The Jesus-Shaped Gate, a Sermon on John 10:1-10

“Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice.They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.- John 10:1-10

Tony Campolo shared this story (Let Me Tell You a Story, pp 9-10): 

As a boy growing up in the city, it was somewhat dangerous for me to walk to school all by myself. So my mother paid Harriet, a neighborhood girl a few years older than I, to be responsible for getting me to and from school each day. Harriet was paid five cents a day for this service. 

As I grew older, I became very conscious of what I believed was an enormous amount of money going into Harriet’s hands. So I went to my mother and told her that there was no need for her to pay Harriet any longer, that she should give me the nickel each day, and I would walk myself to school. I assured her that I could do it with no problem at all. I kept on begging and begging until my mother gave in and said, “Okay! If you’re very careful, I’ll give you the nickel a day, and you can put the money in the bank and save it to buy Christmas presents for your sisters.” 

That seemed like a good idea. So from that time on I walked myself to school, collected the money, and did not allow (any of it) to leave the household. 

Years later, when my mother had passed on, I was at a family get-together with my sisters and I reminded them of my independent spirit, even when I was a child. I reminded them of how I walked myself to school, and how I needed no one’s help in getting there and back each day, and how that translated into good presents for them at Christmas time. 

My sisters laughed at me and one of them said, “Did you think that you went to school alone and came home alone? Every day when you left the house Mom followed you. And when you came out of school at the end of the day, she was there. She always made sure that you didn’t notice her, but she watched over you coming and going, just to make sure you were safe and that nobody hurt you. 

Didn’t it ever occur to you that there was something strange about the fact that when you knocked on the door she didn’t answer right away, and that it always took a minute or so before she opened the door of the house to let you in? That’s because she would follow you home then sneak in the back door. When she opened the front door and let you in, you were always left with the impression that you had been on your own, when in reality she had been watching over you all the time.”

The Good Shepherd is like that. 

You’ve seen the stickers on the doors when you walk into a store. You might not pay much attention to them but they are there. A small 6x6 square with the words “code Adam.” Named in memory of Adam Walsh, son of America’s Most Wanted Host, John Walsh, it is the missing child alert first developed by Wal-mart in the early 90‘s and used in many other retail shops today.

During the few years I worked in retail I can remember having heard the code maybe 3 times. When the announcement is made everyone stops what they are doing. Someone stands at each of the entrances. Employees stocking shelves stop and walk each of the aisles of their departments. The only thing that matters at that moment is finding that child.

My wife and I were walking through Target when we saw workers obviously searching for a lost child. The name of the girl was called out repeatedly. For several minutes, an eternity for the parent, this went on, mom calling out every few seconds. 

At the end of the long aisle, we saw the mom call back, “I’ve got her. she’s here.” 

Among all the voices calling for her, the child knew her mother’s voice. 

The good Shepherd is like that too.

Of all the images of Jesus in scripture, none is perhaps more familiar, nor more comforting than Jesus, the Good Shepherd. Images of being led beside still waters bring solace and peace to many people in time of stress or grief or loss. 

Walk through a cemetery and you will often find several different statues of Jesus: Jesus with a group of children, Jesus praying in the garden, Jesus on the cross... one church I served had a statue in its cemetery of Jesus holding a lamb in his arms. Jesus has left the ninety and nine and has gone to rescue the one, which he now lovingly cradles in his arms.

Or perhaps you’ve seen paintings depicting such a scene. I know of several: one famously portrays Jesus with a shepherd’s crook and sheep are following him. Another is Jesus reaching down over the side of a cliff, saving a sheep that has wandered and become stuck on a ledge.

There is Jesus, the good shepherd.

I suppose that makes us sheep.

When I think of sheep... I imagine those sheep on the Serta Mattress commercials... kinda cute...great big saucer eyes...

Some years ago someone gave my wife a stuffed number 13 sheep... and for the longest time it stayed on our nightstand... 

And there’s trying to fall asleep and being told to try counting sheep.. 

Or the classic Bugs Bunny cartoons… 

“Morning Sam.”

“Morning Ralph.”

I remember as a child getting up early to watch Saturday morning cartoons. My brother and I would watch together while our parents slept. After mom and dad woke up we’d continue watching while they made our breakfast and did whatever it was moms and dads did. 

But whatever chores they were doing stopped when Bugs Bunny came on. 

So Ralph and Sam…. the coyote and sheep dog who clock in to work together as friends and at the whistle go their separate ways... the coyote to steal sheep and the Sam the sheepdog constantly thwarting his plans...

“The one who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit… 

and that thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came,” Jesus said, “that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

The religious leaders would no doubt have heard these words as attacks against themselves. And rightly so. In the chapter prior, Jesus had healed a man born blind. The Jewish leaders didn’t believe it at first until they contacted his parents who said he was in fact born blind but they knew that the religious leaders had "agreed that if any man would confess him as Christ, he would be put out of the synagogue" (9:22). So the leaders brought in the formerly blind man again. 

“Give glory to God! We know that this man Jesus is a sinner.” He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, I was blind, now I see.” They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes.

The one born blind could now see and those who were born with sight were the ones who were themselves blind. They were not acting as shepherd but as bandits with no care for their sheep.

The religious leaders were playing the role of gatekeeper. Letting in only those who passed their tests, who jumped through their hoops, who believed the right things, said the right things…

Who looked and sounded exactly like themselves. You can join us, if you look like us and believe like we do. 

One of my favorite preachers, Fred Craddock, tells this story (Craddock Stories, page 28-29):

First little church I served was in the eastern Tennessee hills, not too far from Oak Ridge. When Oak Ridge began to boom with the atomic energy, that little bitty town became a booming city just overnight. 

