St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, EPC

People love rescue stories, we might even say it is built into our DNA. Every culture carries a rescue narrative of some sort. Rescue stories sell millions in movies and books because they tap into our deepest fears and deepest hopes. The tension, the drama, will they make it on time? Is it too late? The greater the danger, the sweeter the deliverance. We fear being abandoned, and we hope to be found. So, for instance, when a story, any story; fairytale or the story of a daring deliverance of someone held in bondage, it speaks to us at a gut level. The Bible, of course, is the ultimate rescue story. The first example is Israel out of slavery, but then ultimately, Jesus who rescues us from sin and death. But all throughout scripture, God's people seem to continually step into it, usually by their own sin, but sometimes, like Jesus, just by being righteous. How do we process that? How do we find hope in it? This week, we see God rescue his people in different ways, once dramatically, and the other time through suffering. Of course, all these stories are telling a better story of how God, at great cost to himself, ultimately rescues us and the whole world. That or something like that is what we will talk about. This Sunday, as rescued people, we come to celebrate King Jesus together. Speaking of celebration, we have several new members joining, and that is always a time of great thanksgiving and joy.

I was in the car taking Addy to school earlier this week. My mind was weighed down with grief. Death seemed everywhere. I was fearful to answer the phone. The last call was from a good friend whose brother had died. Funerals would be the fixtures of the coming week or so. Addy was playing music, which I didn't know, but then I told her, “Play Shaboozey, I need some good news.” A few seconds later, the familiar lyrics were playing.Man, what a hell of a year it's beenKeep on bluffin', but I just can't winDrowned my sorrow, but they learn to swim. Then he goes through the ways and places we go to numb or eradicate pain, when the brokenness of the world washes over you. Then the chorus, I need some good news! That sounds about right for the week and also for where we find ourselves in Micah. For four weeks, we have seen oracle after oracle of judgment falling on God's people, broken by their own sin and rebellion, and then suddenly out of nowhere we come to a glorious vision—Good news, for a people drowning in sorrow because their God-appointed leaders are leading them into exile. It is good news, it is water in a desert, manna in the wilderness, hope in a wasteland. It really is a practical, pastoral word to hurting people. There is a lot there. I hope you will join us Sunday as we hear, no wallow in good news! 

I was in the car taking Addy to school earlier this week. My mind was weighed down with grief. Death seemed everywhere. I was fearful to answer the phone. The last call was from a good friend whose brother had died. Funerals would be the fixtures of the coming week or so. Addy was playing music, which I didn't know, but then I told her, “Play Shaboozey, I need some good news.” A few seconds later, the familiar lyrics were playing.Man, what a hell of a year it's beenKeep on bluffin', but I just can't winDrowned my sorrow, but they learn to swim. Then he goes through the ways and places we go to numb or eradicate pain, when the brokenness of the world washes over you. Then the chorus, I need some good news! That sounds about right for the week and also for where we find ourselves in Micah. For four weeks, we have seen oracle after oracle of judgment falling on God's people, broken by their own sin and rebellion, and then suddenly out of nowhere we come to a glorious vision—Good news, for a people drowning in sorrow because their God-appointed leaders are leading them into exile. It is good news, it is water in a desert, manna in the wilderness, hope in a wasteland. It really is a practical, pastoral word to hurting people. There is a lot there. I hope you will join us Sunday as we hear, no wallow in good news! 

