Dec 20, 2015 Sermon: "Somebody Stole Christmas"

Stephen Baldwin

NT: Mark 1.1-11

Somebody Stole Christmas

            Girls and boys, gather round.  Women and men, won’t you please come on down?  I’ve got a story for you, which you won’t think is true.  It seems impossible…improbable… implausible: But, somebody stole Christmas! 

            You may wonder why I’m keeping my voice as low as a whisper, and it’s because our thief may be a visitor.  But don’t fret or worry, and please, whatever you do, don’t get in a hurry.  I’ve solved the riddle, and if you’ll give me the courtesy of a bit of your time, I’ll widdle it down for you…at first in rhyme.

            Perhaps you think that the Grinch is our thief?  We all know the story of that grouchy Grinch’s grab for glory.  In the words of Dr. Suess:  

THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" The Grinch laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grinchy trick!"

"With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Nick!"

We know what happens next.  He breaks into every Who house to steal their presents and only leaves crumbs too small even for a mouse. 

That’s what I’m here to tell you today.  Somebody stole Christmas!  But it wasn’t the Grinch.  That poor green outcast has been the butt of too many jokes already.  Somebody stole Christmas, but it wasn’t him. 

Perhaps you are thinking what I’m thinking.  Mother Nature stole Christmas! For two weeks, we’ve been able to wear short sleeve shirts during the day!  The Christmas forecast for southern WV seems more like a Christmas forecast for southern Florida. Mid to upper 60s! 

How are we supposed to sit by the fire with a cup of hot cocoa snuggled in our flannel unwrapping gifts when it’s 67 degrees outside?  It feels like somebody stole Christmas.   

            Maybe I’m missing the obvious candidate for who stole Christmas.  Our culture.  The one that starts advertising Christmas in October.  The one that makes you think you have to spend a fortune to express your love.  You can find plenty of people who believe the culture stole Christmas, but our culture would have to understand Christmas in order to steal it.  Most people don’t have any idea what Christmas means, so they couldn’t have stolen it. 

If you paid attention to this morning’s reading, you know who did it.  Don’t you!  It was Mark, the author of our Gospel reading, who stole Christmas!  Did you notice what was missing from his story?  Christmas!  There was no mention of Bethlehem or the census or Mary and Joseph or a star or angels or wise men or the manger or the stable. 

            Somebody call Judge Bob King!  Somebody call Judge Jim Rowe!  Somebody call Judge Frank Joliffe and bring him out of retirement!  We need to throw the book at Mark for stealing our Christmas story. 

            But if Mark were here to defend himself, he might remind us that he wrote his Gospel first.  When they put the Bible together, Matthew jumped the line and got ahead of him, Luke gets all the credit for the details of the birth, but don’t get it twisted!  Mark wrote his story first.  And he mentions nothing about Jesus as a child.  Why is that? 

            Because for Mark, Jesus became Christ.  The way he tells Jesus’ story, Jesus has to grow up.  God doesn’t hand him the keys to the kingdom; Jesus has to earn them.  He has to go to school, learn a trade, treat people with respect, follow his teacher John the Baptist, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, figure out how to deal with crazy people who come up to him on the street asking for crazy things, become a man, and eventually become the Son of Man.  So for Mark, Christmas is a time not so much for celebration…as a time for anticipation.  It is not the end of the year, but the beginning.  It is not the finish line, but the starting line. 

            I think that’s a message with great relevance in today’s world.  Mark’s Christmas story may not have all those details we’re used to hearing (though we will read those tonight…so don’t fret), but it does have a weight that we need to hear.  For Mark, the significance of Jesus lies in what he does.  His actions matter more than anything else.  That’s a message with great relevance for our lives. 

            It we’re going to claim the name of Jesus this Christmas, we have to do something with it.  If we’re going to celebrate Christmas and send people Christmas cards and put up a Christmas tree and give people Christmas gifts and share Christmas meals together, understand the name that you are claiming. 

Jesus wasn’t just given the title of Christ.  He earned it.  If we want to claim his name, we have to work alongside him.  Feed the hungry.  Clothe the naked.  Heal the sick.  Listen to the person everyone else runs away from!  Claim his name--not in words but in actions. 

