St. Patrick Presbyterian Church, Epc

A stroll through Hebrews 11 would be similar to going to an ancient castle: beautiful and austere; something out of another world on the outside and, as you enter, you would see the story of the place as you walked through in the form of tapestries and pictures, relics of another world. It is the world of the people who once inhabited the place and fought to keep it in the family for hundreds of years. Heroes, if you will, folk of renowned.             Hebrews 11 is the story of Israel in the Old Testament; it is also our story. It is the story of faith that endured. What is fascinating is that the writer takes us all the way back to the origins of the story of redemption and, guess what, it is the story of God’s grace coming to people and of them laying hold of God’s promises by faith. There are two stories always going on, and we see all this in Genesis 4 in the story of Cain and Abel. One story, the one you think is the ascendant story, and the other, the real story of how God is working in history. One st

I just made it through Shelob’s lair in Cirith Ungol. It seemed like the quest to destroy the ring had died with a stab in the neck to Frodo by Shelob, the huge spider that haunts this dark passage and has lived there time out of mind in malice and death. It was a near thing but that is just the beginning of the trouble of Frodo and Sam. I am almost through my annual trek through Middle Earth and perhaps the hardest part of the whole quest is the thirteen days Frodo and Sam face in Mordor after Sam finds Frodo. It is a test of endurance. Small folk in a hostile environment, with the weight of the ring so heavy Sam must carry Frodo. Nothing is easy, nothing is safe, terror is around them and also in them. They are physically beat, emotionally exhausted, harassed by Gollum and plagued with doubt—doubt that almost undoes the whole quest in the end—and yet they endured. To put yourself inside the story is almost too much to bear. Our text in Hebrews reminded me a lot of that this morning. We start a new sermon se

No one is asking me for fashion advice. I’ve never really cared for clothes, and I became even less inclined to participate in style when I realized that it continually changes. You mean to tell me I need new clothes not just seasonally, but also according to the whims of teenagers and Frenchmen? No thank you. In fact, after a recent week among the monks of Christ in the Desert Monastery in New Mexico, I had almost resolved myself to radically simplify – maybe just jeans and a black t-shirt every day like Steve Jobs. Then I remembered that this would not be acceptable to my wife, as my outfit often serves as merely an accessory to her own. I have already made vows, after all. So, I don’t fuss over clothes. But over a decade ago I was teaching through Colossians and I got to the part in chapter 3 when Paul says we are to clothe ourselves with Christ. That sent me down a rabbit trail where I discovered that in some ways, the whole Bible is a better story about clothes! From nakedness and shame in the garden to

In recent years, May has become a calendaring nightmare. The convergence of end-of-school, civic, and extracurricular events with beautiful weather means that even Mothers’ Day is far more frantic than she deserves. This is the month of end-of-year exams, graduations, performance recitals, dress up days, awards ceremonies, soccer tournaments, parties for kids unfortunate enough to have been born in this cruel season, crashing into Memorial weekend trips to the lake. Oh, and of course we also want to make sure we faithfully celebrate the Ascension so that we’re ready ten days later for all the Pentecost revelries. Of course, I’m joking about that last bit. We don’t live in a time or place where the liturgical calendar is a factor in this conversation. The number and range of obligations outside of that are staggering. How much worse it feels it’s gotten since all the lockdowns ended! In fact, I’m proposing a swift, orderly change in name: from “May” to “Must.”  Stacked social obligations have always led me to

Eugene Peterson, surveying the religious landscape of his day came to this conclusion: "The word 'christian' means different things to different people. To one person it means a stiff, upright, inflexible way of life, colorless and unbending. To another it means a risky, surprised-filled adventure, lived tiptoe at the edge of expectation...If we get our information from the biblical material, there is no doubt that the Christian life is a dancing, leaping, daring life.” (Eugene Peterson, Traveling Light). I suspect most of us have seen this same thing. We have seen religious communities that reflect a joyless existence mainly committed to what they are against. Those communities have little draw to them and certainly are not telling a better story. Yet, sometimes we see people and communities that don’t take themselves so seriously and dare to risk, entering the fray of life in all its complexities and pitfalls. It takes a lot more courage to do the later. Paul writes about living in the power of the resurrec

I just got most of my garden planted on Monday. Addy was a lot of help. I bribed her into helping me pull up the winter garden of kale, spinach, greens and arugula by telling her she could drive the lawnmower and pull the wagon to deposit the refuse from the beds. Anyway, we toil in hope. Even hobbling around on a bad leg, I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving for the feel, smell, and gift of good dirt...and especially my small tomato plants.            I mention my garden because our text this week describes Jesus as the firstfruits of those who have died. It might seem a strange metaphor to us who live in the relative safety of suburbia and assume a food chain that is normative and stable. We don’t live in an agrarian culture so it hard to underscore the magnitude of what Paul is saying. In Israel, and most of the Roman culture, the firstfruits of your crop were something to be celebrated. Israel had a festival to celebrate it. All agrarian cultures did because all your money, all your hopes, your very life

