The View From Croagh Patrick

Although it tops out at only 2,500 feet, it is still an impressive mountain.

It’s called, Croagh Patrick.

Located on the west coast of Ireland, the cone-shaped, rocky mountain is rich in history and legend.

Historical evidence has revealed that the summit was once a frequently visited location for pre-Christian pilgrims. A ring fortress, encircling the summit, was discovered that may date back hundreds of years before Christ. Additionally, the remnants of a small, stone building—called an oratory—has also been discovered there, and most scholars have linked it to the age when Christianity swept across Ireland. It is likely that the stone enclosure was a place of retreat for early monastic Christians.

Less certain is the connection that the mountain has with the patron saint of Ireland--St. Patrick. As the story goes, St. Patrick spent 40 days on the mountain for a Lenten ritual of fasting and prayer. Furthermore, it is widely believed that St. Patrick banished all of Ireland’s snakes from atop the summit.

Because of this history, and out of devotion to St. Patrick’s Christian witness, nearly a million individuals hike to the summit of Croagh Patrick each year. ‘Croagh’ means stack, hill or mountain. It is a pilgrimage site where the faithful from around the world journey to immerse themselves in a wilderness experience as Jesus, himself, once did.

Like the path we trod in our daily lives, the pilgrimage hike to Croagh Patrick requires a significant investment of time and energy. It is not an easy ascent. The most penitent hike the trail barefooted.

Although it is unlikely that I will hike it without footwear, I plan on reaching the summit of Croagh Patrick sometime during the first week of March. I will be in Ireland for a week doing research on the history of the Church in Ireland—often called Celtic Christianity--for my Doctorate studies.

My first semester at Campbell University Divinity School this fall exceeded my expectations. As many of you are aware, I made frequent trips to Buies Creek. My classwork consisted of readings, presentations, dialogue and debate. As my grades will attest, I’m proud to say that I have successfully removed the cobwebs from my academic skill set and have a good strategy in place as I make plans for my Doctoral project, or dissertation.

This semester, my time at Campbell is cut in half. Instead of eight trips, I will only make four. My class load is the same as the fall, but one of my classes is an advanced elective. In addition to the exegetical class I’m taking in Buies Creek, I am working with a faculty member to design a class that will serve as a building block for the project that I will execute in the fall of 2019. I have crafted this independent study so that I can do a historical examination of the early Church in Ireland from the 5th to the 10th centuries. As my readings are already making clear, there are things our modern church can learn from the Celtic expression of the Christian tradition.

I will be using my week in Ireland this March to help me to see, touch and feel the legacy of Christianity in a unique and fascinating context. I will visit the ruins of ancient churches and monasteries, see the Book of Kells at Trinity College in Dublin and peer out on the western plains of Ireland from the summit of Croagh Patrick to where the Saint first began his evangelical pursuits.

When I return, I will be sharing with you what I’ve learned about the origins and legacy of Celtic Christianity. I will be offering a three-week presentation and study—complete with pictures and firsthand recollections from my research trip—about the Church in Ireland in May. I look forward to sharing my interest in Celtic Christianity with you.

I am most-grateful for the chance to study and to be stretched both academically and spiritually. The cohort of colleagues that I am a part of has blessed me greatly these last months and has proven to be a source of encouragement and accountability. What I especially love, however, is that the Doctoral program is designed to be a blessing for the congregation that the minister serves. My studies and my project are all intended to help and encourage our church and the Church Universal.

So no, I don’t expect the hike up the face of Croagh Patrick to be easy. But I know I won’t be traveling alone. 

Asking the Right Questions

Jesus asks a lot of questions. Have you noticed?

In scripture, we meet a God who wants to engage us. We know this because Jesus frequently asks questions of his listeners. Jesus’s inquisitive posture is a dominant feature in his life and ministry. When his disciples are perplexed by something, he asks them a question. When individuals want to know more about his teachings, he asks them a question. When people ask Jesus a question, he often responds with a—you guessed it—question. Depending on the criteria you use, Jesus’s red-letter statements in the Bible include dozens and dozens of questions.

