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Sermon transcript for March 8, 2015

The Day Jesus Came to Church
John 2:13-22
Belmont UMC—March 8, 2015
Ken Edwards, preaching

The title of this sermon was not the first title but it was the one that wouldn’t go away. I thought it was odd, but it wouldn’t go away. So this is about the day Jesus came to church.

Then I recalled a comedy sketch I saw some years ago—I think it might have been on Saturday Night Live. A comedian was portraying a televangelist. He standing behind his gilded pulpit and he’s preaching and gesturing and telling the crowd what Jesus wants them to do. It was Jesus this and Jesus that, like he and Jesus are pretty thick.

Then an usher hands him a note that reads, “Jesus has just arrived in the studio and he has few things he wants to discuss with you.” The TV preacher gets a horrified look on his face and says, “He’s here? He’s really here in the studio?” Then he crouches down to hide behind the pulpit and attempts to sneak off the stage as though he’s been doing something terribly wrong.

In the Gospel story Jesus does not show up at church but he does show up at the Temple. The Temple is the center of Jewish faith and worship. By Jesus’ time synagogues existed in local areas where people gathered to hear the reading of the Torah and the rabbis would expound on the meaning of the texts. But the temple was the holiest place in the Jewish faith. The temple in Jesus’ day was always under construction. Herod was rebuilding the temple and Jesus comments on this building in the scripture.

When Jesus visited the Temple he was confronted by the busy, bustling scene in the courtyard. It was expected of Jesus to go to the temple during Passover, where he, like other Jewish people, would pay the Temple tax and offer a sacrifice.

The money changers were there to exchange the currency of travelers. The animal sellers were there, also. For the wealthy, this served as a convenience. For the poorer pilgrims this represented a harsh and oppressive obligation. The money changer and animal sellers distracted the pilgrims from the sense of sacredness.

I picture wall to wall people when I read this text. When I was in Jerusalem I went to an open air market on the day before the Sabbath. People were crammed in there buying food for the weekend. They were yelling, talking and laughing—kind of like a Nashville grocery store right before a snow storm.  It was chaotic and wonderful. I imagine a similar scene at the temple.

Jesus is suddenly struck by the futility of the activity—the waste, the deception, the manipulation of God’s intentions for selfish human purposes. The terminal sickness of this religious system hit Jesus in the face and he reacted with whip-cracking anger. This does not seem premeditated.

Inside the temple in Jerusalem was the holiest place—the holy of holies, in which the Ark of the Covenant rested--a place that only the High Priest was allowed to visit. At the heart of the Ark was the Mercy Seat, a slab of gold resting on top of the Ark and guarded by cherubim. Nothing was on the Mercy Seat, no idol, no representation, only an empty place that is said to be for the divine imaginings of the people. This was a holy place where they could connect with their faith. Here they could imagine the God who had loved them and had been faithful to them over and over again.

Jesus’ reaction was against the intrusion of noise and unholy images into this sanctuary where people came to experience the presence and mercy of their God. Jesus is clearing the temple of these distractions. That’s what happened the day Jesus went to the temple.

What would happen if Jesus came in here today and sat down among us? Would he come with blessings or with a whip? Would he turn over some tables or would he smile on us? Are there systemic injustices in the church that Jesus would confront? Would we even recognize him? Or would we be too distracted to notice him? What would he look like?

Several years ago Jesus came to Mt. Juliet. I saw him walking along Lebanon Road. He was wearing a loose fitting robe and his feet were bare. He was carrying a large cross. It was quite surprising to see him as I was driving along the road to work at Grace UMC.

I pulled over to talk with him. This Jesus was a young man with long brown hair who had set out to walk across the country as Jesus, carrying nothing but a cross. His presence startled people, but they brought him bottles of water and sandwiches and invited him to stay in their homes at night. He had not lacked for food or a place to lay his head. Sometimes they asked for his autograph. His presence made people slow down and think.

He said he had no political or personal agendas, but he felt led by God to walk across the country to allow Christ’s presence to speak to peoples’ hearts.

The coming of Christ into our typical Sunday morning would certainly have a profound impact on us and on what is important. Our attention would shifted away from own opinions, our pet peeves, our beloved traditions, our busyness, our talking and activity.

I suspect that all eyes would be on him. Nothing else would matter. It would be an experience we would never forget. It would change our lives. This space, this whole building would be made holy by the presence of Jesus.