On the eve of the American Revolution, parliamentarian Edmund Burke is reported as having coined the term “the fourth estate” to describe the power of the press in holding the three legitimate estates (Clergy and Houses of Lords and Commons) to account for the uses and abuses of their power. By 1891, author and essayist Oscar Wilde was lamenting that the fourth estate already seemed to have swallowed up the other three, which had become entirely incompetent and incoherent. He claimed that the people were now “dominated by journalism.” (Wilde's conclusions about government were self-serving and misguided, but this observation seems to have been spot on.) Now, in the twenty-first century we've turned to what some call “the fifth estate,” the unofficial, decentralized vox populi (voice of the people), amplified by the internet and social media. To be sure, it often sounds less like one voice and more the clamor and distortion of a not-yet abandoned Babel.  Ok, so there's a little history lesson for you. But what does it have to do with our series? Everything, I think. On the eve of exile, Micah, too, raised his voice to speak for those who were being neglected by the official advocates of human flourishing. The kings' courts, the priesthood, and even the official prophetic class had abandoned truth and justice in favor of comfort. Micah was in some ways acting as a fourth estate, yet as we saw in his opening, this message was not a news broadcast or even a grassroots social media movement. This was not the vox populi, but the vox Dei – the very voice of God.  This week we will hear God's judgment on those who fail to use their positions to respond to the cries of the poor and powerless. We'll also see how Jesus, as always, ultimately fulfills this call and response from both ends. And I'm glad we've been reading through 1 Corinthians in the Soul Room, because it's a perfect word for how the body of Christ can take on this mantle and cry out with His voice to the wilderness noise in which we find ourselves today. 

On the eve of the American Revolution, parliamentarian Edmund Burke is reported as having coined the term “the fourth estate” to describe the power of the press in holding the three legitimate estates (Clergy and Houses of Lords and Commons) to account for the uses and abuses of their power. By 1891, author and essayist Oscar Wilde was lamenting that the fourth estate already seemed to have swallowed up the other three, which had become entirely incompetent and incoherent. He claimed that the people were now “dominated by journalism.” (Wilde's conclusions about government were self-serving and misguided, but this observation seems to have been spot on.) Now, in the twenty-first century we've turned to what some call “the fifth estate,” the unofficial, decentralized vox populi (voice of the people), amplified by the internet and social media. To be sure, it often sounds less like one voice and more the clamor and distortion of a not-yet abandoned Babel.  Ok, so there's a little history lesson for you. But what does it have to do with our series? Everything, I think. On the eve of exile, Micah, too, raised his voice to speak for those who were being neglected by the official advocates of human flourishing. The kings' courts, the priesthood, and even the official prophetic class had abandoned truth and justice in favor of comfort. Micah was in some ways acting as a fourth estate, yet as we saw in his opening, this message was not a news broadcast or even a grassroots social media movement. This was not the vox populi, but the vox Dei – the very voice of God.  This week we will hear God's judgment on those who fail to use their positions to respond to the cries of the poor and powerless. We'll also see how Jesus, as always, ultimately fulfills this call and response from both ends. And I'm glad we've been reading through 1 Corinthians in the Soul Room, because it's a perfect word for how the body of Christ can take on this mantle and cry out with His voice to the wilderness noise in which we find ourselves today. 

What a week, and it still isn't over. So let me say first of all, we will have worship this Sunday! I don't know about you, but I can't wait. All other Sunday events are canceled (Sunday school and Youth). While the main roads are fine and the parking lot is now cleared of snow and ice, neighborhoods are still rough, and the temperature will make this condition persist. Our staff is in agreement that it is best to restart Sunday school and Youth the following week, when we can come out of the gate strong. As I watched this week play out, I was reminded of what Lee Trevino, the great golfer, said when he was struck by lightning on the 13th hole of a golf tournament. When asked what he learned from the experience, he thought a minute and said, “If God wants to play through, you get out of the way.” That is about right. We witnessed that this week. No one, it seems, can stop the wheels of progress but the Almighty. And grind us to a halt, He did. Kids out of school all week? I thought the 1994 ice storm was bad, but it was followed by warm weather. This just goes on and on. On Sunday, we are in Micah and contemplating perhaps the most gruesome and realistic picture of what is happening in certain types of sin. It is actually likened to a feast, not like you think, it is the people of God being devoured. I call this sermon Ninth Level, because what Micah pictures happening is where Dante puts the worst sort of sinners in The Inferno. The Inferno is not a theological work, but Micah will agree he got this one right. But as awful as the prophetic word is sometimes, it comes from Micah out of a heart that longs to see his people repent—with tears. His words are harsh on suburban ears, but are a severe mercy we might say. Sometimes it takes a lot to wake up the dead! That is what we see often in the prophets.