Every hill and every valley and every shady grove had recreational vehicles and trucks and things like that. People came in from everywhere and pitched tents, lived in wagons. Hard hats from everywhere, with their families and children paddling around in the mud in those trailer parks, lived in everything temporarily to work. Our church was not far away. We had a beautiful little church – white frame building, one hundred and twelve years old. The church had an organ in the corner, which one of the young fellows had to pump while Ms. Lois played it. Boy, she could play the songs just as slow as anybody.

The organ was a little slow. The church had beautifully decorated chimneys, kerosene lamps all around the walls, and every pew in this little church was hewn, hand hewn, from a giant poplar tree. After church one Sunday morning I asked the leaders to stay. I said to them, “Now we need to launch a calling campaign and an invitational campaign in all those trailer parks to invite those people to church.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think they’d fit in here,” one of them said. 

“They’re just here temporarily, just construction people. They’ll be leaving pretty soon.”

“Well, we ought to invite them, make them feel at home,” I said.

We argued about it, time ran out, and we said we’d vote next Sunday. Next Sunday, we all sat down after the service. “I move,” said one of them, “I move that in order to be a member of this church, you must own property in the county.”

Someone else said, “I second that.” It passed. I voted against it, but they reminded me that I was just a kid preacher and I didn’t have a vote. It passed. When we moved back to these parts, I took my wife to see that little church, because I had told her that painful, painful story. 

The roads have changed. The interstate goes through that part of the country, so I had a hard time finding it, but I finally did. I found the state road, the county road, and the little gravel road. Then there, back among the pines, was that building shining white. It was different. The parking lot was full – motorcycles and trucks and cars packed in there. 

And out front, a great big sign: “Barbecue, all you can eat.” It’s a restaurant, so we went inside. The pews are against a wall. They have electric lights now, and the organ pushed over into the corner. There are all those aluminum and plastic tables, and people sitting there eating barbecued pork and chicken and ribs – all kinds of people. I said to Nettie, “It’s a good thing this is still not a church, otherwise these people couldn’t be in here.”

"I am the gate," Jesus said. Not you. Not me. And that’s a good thing. Because if it were up to me…

I’m glad its not up to me.

Jesus is the gate and if Jesus loves them and says they are welcome then it must be okay for us to love them and welcome them too. Right?

To Be Continued...

*I first preached this sermon for the Congregation of First Baptist Church Pageland, SC on June 12, 2011

Our Text: Acts 2:1-21

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.’ All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, ‘What does this mean?’ But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’

But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them: ‘Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:
“In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.
Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
and they shall prophesy.
And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

Jerusalem was more crowded than normal.The city was bustling. The sounds of the markets and animals and tourists filled the streets. Jews of the diaspora had traveled far and wide to this holy city to celebrate the Festival of Pentecost. Celebrated fifty days after Passover, the festival commemorated the giving of the Law to Moses at Mount Sinai. Originally a harvest festival, pilgrims filled the marketplace searching for the perfect grain offering with which to honor God.

Removed from the hustle and bustle of the celebration a group of disciples gathered together. Jesus had told them before he ascended that they were to go to Jerusalem and wait. And so they did. They waited.

And suddenly it came.

At first is seemed to be a faint whistle coming from under the door. Whoooo. But the sound continued to grow and build until it filled the entire room where the disciples were sitting.

Like fire, divided tongues lit upon each of the disciples. Surely it must have seemed like a special effects scene from any summer blockbuster movie. As with this fire and wind, there came a new sound; one of many languages filling the room.

Soon onlookers appeared to take in this awesome event. Crowds converged on the house where the disciples were, the center of this new and strange phenomenon.

Fifteen years ago a group of 40 high school and college kids boarded a plane in San Francisco bound for worlds unknown. For the vast majority of us, it would be the first trip away from home, much less to a foreign land. For nearly a day, literally, a flight of 23 hours, we traveled up the western sea board of the US and up by Alaska and then down next to Japan and to korea for a brief refueling stop. After a couple of hours we were back in the air and headed to a 36 hour layover on the island nation of Singapore. We checked into our rooms, in a very fancy european style hotel. For an Asian country, it didn't really feel that foreign a place. It felt a little like New York, but much cleaner. In fact, I later leanred that English is the second most popular language there. Sure, the drivers drove on the “wrong side of the street” and the whole place was entirely too clean to be home, it still didn't have that,”not quite in Kansas anymore” feeling. And yet, even though we were just over a day removed from being “home” when faced with the choice of local cuisine and KFC for dinner, most everyone raced to the familiar, the KFC. Only a few of us were brave and tried the local fare; it wasn't that bad. The KFC on the other hand, we were later told, was not quite right.

Landing in Hanoi, Vietnam was like a “whole new world.” It did not take a long time to recognize the “foreign-ness” of it all. The air smelled different. The writing on the walls and signs. Bikes, scooters, taxis and bike-taxis were everywhere. Going every which direction. There was no order about it. And crowded? Wow. With a population of over 6 million, there were people everywhere. Working in shops. Riding their scooters. Walking to and fro. And it seemed none of them spoke English.

If you've ever traveled to another country you know what it's like. The feeling of isolation. Of wanting to break through the communication barier and the frustration when you are unable even to get a simple thought conveyed to another person.

So you can imagine our excitement when were heard a little english, a bit broken, with an asian accent, but it was English!. Our ears naturally perked up and we focused in the direction of the sound.

Their ears perked up as well, those people in the crowd, as they each heard told of the wonderful deeds of God in their own native language.

But, as is always the case, there were those who doubted. “They're just drunk.”