            Did somebody steal Christmas?  Not exactly.  I probably exaggerated.  OK, I definitely exaggerated.  But it did get you interested, didn’t it!  For whatever reasons—culture, weather, the Grinch in all of us—we’ve lost sense of the theological meaning of Christmas.  To the point that it feels like somebody stole Christmas.  Come back tonight—yes, this was all a ruse to get you to come back again tonight—and we’ll take about the real meaning of Christmas.  Amen.      

Dec 13, 2015 Sermon: "You Dirty Rascals!"

Stephen Baldwin

OT: Isaiah 12.2-6

NT: Luke 3.7-18

            Isn’t it amazing that you can say the same words in a different tone and convey a completely different meaning?  We typically read today’s passage in an angry, with John the Baptist almost yelling at the people gathered around him for baptism!  We assume he is angry, even disappointed with them for their sinfulness.  But that just doesn’t make sense.  Even for John.  Would he really expect to recruit new church members by yelling at them the first time they show up to church?  I’ve never tried that…because I don’t think it would work! 

            Now, I know last week John was just born in our Bible reading.  He was a baby.  But by this week’s reading we have hit the fast forward button.  He’s all grown up.  And he turned out to be a weird guy.  He lives in caves and wears animals skins.  He yells in the forest.  But… people adored him. 

He was charismatic and popular and beloved.  The people gathered around him that day were common people--soldiers, peasants, farmers, tax collectors, widows, and orphans.  They were dirt poor.  Society marginalized and despised them.  But John loved them.  And they loved him.  Why would so many people come to an adored man for baptism just to take a verbal beating?  That doesn’t make sense.  So, if he wasn’t calling them names in an angry way, what was he saying?  p

            Well, my wife can say anything, even something inflammatory or insulting or difficult to hear…but she can say it with a big smile in a way people love her no matter what.  It’s a real gift.  A gift that John has.  A gift he uses in calling the people a bunch of snakes.    

            He calls them a brood of vipers not as an insult but to rib them.  It would be like saying, “You dirty rascals!  I can’t believe you came.  Who convinced you to come get baptized?”  They came in droves, and he was tickled pink.  So tickled he made a joke out of it.    “You dirty rascals!  I don’t know why you came, but I sure am glad you did.” 

            And since he has a captive audience of common people just like him, who get his humor and have come to him for counsel, he gives it to them.  He reminds them his job is to prepare them for the coming Savior, and they tell John they want to be ready.  “What should we do?” they ask him. 

            John gives a speech that would make any kindergarten teacher, much less Jesus, proud.  His message is simple: Share.  If someone doesn’t have enough food, share yours.  If someone doesn’t have clean clothes, share yours.  If someone needs money, share yours.  The “coat” in verse 11 is more appropriately translated as “undergarment.”  In a nutshell, that is John’s radical Advent message: Share absolutely everything.  If you have more than enough, share with someone in your community who does not. 

             I read a story this week about a poor man in Ontario, Canada, whose neighbors suffered a tragedy.  He lived beside a local mosque which was burned down in the wake of the Paris attacks.  This man who lived beside the mosque did not attend it; he was an inactive Christian.  But he knew some of his neighbors who did attend there, and he wanted to do something about it.  They wanted to rebuild, but they needed $80,000.  He didn’t have any money.  Well, that’s not exactly true.  He had 17 cents in his bank account.  So he started a fund with that 17 cents and asked his community to chip in and rebuild the mosque for their neighbors.  That was on a Tuesday morning.  By Tuesday evening, they raised $80,000.  A neighboring Christian congregation offered their sanctuary for worship services, and a local Jewish temple is hosting prayer services and potlucks during rebuilding.  That is the spirit of Christmas.

            Now, I know it doesn’t feel like Christmas.  I never remember being able to comfortably wear shorts in mid-December!  Time always flies this time of year especially, doesn’t it?  But make no mistake: Christmas is coming.  John the Baptist’s job was to prepare us.  Are you prepared?  Not for the gifts or the meals or the events.  Are you prepared for the child who will expect you to share everything? 

