St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC

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.

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

The word “ordinary,” if it is used at all, usually seems to be used in the pejorative, implying something negative. I bring this up because in our Godspeed series this word seems to resurface often. We referred to “Three miles an hour” as the speed at which God works, and it would seem to be a little below average. “Ordinary means of grace”—isn't that a little pedestrian? And now, “Ordinary people”. It might seem to some that we are trying to set the bar exceedingly low. Who wants anything that is ordinary! Not when we can go viral, not when we all seem to be infected with “main character syndrome,” where the majority of our social media posts portray us or our family in only our most glorious moments. It is almost like we are scared of the ordinary, the mundane, and the humdrum moments of life, as if they are something to be shunned or hurried through to get to the really good stuff.            We find ourselves resenting the ordinary stuff like raising kids, cooking meals, or going to our ordinary jobs. Heaven knows, our nosy neighbors are such an interruption because they need help with this or that or need us to watch their child for a bit. We are anxious to get past the mundane stuff to get on to the really exciting stuff, the novel stuff, the stuff we see influencers and our friends posting about, or what we see glamorized on TV.             Yet, what if this view of life is perhaps the bleakest myth to ever capture the imagination of the human mind? What if the ordinary stuff is really where God meets us? What if the most hallowed space we inhabit is in the mundane and commonplace? What if the stuff we rush through mindlessly is the very place that both veils and reveals the holy and sacred to us? I tell you, I would want some of that because, try as I might, most of my life is ordinary.             We need look no further than Jesus who, in his resurrected body with serious upgrades, has every chance to throw off the mundane, dazzle us with novelty, and tantalize us with the spectacular; and yet, he meets his witless, cowering disciples in a familiar room and calms their fears. In doing so, he reinforces the notion that the eternal kingdom he is inaugurating is going to move forward with ordinary people doing ordinary things, things not reserved for the gifted but that really turn on the necessities of life. They are the kind of things we often rush through to get to “real life,” whatever that is. We will talk about it on Sunday. I hope you will join us!  

The word “ordinary,” if it is used at all, usually seems to be used in the pejorative, implying something negative. I bring this up because in our Godspeed series this word seems to resurface often. We referred to “Three miles an hour” as the speed at which God works, and it would seem to be a little below average. “Ordinary means of grace”—isn't that a little pedestrian? And now, “Ordinary people”. It might seem to some that we are trying to set the bar exceedingly low. Who wants anything that is ordinary! Not when we can go viral, not when we all seem to be infected with “main character syndrome,” where the majority of our social media posts portray us or our family in only our most glorious moments. It is almost like we are scared of the ordinary, the mundane, and the humdrum moments of life, as if they are something to be shunned or hurried through to get to the really good stuff.            We find ourselves resenting the ordinary stuff like raising kids, cooking meals, or going to our ordinary jobs. Heaven knows, our nosy neighbors are such an interruption because they need help with this or that or need us to watch their child for a bit. We are anxious to get past the mundane stuff to get on to the really exciting stuff, the novel stuff, the stuff we see influencers and our friends posting about, or what we see glamorized on TV.             Yet, what if this view of life is perhaps the bleakest myth to ever capture the imagination of the human mind? What if the ordinary stuff is really where God meets us? What if the most hallowed space we inhabit is in the mundane and commonplace? What if the stuff we rush through mindlessly is the very place that both veils and reveals the holy and sacred to us? I tell you, I would want some of that because, try as I might, most of my life is ordinary.             We need look no further than Jesus who, in his resurrected body with serious upgrades, has every chance to throw off the mundane, dazzle us with novelty, and tantalize us with the spectacular; and yet, he meets his witless, cowering disciples in a familiar room and calms their fears. In doing so, he reinforces the notion that the eternal kingdom he is inaugurating is going to move forward with ordinary people doing ordinary things, things not reserved for the gifted but that really turn on the necessities of life. They are the kind of things we often rush through to get to “real life,” whatever that is. We will talk about it on Sunday. I hope you will join us!  