Some of the questions point out our hypocrisy: “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3)

Other questions reveal our lack of strength and fortitude: “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” (Matthew 8:26)

Then, there are the rapid-fire questions that feel like an inquisition: “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even the pagans do that?” (Matthew 5:46)

Still other questions speak to the deepest corridors of our soul and convict us with their honesty: “Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6)

We get it, Jesus. You want us to be reflective. You want us to consider the world from your point of view. You want us to grow by challenging us.

We can’t help it. As humans, we naturally strive to make meaning of our lives and the world around us. Regardless of the circumstances, we try and make sense of what we’ve experienced. In truth, we’re not very good at it. But that doesn’t stop us from trying! We try and find patterns. We want answers, not further ambiguities. And when we don’t get the conclusions that satisfy us, we are perplexed and often paralyzed by the anxiety and grief that the cul-de-sacs in our imagination present us with.

When we deal with hardship and suffering, answers—at least fulfilling answers—are in short supply.

When answers are not forthcoming, perhaps it’s because our focus is misplaced. Instead of yearning for resolution that never seems to come, maybe we should take a cue from Jesus and search more thoroughly for the right questions.

Yes, a well-positioned question can reveal more truth than a pat response.

Jesus: “Why are you troubled and why do doubts rise in your minds?” (Luke 24:38)

(Our answer: “Because we really don’t trust you.”)

What question is God asking us? Which inquiries from Jesus are we ignoring?

Oh, we seem to have plenty of questions for God. And if we’ll stop to think about it for a moment, we’ve got to concede that God must certainly have some questions for us, as well. Do we dare field them? Or, would we rather stonewall God like a well-disciplined press secretary?

Discerning and asking the right question requires courage and creativity. It requires us to be open to conversation so that the door to our heart will be cracked open. Determining the right question for ourselves, and for others, can yield a break-through moment. A well-considered question can change the trajectory of our lives, and ultimately help to inaugurate the Kingdom of God.

Jesus: “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” (Matthew 9:28)

Hmmm. Good question. 

The Path Unfolds Before Us

What makes for a good hike?
 
Is it the destination that makes a hike great? Or is the journey along the way the determining factor? Maybe the duration of the hike enables you to immerse yourself in the wild for an entire day, while a shorter walk might make the experience more accessible.
 
And then again, some of us may define a good hike as one that never gets started.
 
The best hike I ever experienced took place in Glacier National Park when I was 25 years old. I was alone and travelling through the West that summer. I had never been to the mountains of northwestern Montana and I was thrilled at the alpine ecosystem in which I found myself.
 
I had awakened that morning in my little yellow tent. Even though it was early July, I was chilled and rekindled the evening’s fire. I had charted out a 15-mile day hike from my campsite, and I was eager to get on the trail.
 
The pine trees that lined the well-worn trail were a rich green. The sky was cloudless and radiated the most comforting blue imaginable. The meadows that unfolded on my left and on my right had tall grass, and the wide canyon that I hiked deeper into gave me a vision of indescribable grandeur.
 
I lost track of time. The sun crept higher, but I hardly noticed. The water from my pack tasted sweet, and the snacks that I munched on provided the perfect amount of energy I needed to hike farther and higher into the mountains.
 
In time, however, I met backpackers on the trail. One of them asked me a perfectly ridiculous question.
 
“Why are you hiking alone?”, one of the hikers asked me.
 
Flummoxed by the question and shaken out of my rocky mountain high, I stammered on about the fact that I was from North Carolina and just happened to be traveling by myself.
 
“Don’t you know that this is grizzly country?”, he insisted. “There’s a grizzly and her cubs up ahead,” one of the other hikers reported. “If you don’t want to return with us and if you don’t have bear spray, I’d recommend that you sing.”
 
Sing? I chuckled. Was this to appease the grizzlies who were partial to musical theater?
 
They didn’t appreciate my sense of humor and said something about it helping me to warn bears of my approach.
 
I thought about their invitation to return to the campground with them, but I couldn’t tear myself away from the trail that had hypnotized me with its charm and transcendence. So, I ventured on alone. But after about 100 yards, I began singing.
 