John said it’s not enough just to say you believe.  It’s not enough to have an “In God We Trust” license plate.  It’s not enough to call yourself a Christian.  John said to be a follower of Jesus, we must act like it.  We must live the grace given to us in the form of the child.  All year long. 

            It’s time for us to get ready.  So that one day when we enter the pearly gates, John the Baptist can shout, “You dirty rascals!  You did it, and I’m so proud of you.”  Amen.  

Dec 6, 2015 Sermon: "Reasonable Doubts"

Stephen Baldwin

NT: Luke 1.68-79

Reasonable Doubts

It’s a good time to be a pessimist.  There’s plenty of evidence across the world to support your worldview.  But Advent & Christmas are also the best time of year to be an optimist…to find hope where others cannot. 

            A family had twin boys whose only resemblance to each other was their looks. If one felt it was too hot, the other thought it was too cold. If one said the TV was too loud, the other claimed the volume needed to be turned up. Opposite in every way, one was an eternal optimist, the other a doom and gloom pessimist. 

            Just to see what would happen, on the twins' birthday their father loaded the pessimist's room with every imaginable toy and game. in the optimist’s room, he put absolutely nothing. 

That night the father passed by the pessimist's room and found him sitting amid his new gifts crying bitterly. 

"Why are you crying?" the father asked. 

"Because my friends will be jealous, I'll have to read all these instructions before I can do anything with this stuff, I'll constantly need batteries, and my toys will eventually get broken." answered the pessimist twin. 

Passing the optimist twin's room, the father found him giggling and wondering around his room with a big smile on his face. "What are you so happy about?" he asked. 

To which his optimist twin replied, "You hid my present really well!” 

Today’s story from Luke is one of my favorites.  This time of year we typically read Mary’s magnificat (her song of praise she proclaims for all the world to hear when she finds out she has been chosen to carry the Christ child).  Magnificat literally means, “My soul magnifies!”  Mary gives a beautiful, poetic, powerful song, but…she’s an optimist!  Of course she would find the best in even a bad situation!

 There’s another magnificat in Luke 1, and it comes from a doom and gloom pessimist.  That’s why I like it so much, I think—because it is so unexpected.  Let me read you the magnificat of Zechariah (father of John the Baptist). 

READ LUKE 1.68-79.

Beautiful, isn’t it?  The optimists agree while the pessimists know there has to be a catch.  Let me tell you the back story. 

Zechariah was a priest.  He and his wife, like Abraham and Sarah, spent so much of their lives serving the church they didn’t have time for kids of their own, and they were getting on in years.  One day, Zechariah was on duty at the temple, which meant it was his turn to pray with the walk-ins who didn’t have an appointment.  During a prayer, an angel appeared to him out of thin air.  Zechariah was terrified; this had never happened to him before.  But the angel comforted him, saying, “Do not be afraid.  I’m here to answer your prayers.  Your wife will bear a son.” 

            He said, “I don’t remember praying for that!  Have you noticed how old my wife is?” 

            The angel responded, “I’ve just given you good news, but still you doubt.  Therefore, you will be unable to speak until your son comes.”  And that was that.  He didn’t speak in conception, he didn’t speak in his wife’s five months of seclusion, or the last four months of her pregnancy.  Zechariah didn’t say a mumblin’ word for nearly 300 days, after he dared to question God and speak ill of his wife.  Let that be a lesson to you, husbands! 

            The time came for their son to be born.  Everybody assumed they would name him after his father, Zechariah Jr.  Elizabeth didn’t think so!  She had a name of her own.  She said, “His name will be John.” 

            The people still weren’t satisfied.  Zechariah came from a long line of priests.  Wouldn’t a family name be a nice way to honor that?  They asked Zechariah what he thought.  A man who hadn’t spoken for nine months.  A man who hadn’t said a word through morning sickness and labor pains and cravings.  A man whose last words had been something about how old his wife was.  Now, tell me: How do you think he responded? 

            He took out his chisel and wrote on a piece of rock, “Listen to the woman.  Name him John.”  And immediately, after nearly 300 days of silence, his mouth was opened, he could speak freely again, and he chose his words quite carefully.  The words he spoke are the words we just read.

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel...this child will be called prophet of the most high…he will guide our feet into the way of peace.”  Zechariah, the pessimist, repented.  He changed his mind.  He found hope in a hopeless situation.   