Listen as author and theologian Frederick Buechner describes SPIRIT:

The word spirit has come to mean something pale and shapeless, like an unmade bed. School spirit, the American spirit, Christmas spirit, the spirit of '76, the Holy Spirit- each of these points to something you know is supposed to get you on your feet cheering, but which you somehow can't rise to. The adjective spiritual has become downright offensive. If someone recommends a person as spiritual you tend to avoid that person, and usually with good reason. Inspiring is even worse. Inspirational is worse still. Inspirational books are almost invariably for the birds.

Like its counterpart in Hebrew and Greek, the latin word spiritus originally meant breath (as in expire, respiration, and so on), and breath is what you have when you're alive and don't know when you're dead. Thus spirit=breath=life, the alive ness and power of your life, and to speak of your spirit (or soul) is to speak of the power of life that is in you. When your spirit is unusually strong, the life in you unusually alive, you can breathe it out into other lives, become literally, in-spiring.

Spirit is highly contagious. When people are very excited, very happy, very sad, you can catch it from them just as easily as measles or a yawn. You can catch it from what they say or from what they do or just from what happens to the air of a room when they enter it without saying or doing anything. Groups also have a spirit, as anybody can tell you who has ever been caught up in a football game, a political rally, or a ...mob. Spirit can be good or bad, healing or destructive. Spirit can be transmitted across great distances of time and space. For better or worse, you can catch the spirit of people long dead, of people whose faces you have never seen and wose languages you cannot speak.

God also has a spirit, is Spirit, says ... John. Thus God is the power of power itself of life itself, has breathed and continued to breathe himelf into his creation. In-spires it. The Spirit of God, Holy Spirit, Holy Ghost, is highly contagious. When Peter and his friends were caught up in it at Jerusalem on Pentecost, everyone though they were drunk even though (it was only 9 am). They were.¹

“Men of Judea,” Peter calls out, “what you see and hear now is the fulfillment of what was written by the prophet Joel.”

“ 'In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams...”

Joel spoke of the Day of the Lord as a day of destruction, a time of death and suffering and judgment.

Not so for Peter. Peter takes what was originally a forecast of destruction and death... which becomes on Peter's tongue a declaration of new life.

The Day of the Lord (anticipated by Jews as Day of judgment) had come in the person, ministry, passion of Jesus... when God broke into history and marks not the beginning of the end but the beginning of a new beginning....When “God became flesh and dwelt among us.”

In the last days it God's spirit will be poured out on all people. I've always loved the inclusiveness of this passage. Sons, daughters, young and old. Everyone.

Chuck Poole reminds us that “we ordain women because we baptize girls.” Because we firmly believe that whosoever will may indeed come.

In those days God will pour out his Spirit on all the people. All means all.

Once the initial shock of being in another country wore off, we got to work. We enrolled in classes at the University. We learned their history, their culture, their language. We visited the orphanages and a school for the blind. We shared stories. We listened to theirs. They listened to ours. We broke bread with them. We made friends with them.

And when we left for the airport, we gathered in a big group hug and cried.

Again, Buechner:

A woman with a scarf over her head hoists her six year old up onto the first step of the school bus. “Good bye,” she says.

A father on the phone with his freshman son has just finished bawling him out for his poor grades. There is mostly silence on the other end of the line. “well, good-bye,” the father says.

When the girl at the airport hears the announcement that her plane is starting to board, she turns to the boy who is seeing her off. “I guess this is good-bye,” she says.

The noise of the traffic almost drowns out the sound of the word, but the shape of it lingers on the old man's lips. He tries to look vigorous and resourceful as he holds out his hand to the other old man. “Good-bye.” this time they say it so nearly in unison that it makes them both smile.

It was a long while ago that the words God be with you disappeared into the word good- bye, but every now and again some trace of them still glimmers through.²

Jesus told his disciples to go to Jerusalem and wait. Before he ascends, he tells his closest friends Goodbye.

“God be with you. God be with you,” Jesus said as he ascended into heaven. I will not leave you alone. God will be with you. And at Pentecost, the Spirit came.

This same Spirit, which appeared in such power at Pentecost so long ago, is the very same Spirit which empowers each of us who are followers of Christ.

Because the story of Jesus doesn't end with Jesus.

The story continues even as the Spirit of God is poured out on each of us, even as the Spirit continues to move and to work.

This is our purpose. This is our place. This is our story.

We are to be:

a mouth to speak for Jesus;

feet to run errands for Jesus,

hands to do the work of Jesus,

and a heart to love Jesus and our neighbor as ourselves.

This is the work of the Spirit.....poured out on the church (That's US!) and it continues...

Because there is a world at there that is hurting...

There is a world out there that needs to know.

It's up to us to tell them.

Let's go! What are you waiting for?

1Buechner, “Spirit” in Wishful Thinking, 110-111.

2Buechner, Frederick. “Good-bye” in Whistling in the Dark, 60.

A New Hope

I delivered the following sermon to my local congregation on the Second Sunday of Easter 2008.

TEXT 1 Peter 1:3-9

It isn't the sights of the animals or the two hour bus ride to Washington, DC that I remember most about that day. Thursday, April 27, 1989. In fact, the only reason I remember as much as I do about the day is because of what had happened before we arrived back at the school.

My 10th grade class had gone on a field trip to the National Zoo, a short two hours away. (We had left early in the morning so we could make a full day of it and be back by 4). As we filed off the bus, a friend of mine from the baseball team came running up to us and asked us if we had seen anything.

Why? What happened?

He told us that the baseball coaches had stopped practice when they heard a loud bang. “It was like a bomb had gone off,” Doug said. He told us that a few minutes later came the sounds of police, fire and ambulances.

There had been an awful wreck.