Owen Meany is a fictional character in John Irving’s novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany. If I could give you a one paragraph commentary on I Corinthians 15, it might be this. Here is what he says:I find that Holy Week is draining; no matter how many times I have lived through his crucifixion, my anxiety about his resurrection is undiminished—I am terrified that, this year, it won’t happen; that, that year, it didn’t. Anyone can be sentimental about the Nativity; any fool can feel like a Christian at Christmas. But Easter is the main event; if you don’t believe in the resurrection, you’re not a believer. (John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany)Paul would like that. In fact, Paul actually hints at that when he says that, by denying the resurrection, perhaps many had believed in vain. Resurrection is the gospel! In our text this week, Paul basically asks those who are doubting the bodily resurrection of Jesus to have the courage of their convictions, and then he outlines a bunch of things that are true if there is no

Like many Memphians this past week, I took a heliotropic pilgrimage to the booming metropolis of Jonesboro, Arkansas, in order to witness the rare occasion of TOTALITY. I like to put it in all caps to capture how apocalyptic it felt. It was a transcendent experience, and a communal one, too, to be with other folks who were well-versed in feasting on God's glory through creation. One thought did occur to me after, though, as someone commented on the rarity of the eclipse, and then someone else pedantically commented on how the moon was literally always eclipsing the sun from the right vantage point. There's a metaphor there for Christ's appearances after his resurrection, which we'll be looking at this Sunday. We think it's a glimpse of a rare occasion when, in fact, it's a rarely available window into a constant glory. (I guess it's my turn to be pedantic.) The resurrected Jesus marks the coming "new normal" for humanity, and I yearn with you for the day when faith becomes sight. See you Sunday!

We are now in the season of Eastertide. It’s the season after the Resurrection and lasts until Pentecost so we have roughly seven Sundays. During Eastertide, we celebrate the Resurrection. This year we are really celebrating it as we will be talking about The Resurrection of the Dead for the next several weeks. To do this, we are looking at the clearest teaching in the Bible on resurrection, I Corinthians 15. Why do we do this? Because what we believe about the resurrection of the dead affects how we live and view the world right now. N. T. Wright says that there are two questions that matter: “First, what is the ultimate Christian hope? Second, what hope is there for change, rescue, transformation, new possibilities with the world at present.” (N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope)   So join us Sunday as we look at why Paul says to “stand fast in the gospel” and basically, the gospel is resurrection! The implications are enormous, not only for eternity but for us right now. Hope to see you Sunday.   Remember, all

Easter Sunday! It is sort of like the Super Bowl of the people of God. It is the day we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. As C. S. Lewis points out, “To preach Christianity meant (to the Apostles) primarily to preach the Resurrection… The Resurrection is the central theme in every Christian sermon reported in the Acts. The Resurrection, and its consequences, were the ‘gospel’ or good news which the Christians brought.” (C. S. Lewis, Miracles) In other words, if there is no resurrection, Jesus is just another religious guru.             I use the word enchantment in the title of this week’s sermon because a lot of people are still trying to come to grips with something that is unique to our day, and even people who don’t believe are a little perturbed about it. If there is no God, then we live in a closed universe and nothing really means anything. In other words, if there is no God, the world has been dis-enchanted. We are truly alone, with no meaning or purpose other than what we can impose

Three words, that is all, but three words that mean everything. How we view the nature of Jesus' work on earth turns on our understanding of these three words. Things can get lost in translation here. For instance, it is finished, is either a cry of finality that either denotes utter futility or absolute victory.When the Memphis Grizzlies entered this year there was high hopes of a deep run in the playoffs. Steven Adams would be back and Ja would be back after twenty-five games. Then the wheels started to fall off. Adams was announced lost for the season just before the first game and then Ja was lost for the season after playing only 9 games. When Ja was lost for the season there was a cry of finality and futility about this season, “we are finished.” In other words what started with promise and hope ended in a cry of finality—we are done! We can’t fix this.On the other hand, we see a different use of this small phrase. The Kansas City Chiefs, trying to repeat as Super Bowl champs, wrestled through a frustra