Zechariah’s story is the story of our lives.  God sends us a message.  We have reasonable doubts as to whether or not that message will come true.  So we sit with it for a while, usually in silence, to let it simmer and sink in.  Then, we eventually begin to believe God’s promises on our lives are possible.  We can nurture life, we can find purpose in what we do daily, and we can find joy…even in the ordinary, everyday lives we call our own.  We can…believe. 

Sure, this is a good time to be a pessimist.  If you don’t believe.  If you don’t find hope in Advent.  If you don’t think Jesus’ birth some tow thousand years ago changed everything for all time.  But if you do believe and you do take hope and you do think Jesus changed everything, then this is a good time to be alive. 

Anything is possible with God.  The barren can conceive.  The pessimist can hope.  The child can save.  Amen. 

Nov 29, 2015 Sermon: "Beginning at the Ending"

Stephen Baldwin

OT: Jeremiah 33.14-16

NT: Luke 21.25-36

Beginning at the Ending 

In Advent, we live in the unsettling tension between what is and what will be.  And we all know exactly what that feels like. 

It’s like pulling an all-nighter, staying up all night to work another shift or to finish a paper for school, or staying awake helping Saint Nicholas put together toys. 

It’s like flying to a different time zone and suddenly feeling the slow burn of jet lag the next morning. 

It’s like being asked to do two things at once or look in two directions at the same time. 

That’s what the unsettling tension of Advent is like, caught in the middle of what is and what will be.   We not only look back at the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, but we also look forward to his eventual return when the kingdom he began over two thousand years ago will eventually be completed. 

Today, on the first Sunday of Advent (the first day of the new year in the church calendar), we begin at the end.  Why?  Why does the church calendar ask us to begin the new year at the end of Jesus’ story?  So that we’ll know where were’ going.  It’s the same thing I do at weddings. 

When I officiate a wedding and we gather to rehearse the service the night before, I ask the wedding party to begin at the end.  The bride and groom take their places, the wedding party lines up on each side accordingly, the ring bearer and flower girl are told which adult will be their guide, and everyone knows exactly where to be.  Then I ask everyone to leave, and we start at the beginning.  Because then and only then do they know where they are going and how to get there. 

We begin at the end for the same reason in Advent.  So we know where we’re going and how to get there. 

In today’s reading from Jeremiah, the prophet speaks a word of hope amidst the unsettling tension of living in a time between what is and what will be.  The city of Jerusalem was completely destroyed in 587BC, with Jeremiah writing in the aftermath.  The Israelites were once again scattered from their homeland, living as refugees in foreign lands.  They didn’t know if they’d ever get to go home again.  They didn’t know if they’d see their families again.  They wondered if God abandoned them.  It was an unsettling time, so God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah, saying, “The days are surely coming, when I will fulfill my promise.” 

Perhaps you know what it feels like to be stuck in between what is and what will be.  Author Janice Springer wrote about such a time following her diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease.  She says, “There have been many losses (since that day).”  She used to feel strong and vibrant, but now she struggles every moment to simply stay on her feet.  She has lost friends and activities and routines of days gone by, but she says the most painful loss is: “I’ve lost my illusions.  I’ve lost the illusion that I am exempt from the losses and limits that besiege other people.” 

In Advent, we live in the unsettling tension between what is and what will be.  We know where we’ve been, we can see where we’re going, but we don’t know exactly how to get there.  Jesus compares it to a fig tree.  When we see it begin to sprout leaves, we know summer is near.  We don’t know exactly how long it will take, but we know it’s coming. 

If you look and listen and open your heart, you can see the kingdom of God sprouting leaves.  We don’t know how long it will take to arrive, but we know it’s coming.  That’s why we begin Advent at the end.  We remind ourselves--amidst all the unsettled tensions of life, of wars and rumors of war, of injustices and insincerities--that Jesus is taking us on a journey.  We do not walk alone.  We cannot find it ourselves.  We go with him.  We must trust him to guide us. 