“Anyone hurt?,” we asked.
He said he didn't know but that from the sound he heard it couldn't be good.
We stood around kinda numb. Not really knowing what to do. Some guys went on to their cars to drive home. Others like me hung around for awhile.

I had play practice in about half an hour so I walked over to the theater to wait.

I wasn't there too long when the stage manager came over to ask if I needed a ride home. I told him I needed to call my dad to pick me up. He told me to go ahead and call because practice was cancelled.

Why?

Tommy the assistant stage manager and the boyfriend of one of the orchestra members were both killed in that crash.

What??!!?

I felt like I was going to throw up.

A few years later, I was home from college on break. My dad asked my brother and I to get in to the car, he wanted to take us out. He said with my school and my brother's work schedule, he just didn't to see us as much as he wanted so he thought that since we were both home at the same time now would be a good time to get away.

We drove a while and got a bite to eat at one of my favorite places to eat when I was home.

He took a longer way home than usual. He needed to talk to us.

“Your mom and I might be getting a divorce,” he suddenly blurted out.

Silence. Awkward silence. The kind of silence that makes you sick to your stomach and you wish somebody, anybody, would say something. Still silence.

Dad continued, “I've been thinking about this for awhile now. I do my thing and she's out doing her own thing. We don't see each other. And something's not right. I'm not sure if she's been faithful to me.

My brother and I didn't know what to say.

We just cried a little.

I could have brought in the Sunday paper and pulled any number of headlines which reveal the feeling of hopelessness that surrounds us. The rising cost of gas, corrupt politicians, war and rumors of war, genocide in Darfur.....

Each of us in this room has stories like these. Sure, the names aren't the same. The details are different. But we all carry life experiences and burdens with us that have touched us greatly. Death. Divorce. Heartache. Pain. And it doesn't really matter if they happened yesterday or long ago, if we are not careful, even thinking about them now brings hints of tears to our eyes.

As bad as things may seem... as hard as life might get... as hopeless as you may feel... sadness and despair does not have the last word. There IS HOPE!

Hope. That word is everywhere today. We often hear it tossed about like a ship in a torrential storm.. If I am honest, I have often misused that word:

I sure hope I don’t have a test tomorrow.
And the corresponding: I hope I do well on my test tomorrow.

I hope can get a good tee time this weekend.

I hope she likes me. I hope he likes me.

In this season of Madness that is March, if our team is still alive (and mine is) we say we hope the team can win its next game.

I hope to see you soon, we tell a loved one on the phone.

But what we really mean by “hope” really isn't “hope” at all, is it? We “wish” to see someone soon. We “want” the tests to come back negative. But to wish or to want is not the same as hope.

The evening news is even getting into the act. Turn on the TV and it is there. In fact presidential candidacies stand on the platform of that one word “Hope.” A candidate titles his book “The Audacity of Hope.”

Government, it would appear, is to be in the business of dispensing hope.

Don't get me wrong. This country does need hope. Desperately. And maybe Washington can help renew our hope.
But the hope that government can try to give is not the same kind of hope that God gives

Listen again to these words from 1st Peter:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, ...In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials...

Peter's letter brought a word of hope to its original audience. Addressed to believers who were the minority in a pagan and pluralistic society, it was most likely penned during the last quarter of the first century AD. Although persecution was not yet as widespread as it would be in the coming years, these early believers suffered tremendous adversity at the hands of their neighbors.

And though we are not where our early brothers and sisters were, we know some of what that is like.

And if things continue as they are we will soon be walking down a similar path.

Look around you. Our world is changing. Recent surveys have suggested in the very near future Christians in America will no longer possess the majority status we have enjoyed for so long. And though change comes to the south a little slower, the change is still on its way.

We may mourn the loss of majority status, we are still called to be salt and light to the world. To bring to this hurting world the hope that can only be found in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Mars Hill Church pastor Rob Bell, in describing his ministry, says it like this:

If people have been thinking about God and life and Jesus, and somebody comes along and puts words to some of their deepest fears, theories, intuition, a pretty nuclear reaction goes off," he said. "For many people, there's a widespread, low-grade despair at the heart of everything. If we can tilt things a few clicks in the hope direction, that would be beautiful."

Hope, he says, is the bottom line.

"There's nothing to fear," Bell continues, "At the core of the Christian experience, there's resurrection. The story ends better than anything you can make up yourself."

"I can be totally honest about how dreadful the world is," "It's OK to acknowledge that. Half the Psalms are laments - 'Lord, why have you forsaken me?'

"Many people have been presented a message that's candy-coated. It doesn't ring true. It has a nice red bow on it, but there's no blood and guts. I fully acknowledge the suffering and pain, but at the same time there's great hope."1

Peter says that this new living hope that we have was given us through the death and resurrection of Jesus... or as the hymn says:

“Our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”

It is, after all, because of Easter that we can have hope.

It is why that when we gather Sunday after Sunday we are proclaiming to the world the power of God displayed in Christ's resurrection.

And this hope and excitement of Easter is not to be saved for only one day out of the year when we come to church, dressed in new and pretty clothes, and eat chocolate bunnies. Easter is our reason of being. We are Children of the Resurrection. We are Easter People.

It is because of Easter that Peter is able to boldly proclaim that we have an inheritance that will not be defiled...

It is because of Easter that the geniuneness of our faith which is tested by hardships and fire may bring praise and glory to God..

Because of Easter that we can receive the salvation of our souls...

Because even though we have not seen him we still believe... we still have hope...

Because that even in the face of adversity and the heartbreak of the death of close friends... or watching from the sidelines as my parents struggled to keep their marriage... my faith sustained me and gave me hope.

I have hope.