What a week, and it still isn't over. So let me say first of all, we will have worship this Sunday! I don't know about you, but I can't wait. All other Sunday events are canceled (Sunday school and Youth). While the main roads are fine and the parking lot is now cleared of snow and ice, neighborhoods are still rough, and the temperature will make this condition persist. Our staff is in agreement that it is best to restart Sunday school and Youth the following week, when we can come out of the gate strong. As I watched this week play out, I was reminded of what Lee Trevino, the great golfer, said when he was struck by lightning on the 13th hole of a golf tournament. When asked what he learned from the experience, he thought a minute and said, “If God wants to play through, you get out of the way.” That is about right. We witnessed that this week. No one, it seems, can stop the wheels of progress but the Almighty. And grind us to a halt, He did. Kids out of school all week? I thought the 1994 ice storm was bad, but it was followed by warm weather. This just goes on and on. On Sunday, we are in Micah and contemplating perhaps the most gruesome and realistic picture of what is happening in certain types of sin. It is actually likened to a feast, not like you think, it is the people of God being devoured. I call this sermon Ninth Level, because what Micah pictures happening is where Dante puts the worst sort of sinners in The Inferno. The Inferno is not a theological work, but Micah will agree he got this one right. But as awful as the prophetic word is sometimes, it comes from Micah out of a heart that longs to see his people repent—with tears. His words are harsh on suburban ears, but are a severe mercy we might say. Sometimes it takes a lot to wake up the dead! That is what we see often in the prophets.

When we first meet Ebenezer Scrooge, he is a bitter, miserable, and isolated man. He didn't just wake up like this, no, there was a progression. Thanks to the three ghosts, we see his backstory, and it is a slow slide into the bent and twisted man we see. We see it is his coveting of wealth. As a young boy, his desire for wealth poisons his life. He doesn't mourn his recently dead partner because now he has his wealth. He doesn't mourn the economic reversal that brings his leaseholders to him, but rejoices because he can foreclose on them and add their wealth to his own.Similarly, Israel didn't just come to the brink of exile in a day, and Micah says it starts with covetousness. It seems innocent enough, a sin of the mind and all, no one hurt, and yet as Micah fleshes out, it leads to exploitation, ruin, and misery to hopes of God's people. And further, those who exploit others were actually added by the false prophets and preachers of the day as they baptized the debauchery with honeyed words. As Paul David Tripp says, “Your ears listen for what your heart craves".But Israel, like Scrooge, has hope. Thank God for that, even us in the depths of our sins are laced with God wishing good things for us.We will talk about this Sunday, hope to see you there. Also, pray for our youth this weekend. Almost sixty youth and leaders will be in Arkansas on their annual retreat. Pray that the Holy Spirit would move in their hearts and that they would also be safe. Many are also praying they won't get snowed in. (I suppose some parents are hoping they do!)

When we first meet Ebenezer Scrooge, he is a bitter, miserable, and isolated man. He didn't just wake up like this, no, there was a progression. Thanks to the three ghosts, we see his backstory, and it is a slow slide into the bent and twisted man we see. We see it is his coveting of wealth. As a young boy, his desire for wealth poisons his life. He doesn't mourn his recently dead partner because now he has his wealth. He doesn't mourn the economic reversal that brings his leaseholders to him, but rejoices because he can foreclose on them and add their wealth to his own.Similarly, Israel didn't just come to the brink of exile in a day, and Micah says it starts with covetousness. It seems innocent enough, a sin of the mind and all, no one hurt, and yet as Micah fleshes out, it leads to exploitation, ruin, and misery to hopes of God's people. And further, those who exploit others were actually added by the false prophets and preachers of the day as they baptized the debauchery with honeyed words. As Paul David Tripp says, “Your ears listen for what your heart craves".But Israel, like Scrooge, has hope. Thank God for that, even us in the depths of our sins are laced with God wishing good things for us.We will talk about this Sunday, hope to see you there. Also, pray for our youth this weekend. Almost sixty youth and leaders will be in Arkansas on their annual retreat. Pray that the Holy Spirit would move in their hearts and that they would also be safe. Many are also praying they won't get snowed in. (I suppose some parents are hoping they do!)

