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[This message was delivered on 11.10.24 at Central Presbyterian Church, Geneseo NY, based on Mark 12:38-44. A video of it can found on that church’s webpage.]

        

You invite me to preach here for the first time on the Sunday after All Saints Sunday and the Sunday before your stewardship Sunday with dedication of the pledges for 2025. I feel the weight of it. You invite me to preach here for the first time on a Sunday in which the lectionary gospel text is about some not so good scribes and a poor widow who gives her last two cents to the temple treasury where the not so good scribes work. I feel the weight of it. I am reminded of a story of a pastor that announced to the congregation one fine Sunday, perhaps in November during stewardship season: “I have here in my hands four sermons: a $10,000 sermon that lasts five minutes; a $5,000 sermon that lasts fifteen minutes, a $1,000 sermon that lasts a full hour; and a penny sermon that lasts till noon. Now, we’ll take the collection before the sermon, have it counted while we sing a hymn, and see which one you want.”

This is no easy assignment. At the end of it you may want me to go back a week and join the heavenly company of all the saints. Or you may want me to come back next Sunday, not as your preacher, but as the main course for the stewardship lunch. Serving roast preacher might increase the pledges!

I love this passage, but not in a simple, easy way. There is an edge to it, an ouch to anyone who might be a religious leader, like me. It gives us two short sections, not easily related, except both feature religious leaders and both mention widows. Those leaders were called scribes. They were educated; they could read and write, which made them somewhat elite. They studied the Torah, the written law of God, which we call the Old Testament or Hebrew scriptures. They wore white robes, which commanded respect from the faithful and set them a step or two higher than most people. Hence, I am wearing my white alb this morning. Anyone could have worn white this morning and anyone could have worn a white robe. But you didn’t and I did. When I put this on, shortly before worship, I am reminded that I am a person under orders. I have studied scripture long and carefully and have earned some degrees. And therein is a danger. Religious leaders can be dangerous. Ask Jesus. I don’t want to be the kind of scribe Jesus describes.

Jesus is pretty harsh on scribes. He often pairs them with the Pharisees. The scribes and Pharisees of Jesus’ time knew God’s law backwards and forwards, but in most cases they were devoid of love and grace. They loved their lofty status. As this passage notes, they took advantage of widows and loved to be in places of authority. They said long prayers to be seen and heard by the people they were to serve, with no regard for the God they were supposed to be loving and serving. They were the ultimate religious leaders and they gave religion an exceedingly bad name. We still have scribes around today, people, usually men, that twist religion from something beautiful into something ugly. There are church leaders today that live in palatial homes, drive the most expensive cars, and even have their own jet planes. I am sympathetic to the millions of people today that say they are spiritual but not religious. I am sympathetic to millions of people today that say they like Jesus, but have no interest in church, in organized religion. I have worked for the Church, for organized religion, most of my adult life—and I am often somewhere between disappointed and troubled by the Church, by organized religion. Instead of being so organized, I wish we were more organically authentic. Instead of being so right about our doctrines, I wish we were more righteous in the pursuit of justice for the downtrodden. I do not want to be known as scribe, but as a sinner saved by grace, a wandering lamb that has been returned to the fold by the Good Shepherd.

Jesus said to his disciples, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.” Ouch.

In some ways, that is the easier part of this passage. Part two sounds great at first, then gets too close for comfort for a solidly middle-class citizen like me. The setting seems to be the Temple in Jerusalem, since Mark sets this squarely in what we call Holy Week, the week that culminates in the betrayal, suffering, and crucifixion of our Lord. Knowing that will add to its gut punch. The Temple was like a great cathedral set in the center of the city. It was easy to observe people coming and going and honoring religious rituals. Think of St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue in the heart of New York City. When my daughters were young, we usually made an early December shopping trip to the city, visiting the tree in Rockefeller Center and the windows of the department stores on Fifth Avenue. We would look forward to stepping into St. Patrick’s Cathedral, sitting for a while, and watching people come in to pray, light candles, cross themselves, and genuflect. In addition to a few minutes of rest, I found it moving to see people in this crazy, bustling city coming in to express their faith in acts of devotion. And there were collection boxes near where candles were lit and by the entrances. They weren’t charging admission, but receiving gifts of gratitude. I might even reach into my pocket and pull out some loose change and maybe a few small bills and drop them into those collection boxes as an act of gratitude for this magnificent cathedral plucked down right into the heart of the city.

Now we have a picture of Jesus entering the Temple courts with his disciples and sitting down for a few minutes of quiet rest. Jesus sees rich people putting in large gifts. He makes no comment, no judgment. He just watches this parade of scattered people. Then he sees a poor widow enter. How does he know she is a poor widow? He could tell, as we likely could. Widows had a tough lot back then. There was no social safety net. They were dependent on having some living relatives, ideally a son or two, with the means to support them, to take them in. If they didn’t have some living relatives, ideally a son or two, with the means to support them, to take them in, they were usually destitute, consigned to begging and finding some kind of shelter for sleep, as the homeless do today. The temple courtyards provided such a place.

Jesus fixes his attention on her. She humbly approaches the collection box. She clutches two little coins in one hand. How does Jesus know there are two coins? Because he is watching intently and anyone listening could hear two coins bouncing in the collection box. Jesus calls his disciples close to him and puts the spotlight on a poor unnamed widow. Look at her, he says. She gets it. She sets the pace for the economy of generosity. Her humble gift far exceeds the showy large gifts that represent no sacrifice, no love, no gratitude, no heart.

Now listen to this passage, both parts, from “The Message,” a popular paraphrase of the Bible: He continued teaching. “Watch out for the religion scholars. They love to walk around in academic gowns, preening in the radiance of public flattery, basking in prominent positions, sitting at the head table at every church function. And all the time they are exploiting the weak and helpless. The longer their prayers, the worse they get. But they’ll pay for it in the end.” Sitting across from the offering box, he was observing how the crowd tossed money in for the collection. Many of the rich were making large contributions. One poor widow came up and put in two small coins—a measly two cents. Jesus called his disciples over and said, “The truth is that this poor widow gave more to the collection than all the others put together. All the others gave what they’ll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn’t afford—she gave her all.”

In just a few days in Mark’s gospel, Jesus will give his own two small copper coins, his very life, to God. His hands will be unclenched by large spikes. He will hold nothing back. At the end of her sermon on this passage, Barbara Brown Taylor, one of my favorite preachers, gives us this assignment. Sit down somewhere where people are coming and going. Watch quietly. Look for the people on the edges, the ones it would be easy to overlook. Not the leaders with their white flowing robes, or tailored suits, or the latest fashions. Crunch your eyes and look and ask, “Where is Jesus in this picture?” Could it be that Jesus comes to us in the guise of a poor unnamed widow?