We have hope.

Our hope is not dead because Jesus did not stay dead. Our hope is alive because our Lord is alive.

Because of the resurrection, because of Easter, we have hope.

And that, my friends, is very good news. Amen.





1. Adapted from an article from Biblical Recorder

How Well Do We Know Our Own Story?

There's nothing like a big assignment to remind you how much you don't know. Case in point: Vanessa had an assignment to complete a genagram for a Family Systems class for her Masters in Counseling program. She asked me to help her draw it out. She had the information but had difficulty with layout. She'd be the first to say she's spatially challenged. I see it in my head and can easily translate it to paper.

But back to the genagram: it's sorta like a family tree except the focal point is an individual, in this case, Vanessa. Starting with her, you map out parents and siblings. Then the parents' parents and siblings noting similarities, common threads, like every aunt on your mom's side died of heart disease.

So we're mapping this thing out and she is telling me how many brothers her paternal grandfather has and how they died and I'm thinking I don't know if I could give all these details for my family. Granted, she had to call her grandmothers for the info. I could ask my dad, he would know. We talk a lot about family. But what happens when he's gone and my (future) daughter (?) asks me about her great uncles and aunts? I don't know my family. I don't know their stories.

I don't know my own story.

And that is a shame.

Come Home

For my birthday last week, my wife kidnapped me and took me away to a mountain retreat. We spent the restful few days walking and talking; just spending time together. The mountain air was crisp and the leaves were just this side of peak. I couldn't help but thank God "for the beauty of the earth." Fall is, after all, my favorite season, perhaps because I was born in mid-October. Whatever the reason, being here, in this setting, is like coming home...

One of our excursions took us into the college town of Montreat. The surrounding mountains serve as the backdrop to this Presbyterian campus. There are numerous hiking trails in the area for nature enthusiasts (and had the weather cooperated on this day, we would have been out one one or more of them).

One of my favorite sights of the campus is the Chapel of the Prodigal, named for, and featuring, a fresco of Jesus' parable found in the Gospel of Luke.



From Montreat's website:

"The interior of the Chapel of the Prodigal was designed as a complementary setting and focus for the large fresco, the Return of the Prodigal,creating an intimate yet uplifting worship space... After squandering the inheritance he demanded from his father, the prodigal son returns home from a far country seeking forgiveness and acceptance. The father receives him with love and joy, reestablishing his place in the family.

Painted by North Carolina artist Ben Long, the fresco is a visual reminder that we are all indeed prodigals and God is calling us to come home.

That Which is God's

(What follows is an sermon I delivered at FBC, Rutherfordton, NC. My wife and I had been visiting this congregation prior to my accepting a call to a nearby church.)

TEXT Matthew 22:15-22

I'm not from around here. I would guess that would be obvious by now. I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. But since my parents are from eastern North Carolina, I call both states home. With my parents about six hours North and my other family about the same distance East, I don't get to see them very often. At least not as often as I'd like...

But, the times when we do get together are special. We spend a good deal of time catching up on how things have been, and we can be quite often found around a table eating. Usually we go out to some local restaurant, places I only get to go when I'm "Home" a couple of times.. And it is while we are gathered around the table when it happens...

We sit. We order . We chat. We drink . The service and atmosphere are excellent and we eat. Oh, do we eat! We are after all good Baptists and good Baptists know how to eat! When we finish the meal, the server comes with the check and the argument, um, I mean discussion begins...

How much should we tip?
Ten percent sounds about right.
But it's their livelihood. This is their only source of income.
A fifteen percent gratuity will be added to parties of 8 or more.
15%!! I don't even give God 15%. Why should I give 15% for good service when God only expects 10% of my whole income?

I am not sure, but I don't think that's exactly what Jesus was talking about in this passage.

First jobs are great . Mine was at King's Dominion, an amusement park in Virginia, a sister park of Carowinds, complete with roller coasters and water rides. It's located just north of Richmond where I grew up. I worked in the Rides department, as a Supervisor of a couple of the rides.

But as good as first jobs are, first pay checks are even better . That is... until you look and see that before taxes and after taxes part, net and gross. I see why they call it gross. What is left after Uncle Sam takes his cut is, well, just Gross! Now as an adult it is even more so. A good 30 - 40% goes to the government, FICA, federal and state taxes.

Uncle Sam takes out at least 30% more than God gets.

So to give God his fair share , do you tithe and give your offering from the net or from the gross? What about bonuses? Do you tithe from those as well?

But I don't think Jesus was talking about paying taxes. And I am quite certain he was not talking about tithing...

This is the final week in Jesus' life. He has already made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem and in chapter 21 he cleansed the Temple. He has He then returns to the Temple where he has told 3 quite familiar parables: the parable of the 2 sons, the parable of the vineyard, and parable of the wedding feast. As we come to our passage, we now find the Pharisees gathered together and plotting amongst themselves how they might trap Jesus with his own words.

The Pharisees are teachers and are thus the counterparts of Jesus as teacher. They too have disciples, yet Matthew wants to show us that Jesus and the Pharisees are quite different .

The Pharisees had sent their disciples...

Did you catch that ? The Pharisees had sent their disciples. They did not want to confront Jesus in person so they sent their disciples. Maybe they were afraid. I don't know . The text does not tell us.

So the Pharisees sent their disciples, together with the Herodians. It's the only time in Matthew's Gospel we read of the Herodians and their presence in this particular text is significant...

The Herodians represented the overt supporters of the Roman government and would therefore support paying the tax. But the Pharisees were popular with the people because they, at least in principle, resented the tax. So you have both sides here. But they share a common goal... namely trapping Jesus.