I don't know if this is true or not but I have often said, sort of in jest and with a seriousness that only comes from learning the language of prayer from the Psalms, “If I in a pastoral prayer on a Sunday Morning, prayed the language of some of the Psalms verbatim as if I had written, people would think I had lost my faith.”I actually had this happen to me as Teri and I met some dear friends for supper when we were on Sabbatical a few years ago. These were good friends, people we had mentored years ago. Because we were good friends, we spoke in the language of the heart. I shared my heart on some very hard things. I was speaking in unfiltered, raw, psalter-like language; not vulgar or coarse language, my wife was there, but it was graphic and raw. After a period of time, one of them asked me, “Do you still love God?” To which I laughed and said, “Of course, why do you think I can talk like that? I am sort of lamenting toward hope.”I say all that because I think we have lost much in missing the language of lament, and that makes us lesser people, or sentimental people perhaps, or maybe just in denial about the way things often are in a fallen world. This Sunday, we get Micah's heart as he looks upon the smoking ruins coming toward Jerusalem—The City of God, and tries to square that with God's promise. It comes out in lament. This Sunday, we will talk about it. Hard stuff, but in the end, a great grace to us.

I don't know if this is true or not but I have often said, sort of in jest and with a seriousness that only comes from learning the language of prayer from the Psalms, “If I in a pastoral prayer on a Sunday Morning, prayed the language of some of the Psalms verbatim as if I had written, people would think I had lost my faith.”I actually had this happen to me as Teri and I met some dear friends for supper when we were on Sabbatical a few years ago. These were good friends, people we had mentored years ago. Because we were good friends, we spoke in the language of the heart. I shared my heart on some very hard things. I was speaking in unfiltered, raw, psalter-like language; not vulgar or coarse language, my wife was there, but it was graphic and raw. After a period of time, one of them asked me, “Do you still love God?” To which I laughed and said, “Of course, why do you think I can talk like that? I am sort of lamenting toward hope.”I say all that because I think we have lost much in missing the language of lament, and that makes us lesser people, or sentimental people perhaps, or maybe just in denial about the way things often are in a fallen world. This Sunday, we get Micah's heart as he looks upon the smoking ruins coming toward Jerusalem—The City of God, and tries to square that with God's promise. It comes out in lament. This Sunday, we will talk about it. Hard stuff, but in the end, a great grace to us.

Doomsday PreppersAfter a month or so of holiday feasting, hosting family, and reconnecting with old friends, our thoughts begin to turn once again to inboxes, deadlines, and other deferred responsibilities. Maybe some still make their New Year's resolutions, but for the most part we tend to just settle back into the everyday duties that make up our lives. The mundane. Except, maybe there's a touch of some inspiration, that this year could be different somehow. Call it superstition, or a connection to the rhythmic nature of our embodied existence. I call it hope.  Over the break, I've been watching back through the (now) classic television series The West Wing. It's a fantasy about what it might be like to live in an America where statesmen (even those with whom we most ardently disagree) are brilliant and idealistic, striving with nobility and wit to put politics on the backburner and principles at the forefront. Like I said, a fantasy. But hope is not an ethereal thing. Hope resides, not in whimsy, but in real objects with power to bring justice to the wrongs of our world. Speaking hope is putting our mouths where our money is: in the treasury of eternity.  In our sermon series over the next few months, we're going to follow Micah, a contemporary of Isaiah, as he challenges the people of Israel to consider the hope that drives our sense of justice, and of mercy. He will charge us to walk humbly before our God, who is not far off but near. Even in the shadow of a coming exile, Micah puts pressure on the leaders of his day to live and lead as though the Messiah really is coming, and soon, to restore a remnant under his rule. It's that kind of hope that can transform our daily lives into redeeming signs of the Kingdom today. A New Year of Our Lord is at hand!

