in this book, we come across instances of Jesus doing something astounding, and everyone is just flabbergasted. Of course, they are—what they are seeing is a new world breaking in!  For us today, it is no less amazing and shocking than it was over two thousand years ago, but perhaps we can't see it. Articles abound about the loss of wonder, and this, ironically, when technology has granted us perhaps even more opportunities to marvel. As we will discuss, this is not for lack of information, but for lack of ability to see. I can't wait to talk about it with you.  It has been a whole week of wonder here at St. Patrick, with scads of children learning about Jesus in wild and creative ways. The halls have rung with laughter, and the sanctuary has shaken with the worship the least of these. (We will be showing some of this, as well!)

I suppose wonder always takes you by surprise. Wonder, being the sort of experience that takes your breath away. It is rational, in that you take it in and process it; but it is more than rational, in that it is emotional and beyond your understanding. It is a mixture of fear, curiosity, and delight—kind of like joy on steroids. It challenges your categories and forces you to ask questions. Often you feel humbled because it feels too vast for your present understanding. It is uncontrollable and yet you are drawn deeper in as you try to get to the center of things. It arrests your full attention and causes you to feel like, if I can understand this, it will change me. Like, if I could get beyond the surface of this thing, I would be more fully alive and present.  We are going to spend this summer talking about wonder. Why? Because we were made for it, even in our fallen condition. The world is full of God's glory and to live a life without wonder is to be dehumanized, but don't just take my word for it. This summer, we will be looking at passages in the book of Mark. Over thirty times in this book, we come across instances of Jesus doing something astounding, and everyone is just flabbergasted. Of course, they are—what they are seeing is a new world breaking in!  For us today, it is no less amazing and shocking than it was over two thousand years ago, but perhaps we can't see it. Articles abound about the loss of wonder, and this, ironically, when technology has granted us perhaps even more opportunities to marvel. As we will discuss, this is not for lack of information, but for lack of ability to see. I can't wait to talk about it with you.  It has been a whole week of wonder here at St. Patrick, with scads of children learning about Jesus in wild and creative ways. The halls have rung with laughter, and the sanctuary has shaken with the worship the least of these. (We will be showing some of this, as well!)

I'm typing this on a keyboard that can blast opinions to the world with reckless abandon in an instant. With this keyboard I can hide behind a virtuous front and say all the right things about conflicts around the globe. But on this keyboard and online, I'm disembodied, excarnational, placeless, and all my good will is scattered to the four winds with no real effect.In the internet age, it's pretty common for people to have opinions on things far away that they believe are virtuous. In our culture of efficiency, ironically, we don't have time for the mundane, the proximal, the local. In order to find significance in our lives, we say, "Step 1: Change the World. Step 2: Repeat Step 1." I don't know about you, but I've felt the weight of this and wonder if God expects this of me.And at the same time, I kind of like it. Not changing the world is so massive it feels excusable. So if I focus all of my good will there, a failure's not really a fail. In the meantime, I have no good will left for the people around me. I'm willing to cross the ocean, but I'm not willing to cross the street. This kind of efficiency crushes our souls and distorts the Kingdom of Heaven for our neighbors. This Sunday morning, Jesus is going to show us a better way. Join us for worship, then we'll live it out at VBS.

I'm typing this on a keyboard that can blast opinions to the world with reckless abandon in an instant. With this keyboard I can hide behind a virtuous front and say all the right things about conflicts around the globe. But on this keyboard and online, I'm disembodied, excarnational, placeless, and all my good will is scattered to the four winds with no real effect.In the internet age, it's pretty common for people to have opinions on things far away that they believe are virtuous. In our culture of efficiency, ironically, we don't have time for the mundane, the proximal, the local. In order to find significance in our lives, we say, "Step 1: Change the World. Step 2: Repeat Step 1." I don't know about you, but I've felt the weight of this and wonder if God expects this of me.And at the same time, I kind of like it. Not changing the world is so massive it feels excusable. So if I focus all of my good will there, a failure's not really a fail. In the meantime, I have no good will left for the people around me. I'm willing to cross the ocean, but I'm not willing to cross the street. This kind of efficiency crushes our souls and distorts the Kingdom of Heaven for our neighbors. This Sunday morning, Jesus is going to show us a better way. Join us for worship, then we'll live it out at VBS.

Only a couple centuries ago, it would take 7 weeks to cross the Atlantic. Now it takes 7 hours. And yet, we're mad if our plane is delayed 20 minutes. Your plane could get delayed 45 days, and you'd still be faster than our recent ancestors!  On average, Americans will wait:- 32 minutes for a doctor's appointment- 28 minutes in the security line at the airport- 21 minutes for their wife to get ready- 13 hours a year on hold for customer service We don't like to wait. It feels like a waste, an unnecessary pause, a hitch in the giddyup. I hate waiting because it feels inefficient. I imagine the Apostles were no different. Israel had waited thousands of years for the Messiah, hundreds of years of silence, 33 years for the plan to come to fruition, and three days for Jesus to resurrect. So when Jesus appears to them and tells them, "Wait," I can't imagine it was an easy command to stomach. I want to see some efficiency here; get to work! But waiting was important for the Apostles, and it's important for us. In fact, God has baked it into our very design and redeemed us with it in the Gospel. It can often be the hardest part, but God will not waste it. So before we talk about the mission of God for the world, we're going to wait and talk about the mission of God for our hearts. It's what I like to call an inner mission intermission. Join us for it on Sunday.