In all truthfulness, I was a bit nervous about the grizzlies. Okay, fine. I was scared. Grizzlies tend to be aggressive and will maul you to death. Yes, this was a bit unnerving. But I wasn’t so scared by the prospect of meeting a grizzly (or three) that I was willing to sacrifice the beauty of the journey for my own personal safety.
 
So, I hiked on. And I sang. And to my surprise, I would find comfort and reassurance in an unsuspecting way.
 
But that’s a story for another day…
 
As I recall, there wasn’t any one particular feature of the hike that made the day so memorable. True, my day hike had a river, cascades, deep forests and alpine meadows. But, it wasn’t the promise of my destination that kept me moving on. It was simply the achingly beautiful scenery and the way that it made me feel.
 
In 2018, our church will be journeying along the Path in the hopes that we can find ourselves walking humbly with God. The Holy Scriptures are replete with metaphors of journey and pilgrimage for God’s people, and they can help us to better understand our lives in the context of travelling and moving along a path. Like the experiences and seasons we endure, the path on which we find ourselves will oftentimes be dark, rocky and difficult to discern. But our path will also be littered with mercies and graces, beauty and majesty, alike.
 

Jesus once said: “I have come to give life, and give it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
 
Perhaps the best hike is an abundant one, filled with any number of frightful and extraordinary elements. A rich and bumpy trail is really the best kind of path for it reveals the world in all its raw power, promise and potential.
 
And besides, the path and the journey we find ourselves on becomes all the sweeter when we know that we do not travel alone.
 
As we’ll see this year, we most certainly do not. 

Christmas Nostalgia: The Obstacle to Our Joy?

“How lovely is Christmas with boughs in the hall,  
When bells ringle-jingle, and friends come to call, 
How lovely is Christmas with joy on the wing,  
While under your window the carolers sing,  
God rest ye be merry, give peace where you may,  
Remember the child who was born on this day,  
How lovely is Christmas with songs in the air,  
a bright merry Christmas dear friends everywhere.” 

Each Christmas, as far back as I can remember, I would sit in our living room and listen to a record that my mother had given me. On this record was the story of young Jethro, a lad who lived in a cabin with his parents a century ago in the wilderness of Kentucky.  

The lights were turned off, the tree was aglow, the nativity scene lit only by the star that hung above the manger. I cuddled up with a blanket and stared enraptured at the picture on the record jacket while I was transported with Jethro back to an age long ago.  

“How lovely is Christmas with boughs in the hall,” sang the carolers on the album. The music alone takes me back.

The hearing of the story “An Axe, An Apple and A Buckskin Jacket” by Arnold Sundgaard is an annual tradition for me. Yes, even well into my adulthood this yearly Christmas homage to my childhood reigns supreme. Indeed, I am eagerly awaiting the moment where I can find time to listen again to this age-old favorite.  

The Christmas Season is filled with moments like this for all of us. We recall baking cookies with our grandmother decades ago. We take trips to see ‘the lights,’ listen to the same Christmas albums, use the same decorations that we did when we were newlyweds 60 years ago. An important practice in our holiday experience tilts toward the euphoric, the nostalgic, the gauzy comfort of Christmases long-gone.  

But is any of this particularly good for us? Some will quickly chime in and confess that it is precisely this that makes Christmas so difficult for them.  

“It magnifies the losses I’ve experienced,” they will say. “All I can think about are the people who are no longer a part of my life and I spiral into sadness.”  

One commentator argues that our predilection to “romanticize…our youth and childhood memories” can “get in the way of what we should be enjoying in the moment.”*  

“Nostalgia,” he tells us, “has a complex etymology.”  

“The first part stems from nostos, meaning “homecoming” in ancient Greek, which was a heroic quality desired by Ulysses in The Odyssey. That epic poem charted Ulysses’ return to Ithaca after the Trojan War. But the second half of the word, algia, means “pain”. The word as a whole implies the “painful homecoming” – the difficult journey – the return home that’s not without trouble.” 

To suggest that our Christmas traditions and practices are distractions seems callous and hollow. The coziness of my Christmas memories is significant and worthy of being savored. But, there is something that rings true in the idea that these wistful recollections are ‘painful homecomings.’ 