Advent is a season of waiting.  As hard as it is, especially when the world seems so unsettled, we wait for the hope that sprouts like leaves on a fig tree.  We look forward to a day when all will be well.  We look back to times when all was not well.  Most importantly, we look around now, when all is well and nothing is well, depending on where you sit. 

And we wait.  We wait for the birth.  We wait for the boy.  We wait for the king.  We wait for hope to be born…anew.  Amen.  

Nov 22, 2015 Sermon: "Christ the King"

Stephen Baldwin

NT: John 18.33-37

Christ the King

            For the past two years, mom, Kerry, and I have gone to visit my sister for Thanksgiving.  It’s a wonderful time to visit northern Vermont, because it’s literally like stepping into a snow globe for a few days!  Winter takes hold there much earlier than it does here.  The residents are wrapped in flannel, the streets are lined with snow, and Christmas lights make everything glow! 

We’re not going this year, which has me a little disappointed because we won’t get to see my sister and brother-in-law and their son Ethan.  But on the other hand, they’re vegan, which would mean another vegan Thanksgiving. 

Now, I have nothing against that.  To the contrary, I admire them for it.  Kerry and I are trying to eat better and eat less mass-produced meat because animals are treated so poorly by the food industry.  BUT…have you ever had celebration roast for Thanksgiving?  If you don’t know what’s in it, then I won’t tell you, because I don’t want to ruin your lunch at Rudy’s!  I have eaten it…for two years straight…and let me tell you…I have never been so excited for a home-cooked Thanksgiving meal as I am this year!  We will have turkey.  And mashed potatoes made with milk and butter instead of soymilk and olive oil.  I can’t wait!  Because I can already imagine that first bite tasting something like heaven. 

Have you ever witnessed heaven come to earth?  It probably wasn’t during a meal, but it may have been during a tragedy…or when you hit rock bottom…or when you thought everything was in its place.  Sometimes the line between this world and the next seems especially thin (in those moments when heaven seems to be reaching down just as we reach up). 

Unfortunately, the line between the two worlds often seems too big to ever bridge.  For 10 days now, we’ve been bombarded with suicide bombings, shootings, and drug busts here in our little neck of the woods.  As we look up to heaven and ask God how such things can be allowed to happen, I imagine God looking down at us wondering where we learned such evil.  Certainly God did not intend the kingdom to look like this; we are supposed to make the kingdom come…to earth!

One of my colleagues tells the story of visiting a woman in the hospital who just came out of surgery.  Her nurse warned him before he entered her room in the ICU that she was still confused after her anesthesia.   When he approached the bed, she quickly grabbed his hand and said, “Am I in heaven?”  He didn’t want to embarrass her, so he pretended not to hear.  “What was that?  How are you feeling?”

She repeated, gripping his hand more tightly, “Am I in heaven?” 

He said, “Goodness no!  Heaven will be much better than this.” 

Looking a little disappointed she wasn’t in heaven, she asked him, “Is it alright to want to go?  My life has been wonderful, but it’s time.  My body is giving up.  Is it ok to want to go to heaven?”  He smiled, gripped her hand in return, and assured her it was ok.  We all yearn for the comforts of Christ’s kingdom. 

According to the Lectionary, today is Christ the King Sunday, which is always celebrated on the last Sunday of the year before the church calendar begins anew with the first Sunday of Advent next week.  Our reading from John raises the question of what it means that Jesus is a king?  What is his power?  Where is his kingdom?    

The story begins with Pilot asking Jesus a question.  Most English versions translate the question this way: “Are you King of the Jews?”  But the Greek says it differently: “You?  King of the Jews?”  It’s less of a factual question than a judgment, as if Pilot was saying, “You of all people are a king?  You don’t look like a king.  You don’t act like a king.  Do you feel like a king under my control?” 

If you contrast Jesus as king with Pilate as king, it’s easy to see why Pilate would scoff at the suggestion they were anything alike.  Pilate controls the Roman nation.  He has at his disposal the mightiest military in the world, the deepest bank account, and citizens who will do anything he commands at any time.  Jesus leads no territorial nation.  He has no army at his back.  No money in the bank account.  His own disciples fail to recognize who he is, much less follow his every order. 

Pilate maintains his kingship through the fear of force.  No one dares cross him for fear of death.  Jesus maintains his kingship through the hope of peace.  