[This message was delivered at John Calvin Presbyterian Church, Henrietta, NY, on September 15, 2024, based on James 3:1-12.]

The irony is not lost on me today. I have made my living as a pastor and preacher by using my tongue to speak to people. In my retirement from being a pastor, I have taught over a hundred students preaching at the seminary level. It is, then, a bit bracing to read these words from James 3: “Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will face stricter judgment.” I will face stricter judgment. “The Message,” my favorite paraphrase of the Bible, says it this way, “Teaching is highly responsible work. Teachers are held to the strictest standards. And none of us is perfectly qualified. We get it wrong nearly every time we open our mouths.” 

In 51 days we will have a national election, with all 435 House of Representatives, 34 Senate seats, and the president and vice-president on the ballot. Of course, the presidency is the big one: we will have a new president on January 20. We will be bombarded with words these seven weeks, many of them rather negative. Two weeks ago, the lectionary had us reading a section or James 1. I was preaching at another presbyterian church and told them what I am telling you now. In my preparations, James 1:19 jumped out at me: “let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.” I decided that I would keep that wisdom with me every day of this election season. I am listening to candidates for office. I am listening to the candidates for our district for the house; I am listening to the candidates for the senate; and I am listening to the candidates for president and vice president. I am listening for respectful dialog, for vision for our future. Like TV psychologist Frasier Crane, I am listening.

“Let everyone be quick to listen…” and this morning I am speaking. You invited me to come and be your preacher today, something I have done here many times and always enjoyed being with you. You are excellent listeners and you always encourage me. I accept this privilege of speaking to you with great care. I want to be faithful to God and to God’s written word, the Bible, and to our Lord Jesus. James 3 warns me to bridle my tongue and use it only for good.

The tongue is a muscular organ that has a number of functions. It helps us to eat food. It helps keep our teeth and mouths clean. It gives us taste. My taste buds stopped developing somewhere in my late childhood. How do I know that? My tastes still lean toward everything sweet. The only way I could drink coffee would be to add so much milk and sugar that it would be milkshake. So instead, I’ll just have a real milkshake in any flavor except coffee. I’m just not very interested in so-called adult drinks.

And the tongue enables us to talk, which is the concern of James. My tongue is enabling me to talk with you right now. That is the way James is using the word tongue in this passage. The actual word is used four times, but the pronoun “it” is used for the tongue another five times. There is no other passage of this length in the Bible that refers as much to the tongue as the instrument of speech. The essence of what James is teaching us is that if our tongues are not bridled and controlled, they do great harm.

My mother taught me two things about the tongue. The first was never to stick my tongue out at another person. That is offensive and mean. The second was in the form of a little poem: “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” The first half of that is correct. Sticks and stones may break our bones. I broke some ribs when I tripped on the root of a tree on a hiking trail. But the second half is wrong. Being called names can build us up and encourage us, if the names are true and lovingly spoken. But being called names in a negative way can hurt us deeply, more than sticks and stones. Names that belittle us, mock us, make fun of us, names that are untruthful and spoken in derision can harm us. Beware of negative name calling, whether by parents, preachers, or politicians. Rather, let’s engage in positive name calling. With our friends and co-workers. If we are married, with our spouses. If we are parents, with our children. If we are grandparents, with our grandchildren. With our neighbors. With strangers and refugees and immigrants. Let’s use our tongues to bless and encourage others. All others.

James warns us to bridle our tongues and use them to build up and not tear down. To encourage and not discourage, to tell truth and not lies, to honor God with our words and our actions. Peter is one of my favorite followers of Jesus. I relate to him because he was always ready to do whatever was needed and often bungled it. When Jesus was facing betrayal and death, Peter had three chances to speak his love for Jesus publicly and he failed to do so three times. But he got it right his day. “Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.’” (Mark 8:29)Yea, Peter. And Peter got it right after Jesus was raised from the dead, when he renewed his love for Jesus publicly three times. Yea, Peter. Words carry power.

In Romans 10, Paul writes, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.For one believes with the heart, leading to righteousness, and one confesses with the mouth, leading to salvation.” Words rightly spoken have that power. Confessing means speaking in agreement. The Gospel calls us to get our hearts and our words in agreement.

Back to James 3 and me. I have this glorious privilege on two to three Sundays most months to stand before a congregation and proclaim the Good News of Jesus. I hear the warning of James to be a faithful teacher and preacher and use my tongue to honor and glorify God and encourage you to do the same. Now I am going to do something I don’t usually do. In a moment, I will stop speaking and quiet my tongue and give us two full minutes of silence for all of us to think about how we use our tongues…. Words rightly spoken have great power to do great good.

[This message was delivered at Ogden Presbyterian Church, Spencerport NY, on September 1, 2024, based on James 1:17-27.]

“Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.” James 1:19

I love the drama of changing seasons, and this is such a rich time for changing seasons. Labor Day usually brings a cooldown. Five days ago we hit just about 90 degrees; tomorrow will be in the 60s. Baseball is heading into its homestretch and my Red Sox are struggling. Pro football is beginning and I think this is the year the Bills win the Super Bowl. My cherry tree has been dropping leaves every day the last week. Sweet corn is still sweet, but not for much longer. My two apple trees are showing red fruit getting redder and larger each day. The sun is setting earlier every day and soon we’ll be wearing sweaters. And for the next 65 days, we will be in another season, that will culminate on November 5. Most leaves will have fallen and we will have had a first frost. Trick or treating will be over, but we’ll still be eating the candies not taken. Pumpkins and dried cornstalks will grace our porches. The world’s oldest continuous democracy will elect a new president. Between now and then, we will experience a lot of political tension. Unless we ignore our civic duty.

I hope we will not do that. God has ordained civic government. Romans 13 begins, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God.” That doesn’t mean that God hand picks every government official or that God is pleased with every governing authority, but God ordains government to bring order society and God cares about politics because God cares about people. Many of the biblical prophecies in the Old Testament prophets called out bad government and called the faithful of Israel to resist bad government and support good government. That prophetic theme is caught well in Amos 5:24: “But let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” God cares about government that brings justice and righteousness.

Pastors are wise not to preach partisan politics to their congregations and never to mix church and partisan politics. I served a congregation for 38 years that had Republicans and Democrats and independents in it. I never told them my party affiliation and I never told them which candidates to vote for. Our concern was to be faithful to our calling as citizens of God’s kingdom, as we prayed together every Sunday, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.” Under God, we are called to be good citizens of our nation. I fully expect that this congregation is like the one I served, with people identifying as Democrats, Republicans, or independents. You don’t come to worship on Sunday morning to hear your pastor bless one party and denounce the other. You come to be reminded of our primary citizenship, which Paul names in Philippians 3:20, “But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

So I say clearly and emphatically, God is not a Republican or a Democrat. God is the sovereign of the universe and creator of all people on this planet. God cares deeply about how people are governed. I preach from the common lectionary, which thousands of churches follow. I read the lectionary passages last Monday. In my first reading of James 1, these words jumped out at me: “Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger,for human anger does not produce God’s righteousness.” (James 1:19-20) My first response was that is how I want to treat this election season. My second thought was that I should share that with you.