And so the disciples of the Pharisees, give Jesus lip service saying, "We know that you are truthful and teach the way of God and truth and defer to no one. For you are not partial to any."

Then they asked the question that we are all by now quite familiar with...

"Is it lawful to give a poll tax to Caesar or not?"

“Show me the money,” Jesus says. That is, “show me the coin used for the tax.” Remember that this group testing Jesus is made up of both pro-tax herodians and the pharisees who opposed the tax. If Jesus answers one way, he offends not only the pharisees but the people as well. An answer against the tax could be construed as treason.

They hand him a Denarus, roughly one day's wages. Most of the coins in that time contained an inscription together with the image: Tiberius Caesar, son of the Divine Augustus, the high priest. If any of you went to see the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit in Charlotte you saw some similar coins. This divine inscription would certainly be blasphemous, a graven image.

It is interesting to note that 1. The Pharisees who resented, even hated the Roman taxes even had such a coin on them and 2. That they had this graven image in the Temple area.

Whose likeness and inscription is on this ? Or perhaps “Whose image is this ?”

On a Fall Break while we were in college at Gardner-Webb, Vanessa and I drove the long drive East of Gardner-Webb's campus to Mount Olive, North Carolina. Perhaps you have heard of Mount Olive Pickles? That's the place . There is even a pickle festival there every year . And they crown a pickle queen!

This particular trip is the trip that she and I were both nervous about . You see, she was meeting my family for the first time. As I said earlier, my parents live in Virginia but grew up within 45 minutes of each other . It is my grandmother, my mom's mother who lives in Mount Olive. My dad's family is in the Clinton/Kenansville area.

I had already experienced my part of the nervousness. I had already met her family a short drive from here in Spruce Pine and lived to tell about it. And I bet each of you can remember what that is like. Taking that special someone home to meet your parents for the first time..
What if they don't like me?
What if I say something wrong ?
What if they think I'm weird... or worse... what if they're weird? You know what I mean?? Nerve-wracking....

Vanessa met my mom and dad. She met my younger brother Jason. I introduced her to my grandma, my only surviving grandparent and to some cousins. My dad and I took her to meet some of his people, his brother and sister in Clinton. I showed her the cemetery where my mom's father is buried and the Hawes family cemetery in Rose Hill where my dad's parents are buried...

I wish my grandparents could have met Vanessa. They would have loved her.

We took a half day and drove the 45 minutes to the beach. On Sunday, we worshipped at my grandmother's church, a wonderful God-loving congregation who practically helped raise my brother and me.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of this church, especially homecoming, which even until recently included a covered dish fellowship meal on the grounds. I told you we were good Baptists! And I introduced her to that wonderful substance that makes my mouth water even now as I think about it, BBQ, Eastern Style. (Though I have come to appreciate the Western BBQ).

I crammed into those 3 days as much of my family and its history as I could. I hoped the whole experience wasn't too overwhelming to her.

She pulled me aside at one point nearly in a chuckle. I did not know what to think .Was she alright? Had my family scared her? I know they surely sometimes scare me. No , she wasn't scared. Well, at least that wasn't the reason she wanted to talk to me. Turns out she had found the whole experience quite amusing, especially when my dad and I were together ...

You both stand the same way.
You laugh the same.
When you 2 stand side by side and relax you both put your right hand on the same place on your waist.
When you are concentrating on something you cock your head to the side and have that same puzzled look - just like he does.

I am not the son of the milk man. I know who my dad is.

One of my favorite preachers, and I believe one of Dean's as well is a retired professor and minister named Fred Craddock . Dr. Craddock tells the story about a dinner he and his wife shared while vacationing in the Great Smoky Mountains. They were dining in a rather new restaurant, called the Black Bear Inn, just outside of Gatlinburg. The inn was quite nice and rustic and well-kept. The view of the mountains was spectacular.

Early in the meal an elderly gentleman approached their table and said "Good evening." Fred replied, "Good evening."

The gentleman said , "Are you on vacation?"
"Yes" , Fred replied as he mumbled under his breath, "It's really none of your business."
"Where are you from?"
"We are from Oklahoma."
"What do you do in Oklahoma ?"
Again under his breath, but almost audible Fred was saying, (SLOWLY) "Leave – us – alone. We are on vacation and we don't even know who you are ."
Out loud, "I am a Christian minister."
He said , "What Church?"
Fred said, "The Christian Church , Disciples of Christ."
The other gentleman paused and said , " I owe a great deal to a minister of that particular denomination.

And he pulled out a chair and sat down .

"Yes, have a seat", trying to make it seem sincere, but it wasn't. Who is this person ?!

The older man said , "I grew up in these mountains and the whole community knew it. I was what was called an illegitimate child . In those days that was a shame and I was ashamed. The reproach that fell on my mother, of course, fell on me as well. When I went into town with her I could see people staring at me, making guesses as to who my father was. "I bet he's such and such's kid." "Nah... doesn't have the same nose. Looks more like..."

At school the children said ugly things to me and so I stayed to myself during recess and I ate my lunch alone.

In my early teens I began to attend a little church back in the mountains called Laurel Springs Christian Church . It had a minister who was both fascinating and frightening. He had a chiseled face and a very heavy beard and a deep voice. I went to hear him preach. I don't know exactly why, but it did something for me.

However I was afraid that I was not welcome here because I was a, ... you know.

So I would go just in time for the sermon and when it was over I would move out quickly because I was afraid people would say , "What's a boy like you doing in church ?"

One Sunday some people queued up in the aisle before I could get out and I was stopped... trapped. Before I could make my way through the group I felt a hand on my shoulder, a heavy hand. It was that minister. I cut my eyes around and caught a glimpse of his beard and his chin and I knew who it was. I trembled in fear.