Our celebration of Christmas should be more than a nostalgic longing for the past. As followers of the Christ Child, we should be mindful that His birth is far more than just a snapshot from the past. At Christmas, our energy and attention should be directed at the miracle and majesty of Emmanuel—God with Us—with all its eternal implications.  

Yes, if we linger too long in the harbors of Christmas Past we will not have any space left to savor what is unfolding in the present. This is bittersweet in two ways: It moves us out of our idealized pasts—which were not always so ideal, if we pause to think about it; and second, it gives us the freedom to move out of one season and begin another. 

Here’s the source of our joy! God’s redemptive power, made manifest in the person of Jesus Christ, can transform the past into a joyful new day and new tomorrow.    

So may the joy of Christmas remind you that in Christ Jesus all things are being made new. Be gentle with yourselves and with your memories this Christmas so that you can allow God to graft new moments of joy today and always.  

*”Christmas Nostalgia is Something to be Wary of, According to Literary Greats” is an article by Nick Taylor-Collins, and was published in the journal, The Conversation, on December 20, 2017. 

Eyes Open to Good Surprises

“But the angel said to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” Luke 2:10-12

The weather folk called for a dusting and we ended up with 10 inches of snow.

For this weather junkie, this was especially “good news of great joy!”

Our Snow Surprise! last week bucked the trend that we’ve come to expect here in winter. Around here, winter storms rarely sneak up on anyone. They emerge on someone’s computer screen days in advance and tease us with possibilities. The chatter at work and on social media reveals our anxiety about the potential disruption, and the volume of milk in our refrigerators escalates. And once the big day arrives, we sometimes discover that what looked like a historic snowstorm was only the enlarged shadow of our hopes, dreams or nightmares. The anticipated foot of snow becomes a windblown dusting of disruption. Meh.

Not. This. Time.

Sure, go ahead and claim that you saw last week’s snow coming. I’ll regretfully concede that it was not on my radar screen. True, I had kept up with the forecasts but agreed with the meteorologists that a brief hit of light snow was the best we could hope for. Instead, we were treated to the rising suspicion on Thursday evening that something might be up. The school system showed their cards and delayed school by a couple of hours hinting at the possibility that something more significant could be in the works. But still. When we were turning in that night, who among us expected that we’d see anything more than flurries?

But when we awoke to a couple of inches of snow on the ground and heard a rapidly changing forecast, it became clear that the weather forecasters had blown it. Deliciousness. It snowed a most-lovely and persistent snow. When the snow slacked off, it began again. When the heavy snow turned to flurries, it started up again in earnest. Snow upon snow, flake upon flake, our world was transformed into a Winter Wonderland of old.

Last week’s snow was for many of us a good surprise.* (see comment below)

The Bible tells us that a group of shepherds received a good surprise, as well. It’s not hard to imagine that what happened to them in the wee hours in a pasture surrounded by sheep was anything less than shocking. Angelic messengers made few

appearances, they knew, and they certainly wouldn’t waste their time on a bunch of ragtag, blue collar workers. But that was part of the surprise just as much as the actual message.

“Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

The shepherds could read between the lines: “God has decided to make good on His age-old promise to save His people! This is good news! And the fact that you lowly and looked-down-upon folk are hearing about it first reveals that this is great news for the world’s least of these.”

This is what a good surprise looks like.

Good news and good surprises can be in short supply. We may be so discouraged and dismayed by our circumstances that we cannot see anything good beyond our pain. Sometimes, God’s good news can’t be missed—the shepherds’ experience speaks to this. But at other times, good news and good surprises are more subtle and can be missed. God’s good surprises are often veiled in the mundane and the run-of-the-mill.

On Christmas Day so many years ago, the Shepherds’ eyes were opened and they saw the good that God was doing in their midst. May our eyes be opened this Christmas, as well, to see the blessings that God does shower upon us each day.

Who knows? Those showers of blessing and good news just might be snow showers.