While you don’t want me to get into partisan politics—and I won’t—you do want me to be faithful to God’s word in the Bible. That I will seek to do. While you don’t want me to tell you for whom to vote—and I won’t—you do want me to tell you how to live faithfully. And that I will seek to do. Our passage in James begins by establishing God as the source of every good gift. “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” God creates us and we respond. God shares with us and we respond. God saves us and we respond. We respond by being “quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.” Let’s respond to the tension of this election season and a politically divided country by being “quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.” In “The Message” this is translated, “Lead with your ears, follow up with your tongue, and let anger straggle along in the rear.” It’s like a dance step: quick, slow, slow.

These are actions. James reminds us to hear God’s word actively. “But be doers of the word and not merely hearers.” That is the essence of religion in the New Testament. The English word religion occurs in the New Testament only a handful of times and only in James 1 are we given a definition. That definition doesn’t mention worship on Sundays, or sacraments, or tithes and offerings, or choirs and hymns. That definition begins with a negative—what true religion is not—and then follows with the positive:“If any think they are religious and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained by the world.”

This is the heart of true religion: caring for one’s soul and caring for the needs of others. It is caught in the Old Testament in Micah 6:8, “He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?” When some Pharisees, extremely religious folks, asked Jesus what the greatest commandment was, Jesus summed it simply: “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

In an intense election season, which we have entered and will endure for 65 days, nothing is more important than to hear God’s word and then do God’s word; to care for widows and orphans and anyone in in need and keep our souls unstained by the world; to love God with heart and soul and mind—our whole beings—and love our neighbors as ourselves; to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger. This is the only kind of religion that matters a hoot to God.

[This message was delivered at Perinton Presbyterian Church on June 23, 2024, based on Mark 4:35-41.]

Late that day he said to them, “Let’s go across to the other side.” They took him in the boat as he was. Other boats came along. A huge storm came up. Waves poured into the boat, threatening to sink it. And Jesus was in the stern, head on a pillow, sleeping! They roused him, saying, “Teacher, is it nothing to you that we’re going down?”

Awake now, he told the wind to pipe down and said to the sea, “Quiet! Settle down!” The wind ran out of breath; the sea became smooth as glass. Jesus reprimanded the disciples: “Why are you such cowards? Don’t you have any faith at all?”

They were in absolute awe, staggered. “Who is this, anyway?” they asked. “Wind and sea at his beck and call!” (Mark 4:35-41, in “The Message.”)

If I could have a dollar for every time I have been asked to pray for good weather, I’d be a wealthy person. “Pastor, will you pray that we will have good weather for the picnic?” No. “Pastor, will you pray for good weather for our daughter’s softball game?” No. “Pastor, will you pray that the heat wave will break?” No. (Well, maybe.) I have a stock answer to such appeals. With all that is wrong in our world—the scourge of disease, wars, hunger, racism, millions of refugees needing homes, for starters—I have more to pray about than the weather. But, I have an exception: when lives are in danger, I will pray about the weather. When a twister or a hurricane is threatening human lives, I will certainly pray for God’s intervention.

The disciples on that storm-threatened boat don’t ask Jesus to do something about the weather. “Teacher, is it nothing to you that we’re going down?” That sounds rather fatalistic and self-centered. They could have asked, “Lord, storm is about to take our boat down. Is there anything you can do?” In this narrative that is punctuated by four questions, this is the lead question: “Teacher, is it nothing to you that we’re going down?”

The adventure begins innocently enough: Late that day he said to them, “Let’s go across to the other side.” What’s on the other side? A beach or a harbor? Maybe a little resort village? People like to vacation where there is water. Or perhaps there are people in great need on the other side. Some people have this natural curiosity about what is on the other side. I am one of them. Some of you are too. In his book “Undaunted Courage,” historian Stephen Ambrose follows Lewis and Clark on their great expedition to find the western end of the continent. President Jefferson commissioned them to get to the other side. When they finally got through the plains, so vast and flat, they saw mountains rising from the land. “Aha,” they thought. “When we reach the summit of those mountains, we’ll see the Pacific Ocean.” At the peak of every mountain ridge they saw another mountain ridge. There was, it seemed, always another mountain ridge. Until the last one, where standing on the ridge they finally saw the Pacific Ocean, the other side.

“Let’s go across to the other side.” That is Jesus talking. What can we do but get in the boat and start the adventure? The Sea of Galilee, which is a lake, is about 13 miles from north to south and eight miles at the widest, like one of the Finger Lakes, except wider. The other side for Jesus and his disciples is probably under eight miles. Since some of them had made their living by fishing, they know the lake well. They know about sudden storms.

I have been to the Sea of Galilee twice. I didn’t bring my Sunfish sailboat along, but I went on boat rides. It is a beautiful lake, situated in the Jordan Valley rift, making it the lowest freshwater lake on earth, well below ocean level. Because it is in a geological rift, it is susceptible to earthquakes and sudden storms. On both east and west shores there are mountain ridges, again like many of the Finger Lakes, creating a funnel effect. This means that storms can arise quickly, usually moving from south to north. I have experienced such storms many times on Conesus Lake, near here, and Lake George at the eastern end of New York, and on Lake Pleasant in the Adirondacks. If you want to sail with me on my little Sunfish, I will ask you two questions: 1. Are you a good swimmer? and 2. Will you be ok if the boat tips over? If you can’t answer yes to both questions, you are not going sailing with me.

“Let’s go across to the other side.” That is a biblical theme. From the people of ancient Israel crossing the Red Sea to escape slavery in Egypt, to their crossing the Jordan River to re-enter their ancestral homeland, to Jonah sailing west to escape God’s call to go wicked Nineveh, to the apostle Paul sailing west to bring the Good News to Rome and then hoping to go further west to Spain. There is adventure in wanting to go across to the other side.

And now they are sailing across Galilee to the other side when a treacherous storm comes out of nowhere. Water is crashing into the hull of the boat. And Jesus is asleep, his head on a pillow while. Almost 40 years ago the hull of an old boat was found on the bottom of Galilee. It was carefully lifted out and restored. It is 27 feet long, 7.5 feet wide, and 4 feet deep, carrying about 15 people. It is called “the Jesus boat,” because it is the kind of boat Jesus and the disciples were in that day. It is a worthy craft, but no match for a treacherous storm.