I’ve thought about holy, sacred spaces a lot after reading this passage. My brother brought me a plate with the image of Mt. Zion UMC, in Robertson County. He found it at among my family’s things. There were two so he gave me one of them. This was the church where I was baptized as an infant, where I learned the stories of Jesus in Sunday School, where I was nurtured in the early days of faith and where I went through Confirmation. We went to Vacation Bible School there in the summers and in December we dressed up as shepherds for the annual Christmas pageant. When I think of prevenient grace, the grace that leads to God, I think of this little, white framed church. In later years I would return to this church, as the family chaplain, to lead the funerals of beloved aunts, uncles and cousins. It’s a holy place for me.

During the last winter blast, several small churches burned to the ground. The images of them reminded me of Mt. Zion. I saw photos of them on Facebook and on the evening news. I heard people tell, through their tears, of how much these buildings had meant to them, and how sad it was to lose these places of worship.

In 70 A.D. the temple in Jerusalem would be completely destroyed and it has never been rebuilt. People would never again come there to offer sacrifices. The holy place was gone, the Ark was gone, and the Mercy Seat was destroyed.

Jesus said, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.” (v. 19)  He was speaking of the temple of his body, not the temple built by human hands over forty-six years. Jesus is the temple which has come from God, who will always be with us, no matter where we are.

The people from those churches that burned over the past month said they would find a place and a way to gather on the Sundays after the fires.  Jesus came to their churches on those Sundays, just as he had every Sunday, in those beautiful little white framed churches. His presence made all of those spaces holy places.

So we don’t come here to wonder “What if Jesus came to our church?” We come here every week to be in his presence, his loving and transforming presence. We invite him here at the beginning of the service and we make space in our hearts to experience his presence. We do recognize him, in the warm smiles and the tender embraces of friends. We see him in the hands that welcome and feed the homeless. We see him on the faces of acolytes who bear his light into this space. We hear him calling to us through the music of choir and congregants singing hymns. We hear him as the Word is shared, and he challenges our complacency and our love for the status quo.

Here we enter into the holy place, made holy by the presence of Christ. Here we lay aside the distractions and our hearts that have been anxious all week are set at ease and turned back toward God. Here we are changed and renewed, because Jesus came to our church again today.  


Sermon transcript for February 22, 2015

Now Is the Time
Mark 1:9-15--First Sunday in Lent
Belmont UMC—February 22, 2015
Ken Edwards, preaching

Here we are on the first Sunday of Lent and most of us have had quite a week dealing with ice, snow and cold. Some of us have had some time on our hands to ponder what the Lenten journey means to us. Some of us missed coming on Ash Wednesday for worship and we found guides to use at home and ways to honor that special day that reminds us of our humanity, our frailty and our deep need for God. Some of us are just glad to be able to get out of the house and be here in the fellowship of friends in faith.

This first Sunday of Lent begins with the story of Jesus’ baptism and then being forced into the wilderness by the Spirit. There he is tempted by Satan, he was among wild animals and the angels came to minister to him. As usual, Mark does not give us a lot of details. But Jesus comes out of this 40 day experience to say, “Now is the time! Here comes the kingdom! Change your hearts and lives and trust the good news.”    

“Now is the time!” The announcement is about the coming of the kingdom of God. The announcement is often translated, “The time is fulfilled,” and I recall a seminary professor saying that the word “fulfill” comes from a word that means “to fill up” as in “to fill up with meaning.” What does it mean for us to fill the time of Lent with meaning? How will be mark the time of Lent so it is meaningful?

The wilderness becomes a metaphor for Lent, our 40 days to journey in faith toward Easter. And how shall we choose to experience this time in the wilderness of Lent?

We might think of all spiritual practices as ways of emptying our lives to make space for God. Shane Claiborne wrote in his blog that he heard a priest say something like this, “During Lent we choose to be a stick in the mud or a flute. A stick in the mud is full of itself, but a flute empties itself so it can make beautiful music.”

As I prepared for Lent I began to think about Lent in this way: it is a time of emptying, a time of laying aside, and a time of ceasing.  It is also a time of filling, a time of picking up new things, and a time of embracing newness.

We make space for God in our lives as we engage the spiritual practices of our faith. We might decide to fast one meal a week and the time that we would have spent eating could be used for study, prayer, and meditation. I recall hearing Reverend Pat Barrett saying Lent is a time of becoming vacant for God.

Some of you will decide to give up or lay aside something for Lent. I’ve heard some folks who are giving up colas, chocolates, breads, desserts and even Facebook. Some have said they will give up ice and snow for Lent. It is about laying aside something that is special or something that takes up a big space in our lives but it also about making a space for God to be welcomed in.