Doomsday PreppersAfter a month or so of holiday feasting, hosting family, and reconnecting with old friends, our thoughts begin to turn once again to inboxes, deadlines, and other deferred responsibilities. Maybe some still make their New Year's resolutions, but for the most part we tend to just settle back into the everyday duties that make up our lives. The mundane. Except, maybe there's a touch of some inspiration, that this year could be different somehow. Call it superstition, or a connection to the rhythmic nature of our embodied existence. I call it hope.  Over the break, I've been watching back through the (now) classic television series The West Wing. It's a fantasy about what it might be like to live in an America where statesmen (even those with whom we most ardently disagree) are brilliant and idealistic, striving with nobility and wit to put politics on the backburner and principles at the forefront. Like I said, a fantasy. But hope is not an ethereal thing. Hope resides, not in whimsy, but in real objects with power to bring justice to the wrongs of our world. Speaking hope is putting our mouths where our money is: in the treasury of eternity.  In our sermon series over the next few months, we're going to follow Micah, a contemporary of Isaiah, as he challenges the people of Israel to consider the hope that drives our sense of justice, and of mercy. He will charge us to walk humbly before our God, who is not far off but near. Even in the shadow of a coming exile, Micah puts pressure on the leaders of his day to live and lead as though the Messiah really is coming, and soon, to restore a remnant under his rule. It's that kind of hope that can transform our daily lives into redeeming signs of the Kingdom today. A New Year of Our Lord is at hand!

Jim and I have bonded in many ways over the past decade, but one of our primary understandings comes from where we were raised. Frasier and Cordova have similar reputations. Each might have been a nice place to raise a family at one time, but somewhere along the way, right underneath us, the neighborhood “took a turn.” At least that's the story people tell. He and I both share a bit of pleasure in the romance of being “from” somewhere with a bit of grit to it. There's no denying that you can take the boy out of a place, but you can't take the place out of the boy. And, speaking for myself, I always hold out hope in the back of my heart for a sort of renaissance for my hometown. I'm not sure whether I could be helpful to that, but I'd love to see it.  One small biographical detail in my story, seems like an accident in some ways, is that I was actually born in Augusta, Georgia. I have no connection to that place – it's just where my dad had a job when I happened to be born. We moved back to our roots in Shelby County a couple of years later and I have no memories of it. Yet it still holds a bit of power over me. Each year, when the Master's Tournament is held and all eyes turn toward the azaleas and dogwoods of the Augusta National Golf Course, I feel a bit of unjustified pride. There's just some connection for me there that I will never quite shake. This week, we're going to bridge our Advent sermons to the next series we're doing – a walk through the prophet Micah. It all has to do with the birthplace of the firstborn. Micah 5:2 was the indicator to Herod and the Magi of where to find this new Firstborn King. And as in all other great literature, the setting is not arbitrary. If the only person in history who ever decided where to be born picked Bethlehem, we should probably take note and start asking some questions about its significance. So, let's do that together on this 4th day of Christmas. - js