What holds more power over your life--fear or hope?  Anxiety or peace?  The answer to that question shows if you follow Pilate or Jesus, because the difference couldn’t be any greater.    

After going back and forth about the title of king, Jesus cuts to the chase: “My kingdom is not from this world.”  I think he means that Pilate’s political power cannot determine his fate.  I think he means that he condemns the way this world handles conflict.  I think he means that he and his followers refuse to settle differences with the violence so commonplace in this kingdom.  So he says, “My kingdom is not from here.” 

To whose kingdom do you belong?  Whose rules govern your life?  Are you captive to fear or freed by hope? 

Sometimes the line between the two kingdoms seems too big to ever bridge.  How can we live in this world and pray for God’s kingdom to come?  Because sometimes the line between this kingdom and the next seems especially thin (in those moments when heaven seems to be reaching down just as we reach up).  This season is one such time. 

By giving thanks to God, you choose your kingdom.  You pledge your allegiance to a more powerful king than this world can offer.  A king who rules not by fear, but by hope.  A king who forces you to do nothing, but compels you to do everything worth doing.  A king we proudly proclaim as our own.  Christ the King.  Amen.  

Nov 15, 2015 Sermon: "Repent--Change Your Mind"

Stephen Baldwin

NT: Mark 1.15b

            We Christians have such a long history that we sometimes have very short memories.  Case in point: repentance.  When we talk about repentance, we usually think about repenting of our sins or turning from our sins, right?  Except that’s not what it means Biblically.  Sometimes our long history leads us to have a very short memory. 

            In the New Testament, repentance means “changing your mind.”  When Jesus calls on the disciples to repent and believe the Good News, he is challenging them to see the world with fresh eyes!  To turn their expectations and assumptions upside down, allowing them to change their minds to the things they think they always knew. 

            If you turned on your radio or television while getting ready for church this morning, you probably encountered an evangelist.  If you encountered an evangelist on a Sunday morning, they probably talked about repentance.  If they talked about repentance, they probably tried to convince you of the need to turn from your sin.  I grew up in a church which taught us the same thing, but I repented!  I changed my mind when I learned what Biblical repentance actually means.  The problem is that we Christians have such a long history we often have short memories.   

  There’s a new movement rapidly gaining popularity in Christian circles.  It’s called the “I am a Christian” movement, and it’s often found on social media and even in local pulpits.  Its basis is a short and sweet affirmation of faith which goes like this: “I am a Christian.  You can ridicule me.  You can torture me.  You can kill me.  BUT YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND.”    Let me say that one more time so you can wrap your mind around it.  “I am a Christian.  You can ridicule me.  You can torture me.  You can kill me.  BUT YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND.”

The folks who say it find it awfully comforting.  It’s as if they drop an anchor and are happy to stay right there…forever.  On one hand, I admire folks who see the world so clearly.  That is a gift, which many of us do not possess.  On the other hand, we Christians have such a long history that we sometimes have very short memories. 

Jesus calls us to repentance, which means he expects us to change our minds.  He expects us to grow.  He expects us to learn.  He expects that somewhere between our failures and our accomplishments we will experience the transforming of our mind…and we might actually change our mind about things, because we haven’t always had it all figured out. 

            I was reminded of that this week when looking at the bare trees behind my office.  When the leaves fall, they expose a world which has been hidden from us for two seasons.  Last winter we trimmed those trees, making large cuts in the branches.  And just below where the branches had been cut off, dozens of new limbs sprouted in every direction.  Change isn’t always easy, but it does lead to new life. 

            I suspect the reason so many folks feel drawn to the “YOU CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND” camp is because we live in a rapidly-changing world.  The speed with which the world moves these days has accelerated quickly, and that leaves us yearning for the comfort of an anchor. 

            But we Christians have such a long history we sometimes have very short memories.  Jesus never promised an anchor.  Never promised stability.  Never promised comfort.  He actually promised the opposite.  Wars and rumors of war.  Confusion and chaos.  He called these things the birth pangs.  Signs that the kingdom is indeed coming.  We experienced such signs this week in Paris.  Signs of the end as some are saying?  No, signs of the birth pangs, as Jesus called them.  Signs that humanity still can’t quite get it right.  With our capacity for great good also comes the capacity for tremendous evil, and we unfortunately see the signs of that far too often.  A dear friend of mine and Kerry’s from college lives in Paris and was in the area of the concert which was attacked Friday night.  She made it home safely, but Saturday she was absolutely shaken to her core. 