Jesus is asleep in the storm. When we are caught in a storm of life, does it ever seem to us that Jesus is asleep? We aren’t alone. In Psalm 44:23-26, the writer cries out:

Get up, God! Are you going to sleep all day? Wake up! Don’t you care what happens to us?
Why do you bury your face in the pillow?…   If you love us so much, Help us! (“The Message”)

And the disciples ask Jesus: “Teacher, is it nothing to you that we’re going down?” Jesus awakens and sensing how troubled his friends are, he commands the storm to stop. The storm has no choice, as Lazarus had no choice when Jesus called him out of a tomb. At his command it stops and the surface of the lake becomes like glass. Jesus has two questions for them: “Why are you such cowards? Don’t you have any faith at all?” Not even Peter dares to answer this time. Who wants to be called a coward by Jesus?

Mark uses two words for fear in these two verses (40-41). While both can be translated fear, they are different. The first one means cowardice. “Why are you such cowards?” That is a strong indictment by Jesus and indicates how disappointed he is when they are so fearful. The second word is the more common New Testament word for fear, which in the original language is phobia, a word we have carried over into English. “The Message” catches it correctly: “They were in absolute awe, staggered.” That is not cowardice, but healthy awe, a different kind of fear, one that is commended to us in fearing God, that is, holding God is absolute awe. For those disciples, at first the storm was the occasion for cowardice, but then because of Jesus, the occasion for awe. We want to know that kind of fear when we are in storms of life, a healthy awe at the presence and power of Jesus.

Not only do I love sailing, but I love baseball. When Willie Mays died five days ago, there was a hole in my heart. As a youngster and youth, I saw him play against my Dodgers. The say hey kid was the best player I ever saw. But I didn’t know about his good friend Bill Greason. Now I do. As the oldest living Negro leaguer, the 99-year-old Bill Greason has had an amazing life. He grew up across the street from Martin Luther King in Atlanta. He served in WW II, surviving the battle in Iwo Jima, then returned home to the Jim Crow segregation telling him what he couldn’t do. But he could play baseball. He became the first Black pitcher in St. Louis Cardinals history in 1954 and no white player on that team would speak to him for the whole season. He was married to the same woman for 65 years before she died and continues to serve as a minister at his church after 53 years. An early lesson from his mother resonated as a guiding principle.
“The way up is down,” Greason said. “It was a paradox. My mother told me: ‘Humble yourself, and you’ll be lifted up. But if you exalt yourself, you’ll come down.’”

So it is with storms in life. They test us. They humble us. They reveal who we are and what we believe. They drive us to Jesus. And he leaves us in absolute awe. There is a fourth question in today’s narrative: “Who is this, anyway,” they asked. “that wind and sea obey his voice?” On to the adventure of following Jesus to the other side of the lake. On through any storms that life throws at us. Following Jesus is not for cowards. We live in absolute awe of the one at whose voice wind and sea obey.

[This message was delivered on 3/29, Good Friday, at Community of the Savior, Rochester NY. It can be viewed on their facebook page. It is based on Matthew 27:25-27.]                

The sun has risen over the Holy City. It is Friday morning in Jerusalem. Yesterday was a full day for Jesus and his friends. Passover kept. Bread broken, cup poured. New meal established. Feet washed. New commandment to love delivered. Betrayal kiss given. Thrice denial done. Jesus fervently prayed in a garden and his prayer was answered: there is no plan B. Friday will happen according to a higher plan.

Now it’s morning of the fateful day. Jesus spoke of this day several times. Mark records it three times, in chapters 8, 9, and 10, as if to make it indelible and unforgettable. But we so quickly forget that which we don’t want to remember. Suffering, betrayal, death. That’s not a winning slogan.

The religious leaders have already conspired to take out Jesus, to be rid of him once and for all. That means he must next stand before the Roman appointed governor, Pilate. The one whose name we say just about every Sunday in our creeds: “Born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate.” Other than Jesus, the only two human beings named in the Apostles Creed are Mary and Pilate. What a curiosity and what a contrast. The courageous young Jewish woman who willingly courts shame and misunderstanding to carry and birth the savior and the wily, shrewd politician who just happens to be the current governor of Judea on appointment from headquarters in Roman. The best kind of woman and the worst kind of politician.

Now Jesus stands before the governor, one Pontius Pilate. Pilate, too, wants a plan B, a way to avoid sending Jesus to a Roman cross. But courage is not his strong suit; he has no moral compass. He is adept at reading which way the wind is blowing. Then Matthew records this: “So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood; you be the jury.’ Then the people as one answered, ‘His blood be on us and on our children!’ So Pilate released Barabbas for them, and after having Jesus beaten to a pulp, he handed him over to be crucified.” (Matt. 27:25-27; my translation.)

Oil, grease, grass stains, enamel paint: some things just don’t wash out with water. Lady Macbeth knew that; she could not wash her hands of bloodguilt. A few years ago, the Covid pandemic taught us to wash our hands again, 15 seconds minimum. Pilate is trying to wash his guilt away with water. It doesn’t work.

Water has wonderful powers to refresh and to cleanse. Without it life is impossible. Nations are sending probes to the moon and Mars to determine if traces of water can be positively identified. Over two thirds of our planet is covered with water. Water has the power to carve out the canyon in Letchworth State Park. Frozen water long ago carved out the finger lakes and made our landscape so beautiful. Just about my favorite place to be is in my little sailboat gliding over an Adirondack lake. Water quenches our thirst and cleans our bodily systems. Jesus was baptized in water, as are we. Jesus gave a Samaritan woman living water and her life was changed. Jesus turned ordinary water into extraordinary wine and a wedding party was redeemed. But there are some things water cannot wash.

Just last night Jesus washed our feet with water made holy by his touch. Perhaps the most provocative TV ad during the super bowl two months ago was a quick series of still shots of people washing the feet of other people. One of the “He Gets Us,” series, it has drawn criticism from conservatives and liberals, which probably means it is speaking some truth. Maybe uncomfortable truth. With Peter, we are not so sure we want someone else to wash our dirty feet.

Pilate is furiously washing his hands, but water cannot wash away his guilty compliance. We side with Pilate when we silently consign Jesus to a bloody cross by thinking first of our own self-interest. We side with Pilate when we see evil and do nothing. We side with Pilate when we see need and look away. We side with Pilate when we see the person who is other and different and turn inward. We side with Pilate when we see hate and cower in fear. We side with Pilate when we see injustice and are silent. When we side with Pilate, we are sending Jesus to that bloody cross. What Pilate couldn’t understand is that only the blood of Jesus could wash away his guilt.

Pilate tried in vain to wash away his own guilt. Have you ever done that? I have. It never works. “Lord Jesus, wash us, feet and hands and all, and we shall be clean, forgiven, saved, and redeemed by the blood of the cross. Amen.”