He turned his face around so he could see mine and he seemed to be staring at me for a little while . I knew what he was doing. He was going to make a guess as to who my father was...

A moment later he said , "Well, boy, you're a child of ...." and he paused there . And I knew it was coming. I knew I would have my feelings hurt. I knew I would not go back again .

He said , "Boy, you are a child of God. I see a striking resemblance."

A child of God. Like I am. Like you are. Like any and every other person, whether we like them or not. Each of us are children of God, made in the image of our creator.

And God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created them. Male and female created he them.

It is God's image we bear. It is his name and inscription we carry. And therefore we belong to God.

It's not about taxes and giving the IRS its due. Though as Christians we should pay our taxes. It's more than that.

It's not about tithing, whether you give a tenth, fifteen percent or fifty percent. God doesn't need your money. Does Scripture not say that God owns the cattle of a thousand hills? It's not the money he wants. It's much more than that.
What does God want? God wants that which is rightfully his... that which bears his image.

God wants us. Each of us. Not an hour each Sunday morning. Not a tenth of our time. Or fifteen percent. God wants us all and He wants ALL of us.


And taking the coin, Jesus asked "Whose image is on this ?" Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, but give to God, that which belongs to God."

"Bittersweet"

This was the first sermon I ever preached. During my days in Divinity School, everyone was required to take a class on Worship/Preaching. Men and Women. (As if the Good News of the Resurrection was not first preached by the women). The Dean of the School was the Preaching professor. The class before us had preached their own "pet" texts so the Dean decided to jot down texts on slips of paper for us to pull from. I let out an audible gasp when I selected "Revelation 10." What follows is that sermon, which the Dean later asked me to deliver to the School body at a Chapel service the following semester...

They say that confession is good for the soul. If that is the case then I have a confession to make. I know absolutely nothing about cars. A totally unmanly thing to say to be sure but it is true nonetheless. Granted I do at least know how to change a tire and pump gas. I’ve had to do so on numerous occasions. But if I were to open the hood and be asked to explain the functions of the automobile entrails (which to me resembled more a spaghetti bowl of wires, whistles and thing-a-ma-bobs than anything that could possibly power a car) then I would be totally and utterly confused. A few weeks ago, my wife Vanessa was having some difficulties with her car. We decided it would be best (given my vast wisdom on the subject) to have her father take a look and see if he could tell what the problem was. He opened the hood and peered inside. I stood there hoping to gain even the slightest bit of knowledge with which to unravel this mystery known as “ THE AUTOMOBILE.” He glanced at the engine (I know what the engine is). He pulled at some cables and asked me to start the car. It hummed and purred like normal again. I got out to take a look. (I tried to look where he was looking, hoping to appear as though I had some clue as to what was going on. I didn’t).

As awkward as that experience was, nothing gives a shock to the system quite like stepping off a plane into a strange land. A few years ago I traveled with a group of fifty young people to Hanoi, Vietnam where we stayed for a month. Officially, we were there on a cultural exchange program, teaching English at the university. While we were there, we took time to see some of the many sights. One particular landmark haunts my mind. The Hilton. For those of you who are old enough I need not say more; you know exactly what I am talking about. For those of us who were mere twinklings in the eyes of our parents when the last troops came home, the Hilton was the POW camp located in downtown Hanoi. (It’s the same place featured recently in the news around election time where John McCain was held captive during the war). Recently on, I think the Discovery Channel, I saw a documentary on the Hilton. The narrator suggested that the key to the success of the prison was the isolation and breaking down of one’s resistance and morale. To accomplish this, the prisoners remained separated from each other and faced long extensive interrogations and arduous torture. To combat feelings of fatigue, despair, loneliness and isolation, the American soldiers developed a system of communication. With the ratta-tap-tappatappa-tap of a woodpecker, an alphabet was born. (To the guards it was background noise. They were so very clueless). Many former POWs interviewed affirmed that simple series of short taps as their emotional and mental salvation.1 (Ahhh the mystery of the human spirit in the midst of suffering driven by a need to connect).

The setting of the book of Revelation, most scholars would say, is towards the end of the first century during the reign of the emperor Domitian. Domitian, George Caird would suggest, was understood by some to be a second Nero. Domitian was one, Caird explained, who had an inferiority complex, which he tried to placate by demanding “that his subjects worship him as Lord and God.”

I have another confession to make in that I am an avid movie fan. My wife Vanessa can attest to that one. (If she were here I would get an “A-men” to be sure). She sometimes catches me in front of the TV when she says There are things to be done. Or if she is on the phone to her mother, I will pop in one of my favorites like “Star Wars” or “Private Ryan” and watch until she is done. Many of you have seen the movie “Gladiator” which won “Best Picture” at the Oscars recently. There was a scene which never made it to the final cut in which Christians were led “like lambs to the slaughter” as they were sent into the arena to the dietary delight of the lions. It was eventually decided to delete this scene as it did not serve to carry the plot and may have been seen as some to be offensive. Such was the world in which John envisioned when he wrote...