Now is the time to change our hearts! Fitness experts tell us that we need to do something new and different to jar our bodies into a new response. I like to walk and run but my body needs something new to awaken it physically so I get on the bike, do some yoga or do strength training. Our spiritual lives need some new, soul jarring practices that awaken us to be fully available and open to what God has for us.

A few years ago I read Marva Dawn’s book, Keeping the Sabbath Wholly, because I thought Sabbath keeping would be a soul jarring practice for a person like me, who was raised with a strong work ethic. She reminds us that the word Sabbath literally means “ceasing.” In her words, Sabbath is to cease from work, “but also from the need to accomplish and be productive, from the worry and tension that accompany our modern criterion of efficiency, from our efforts to be in control of our lives as if we were God, from our possessiveness and our enculturation, and finally, from the humdrum and meaninglessness that result when life is pursued without the Lord at the center of it all.” (p. 3)    

Marva Dawn reminds us that Sabbath is not merely ceasing work, but it is embracing. Practicing Sabbath allows us to embrace intentionality, time, values, our calling, peace, wholeness, and the world itself. Taking time away from our compelling schedules allows us to be attentive to the momentary experiences of grace that we might miss otherwise. Ceasing during Lent will make space in our lives for God and in that practice we are enabled to see what God is doing all around us. We might try a little Sabbath keeping to change our hearts.

In the scripture the wilderness is usually an untamed place of struggle. We picture Jacob, at Peniel, wrestling with God and wrestling with the truth about his self. We picture Elijah, who after defeating the prophets of Baal, runs for his life. Ahab and Jezebel have a contract out on his life. He almost gives up but an angel comes to him and feeds him and he journeys for 40 days and 40 nights until he reaches Mt. Horeb, and there he encounters God in the silence. We picture Jesus, in the wilderness among the wild animals, encountering Satan--those voices that entice us to take the easy road and the road to power and self aggrandizement.

Now is the time for the kingdom to come. The kingdom is for everyone. We find ourselves and our church at a crucial time in its history and its life. It is an important time and one in which I believe the Spirit is moving among us. For us at Belmont I encourage us to use the season of Lent as a time for deep prayer and discernment—a time to truly make space in our hearts for God.

One of the gifts Bishop Rueben Job gave the church before his recent death was his contribution to a book, written for the church, Finding Our Way, Love and Law in the United Methodist Church. He sent me several versions of this chapter to me to read as he prayed his way through the writing. The book focuses on the United Methodist Church’s struggle to find unity around the issue of sexual orientation and same-gender relationships.

Rueben’s chapter, “Trust God,” invites the church to find its way through honest prayer--prayer that doesn’t try to tell God what to do, but truly listens. Rueben believed that God wants to do a new thing in the church but we must make space in our hearts for that to happen. As we have found our way over the years to make changes, like ordaining women and overcoming our racism, so may we find our way again. This well loved and respected Bishop believed that Belmont had the potential for leading the way for the rest of the church, and so do I.

This is what he wrote about his beloved church community, Belmont UMC. “This congregation is in many ways like others in the denomination we love and serve. There are similar tensions and questions, but in most cases there is always an honest, robust, gentle, and protracted time of prayer, study, and reflection before any issue is considered ready for decision. Our congregation is extreme in its diversity and equally extreme in its love and welcome for all who gather for worship, study, prayer, reflection, food and community and then are sent out into the world to give themselves for others.” (p. 102)

Rueben used this writing to invite the church to a time of ceasing, but also to a time of honest and humble prayer. He modeled this way for us and during this season of Lent I hear him inviting us to live into it, as well.  

Now is the time for good news! In the wilderness of Lent we do come to terms with some of the truth about ourselves. We see ourselves as God sees us and sometimes this is painful and troubling, because we discover the things of our lives that we need to lay aside in order to continue the journey with God. But there is good news because the most important aspect of our identity is that we are children of God, always loved and always forgiven.

And we do not make this journey alone, but with the God who loves us and meets us everyday and gives us strength. And in the wilderness of this Lenten season we will meet God. Now is the time!