*No, last week’s dumping of snow was not good news for everyone. Many of our neighbors and friends were without power and suffered other inconveniences. But, with apologies to these individuals, I am going to claim last week’s near-one-foot-of-snow event as a good surprise. Thank you in advance for permitting me some glee.

Christmas and the Case of the Missing Manger

Yesterday, I learned that the manger for the children’s Christmas production is missing. Unless we find it soon, the Baby Jesus will have no place to “lay down his sweet head” when the children lead in worship on Sunday.

Now, lest I start a panic, let me convey that I have full confidence in our ability to find a home for the Christ-child. But it has me thinking. Does Christ have a home in Christmas?

At first blush, the response to this question seems plainly obvious. That is, until you start to press the issue. The Christmas season as we know it has become a mess of contradictions and mixed metaphors. Admit it. It’s flat-out confusing. We cannot even seem to agree on what holiday season we’re in—is it Advent? Is it Christmas?

Advent is supposed to be a season of waiting and anticipation for the arrival of the Christ Child on Christmas Day. Christmas Day, then, is supposed to begin the season of Christmas, right? If Advent is an exercise in waiting and delayed gratification, then we fail miserably at it.

“Why in the world should we wait for anything?” we wonder.

The story of Jesus’ birth suggests a season of quiet contemplation as Mary “treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” And yet, nothing is more chaotic and stressful than the month of December. We pack our calendars to the brim with activity, but in truth, we’re stretched thin and emit a strange odor that belies our commitment to hand sanitizer and our dependence on cough drops. By the time we arrive at Christmas Day, merriment is the farthest thing from our mind. It feels more like we’ve crossed the finish line of a marathon. Joy? Ha. We’re often exhausted and find ourselves near-to-comatose on our couches.

And then there’s the expectations. We know that it’s best for our economy if Santa delivers quite the haul to family and friends. We admittedly struggle with this as we reflect on a Holy Family that was in a starkly different income bracket than our own. We give gifts to one another (and score some great deals for ourselves while we’re at it!), but can’t really place our finger on the reason why. The Magi, we know, gave gifts to the Christ child—not to one another.

Christmas cards that we’ve saved from years gone by show snowy scenes and folks dress up like eskimos. But lately, it’s been warm enough to turn on the air conditioning while Santa gets down to business.

The truth is, the Christmas Season is not unique in its complexity and mixed messages. Life is complicated and full of contradictions. For the record, I don’t think there’s a particular animosity towards a Christmas “like the ones we used to know.” I think Christ has never been at home in our culture and in our world. He was born on the periphery to a marginalized couple in questionable circumstances (Oh, and the Law was after him, as well). Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised.

As a pastor, I’ve always found the Infancy Narratives to be a challenge to convey in the midst of the expectations that our world has laid upon it. For while the actual story feels "Christmas-y,” the lessons that we learn from the story of Jesus’s birth are decidedly out of step with the values of our current milieu. Each individual in our nativity scene tells us something about faith.

A messenger of God announces that God will come to earth in the most vulnerable way possible.

Mary rejoices that she will become part of a plan that will bring about the salvation of the world.

Joseph teaches us about trust, fidelity and obedience.

The Shepherds teach us about God’s dedication to the ‘least of these.’

The Magi show us what commitment, dedication and crafty-resilience look like.

Even Herod confirms our hunches about the tendencies of worldly tyrants.

Did I leave anyone out?

It’s easy to forget about Jesus, isn’t it? It’s even easier to forget about his adulthood and the things he taught and stood for.

John 14:23 reads, “If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him.” Maybe our goal this season should be to create space in our lives for God to make His home with us.

“Everything’s in place. Now, what did we do with that manger?”

Why I am Grateful for First Baptist Church

I am grateful for the First Baptist Church of Sylva because I hear God’s voice speak to me through your life and faithful witness.  

These past few weeks, our staff members have shared their gratitude for our church.

Additionally, our own church members have responded to our staff members with words of appreciation, furthering a spirit of thanksgiving in our faith community.

As we round out this month, I’m happy to take my turn and bear witness to the work that God is doing in our church.

I am grateful for our church’s location in the Sylva community. For 13 decades, our church has demonstrated a faithful presence in the heart of our town.