 The burning sand shall become a pool,    and the thirsty ground springs of water;in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down,    the grass shall become reeds and rushes… For I will pour water on the thirsty land,    and streams on the dry ground;I will pour my Spirit upon your offspring,    and my blessing on your descendants. - Isaiah 35: 7; 44: 3 It seems impossible to engage the Scripture’s themes regarding thirst and legacy and not be reminded of Dune right now. If you aren’t familiar with the story, the royal Atreides family has left their moisture-soaked home world to govern a sandy wasteland, prized only for a scarce, precious natural resource. They intend to “harness the desert’s power” by learning from an indigenous people captive to prophecies about a future Edenic paradise. This vision has them willing to sacrifice every present comfort to the promise of giving their future generations a heritage of water. Eventually the young messianic Paul Atreides faces a hauntingly familiar crisis: will he ex

We are looking at the words of Jesus from the cross. All short, all cries of a desperate dying man on a cross, and all expressing deep need. They are all uttered from a place of total helplessness; they are cries of anguish. But none so much as Jesus’ cry of being completely alone and forsaken.  I have experienced much emotional pain, and also physical pain, since the first of the year. First, I lost my father, the man to whom I owe so much, and then I had my knee replaced. A lot of pain and some times of deep loneliness. But one thing I didn’t experience in this extended season of Lent was the feeling of being abandoned and forsaken. No matter where I looked, there were people “with” me – sometimes physically and with hugs and concern, often with food and quick conversations, or some from notes and texts. The pain seems to be bearable; what would unhinge my sanity would be if I was totally alone, having no one with me in the midst of this ordeal. If you want to know how bad sin is, just look at Jesus’ cries

French philosopher Voltaire (1694-1778) was famously opposed to the church and to much of Christian doctrine. If you want a fun time on Google, try looking up his last words. There are several accounts, many of them quite humorous. One of the more somber accounts says he cried out in desperation to his physician, "I am abandoned by God and man! I will give you half of what I am worth if you will give me six months’ life." The physician replied, "Sir, you cannot live six weeks." Voltaire concluded, "Then I shall go to hell, and you will go with me." For the hopeless, Christ-less, deathbed Voltaire, his last words are sad and selfish. What a contrast to the crucified Messiah.  We've been exploring the seven final sayings of Christ this Lent. While his pain is evident, his words from the cross are far from sad and selfish. Instead of retreating into his small world of suffering, he turns his attention to the others around him, offering mercy to the soldiers, pardon for the thief, and compassion to his mother and

"With Me in Paradise"I rewatched the great animated movie Coco this past week. Studying Jesus’ Famous Last Words in Luke 23, I just couldn’t get the main song out of my head: “Remember Me.” In the film, that refrain is an expression of a major plot point: those who die can live on and revisit us as long as we are faithful to honor their memory. Metaphor becomes reality for a young man who accidentally reverses direction (guided by a certain “Dante”), visiting his great grandfather in the underworld instead. There, everyone is either enjoying the gifts that come with being remembered, or anxiously awaiting the second death that comes when the last candle held for them is extinguished. The theme seems a bit macabre for a family film, but they really manage to pull it off.  This idea that existence depends on the attention or memory of another mind was championed by the philosopher George Berkeley in the early 1700’s. He was an Irish Episcopal bishop, very concerned about the materialism arising within Enlighten

Jim is undergoing knee surgery today. I'm confident we will get the complete rundown and color commentary upon his return, and I’m looking forward to the high drama of it all! What you may not know is that Jim’s not the only one of our pastors who spent some quality time in the hospital this week. Our second-oldest ordained staffer also had quite an eventful time surrendering his aging body to medical professionals.  A kidney stone is rarely a life-threatening event. It’s relatively common, with 1 in 10 adults experiencing them. Yet, they say the discomfort is up there with gunshot wounds and labor pains. Listen, I would never suggest that I now know what giving birth feels like. That’s a ridiculous thing for a man to say, and I would never even mention the comparison. It might help instead to put this in strictly scientific terminology for you: it’s like a demon tunnelling through your innards.  It occurred to me at one point that I didn’t want my last words to be “We have to find the remote; I just can’t ta

Jayber Crow is a novel by Wendell Berry that I have been thinking about recently, as I ponder generosity and building a new addition which will include a playground, pavilion and kitchen at St. Patrick. It is a story of a boy orphaned at age 10. After his parents die, Jayber is sent to an orphanage. He grows up rootless and placeless. When he leaves to make his way in the world, he tries preaching but drops out of seminary because he doesn’t really believe all the religious nonsense they are teaching him. Thirteen years later, he winds up back to his hometown which, though he was born there, holds no memory to him.  By default, Jayber Crow becomes the town barber and part-time grave-digger for the town. He comes as a stranger but winds up finding himself, as he is generously taken into the community of Port Williams, a small rural town in Kentucky. In later years, he speaks of what that felt like: “There are moments when the heart is generous, and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven tog