[This message was delivered on Palm Sunday, March 24, at Covington Presbyterian Church, based on John 12:12-19. It also takes an encounter from each of the first 11 chapters of John. It was given in first person style, with the preacher acting the part of the disciple/narrator.]

I was there. Everything has been pointing to this week. I was there, one of the 12. I was there from his humble beginnings in Nazareth and Capernaum. I was there for the teachings, the parables, and the miracles. I saw him laugh and I saw him cry. I experienced his love and I felt his indignation when people loved the law more than they loved people. I was there when our three-year whirlwind journey brought him to the Jerusalem for the most fateful week, the week you now call Holy Week.

From riding on the back of a donkey, even a young one, Jesus gets an unusual perspective on the people in the crowd that day. A young donkey was about 42 inches tall at its back, where Jesus is sitting. From there he can see most of the people welcoming him to Jerusalem at just above eye level.

You now call it the triumphal entry and it was, but in strange ways. Here is some of what I saw and still see as I follow Jesus into Jerusalem. [Note: All the characters named here are found in John 1-11, in the order we find them, named where names are given.]

There’s Peter, trying to get in front of him. That fisherman is always looking for attention and usually getting it. The rest of us sometimes get impatient with him—maybe even jealous when he says what we are thinking—but Jesus always includes him. I remember when Jesus first called him. He was such an eager follower, responding immediately. This is going to be a tough week for Peter, almost as tough as it will for Jesus. And while his weaknesses will be evident, by the beginning of next week he will be the rock Jesus always saw in him. While he will seem to fail the Lord, don’t worry; he will come through and be a fearless leader. He is flawed just like the rest of us. And Jesus loves him. Jesus loves flawed people.

I recognize that young couple. Almost three years ago, they got married in the village of Cana, up north. Mary and Jesus and a few of us were invited, and we like a good party. Then, at their reception, the wine ran out, which can be embarrassing for the hosts. Jesus just couldn’t see that being what their wedding was remembered for, so he made sure new wine flowed. And it flowed. We didn’t understand how he did that then, but we liked the wine as much as wedding couple. They’re holding a young child. God bless that baby and her loving parents. Jesus loves them. Raise a glass to them.

There is that Pharisee named Nicodemus, with a cautious look on his face. For a Pharisee to seek out Jesus takes courage; it is a big risk. The other Pharisees could ruin his career. So Nicodemus came to Jesus be night. They had a hushed conversation, hushed because Nicodemus didn’t want other Pharisees to know that he was talking with Jesus. Jesus told him he had to born anew, born from above. Nicodemus didn’t seem to understand that. Then Jesus said something about how he would be lifted up, and how those believing in him would have eternal life. For God so loved the world; Jesus loves Nicodemus. Jesus loves people that seek him out, question him, and listen to him.

That woman, I know I saw her before. She looks like a Samaritan, a half-breed, part Jew and part gentile, and not fully accepted by either. Once Jesus led us through Samaria, even though we Israelites knew it was always dangerous to go through Samaria. At midday, he was thirsty, so he went to the well. A woman, that woman, came to draw water and Jesus spoke to her. That was scandalous: a Jewish teacher speaking to a woman in public, and a Samaritan woman at that. And her life is changed by Jesus, she who had had five husbands and was living with yet another man. Jesus loves her, a woman not fully accepted by Jews or gentiles. Jesus loves and accepts outcasts.

That man, standing firmly, was crippled for 38 years. He somehow got his withered body next to a pool in Bethsaida, hoping to get in when the water stirred, for local people claimed the first in the pool after the water stirred would be healed. That wasn’t healing, it was superstition. Jesus doesn’t do superstition and says to him, stand up and walk. And he does. It was the sabbath and it bothered some religious leaders that Jesus would do this on the sabbath. Jesus loves that man, now standing and walking.

Standing in the first row of the crowd, right there, is a Galilean boy. I remember the day now. A huge crowd had come to hear Jesus. It was like an outdoor rock concert, people everywhere. And now they are getting hungry. Andrew saw this boy with his lunch, five loaves and two fish. Jesus took the boy’s offering, gave thanks and blessed and broke the loaves and the same with the fish. Everyone was fed—and there were leftovers. Jesus loves that boy. Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.

See those well-dressed men that never smile? They are Pharisees, the religious elite of Israel. They know God’s law backwards and forwards, yet they are hard-hearted and stiff-necked. They are not waving palms and shouting hosanna. They are tight lipped. Jesus threatens their religion system with his boundary-breaking love. They watch closely. They think Jesus is a threat to their religious system. They are right. The world has enough religious systems. It needs grace and mercy and love. Yet Jesus loves them, too. He will call Pharisees to become his followers.

She looks so different. Once she was a woman of the street. One day she was caught being intimate with a man in broad daylight. No names; just a man using and abusing a woman for his own gratification. The religious leaders are ready to stone her to death. Jesus stops them and they go away, one by one. He stands there and lifts her so they are eye to eye. He forgives her and sends her off to a new life. Jesus loves her, as no man had ever loved her, with pure, godly love. Jesus loves women that have been used and abused.

That man was blind not long ago. Blind from birth. Lived a sightless life. People wondered if he had sinned or his parents had sinned to bring this on him. Why else would be born blind, they reasoned. Jesus had no time for their reasoning. He took some mud and spit and rubbed the man’s eyes, till they opened. And now he sees Jesus. Jesus sees him and loves him.

There are Roman leaders in the crowd, trying to look like every day Jews, but we know better. They spy on us and join with the religious leaders to keep control over life here. It is always dangerous when religious leaders cozy up to politicians. They are frightened by this Galilean peasant. Jesus loves them. He will call Romans to become his followers. Even politicians.

Does that man look different! A few days ago he was dead and buried. They wrapped him in grave clothes. Jesus wept when he heard that Lazarus had died. Then Jesus walked to his grave, which was a cave sealed with a massive stone. Jesus stood before it and said, “Lazarus, come out.” Lazarus had no choice. Death could not stop him. Lazarus came out and is here today cheering on the Jesus parade. Jesus loves Lazarus. Jesus brings life out of death.

The Jesus parade has room for all kinds of people. Including you and me. Jesus loves us. Jesus loves to call all kinds of people to follow him. From riding on the back of a donkey, even a young one, Jesus gets an unusual perspective on the people in the crowd that day. Come Friday, he will get an even higher perspective, as he is nailed to a cross standing 12 feet high. From that lofty cross, Jesus sees us. And Jesus loves us. And Jesus calls us to believe and follow him, all the way to Friday when he is lifted up. He gets us; he sees us; he loves us.

[This message from Mark 9:2-9, the transfiguration of Jesus, was delivered at John Calvin Presbyterian Church in Henrietta, NY, on 2/11/24.]