            People are asking, “How can God allow this?  What should people of faith do?”  In a word, repent.  See the world as God sees it.  Grieve with a broken heart when tragedy strikes.  Then do everything in your power to make your life and the lives of those around you count.  And for goodness sake, please do not retreat to the comfortable seclusion of a certainty which does not exist.  I know we all want answers, but sometimes there are no answers.  Sometimes the only thing we can do is repent.  Change our mind.  Learn something new.  Grow. 

            This week I watched a video called, “Advice to Your Future Self.”  A seven year old tells a six year old, “Training wheels are for babies.  Just let go already.” 

            A nine year old tells an eight year old, “Find out your babysitter’s weakness. Then use it against them!” 

            A nineteen year old tells an eighteen year old, “Go easy on the makeup.  You’re prettier than you think. “

            A 25 year old tells a 22 year old, “Credit cards are not worth the trouble they cause later.” 

            A 35 year old tells a 30 year old, “Losing your job can be a blessing in disguise.”

            A 47 year old tells a 37 year old, “Stop caring so much about what people think.  They’re not thinking about you at all.”

            A 63 year old tells a 53 year old, “It’s never too late to try something new.” 

            An 80 year old tells a 75 year old, “Spend all your money.  Otherwise, your kids will do it for you.”

            And finally, a 95 year old tells anyone who’s listening, “Don’t listen to anybody’s advice. Nobody knows what in the world they’re doing.” 

            We all want the security of certainty.  But the hard truth is that it simply does not exist.  We must repent all the time.  We must learn.  We must grow.  We must face new challenges.  We must fail.  We must grieve.  We must get back up.  We must struggle.  We may not have any idea what we’re doing, but at least we know the Good News—that God abides.  Even if we forget, God abides.  Amen. 

             

Nov 8, 2015 Sermon: "A Spirit of Giving"

Stephen Baldwin

NT: Mark 12.38-44

            While you would never guess it after this week’s summer weather, three years ago this week it was snowing like mad.  Do you remember that early snow storm?  It came right after Hurricane Sandy and slammed many of the same areas hit by the storm.  We in Greenbrier County were spared the worst of it, but the Summersville area received a pounding. 

            The food pantry at Summersville Presbyterian Church gave away all the food they had in that storm, and they sent out a call for help.  You stepped up to the plate and donated generously, so I loaded up the van at Kroger with peanut butter and produce and bread and canned vegetables and headed to Summersville.  I remember seeing collapsed roofs all along the way—a gas station, a mechanic’s shop, but mostly trailers.  So many trailers had simply collapsed on themselves under the weight of the snow. 

            When I dropped the food off at the church, it was about 9:30am.  Normally, the food pantry is open twice a week.  But that week, they opened everyday.  And by 9:30am, they’d already served 38 families.  A woman came through the door holding a bag while I was unloading the car.  I assumed she was there for food.  Her hair was disheveled, her clothes were dirty, and she looked like she hadn’t slept much lately.  I wondered if she lives in one of those trailers that I had passed earlier. 

She asked me if I knew where Greg, the minister, was.  Just then he walked back in the room.  She said to him, “I don’t know if you remember me, but you and the church helped me out during the derecho.  You gave me food when my power was out for a week.  Well, this time, my power didn’t go out,” and she handed him the bag she was holding.  “So I wanted to come and give you some food because I know you are helping others like you helped me.” 

            In that moment, I knew why Jesus praised the woman who gave two coins to the temple.  It wasn’t because she gave all that she had; she needed those coins more than the church.  It wasn’t because he didn’t value what the rich gave in greater sums; the church needed those funds too and valued the wealthy members who gave them.  Jesus praised the woman who gave her only two coins because the value of an offering is not based on the amount…but the spirit in which it is given.

            May her example continue to inspire us all to give back to God of that which we’ve been given so graciously.  Amen.