Sermon transcript for February 15, 2015

On the Mountain
Transfiguration Sunday--Mark 9:2-9
Belmont UMC—February 15, 2015
Ken Edwards, preaching

The Celtic spiritual tradition gives us the concept of thin places—places that give us an opening into the magnificence and wonder of the other. There is a Celtic saying that heaven and earth are only three apart but in the thin places that distance is even smaller. “A thin place is where the veil that separates heaven and earth is lifted and one is able to receive a glimpse of the glory of God.”  (“Where Can I Touch the Edge of Heaven,” by Sylvia Maddox,

Rags could not tell me the story of his vision. Every time he tried he became too emotional. His real name was Ragsdale, but everyone had called him Rags since he was a little boy. Rags and his wife, Edna, lived in white framed, neat as a pin, farm house about mile from our parsonage. We loved Rags and Edna and ate dinner with them regularly. They had one son who was away at college and they loved him more than anything on the planet.

Rags could be a little peculiar about things. He believed that the safest place in a thunder storm was his pickup truck and he and Edna would run to the truck at the slightest hint of thunder. I can recall driving by and seeing them huddled together in the cab of the truck.

Rags always kept a harmonica in his front shirt pocket. On Sundays he was apt to get out of his pew and join the pianist in playing a hymn—especially one of the old favorites like “I’ll Fly Away.”  Rags had a heart condition and I would always worry when he played and his face turned beat red and he became a little winded. His heart condition was part of his story.

Rags tried to tell me about his vision for two years but he would break down and cry so hard that Edna worried it would make him sick. “When you’re ready,” I told him.
One day we were sitting on the front porch of the house and he told me about the day of his heart attack and how he’d gone into cardiac arrest in the emergency room. Through buckets of tears he told me about the light that he saw and the river of God and his mother and father waiting for him on the other side. He said it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. While he was having this glorious vision doctors were working to revive him. By the time he finished telling it I had begun to cry with him.

Rags said, “That’s my rags to riches story.” For him this vision was so real that it had changed his life and defined the way he lived. It had given him a certainty and a hope we all long for.

Frederick Buechner describes his own experience as he writes of surprising tears that came to him in a Presbyterian church one day, tears that came after a passionate search to know God and put a face with the mystery that seemed to seek him out. That face was the face of Christ. He writes, “I wanted learn more about those tears and the object of that astonishment. I wanted to know, and be known by, people who knew greatly more about Christ than I did, were greatly closer to him than I was, greatly more aware of what they were about and of what he was about in them.”  (Listening to Your Life, pp. 30-31)

Jesus took three of his disciples up a high mountain to be by themselves, apart from the others. It was not unusual for Jesus to retreat to a quiet place to pray, but on this day something quite remarkable happened. Jesus was changed in front of them and his clothes became extraordinarily white and there appeared with him 2 prominent characters in Hebrew history, Moses and Elijah, persons who had had their own mountain top experiences with God.

The experience was surprising and terrifying for the disciples. Peter says, “Rabbi, it is good that we are here. Let us make 3 shrines—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” The next sentence is quite human. “He said this because he didn’t know how to respond, for the three of them were terrified.” (verses 5-6; CEB) Peter feels a need to speak, to fill the void, to distract them from their fear, to take control of the situation, to make sense of what has happening, or . . .  How like us to feel a need to control that which we cannot explain!

When I was 18 years old I had an experience of spiritual renewal. I was a college student at the time in the early months of my freshman year. There was a place on the college campus where I would go to get away and be alone. There was one hill on campus and on top of that hill was a deserted old brick house. In front of the house was a huge old oak tree that appeared to have weathered many storms. I’d sit on the steps of the house and read and reflect. One sunny, warm day as I was sitting on the steps, I looked down the hill. The limbs from the tree formed a shadow in the shape of the cross and a wonderful sense of peace and assurance flooded me. It was quite stunning and I sat there for a long time basking in the sense that God was very much with me.

I share this story so that you will pause and remember those times when you were surprised by a sense of God’s presence. Those experiences can be filled with wonder and awe or they can be a bit unsettling as well.

When I shared my experience on the hillside with my friends, they all wanted to know what the experience meant. Was it a sign? What are you supposed to do with the experience? Their questions puzzled me. I had been so caught up in the wonder and awe of the experience it had not occurred to me to look for a reason and try to define the experience in any way. When I look back on that day I’m grateful to have moments when I sense God’s reassuring presence and that alone is good enough for me. I suspect our best response to those moments of surprising grace is one of awe and wonder.

Peter’s words on the mountain remind me of something my seminary history professor said once. He said that most of the great spiritual awakenings began among the laity. The clergy and the theologians always came along later and tried to tidy everything up. We seem to have a need to explain these theophanies, to codify them, to control them, to tone them down. Like Peter we fill the silence and the wonder with our talk, because we find the silence disconcerting. Or maybe we are afraid of where they will call us; maybe we know that the Transfiguration story means that the journey to Lent is near.