I watched the Grammy awards show last Sunday night. I don’t keep up with a lot of music trends these days. Didn’t hip-hop start two or three years ago? When I am driving by myself, I tend to listen to Tony Bennett, Nat King Cole, and the Carpenters. So I watch the Grammys to get a glimpse of the music and musicians I don’t know well or at all. From everything I hear and read, I like Taylor Swift, but I can’t hum a tune of anything she has recorded. (Do you think she’ll be at that football game today?) Little did I know that the highlight of the Grammys for me would be 80-year old Joni Mitchell singing her classic, “Both Sides Now.” It was beautiful and emotional. And I could quietly sing along:

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Now I can see Peter, James, and John (perhaps the forerunners of Peter, Paul, and Mary) singing those words as a cloud envelopes a mountain on which they have just seen something spectacular. This happens in the middle of Mark’s gospel. It becomes a hinge; a turning point, and a curious event.

Mark is the first and the shortest gospel account. It doesn’t give us as much info as Matthew, Luke, and John. This heightens our interest in what Mark includes. In Mark there are two important sets of threes. First, there are three great affirmations about who Jesus is:

–At the beginning as Jesus is baptized, And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (1:11);

–At the end as he is crucified, Now when the centurion who stood facing him saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” (15:39);

–And in the middle as he is transfigured, Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” (9:7).

In the middle chapters of Mark, Jesus speaks three times of himself and what lay ahead around the bend in Jerusalem:

8:31—Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes and be killed and after three days rise again.

9:31—“The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” 

10:33-34—“Look, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the gentiles;they will mock him and spit upon him and flog him and kill him, and after three days he will rise again.”

The transfiguration happens in the middle and, frankly, it doesn’t seem necessary. John’s gospel doesn’t even mention it. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, where he will be betrayed, suffer, die, and be raised again on the third day. Take out the transfiguration and the story continues. The ultimate drama will be that week in Jerusalem beginning with palm branches and a borrowed donkey and ending with the crucifixion, burial, and rising. We still have the teachings, the healings and other miracles, and the parables. The transfiguration is a rather intimate affair. Jesus takes just three of the twelve with him. It lasts just a few hours, if that. Two long dead saints make cameo appearances and speak with Jesus, but we have no idea what they say. Jesus even says, “Don’t tell anyone yet.”

Peter—I love Peter the entrepreneur—has a wild idea: let’s build three shelters, one for Moses, one for Elijah, and one larger and in the center for Jesus. Maybe Peter also is thinking of a parking lot and a visitors’ center, with souvenirs, clean rest rooms, and snacks. Centuries later, American Christians could visit when they go on a once in a lifetime trip to the Holy Land. That idea is shot down and never mentioned again. The word spoken from the cloud to Peter, James, and John is the needed word: Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.  

Why this seemingly unnecessary story? Maybe because Jesus knew precisely the suffering that was just around the corner and needed a glimpse of the glory that was coming. Don’t we all need moments of encouragement that remind us a brighter day coming? When the present circumstances are difficult, don’t we all need a glimpse of a better future?

And then it is time for Peter, James, and John—and Jesus—to go down the mountain to the journey before them. A climber is much more likely to get injured descending a mountain rather than ascending it. Be careful descending. And listen for Jesus speaking, both in the cloud and beyond. I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now . . ..

I had an experience in a cloud last summer on Lake Pleasant in the Adirondacks. When I vacation there, my goal is to sail my little sunfish every day multiple times. Monday started foggy and stayed foggy longer than usual. We were playing some board games with friends in a cabin with a lake view but we couldn’t even see the lake. Then I saw a patch of blue in the sky. That was enough for me. I stood and said, I’m going sailing. Anyone want to join me? A new friend, a young man that had never sailed, said yes. Off we went. After about 5 minutes, a thick cloud of fog descended on the lake. We could see nothing but the water right next to us. Though the shore line couldn’t have been more than a half mile from us, we couldn’t see any shore. We couldn’t see any trees. If we could spot the sun, I would have my orientation. I couldn’t see the sun. “Liam, find the sun while I keep us upright.” He couldn’t find the sun. I was so disoriented, the boat overturned. Liam and I climbed back on board and found some wind, but I had no idea what direction we were going. There were no other boats on the lake. It was the two of us on a little sailboat totally disoriented. Then we heard some noise. Be quiet. Listen. We heard the voices of children playing. That meant we were near a beach, probably the beach from which we set out. Listen to the voices; they will get us to shore. The cloud bank was thick as soup, but we could follow the voices. As I steered the boat toward the voices, they got stronger. We knew we were heading in the right direction, though all we could see was a cloud of thick fog. Within a few minutes, we saw children playing in the water, fuzzy at first, and sailed back to the beach. The only way we got there was by listening.

Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.  

In three days we begin our Lenten season on Ash Wednesday. How will you keep Lent? I adopt several disciplines for my life each Lent. Let’s agree on this one: we will work at listening to the Lord. How will that work for you? I suggest setting a time, roughly the same time, each day to shut out all noise and listen for God’s whispers. That time could be in a favorite chair, indoors or out. Or on a quiet walk in a quiet place. “This is the Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”

  [This message was delivered at the Community of the Savior, Rochester, NY, on 12/31/23, based on Luke 2:22-40. It can be viewed on the Community of the Savior Facebook page. Note that the message includes sections of the song “A Baby Changes Everything,” written by Craig Wiseman and Tim Nichols and sung by Teressa Bala, my daughter. I wrote the brief verse in the middle of the sermon.]

       

The season of signs is not over. The birth has happened, that star over Bethlehem is yet to come. Between the sign of the manger and the sign of the star, there is a visit to the temple, itself a sign, though most unusual. In Advent we heard again those ancient prophetic words: “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14) A sign.

We have had a big sign on the brick wall rising above our entrance doors, telling of the Christmas Eve worship services. Some people came here last Sunday because of that sign.

An old country pastor needed to have a sign made that would tell the people passing the church building about the wonder of Christmas. He lived out of town and did not have access to any of the modern electronic conveniences. He went to the sign maker in town and said he didn’t have much of a budget, so he said to make the sign exactly as I have written it here. The sign arrived before Christmas Eve and he hung it on the side of the building facing the road. The sign said: “Unto us a child is born—6 feet wide and 3 feet high.”

“This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:12) The signs are everywhere, sometimes subtle and sometimes bold. He comes to us as a baby. A mere child. Born in the humblest of circumstances. The signs are everywhere to be seen. A baby! Sign of hope in such unexpected circumstances.