I am grateful for the way our church serves others by volunteering their time and energy. Much of the work of our church is accomplished by individuals who quietly contribute to our church’s ministry, leading others in any number of faithful ways and providing out of their own resources for the good work that we are seeking to do together.

I am grateful for the warmth and friendliness of our church members and attendees. I am thankful for smiles, cheerful embraces and hearty handshakes. I appreciate the thoughtful questions that accompany these encounters and I am awed by the generosity of spirit that I see our church members extend to others. 

I am grateful for deacons, trustees, committee chairpersons and team leaders who help to identify opportunities, and then discern the best way that our church can do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with our God.

I am grateful for those who make lemonade on Wednesday nights and for those who wash dishes.

I am grateful for those who champion mission education, and for those who position our church to be generous to our neighbors both near and far.

I am grateful for the spirit of appreciation that accompanies our worship experiences on Sunday mornings, and for the awareness our church has for all that our staff does each week.
I am grateful for those who paint, build ramps, trim rose bushes, pick up trash, crunch numbers, consider concerns and brainstorm solutions.

I am grateful for the faithful investment our church makes to fund our ministries through their tithes and offerings.

I am grateful for our History Room that tells the story of who we have been in our collective past.

I am grateful for the trust that our church grants me as I serve as pastor.

I am grateful for ‘behind the scenes’ individuals who make our ministries possible. These people set-up our sound system on Sunday mornings, prepare our food, clean up after us, hand out bulletins, and bake cookies to share at our hospitality table.

I am grateful to be a part of a church who values prayer, and who believes in God’s miraculous work in both big and small ways.

I am grateful for our church’s prayers, encouragements and support when our work together becomes challenging and tricky.

And I am grateful for a church that is defying the odds by growing, thriving and expanding our influence in our community and in our world.

First Baptist Church of Sylva, thank you for faithfully choosing to be church together. My life and ministry are all the richer for it. 

Just a Snapshot, Really

It’s only a snapshot, of course, but it serves as a powerful reflection of our church family.
 
The first thing you notice when you look at the photo that we took on our front steps after worship on Homecoming Sunday is that it is incomplete. Yes, like a river or stream that you never step into twice, our church is always changing. But at its core, the church’s spirit is the same as it has always been.
 
If you look closely at our church family picture, you’ll see that folk are missing. Over a dozen of our most familiar faces are not in this picture because they are on the mission field serving and providing disaster relief in Texas. Others are absent from our church photo because they are serving in the kitchen and in the Mission and Fellowship Center, all helping to prepare a feast of a potluck lunch (I speak for all of us when I say how grateful we are for your hard work!). I might add that a mark of a healthy church is evidenced in the fact that some are always absent because they are serving.
 
Look again at our church photo. What else do you see? It won’t take you long to see every generation represented on our church steps. As we know, this is not easy to accomplish and we should be grateful for the gift of one another. Babies, children, youth, young adults, middle-aged parents, grandparents, retirees and senior adults are all present in our photo and in our church.
 
Consider, also, the diversity that is represented in our church photo. You’ll see various shades of skin tones, as well as different nationalities and ethnicities present on our church steps. Yes, there are guests, newcomers and fraternity members from Western Carolina University. There are new members (Welcome, McLeods, we see you!), newly baptized individuals and longtime church members who have come home to be with parents and grandparents.
 
Look closer and you’ll see smiles that are genuine. Families are split up and mashed together with other families. Friendships are on display here, as are reunions and reengagements.
 
It should be noted, also, that some of our beloved church members are not in our picture because their life circumstances have changed. Some individuals and families have new rhythms and they are no longer a part of our faith community. Some individuals are no longer able to attend like they once did because of health realities that minimize their movements. And some faces are missing because they have gone on before us to life-everlasting with God. Being church includes an acknowledgement that our community is incomplete, and that we miss and long for the company of those who are no longer with us.   
 