I remember a Father’s Day weekend when the three sons went with me to Six Flags in Atlanta. It was our youngest son’s first time at a big amusement park. He had been on small rides at the county fair but he’s never seen a roller coaster like the one we boarded as our first ride that day. As the cars made their slow grinding ascent up the first mountainous hill, he said, “But Dad, it’s so slow.”  I replied, “Just wait.” Again he said, “But Dad, it is slow.” I said, “Wait!” He was frustrated by the ascent. But at the top of the hill, the brakes were released and we felt like we were flying downward. I looked over at the little boy’s face to see the look of joy and fear.

We have been making the slow, but steady ascent up the mountain of the Transfiguration, and we are reluctant because we know on the other side of the mountain is the journey to Lent, a journey that can be one of joy and wonder and maybe a little fear—especially if we allow the Lenten journey to speak to us of a closer walk with God.

The Continental Divide is the great watershed divide where all the waters on the west flow toward the Pacific Ocean and the waters on the east flow toward the Atlantic Ocean. The Mount of Transfiguration is that great divide, after which, the activities of Jesus and the disciples flow toward Jerusalem, the cross, and the resurrection. After today we begin our descent to begin the journey of Lent.

In the Gospel story Peter’s suggestion of building shrines is silenced by a cloud and a clear voice from the cloud. The voice is the same voice we heard at the beginning of Epiphany at the baptism of Jesus. The voice says, “This is my son, my beloved, listen to him!” This mountain top experience is about Jesus, about listening to him, about focusing on who he is and what he is saying to us about God.

Today we spend a little time on the mountain with Jesus. Today we hear a clear voice that bids us to “Listen to him.” On Wednesday night we will gather here to begin our journey through Lent. On Wednesday we will be reminded that we are human, and always will be, and God is God, and always will be. On that journey we will be invited to trust God and God’s leading. On that journey, during a time when many voices will compete for our allegiance and following, we will be invited to listen to Jesus! As we listen, we may find ourselves entering a thin place between heaven and earth and we will be filled with wonder and awe!


Sermon transcript for February 8, 2015

Everyone is Looking for You
Mark 1:29-39
Belmont UMC—February 2-8-12
Ken Edwards, preaching

As I prepared for this sermon I kept coming back to the phrase, “Everyone’s looking for you.” And I kept recalling a visit by a young man named Ben a year or so ago. He had made an appointment to talk about coming to church. He hadn’t been to church for a long time and something was pulling back. He had experienced some hurt and pain in the last church he had attended. People had been unkind and some had asked him to leave. He wondered if he would find a more hospitable place at Belmont. I assured him that he would find that here, but he asked, “How can you be sure?” He hasn’t come to church but I ran into him again in the village one day and he said he was still thinking about it. He’s fearful and reluctant. He is searching and trying to find his way back. Keep that in your mind as we look at this text.

There is a tone of urgency in the Gospel of Mark. Mark skips the details of Jesus’ birth and childhood and moves straight to John the Baptist, Jesus’ baptism, a brief mention of the wilderness temptation (no mention of fasting), the call of the disciples and then the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. And we are still in the first chapter. Mark’s favorite words are “at once” (or “immediately” in NRSV) and the words, which add to the sense of urgency, comes up frequently in the first chapter.

Today’s story needs to be set in this context. The work of Jesus had been focused on the area near Capernaum, which is alongside the Sea of Galilee, the home of the fishermen whom Jesus called as disciples. The people of the area have been astonished by Jesus’ teaching and even more so by his authority over suffering. Mark writes, “At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.” (v. 28)

Today’s text finds Jesus and the disciples entering the house of Simon and Andrew, only to find Simon’s mother-in-law sick with fever. Jesus heals the woman and by evening the whole city has converged outside the door. Jesus begins to heal and restore those who ill. Sometime after midnight Jesus escapes to a quiet place to pray and here in the first chapter we get a glimpse of the pattern of Jesus’ life and the rhythm of service and prayer.

Simon and the other disciples do not understand Jesus’ need for solitude and they go to find him. The verb here has a hostile tone to it, and the Common English Bible translates it best with “they tracked him down.” They have come to tell Jesus, “Everyone is lookking for you.”  