Teenage girl, much too young
Unprepared for what’s to come
A baby changes everything

Not a ring on her hand
All her dreams and all her plans
A baby changes everything
A baby changes everything

The man she loves, she’s never touched
How will she keep his trust?
A baby changes everything
A baby changes everything

Is anyone ever prepared for the arrival of a baby? There are plenty of books for expectant mothers. But perhaps the best wisdom comes from the elders, those that have survived the harrowing journey of the birth canal, and babyhood, and the terrible twos, and the trying teen years, and young adulthood, and middle age, and have arrived at what some call the golden years. The AARP season. For many years, I would preach on this passage at this time of year about Simeon and Anna. Now, I am preaching with them. They are my people. I am their generation. How old are they? They are accomplished pickle ball players. For them, for us, Christmas is less about the gifts and more about the gift. Less about the decorations and trappings and more about God become flesh and blood. Less about the holly and more about the holy. Less about presents and more about presence.

The young couple act “According to the law….” Five times the law of the Lord is mentioned in this passage. I have a lover’s quarrel with religion. My life’s work has had me in organized religion, yet I don’t consider myself that religious. Religion troubles me in many ways. It tends to be harsh and rigid and judgmental. In his adult ministry, Jesus was almost constantly in trouble with religious leaders. I love the Lord, but I am often deeply troubled by organized religion, including Christianity, which too many times is so removed from the Good News Jesus brought and brings. I resonate with people who desire to be spiritual, but not religious. But here I am moved by how the religious practices of Mary and Joseph are guiding them. When unsure of what to do, of where to go, they obey the law of the Lord and it guides them faithfully. Three cheers for having rites and traditions passed down to us by those who have gone before us.

What to do? Where to go?

Keep the law; God must know

And she cries/ And he cries

Ooh, they cry

But faith must move beyond mere law keeping. If religion stops at law keeping, it is hardly worth the effort. The law of the Lord always points beyond the law to the law giver. To the realm of the Spirit. To matters of the heart. To acts of mercy and compassion.

Mary is so young for all this. And now the spotlight of the cosmos focusses on this young couple, on this teenaged mom with a little baby. They bring him to the temple because that is what they are supposed to do. And when you aren’t sure what to do, maybe the best thing is to do is what the generations before have done. Bring the baby to the Lord. Surely the Lord has some words of wisdom. And God does have some words, but these are words no one is expecting.

An old man named Simeon is there. Why, he might be as old as I am. He has been hanging on to hope for years and he wonders how much longer he can hold on. The Holy Spirit once whispered to him that he won’t die until he sees the Messiah. He sees this young couple with a baby. They look poor, yet rich. She glows with joy. He radiates pride. And they are both just a bit fearful. The baby is just being a baby. In Luke 1-2, there have been three men vitally involved in the story: old Zechariah the priest, young Joseph the carpenter, and now old Simeon just hanging on. Zechariah loses his voice for nine months. Joseph never says a word. Simeon finally breaks the male silence.

First Simeon speaks words that are at once comforting and challenging: “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” That warms my heart.

Then Simeon blesses them and speaks to Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel and to be a sign that will be opposed that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” That sends a twinge of cold in my heart. But it’s part of the story. There will be suffering; that too is part of the glory. Mary will ponder these words too. I wonder if Simeon wishes he hadn’t said that; but he did. There will be suffering and death—and Mary will be there for it all. Another sign about this baby who will change everything.

Choir of angels say
Glory to the newborn king
A baby changes everything
A baby changes everything
Everything, everything, every day
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

My whole life has turned around
I was lost but now I’m found
A baby changes everything
A baby changes everything

And we marvel at the manner of the sending. Poet Lawrence Lee writes, “In the midst of political upheaval, we hoped for a king. In the midst of wars and rumors of wars, we hoped for a general. In the midst of religious tumult and controversy, we hoped for a high priest. But you send us a baby. [pause for bewildered reflection] Interesting choice, God. “

Yes, a baby changes everything. This baby will change everything.

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After watching the public funeral service remembering and honoring former first lady Rosalynn Carter yesterday, I am filled with gratitude for such a woman and the legacy of faith and service she leaves behind. If you didn’t see the service, I urge you to find it on pbs.com (or probably YouTube), and watch it, with tissues in hand. Be inspired and moved by a life of such grace and perseverance. I won’t list here the accomplishments Jimmy and Rosalynn made in their White House years and in the four plus decades since., but will offer two more personal reflections.

The first goes back about 15 years ago. My younger daughter was working for Habitat for Humanity International. Every year the Carters would volunteer at a Habitat build, which, of course, brought out much publicity and more volunteers than could be used. Habitat would select a small number of their employees to serve on the Carter build each year. And one year, my daughter was chosen. The Carters weren’t doing this for personal publicity—they were there to work and draw attention to how Habitat was meeting a great need. They slept in the same accommodations as the other volunteers, and ate at the common meals with the other workers. They were given assignments each morning and followed orders—both could swing a hammer. Before the volunteers started the construction work each morning, they would gather in a circle to pray together for the day’s work. And it just so happened that when the workers joined hands in the prayer circle, my daughter was holding hands with Rosalynn Carter, the former first lady of the United States.

The second goes back to February, 2017. Shortly before then, it was announced that Jimmy had an aggressive cancer, probably life threatening in the short term. My wife and I were in South Carolina for a winter break and I decided that I needed to go to Jimmy Carter’s Sunday school class at Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains. I spent the better part of two days in Plains, GA, a simple town of just over 500 residents. There really is only one reason for someone without relatives in Plains to visit Plains. From that town came a president and first lady of the United States. That is reason enough to visit Plains.

The town didn’t disappoint me. It celebrated their favorite son and daughter in simple and authentic ways. The highlight—there were several—was Sunday morning. I arrived early Sunday morning, while it was still dark, to get in line in the Maranatha parking lot to get a seat for President Carter’s class. From my place toward the front of the line, I watched as cars streamed in, filling the parking lot to overflowing. When the doors opened, we entered the sanctuary slowly and orderly, as if we were entering holy ground, which in fact we were.

The sanctuary was quickly filled for the adult Sunday school class. People that didn’t arrive early enough were ushered to an overflow room with a large screen for projection. A woman (she is Billy Carter’s daughter) greeted us, giving us the ground rules for the morning and taking our questions. I asked, “Should we stand when Mr. Carter enters?” She said that in Plains he was just Jimmy and there was no need to treat him differently than anyone else. But when he entered from the door on my right, with that famous smile, I couldn’t help but stand. This humble man served as the president and leader of the free world for four years. He won a Nobel peace prize for his international work for peace. He was the key person, along with Rosalynn, in brokering a peace agreement between Israel and Egypt, once enemies, that endures to this day. But in the sanctuary of the Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, he was just the adult Sunday school teacher. Quarterlies with the Bible lessons were handed out (how long had it been since I had held a Sunday school quarterly?). Our teacher had some appropriate opening remarks, asking what states, and countries, we were from and making appropriate comments about each place he had visited. There weren’t many places that he and Rosalynn hadn’t visited.