Our photo is a fitting snapshot of who the church is. Our church is a community of attendees, guests, newcomers, life-timers, staff members, and recently acquired folk. It has holes and is incomplete. It harbors hurts and disappointments, sorrows and tragedies. It is full of celebration, is patient in hope, and is leaning into its future. The church is always a snapshot of God’s people, and it will always be fluid.  
 
God is present in our church photo, and His love emanates from our expressions. There is room for more in our picture, which is beneficial, because we are growing! This is what the Body of Christ looks like, y’all. We are God’s gift to one another.
 
No wonder we’re smiling.

Wanted: Dreamers & Laborers

Jesus said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

-Luke 10:2

I am grateful for a church that takes initiative.

As we pause this week of Homecoming to consider our church’s history and heritage, I can’t help but to be amazed at the way our church members have put their faith into action.

It may surprise some to learn that our church is set up to bless the work of the Spirit that moves within our church members. For most of our church’s history, we have had a great sense of trust for one another and for our processes of discernment. This has enabled our congregation to be a ‘permission-giving’ church.

No, the pastor and our staff do not have the monopoly on good ideas. To the point, we have arranged the infrastructure of the church so that it can bless the ideas and initiatives of our church members and attendees. Our church is built in such a way that each individual’s sense of call to serve and to make a difference is honored and blessed by God. I think if you look closely you’ll see that the most effective ministries our church has offered have come from the individual church members, Sunday School classes, Circles and pews rather than from our staff members.

Consider the mission trip team that is preparing to leave for Texas to do disaster relief. The idea for this mission endeavor did not come from the diaconate, a committee or the pastor. No, the idea to serve and to help others in need came from our church members’ willingness to help those in need. Additionally, without the galvanizing leadership of Harold Messer, these good intentions may never have been actualized.

Or consider the work of our church’s girls who will be seeking to raise money this Saturday to purchase food for the hungry in our community. The idea to raise funds to help feed the hungry by rocking in chairs was not generated in a staff meeting. No, this mission event had its origins in the heart and mind of one of the leaders of our Mission Friends. Once this idea was offered up, the church rushed to bless it and to help get the word out about it.

But why stop there? A specialized Sunday School experience for individuals with special needs was developed because someone was moved to the point of action to help a family attend church. Individuals within our ladies Circle groups have sought to provide a birthday party for local teenagers who are homeless. And let’s not forget that our church’s partnerships in the community have all been born out of one person’s leadership in the midst of a recognized need.

We are not a ‘top-down’ church. Our best ideas do not originate from our pastor, but rather find their genesis in the Spirit’s stirrings within the hearts of our church members. This, brothers and sisters, is our greatest strength.

But this giftedness comes with responsibility. In truth, we are the ones who are responsible for the work of the church. And this is as it should be. For if we trust that God is moving and working in each of our lives, then we must also recognize that God is calling each of us to be leaders in God’s work in specific ways.  

“The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

 Church, then, becomes the place where the soil is nourished by the Spirit and where God’s good seed can germinate and bear fruit. The soil—or soul of our congregation—is enriched when we hear God’s Word together in worship. This soil is worked over when our lives become connected in Bible Study and in service to others. The soil becomes fertile and pregnant with new possibilities when we pray for God to direct our paths and reveal His will. It is only then that we will bear fruit.

Our church does not exist to perpetuate the good ideas of days gone by. Instead, our church is constructed to be sensitive to the needs of our community and to the groanings of our world. At its best, our church should be an incubator for God’s work in the world. What does that mean, exactly? First, it means that we’ve got to be aware of the great harvest with which God wants us to attend. Put simply: we’ve got to be honest about the hurts, needs and concerns of our community and our world. Second, we’ve got to hear how God wants us to be moved to the point of action to do something about it. And finally, we’ve got to be aware that God has gifted us, uniquely and dynamically, as church members to respond to these needs.

Some of our best ideas, ministries and initiatives run their course and come to an end. The world we live in today is different than the one we lived in 5 years ago, let alone 50 years ago. This is okay. God harvests different crops because our seasons vary greatly from one year to another. Some of our ideas will be shared by many others in our congregation and the scope of our implementation as a church will be great. At other times, our ideas will be more limited in scope because our sense of call is unique and may not be shared by everyone. This, too, is okay.