1. And I saw another powerful angel coming down from heaven clothed in a cloud and a rainbow about his head and His face was as the sun and his feet as pillars of fire.
2. And having in his hand a little scroll, one already opened. And he placed his right foot upon the sea and his left upon the earth.
3. And he cried out in a loud voice as a lion bellows. And when he cried out, the seven thunders spoke their own sound.
4. And when the seven thunders spoke I was about to write and I heard a voice from heaven saying, “Seal that which the seven thunders spoke and do not write these things.”
5. And the angel (the one I saw standing upon the sea and upon the earth) raised his right hand unto heaven
6. and swore by the One living unto the ages of the age Who created heaven and the things in it and the earth and the things in it and the sea and the things in it that there shall be no more delay.
7. But in the days of the voice of the seventh angel when he is about to sound the trumpet and bring to completion the Mystery of God as he proclaimed to the servants of the prophets.
8. And again the voice which I heard from heaven says to me, “Go take the scroll (the one already opened) which is in the hand of the angel standing on the sea and on the land.”
9. And I went away toward the angel saying to him to give me the little scroll. And he says to me, “Take and devour it and it will embitter your stomach but in your mouth it will be sweet as honey.”
10. And I took the little scroll from the hand of the angel and devoured it and it was to my mouth as honey sweet and when I ate it, it made my stomach bitter.
11. And they tell me it is necessary for me to again prophesy to the peoples, and nations and languages and many kings.

As a young boy, I loved reading mysteries like Encyclopedia Brown and the Hardy Boys. I particularly liked reading Encyclopedia Brown because at the end of the story you are given the opportunity to see if you could solve the mystery before flipping to the back of the book to find the answer. One of Encyclopedia’s many escapades involved his arch nemesis, Bugs Meany, who claimed to possess an authentic painting of the Liberty Bell painted by his great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather on July 4, 1776. Bugs was willing, he said, to part with the painting , for a modest sum. He allowed Encyclopedia to inspect the painting and was quick to point out the date and the famous crack in the bell. When I finished reading the story, I knew Bugs was lying about the painting (because he was always lying about something) though I wasn’t sure exactly how. So I had to flip to the back of the book to find my answer. Encyclopedia pointed out that the painting was indeed a fake. He showed Bugs that he had made certain to point out both the date and the authentic crack. In actuality, if the painting of the bell had been on July 4, 1776, it would have been before the bell was cracked. (I guess in addition to cars I was never really good at solving those mysteries).

So what exactly is this mystery of God? It’s not like those books I read as a child. I used to love the game “Clue.” “It was Colonel Mustard, in the Library, with a candlestick.” But, again, it’s not that kind of mystery, either.

Perhaps a glance at context will provide the missing clue. A couple of chapters prior to this passage, John recounts a meeting with another angel. This angel posed the question before the throng in heaven: “Who is worthy to open this scroll?” made in reference to the Great Scroll of chapter five. We find John weeping because there is “no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth” who can open it. John weeps because the secret purpose of God, hitherto concealed in the scroll is not only unable to be revealed but until the scroll is opened remains unaccomplished. An elder approaches John and asks him to stop weeping because the Lion of the tribe of Judah has come to open the scroll. Here, Caird points out that the tendency of translations to place a paragraph break between verses five and six disrupts the flow and meaning of the text. You see, John hears that a lion has come and he looks and he sees a lamb.

Remember those see-and-speak toys toddlers play with? On the front are pictures of animals: cows, birds, cats, dogs, horses and frogs. You pull the string and around the arrow goes. It stops on the lion.....Baa -aaaaah. It stops on the lion and Baa-aaaahhh? THE MYSTERY OF GOD. “Behold a lion has come... and I saw a lamb.” The lion is the king of the jungle, a symbol of strength. Lambs are such silly creatures. The lion is a lamb? Huh?

God works in mysterious ways. Each of us who sit in this room can testify to this. His mystery is no more evident than in his salvific purposes for mankind. “I heard a lion and saw a lamb.” But wait. There is more. This lamb had to suffer. “A lamb bearing the marks of crucifixion.” What a strange way to save humanity. God himself had to suffer for us.

While he was praying in the garden, Christ struggled with his role in the plan of God. As blood poured down his face, he wrestled with his fate. In accepting the cup, he would face unbearable suffering. “Not my will but yours be done.”8 In accepting the cup, the Lamb opened the Great scroll.

But how does one explain the mystery of the second scroll? There are countless others who suffer as well. Are their deaths a part of the plan? The biblical record points to Stephen as the first martyr in Acts chapter 7. Church tradition records nearly all the original twelve apostles died a martyr’s death. A bit closer to our time, more people have died for the cause of Christ in the last century than all the other previous centuries combined:

Near the end of WWII, a Lutheran minister was hung by piano wire just days before the Allies arrived. His name was Dietrich Bonhoeffer. There are countless stories of martyrdom in the middle east as well. I met a man of Filipino nationality who while serving a missionary in a house church in Saudi Arabia was arrested. He was held in prison for several years. On Christmas eve, the day before he was scheduled to be executed, he was released due to the efforts of his government. Websites such as “Voice of the Martyrs” recount many others.

I also know of some personally. It was upon my return from Vietnam while we were in debriefing that I heard... One of my friends I had met at training had gone with the team to Hong Kong. While they were there, they were aiding to smuggle Bibles into mainland China. Though the team members were not placed in harm’s way, the nationals they worked with were. One of the nationals through whom the team worked, while carrying bibles deep into China was apprehended by authorities and shot as a public service announcement. Another was captured and boiled alive in a vat of hot oil before a crowd of onlookers.

While John saw that the lamb had to open the larger scroll, he noted that the smaller one was already opened. God’s plan had already been set in motion and there “would be no more delay.” John saw on the horizon the suffering of the Church. He knew of the horrors of Nero’s regime and sought to comfort his brothers and sisters who no doubt also knew. The suffering of the church would no doubt be “a difficult pill to swallow.” The “cruciform life of the Church” bears its own scars. Throughout history, there are account after account and story after story of persons laying down their lives for the cause of Christ in the world.

“And on the night he was betrayed, he took the bread and when he had given thanks broke it...”

“THIS is my BODY. Take it and EAT.”

Hmmmm. Tastes like honey.