We have been reading Ann Voskamp's book, Unwrapping the Greatest Gift for our family Advent readings this year. It is awesome walking through the promises of the coming King in the long, long time of waiting. Because that is what Advent is, waiting in anticipation and hope. While Jesus has come and his kingdom is coming right now, we still wait for the fullness of his reign to be realized. Anyway, a couple of days ago, at the end of the reading, Voskamp says this, “It's coming—the Kingdom's coming in little and small and unexpected ways. And the King is coming to rule the world and make all the sad things untrue and all the bad things come undone.” A simple and true statement of both the “now” of Jesus' Kingdom reign and the “not yet” of his coming reign. Paul ends his theological explanation of who Jesus is and why he came by sounding this future hope—one day Jesus will reconcile to himself all things. That is real, tangible, get in your bones—hope. Not hope as a wish, but hope realized and already accomplished, yet awaiting some future time known only to God. Can we trust him with that? Does that grip us? Does that have moral and ethical implications for how we live now? These are the questions we wrestle with this Sunday. I will give you a hint. On the one hand, it is a truth that is the most comforting thing in the world, and yet when we believe it and are shaped by it, it totally takes us out of our comfort zone and into another world—his world. Well, you know what that world looks like if you peer into the story of the Incarnation. I can't wait to talk about it with you this Sunday.

We have been reading Ann Voskamp's book, Unwrapping the Greatest Gift for our family Advent readings this year. It is awesome walking through the promises of the coming King in the long, long time of waiting. Because that is what Advent is, waiting in anticipation and hope. While Jesus has come and his kingdom is coming right now, we still wait for the fullness of his reign to be realized. Anyway, a couple of days ago, at the end of the reading, Voskamp says this, “It's coming—the Kingdom's coming in little and small and unexpected ways. And the King is coming to rule the world and make all the sad things untrue and all the bad things come undone.” A simple and true statement of both the “now” of Jesus' Kingdom reign and the “not yet” of his coming reign. Paul ends his theological explanation of who Jesus is and why he came by sounding this future hope—one day Jesus will reconcile to himself all things. That is real, tangible, get in your bones—hope. Not hope as a wish, but hope realized and already accomplished, yet awaiting some future time known only to God. Can we trust him with that? Does that grip us? Does that have moral and ethical implications for how we live now? These are the questions we wrestle with this Sunday. I will give you a hint. On the one hand, it is a truth that is the most comforting thing in the world, and yet when we believe it and are shaped by it, it totally takes us out of our comfort zone and into another world—his world. Well, you know what that world looks like if you peer into the story of the Incarnation. I can't wait to talk about it with you this Sunday.

Winston Churchill made a statement that many might debate. Right after he was elected Prime Minister of Britain, Germany had just brought their eastern ally, France, to heel and forced the evacuation of almost their whole army from Europe. In a famous speech to the House of Commons, he basically said, If we stand against this overwhelming force and if Britain lasts for another thousand years, “this would be their finest hour.” That is their most notable hour, their supreme hour. Britain has had many great hours, many glorious achievements. Yet, he is singling out this moment as preeminent among many great moments.I say debated because preeminence means nothing exceeds or excels it. Nothing can surpass it in glory or importance. This is the time of year in a couple of weeks when people who love music, sports, memes, and whatever you're interested in will debate on the radio, on talk shows, in countdowns, what was preeminent, what was the most outstanding, the most memorable of the last year. We love to do this because what is most prominent in anything is weighty and glorious, and we all love glory.I note this because after Paul has run through the many excellencies of Christ and he is looking for a word to sum it all up, he says, “in all things he is preeminent!” This Sunday is the third week of Advent, and as we ponder the joy Jesus brings, it is mostly reserved for those who have found out that Jesus really is preeminent in their lives. Hope to see you Sunday! 

Winston Churchill made a statement that many might debate. Right after he was elected Prime Minister of Britain, Germany had just brought their eastern ally, France, to heel and forced the evacuation of almost their whole army from Europe. In a famous speech to the House of Commons, he basically said, If we stand against this overwhelming force and if Britain lasts for another thousand years, “this would be their finest hour.” That is their most notable hour, their supreme hour. Britain has had many great hours, many glorious achievements. Yet, he is singling out this moment as preeminent among many great moments.I say debated because preeminence means nothing exceeds or excels it. Nothing can surpass it in glory or importance. This is the time of year in a couple of weeks when people who love music, sports, memes, and whatever you're interested in will debate on the radio, on talk shows, in countdowns, what was preeminent, what was the most outstanding, the most memorable of the last year. We love to do this because what is most prominent in anything is weighty and glorious, and we all love glory.I note this because after Paul has run through the many excellencies of Christ and he is looking for a word to sum it all up, he says, “in all things he is preeminent!” This Sunday is the third week of Advent, and as we ponder the joy Jesus brings, it is mostly reserved for those who have found out that Jesus really is preeminent in their lives. Hope to see you Sunday! 