By always looking forward to God’s new harvest, we position ourselves to focus on what can be next rather than fixating on what once was.

First Baptist Church, I am moved by your generosity and willingness to share. God is doing great things for others because of you. Our impact in our community and our world is limitless, not because of our facility, our heritage, our resources, or our staff, but because of God’s good work in you. 

Your Home Church

home /hōm/
Noun
the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.

Homecoming
Home Going
Home Improvement
Home Plate
Homemade
Home Phone
Home Room
Homefront
Homegrown
Home Alone
Homemaker
Homeward Bound
Home Church

I have two, maybe three, home churches. I think.

There’s the church that I was dedicated in shortly after I was born. So, certainly the First Baptist Church in Winchester, KY should be on this list. But then, there’s Smoke Rise Baptist Church outside of Atlanta where we lived for 12 years and where I was baptized. Perhaps that should be considered my home church. Then again, the First Baptist Church of Asheville is the church that knows me best as they ordained me to the Gospel Ministry when I was a young man. Surely, they should be my home church. Maybe?

Alas, there are no hard and fast rules on this. Not to be confused with a house church—or church that meets in someone’s home—one’s home church suggests one’s starting place. Let’s try this this definition on and see if it fits: A home church is the congregation where we had our beginning, and where we frequently choose to return.

Meh.

The reality of a home church implies that we don’t always stay at one church. For the overwhelming majority of us, we don’t spend the entirety of our lives in one church. We grow up. We move away. We move on. Most of us find ourselves at a church for a season in our lives—some seasons longer than others.

As much as it pains me to acknowledge this, people leave church. Sometimes we leave because we relocate geographically. This tends to be the most understandable, though nonetheless difficult. Sometimes we leave a church when we are called to another church. As one who has felt ‘called away’ and ‘called to’ a church in my ministerial career, I know how hard that can feel. At other times, we leave a church because something has changed—either the church, or the individual. In any case, moving from one church to another, or to nothing, can land an emotional punch to all involved.

Let’s not beat around the bush. Being church is hard. It always has been and probably always will be. There aregood (excellent, really) examples of the difficulty of community life throughout the Bible. Moses routinely cried out to God because of his rancorous congregation. Jesus called his disciples together and they were a fractious bunch. The early church was a movement of people who gathered together despite their many differences.

And my oh my, did the early church have their challenges! These churches were especially diverse in their makeup. Early Christians were representative of every social strata and demographic group. Societal groups that never encountered one another were now gathering together in the name of Jesus. The differences between rich and poor, free and slave, male and female, Jew and Greek, obvious sinner and evident saint, all created challenges that cannot be overstated. Don’t believe me? Read Paul’s correspondence to the church in Corinth. Spoiler alert: The church was having a hard time being church.

So why should our churches be any different?

As a pastor, I want everyone to want to be church. But I also know that is an unreasonable expectation. Like any other element in our lives, our participation in any one thing waxes and wanes in time. And naturally, we know this to be true among those who call our church their home. For a variety of reasons, church folk will engage, disengage, and then hopefully reengage.

Whether we like it or not, the church is not a static community. The church is a dynamic collection of individuals who are constantly changing, evolving, retreating and pressing on. Although I am never pleased when people no longer want to be church with us, I also genuinely want them to feel at home in their church. And if they do not feel at home in our church, then I pray that God’s grace will provide us all a way to continue to be church together even if that means that we belong to different congregations.

Church works best when we bear fruit together. The sweetest fruits, of course, are the fruits of the spirit as they are what nourishes our faith community when we are hungry for God’s presence. “Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” all work together to build up God’s church. Indeed, a sweet spirit begets a sweet spirit.  

I love calling First Baptist Church home, and I pray that you do, too. Later this month, on Sunday, October 22, we will celebrate our church’s past, present and future, with old friends and with new ones. I pray that our time of Homecoming will call us to a place of gratitude for the church we have been, celebration of who our church is today, and hope for who God is calling us to be tomorrow.  

And if you’re still wondering where your home church is, it’s the place where you sense God’s movement in the people that you love and want to call home.