“Everyone is looking for you.” Throughout the gospel stories crowds of people are attracted to Jesus. At one time he was standing beside the water and so many people came to see and hear him that he had to get in a boat and teach them from there. In our minds we can imagine the scene of people pressing in on him. (Mk 4:1-2) Another, more familiar time there were thousands who gathered to hear and see him and Jesus instructed the disciples to feed them. (Mk. 8:1-10)

Who are these people who are looking for Jesus and what do they hope to find?
Luke describes the people during the time of John the Baptist and Jesus as “being filled with expectation.” (Luke 3:15) One of my professors used to paraphrase this and say “the people were on tiptoe with expectation” or “on the edge of their seats” with expectation. They were people who felt the oppression of the Roman government and they longed for liberation. There was a deep longing within them for God to come among them and do something to turn things around. There was a deep spiritual hunger and thirst among the people. “Everyone is searching for you, Jesus!”

They were some people who were physically ill and desperate. In a time when health care was limited and when disease was often associated with God’s judgment, and often meant alienation from community life, there was a longing for wholeness. To be made whole carried with it the possibility of being liberated from suffering and a return to the fellowship of others.

Everyone is searching for you, Jesus! Those words continue to be contemporary. We have gathered here as those who are searching for Jesus. I worked alongside my good friend, David, for many years and he would always greet the church on Sunday morning with, “For whatever reason you find yourself here this morning, God greets you and welcomes you!” We have all gathered here with searching hearts. Yes, I’m here because I have certain responsibilities, but I come here each week searching and longing to be with you, to experience God’s presence in your presence. I come here each week, like you, with a deep hunger for God’s grace.

We may not know what brought us here this day, but we know that all those around us come with some human need. When I took a preaching class several years ago at our Lake Junaluska, NC, our professor took us through a series of exercises before we could begin to write. One of those exercises invited us to spend 15-30 minutes with the question, “Who is in the room?” And by that question he did not mean for us to answer with names, Mary, Bill, John, Amy, etc, but to answer with life situations and needs. Who is in this room? It’s a good question as you begin to look around your well loved seat. Who are the people around you and what are their needs? What are their greatest joys? What are the longings of their hearts? How can we make them feel more welcomed? Everyone is looking for Jesus!

What if those of us who are regulars here at Belmont treated everyone around us as if they had come here searching for Jesus. Maybe they are here because they are wounded or grieving. Maybe, like Ben, they have been hurt by other churches where they were not welcomed. Maybe they feel uncertain about being here and you are the one who can make them feel at home. Every week we can and do create an environment that is welcoming, grace-filled, and hopeful

It’s hard to enter a new group for the first time. I recall my first weeks at Grace UMC. I had some computer problems and I had no idea how to resolve them. One day the Trustees sent a 15 year old boy came into my office. He said, “Hello sir, my name is Justin and I’ve come to help you with your computer.” He sat beside me and did some magic to clean up my computer and give me some space and speed. Then he showed me how to do things I did not know and he wrote the steps on post-it notes and put them around my screen. I kept those post-it notes for 6 months until I got used to doing what came natural for Justin.

I knew he needed a ride home and it was lunch time so I took him out for a burger. He and his family were new to the church and he said he wanted to go to the Youth meeting on Sunday nights but he didn’t know anyone and he not sure he’d be welcomed. I said, “You know me. I’ll go with you and introduce you to everyone.”

We met at my office on Sunday night at 4:45 and I walked him to the youth meeting and I introduced him. After 30 minutes or so it was clear he didn’t need me anymore. The next year he was playing his guitar in the youth praise band. By his senior year he was the president of the youth council.

How many people come in here and need to find others who will welcome them and make them feel at home in their presence?  Some of us in this room may have come anxious and reluctant, but everyone is looking.  

What about those out there who are looking for a deeper faith? I have a concern about reaching young adults who are moving into the city in large numbers, but are not in churches on Sunday morning. I suspect they are looking for experiences of faith, and some of them want what they find here week after week, but I doubt all of them will come here on a typical Sunday morning. I suspect they will find Jesus in a setting that is different from this. How do we reach out to them? I think about them and pray for them when I’m awake at 2 AM. Everyone is looking for you, Jesus.

Some of us are searching for healing and wholeness. Some of us have experienced brokenness and suffering. Some of us are grieving. Some of us are fearful. Some of us are trying to break free from addictions and unhealthy life patterns. Some of us are suffering from a wounded sense of self and we will have trouble believing that God loves us or that anyone could love us. Some are us on the verge of giving up. Some of us are optimistic and hopeful. Some of us are struggling with doubts. Some of us are joyful and celebrating. Some of us are lonely and isolated.

Who is in the room today? Everyone is looking for you, Jesus!



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