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

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

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

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

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

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

A great weekend is before us! Whether you are Christian or not, it is incredibly human to mark days that are significant to us. We celebrate days that are monumental to us, both as individuals and as communities (large and small). Often the celebrations are about people and events that are dear to us like birthdays, anniversaries or deaths. They are reminders of how important these people are to us. Sometimes we set aside days to remember what story we are in: Israel had seven such times of the year that told their unique story as the people of God. Why? LEST WE FORGET! The watershed of Christianity is what we celebrate this Easter weekend. A dead man got up out of the grave and defeated death!             Easter Vigil: On Saturday night, we will have our first ever Easter Vigil. We have never done this before as a congregation, but we have added it this year for a specific reason—a better remembering, you might say. As Will has pointed out to our staff over and over in our discussions about this, there is no service where we sit as a congregation in the moment of, not just the death of Christ, but also the resurrection. Here is what I mean…Usually on Maundy Thursday, we witness the death of Christ and see it symbolized by the Christ candle being snuffed out and placed behind the pulpit. Then we come on Sunday morning and we hear the glorious liturgy—He is risen! He is risen indeed!  Yet we missed the miracle of the actual moment in time when “air became breath.” A corpse actually breathed again. That is what the term Easter Vigil means—we are waiting for the resurrection.             In an Easter Vigil, the story of redemption is told from key texts with music and prayers, much like our Tenebrae Service, but this time we not only see Jesus' life snuffed out and the light of the world darkened, as the candle departs the sanctuary and all is darkness and gloom, but—wonder of wonders—we will also see, through sign and symbol, the darkened sanctuary again become illuminated with light as the Light of the World turns darkness into light. I do hope you will join us on Saturday evening at 7:00pm for this special event.  Easter Morning:  On Sunday morning, we will gather at 9:00am and 11:00am to celebrate Easter and ponder what it means to be “People of the Resurrection.” Nothing can account for the sudden rise of Christianity across Israel and beyond, throughout the whole Roman Empire, unless a singular event happened that had never happened before—Resurrection. This Easter we will consider what this means and why resurrection is not just a concept but a power that came into the world, and also why resurrection is not just a distant hope for when we die but a living reality within the people of God—a hope for today.  I hope you will join us for each of these celebrations because, as Anne Lamott says, "Christians are Easter people living in a Good Friday world.” We await resurrection, true; but it is equally true that we have experienced it already and without that power in us we have no hope of living well in this broken world.

A great weekend is before us! Whether you are Christian or not, it is incredibly human to mark days that are significant to us. We celebrate days that are monumental to us, both as individuals and as communities (large and small). Often the celebrations are about people and events that are dear to us like birthdays, anniversaries or deaths. They are reminders of how important these people are to us. Sometimes we set aside days to remember what story we are in: Israel had seven such times of the year that told their unique story as the people of God. Why? LEST WE FORGET! The watershed of Christianity is what we celebrate this Easter weekend. A dead man got up out of the grave and defeated death!             Easter Vigil: On Saturday night, we will have our first ever Easter Vigil. We have never done this before as a congregation, but we have added it this year for a specific reason—a better remembering, you might say. As Will has pointed out to our staff over and over in our discussions about this, there is no service where we sit as a congregation in the moment of, not just the death of Christ, but also the resurrection. Here is what I mean…Usually on Maundy Thursday, we witness the death of Christ and see it symbolized by the Christ candle being snuffed out and placed behind the pulpit. Then we come on Sunday morning and we hear the glorious liturgy—He is risen! He is risen indeed!  Yet we missed the miracle of the actual moment in time when “air became breath.” A corpse actually breathed again. That is what the term Easter Vigil means—we are waiting for the resurrection.             In an Easter Vigil, the story of redemption is told from key texts with music and prayers, much like our Tenebrae Service, but this time we not only see Jesus' life snuffed out and the light of the world darkened, as the candle departs the sanctuary and all is darkness and gloom, but—wonder of wonders—we will also see, through sign and symbol, the darkened sanctuary again become illuminated with light as the Light of the World turns darkness into light. I do hope you will join us on Saturday evening at 7:00pm for this special event.  Easter Morning:  On Sunday morning, we will gather at 9:00am and 11:00am to celebrate Easter and ponder what it means to be “People of the Resurrection.” Nothing can account for the sudden rise of Christianity across Israel and beyond, throughout the whole Roman Empire, unless a singular event happened that had never happened before—Resurrection. This Easter we will consider what this means and why resurrection is not just a concept but a power that came into the world, and also why resurrection is not just a distant hope for when we die but a living reality within the people of God—a hope for today.  I hope you will join us for each of these celebrations because, as Anne Lamott says, "Christians are Easter people living in a Good Friday world.” We await resurrection, true; but it is equally true that we have experienced it already and without that power in us we have no hope of living well in this broken world.

Tonight, my wife closes her production of Shakespeare's, “A Midsummer Night's Dream” at Westminster Academy. It's been a whirlwind of late nights, spilled paint, and teen tears, to produce a couple of hours of magic that will be almost completely erased by the time we worship together on Sunday. In some ways, it feels like an extravagant waste! All those hours and all that effort for something that happens so gloriously yet so briefly before it vanishes. There are traces and artifacts that litter our lives with nostalgia long after the events – a creature, or structure, or set-piece haunting the halls or garage – but as for the magical thing itself, it's here today, and gone tomorrow. Allie calls most of her art “ephemera,” things like parade floats and VBS hallways and, yes, lots of plays. As she points out in the program for this piece, it's a good reminder of what Isaiah 40 declares to those who listen for voices in the wilderness:   All flesh is grass,    and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades    when the breath of the Lord blows on it;    surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades,    but the word of our God will stand forever.That's the very word Isaiah tells the people to declare from Mount Zion, where we find Israel in our text this week at the absolute pinnacle of their own glory and power and beauty. The Kingdom will never again be this united and formidable. And yet, in just forty short years they will be torn in two, and after a couple of centuries of languishing, ultimately exiled. Basically wiped off the planet.So, how do we delight fully in the fleeting glory of our lives, with our eyes fixed on eternity and our feet planted firmly in the present? 1 Chronicles is here to speak encouragement to all of us exiles, as we also celebrate together the triumphal entry of the King of Exiles back into the capitol city!  