There were two secret service officers standing at corners of the room, but we hardly noticed them. I thought, how lucky they are to walk behind and protect two people like these two. And I thought, when they are off duty, where do they go? Probably Americus down the road, which seems like a thriving city compared to Plains.

I still remember the Bible lesson Jimmy taught that day. It dealt with Abraham, the father of two nations that are still struggling to get along. I stayed for worship and waited to have my picture taken with them. Jimmy was already in his 90s and Rosalynn just about to turn 90, so we were asked not to shake hands with them. I left Plains thinking I likely would never return there, but I would never forget being there with Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter for a few hours.

A few hours ago, as I write this, Rosalynn’s casket was lowered in the soil near the simple home they built some six decades ago. Seeing Jimmy’s weakness on the television screen yesterday, it’s hard not to think that he will follow Rosalynn into that holy ground in Plains soon. I knew that Jimmy was weak, now nine months into hospice care, but I wasn’t fully prepared for how weak he is. A lesser man, a vainer man, would have probably stayed home with nursing care and watched the service on a screen. The drive to Atlanta from Plains is about 170 miles, one way—and there was a service at Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains this morning. After 77 years of marriage partnership, it was no surprise that Jimmy made the trip to Atlanta, and back to Plains a few hours later, to see his lovely bride off on her next adventure.

[This message was delivered at Community of the Savior in Rochester, NY, on July 30, 2023. It can also be viewed on church Facebook page. The primary text is Romans 8:26-39, particularly verses 28-29 and 38-39. Earlier in the service, Genesis 29:15-28 was read, which explains my brief reference to Genesis 29:17. And, yes, Rachel was present.]

Convinced. I am convinced. That is a strong statement. Are you convinced? Of what are you convinced? Paul begins the ending of this passage in Romans 8 with this glorious claim: “For I am convinced.” The longer I live, the shorter my list of things I am absolutely convinced about becomes. For instance, I am not convinced that everything happens for a reason, though I believe a lot of things God gets blamed for happen because of human stupidity and carelessness. I am not convinced that the Red Sox will be in the playoffs this October, though I am glad to report that they are currently one game ahead of the dreaded Yankees. I am not convinced that our women’s soccer team will win the world cup, though I am convinced that as long as Megan Rapinoe is on the team, even as a sub, we have a good chance. I am not convinced that artificial intelligence will take over the world, but I am certain that no chatbox (whatever that is) will ever write my sermons.

My list of absolutely convinced items grows shorter, but I still have a list headed “I’m convinced.” I am convinced of the truth of Genesis 29:17: “but Rachel was graceful and beautiful.” I am just glad that the Rachel I courted and married did not have a sister named Leah, because I am convinced I couldn’t have waited 14 years to marry Rachel. I am convinced that Shohei Otani is the best baseball player on the planet; hence I am on the side of the Angels. I am convinced that the Sunfish is the best small sailboat ever made. I am convinced that Mahler’s Second Symphony is rightly called the “Resurrection Symphony” and is a work of genius. I am convinced that life is a precious gift and needs to be nurtured and cherished daily. And I am utterly and absolutely convinced “that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Of that I am as certain as I can be of anything in this life. I am convinced. Are you convinced?

One of the roles of a preacher is to be convincing, to try to convince people of what the preacher believes is true. After five decades of doing it, I am not convinced that I can convince anyone of anything. But I give it my best shot. Because I am convinced.

In this rich passage in Paul’s letter to the Romans, which I judge to be the richest chapter in Paul’s richest letter, I must not run to verses 38-39, the “I am convinced” verses that concludes the passage. I can’t cover everything in this passage in one sermon, but I must deal briefly with verse 28, which has been often memorized and quoted and misused as a biblical good luck charm. Many translations still make “all things,” the subject, rather than “God,” who works in all things. The New International Version gets it right: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

What is important to establish is that all things that happen in our lives are not good. But even in the bad things that happen to us, God is at work. That does not mean that those bad things become happy things, but God is at work in them for greater purposes. And that greater purpose is found in the next verse, vs. 29: “to be conformed to the image of his Son.” Not to get us to heaven in the happiest way possible, but to make us more like Jesus. Two nights ago I saw the new production of “Godspell” at the Blackfriars Theatre.  I have loved “Godspell” since I first saw it over 50 years ago, but I got a new glimpse of just radical the love of Jesus is in this production. Jesus brings us the grace and love of God, even as he speaks truth to power, particularly the entrenched power of religion. I want to be more like Jesus, more loving and gracious and more truth-telling in the face of evil.

In all things God is working. Romans 8 gives us quite a list of “all things.” Listen: “Weakness, trouble, hardship, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, sword; we face death all day long.” In Revelation 21:5, the enthroned Christ says, “Behold, I am making all things new.” I believe that, even as I live in a world filled with trouble, with sickness, war, and death. And with love, and beauty, and grace. Jesus is already making all things new, but it is taking a good while and the work is not finished. I am convinced that God is at work in it all.

I have just been through a week of dealing with the fragile nature of life. It began with me fainting twice and needing to be in Strong Hospital for two nights waiting for a new pacemaker to be installed. As one who is generally healthy and very active, it was an existential reminder of my frailty and mortality. When I got home I found out that a friend of my younger daughter, just 47, has entered hospice care. When I called her parents, long-time friends of mine and asked how their Lisa was doing, her mother simply said, “She’s dying.” Then her father got on the phone and we wept together. Yesterday another long-time friend from the congregation I once pastored called. She is a healthy 57-year-old, helping her parents as they move toward the last chapter of their lives. And suddenly she was in the hospital herself for several weeks wondering what is happening. God is at work in at all things. Even in our frailty, in our living and in our dying.

Just over a week ago Tony Bennett died at age 96. I have long been a fan of Bennett’s, especially appreciating his working with younger artists, like Amy Winehouse and Lady Gaga. Almost seven years ago, Bennett gave a concert at Eastman Hall and Rachel and I were there for an unforgettable evening. Tony never had a piece of music or paper in front of him. Now I take us to almost two years ago for his last public performance. His mind had succumbed to Alzheimer’s. Before he stepped on stage, he had no idea where he was or why. He recognized virtually no one. When they brought him on stage, he came alive. When the music started behind him, he knew every word and sang every song flawlessly. When Lady Gaga started walked toward him, he looked at her, smiled, and said to the audience, “There’s Lady Gaga.” A day later Anderson Cooper interviewed him and he had no memory of the concert.

If in this life we come to the time when we know nothing else, whether because of accident, age, or disease, what will we still know? Of what will we be convinced? I will know this: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”