I've never known whether to call myself a firstborn or not. I have an older half-sister, and the dynamic has always been ambiguous. Now, she and I have historically gotten along very well. She was fun and I was precocious, so there was much mischievous benefit in our truces. The exceptions to that rule were the occasions when we were deciding who gets to be in charge. Our little sister was also under the impression that fortune favors the bold, and she threw her own elbows quite frequently. (Being the baby of the family holds its own lore.) Add to this the fact that all our cousins were next door and across the street, and the gang's organization often closely resembled the bloody power struggles of medieval England.  Birth order dynamics have shifted a bit over the years in America as we've wrestled out what it means to live in a democracy, but it's still a part of everyday social discourse. Regardless of who's in the national Congress this term, firstborn daughters in particular seem to have united online in the shared struggle against chaos in their extended families. The conversation seems to revolve around the felt burden of being the one people are looking to; laying extra responsibility upon; maybe the only one who could care as much as Mom or Grandma once did. I'm not a psychologist, but it looks like a pattern to me, bearing itself out even when we're far from home.   Closer to my field, we see the Bible is not silent on this issue. Sibling striving forms perhaps the strongest negative theme in all of Scripture. Certainly, it's where sin seems to hit home first and hardest. From Cain and Abel through the prodigal son and his elder brother, the resounding testimony is that our cosmic conflicts start in the nursery. I mean, 4000 years later Ishmael and Israel are still making the news headlines.  This Sunday of Advent traditionally deals with the theme of peace, born into the world as a Firstborn Prince. Colossians 1 joins the chorus of Scriptural texts about how there can be only one Firstborn, and what a difference it makes who that person is, and what he does with his siblings! I hope to see you there. 

I've never known whether to call myself a firstborn or not. I have an older half-sister, and the dynamic has always been ambiguous. Now, she and I have historically gotten along very well. She was fun and I was precocious, so there was much mischievous benefit in our truces. The exceptions to that rule were the occasions when we were deciding who gets to be in charge. Our little sister was also under the impression that fortune favors the bold, and she threw her own elbows quite frequently. (Being the baby of the family holds its own lore.) Add to this the fact that all our cousins were next door and across the street, and the gang's organization often closely resembled the bloody power struggles of medieval England.  Birth order dynamics have shifted a bit over the years in America as we've wrestled out what it means to live in a democracy, but it's still a part of everyday social discourse. Regardless of who's in the national Congress this term, firstborn daughters in particular seem to have united online in the shared struggle against chaos in their extended families. The conversation seems to revolve around the felt burden of being the one people are looking to; laying extra responsibility upon; maybe the only one who could care as much as Mom or Grandma once did. I'm not a psychologist, but it looks like a pattern to me, bearing itself out even when we're far from home.   Closer to my field, we see the Bible is not silent on this issue. Sibling striving forms perhaps the strongest negative theme in all of Scripture. Certainly, it's where sin seems to hit home first and hardest. From Cain and Abel through the prodigal son and his elder brother, the resounding testimony is that our cosmic conflicts start in the nursery. I mean, 4000 years later Ishmael and Israel are still making the news headlines.  This Sunday of Advent traditionally deals with the theme of peace, born into the world as a Firstborn Prince. Colossians 1 joins the chorus of Scriptural texts about how there can be only one Firstborn, and what a difference it makes who that person is, and what he does with his siblings! I hope to see you there. 

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!

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.