Tonight, my wife closes her production of Shakespeare's, “A Midsummer Night's Dream” at Westminster Academy. It's been a whirlwind of late nights, spilled paint, and teen tears, to produce a couple of hours of magic that will be almost completely erased by the time we worship together on Sunday. In some ways, it feels like an extravagant waste! All those hours and all that effort for something that happens so gloriously yet so briefly before it vanishes. There are traces and artifacts that litter our lives with nostalgia long after the events – a creature, or structure, or set-piece haunting the halls or garage – but as for the magical thing itself, it's here today, and gone tomorrow. Allie calls most of her art “ephemera,” things like parade floats and VBS hallways and, yes, lots of plays. As she points out in the program for this piece, it's a good reminder of what Isaiah 40 declares to those who listen for voices in the wilderness:   All flesh is grass,    and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades    when the breath of the Lord blows on it;    surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades,    but the word of our God will stand forever.That's the very word Isaiah tells the people to declare from Mount Zion, where we find Israel in our text this week at the absolute pinnacle of their own glory and power and beauty. The Kingdom will never again be this united and formidable. And yet, in just forty short years they will be torn in two, and after a couple of centuries of languishing, ultimately exiled. Basically wiped off the planet.So, how do we delight fully in the fleeting glory of our lives, with our eyes fixed on eternity and our feet planted firmly in the present? 1 Chronicles is here to speak encouragement to all of us exiles, as we also celebrate together the triumphal entry of the King of Exiles back into the capitol city!  

As Americans, we don't often think about the fact that it is practically a miracle the United States even exists. As children, we were born into a story of stability and prosperity, the likes of which the world has never seen. As we grew older and read history, we began to wonder that it actually did happen. Thirteen colonies, each with their own ideas of what government should look like, and also vastly different perspectives on slavery, taxation, and states' rights (verses a more centralized form of government). There was a lot of fear, if you were in the middle of it. I suppose the old saying is true, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Then, to overcome a superpower in battlefields drenched with blood to form a new nation—amazing.            It really gets fun then: how do we now live in solidarity together? Lot of fear there, as well. If you wonder why chapter 22 in I Chronicles (which we looked at last week) and chapters 28 and 29 (which we will look at this week and next) keep repeating the same things, with variations along the way, it is because there must be a lot of fear. Israel has no experience at nationhood. They have a king that has brought stability, unity, and economic and social stability like never before, but he is about to die. The heir, his son, is young and inexperienced (the words of his own dad). What could possibly go wrong?             So here we are, and King David confronts this fear as he assembles all the leaders of Israel together with his son and gives them a commission to build the temple. He is, in essence, securing the throne and temple. As we come to the conclusion of this epic portion of scripture, it all comes together.            I hope you will join us. It will be a great Sunday of celebration, as we receive new members to our family and also put the sign of God's covenant love and membership on our children. If that is not a recipe for joy unspeakable, then it is all lost on me!

As Americans, we don't often think about the fact that it is practically a miracle the United States even exists. As children, we were born into a story of stability and prosperity, the likes of which the world has never seen. As we grew older and read history, we began to wonder that it actually did happen. Thirteen colonies, each with their own ideas of what government should look like, and also vastly different perspectives on slavery, taxation, and states' rights (verses a more centralized form of government). There was a lot of fear, if you were in the middle of it. I suppose the old saying is true, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Then, to overcome a superpower in battlefields drenched with blood to form a new nation—amazing.            It really gets fun then: how do we now live in solidarity together? Lot of fear there, as well. If you wonder why chapter 22 in I Chronicles (which we looked at last week) and chapters 28 and 29 (which we will look at this week and next) keep repeating the same things, with variations along the way, it is because there must be a lot of fear. Israel has no experience at nationhood. They have a king that has brought stability, unity, and economic and social stability like never before, but he is about to die. The heir, his son, is young and inexperienced (the words of his own dad). What could possibly go wrong?             So here we are, and King David confronts this fear as he assembles all the leaders of Israel together with his son and gives them a commission to build the temple. He is, in essence, securing the throne and temple. As we come to the conclusion of this epic portion of scripture, it all comes together.            I hope you will join us. It will be a great Sunday of celebration, as we receive new members to our family and also put the sign of God's covenant love and membership on our children. If that is not a recipe for joy unspeakable, then it is all lost on me!