Alleluia!
“He is not here, for He has risen, as He said. Come see the place where He lay.” -Matthew 28:6

 “Jesus Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!”  It’s called the Paschal greeting, and it is an ancient greeting in the Church. Though we usually reserve it for Easter, it is actually always true, and in many churches, it is said throughout the year. We should probably do that, too. Any time things are hard, any time we are discouraged, any time we don’t feel like saying it, that’s probably when we should say it. That is when we should remind ourselves that the true source of our joy is in Him.
 
That’s the real beauty of Easter. No matter what else may be true at any given moment, it is always true that Christ is risen indeed. We serve, as an old hymn says, a risen Savior, who is in the world today. In the midst of every trial, every struggle, every heartbreak, He is risen. In grief, in sickness, in pain, in distress, He is risen. When we are discouraged, when we are tired, even when we doubt Him, He is risen. The promise, the purpose of Easter is every day, all the time, even when life seems as dark as the grave.
 
Come see the place where he lay. He was there, in the tomb, but He is there no longer. He conquered sin and death and all evil. In this is our living hope. A hope that Peter tells us is imperishable. A hope that comes not from ourselves or anything we did or could ever do, but from the Lord and His completed work. The remedy for our sin was accomplished on the cross, and the assurance of eternity was completed on that first Easter.
 
As you read this, Easter Sunday of 2026 has passed. For two thousand years (give or take), the Church has been celebrating this Day of Resurrection. Christ Presbyterian celebrates with songs, with fellowship, with the proclamation of the Word. And of course with feasting. Because that’s what we do here. And now we move forward as Easter people, people of the Resurrection, people of The Way. There is always much to celebrate, and always much to do. As disciples of Christ, we should be brave and bold, joyful and confident; and above all, we must be hopeful.
 
So, let’s not let Easter end with Easter Sunday. Let’s think it, say it, and sing it in our hearts every day that we live in hope and in freedom: Jesus Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!
 
Alleluia!

Barabbas
“Then he released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, delivered him to be crucified.”- Matthew 27:26
 
There is a song by contemporary Christian artist Josiah Queen entitled “I am Barabbas.” In the song, Barabbas wonders out loud how this could have happened. How could he, an insurrectionist and a murderer, be free, while an innocent itinerant preacher is about to be crucified? It’s a good question. And of course, the whole point is that it’s a question we should all ask ourselves. As we stand here, between Palm Sunday and Good Friday, between the celebratory entry into Jerusalem and the horror-yet-wonder of the cross, it’s worth pondering. How, indeed, can it be?
 
The story of Barabbas is incomplete, if anything in the Scriptures can be called that. We know nothing about him before or after the crucifixion. Did he return to a life of crime? Did he witness the crucifixion and become a convert? Did he spend the rest of his life guilt-ridden and confused? We cannot know. But the story is there for a reason. I was honestly just a few-weeks-ago old when I discovered (I should have figured this out long ago) that the name Barabbas literally means “son of the father.” I’m not sure how I’ve missed it all these years. It’s the sort of thing that fascinates me about the Word. When I mentioned it to my seventh-grade Bible class the other day, one girl’s mouth literally fell open and she exclaimed, “How can anybody think the Bible is made up?” How, indeed. So, the picture is that of the earthly, very imperfect son of the father who was replaced by the perfect Son of the Heavenly Father.
 
Barabbas is us; he is you and he is me. He is every sinner whose place on that cross was taken by Christ. Growing up, I was often asked in Sunday school to draw comparisons between myself and the angry crowd, myself and the thief on the cross, but never myself and Barabbas. I have no idea why. It was common for preachers and teachers to remind us that those of us who are sinners saved by grace are typed over and over again throughout all of Scripture. So common, in fact, that it lost a bit of its impact until I got older and understood more fully.
 
So here in these few days, as we hang between the triumph and the tragedy of Holy Week, we do well to remember with sadness and repentance: we are the thief, we are the people in that crowd, we are every single person who needs the mercy and grace of Jesus for our redemption.
 
We are Barabbas.
Amen.

Hosanna!
“And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!’” -Matthew 21:9

 This coming Sunday is Palm Sunday. It’s one of my favorites of the year. You all know how I love the kiddos, and to see them enter with palm branches waving always fills me to overflowing with happiness. It’s so many things. It’s the celebration of Christ, the commemoration of the day that he rode into Jerusalem, gentle and humble, on a donkey. It’s the beginning of Holy Week, truly the most sacred and important week of the Christian year. And it’s the passing on of the faith. Those palm branches waving in small hands, the energy and the excitement and the sheer joy of it all—to know that the Church has a future, and that as long as the Lord chooses to tarry, there will be those who hand down what they were given by their own parents and grandparents--there isn’t much that’s better.
 
But it’s also Passion Sunday. What comes after that entry into Jerusalem, after the praises and the cheers and the shouts, is enough to sober anyone. And if we are going to follow Jesus into the city, we have to follow Him all the way. We have to follow Him into the temple, where he angers the religious leaders with the truth. We have to follow Him into the upper room, where He humbles Himself at the feet of His disciples. We have to follow Him to the Garden, where He prays for deliverance and finds instead acceptance. We have to follow Him through betrayal, denial, and a mock trial. We have to follow Him to the cross.
 
As we approach this coming week, may we do so in reverence, in repentance, and with a deep sense of gratitude for the inexplicable, overwhelming grace of a Savior who walked this road for no reason other than love. He gave Himself for us, so that we could be forever with Him. So that we could know the freedom His mercy gives, and the joy that comes with it, and pass it on to our children and their children after them.
 
And that my friends, is something to celebrate.
 
Hosanna!

Rejoice!
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice.”-Philippians 4:4

Joy is important. In fact, I think it’s fairly safe to say that it is foundational to our faith. If you don’t believe me, just ask the Apostle Paul. He mentions joy sixteen times in the book of Philippians alone. He thought it was so important that he says it twice in the verse above. Since he was in prison when he wrote the letter to the Philippians, I think it’s we can assume that he knew a secret or two to having joy. I have probably written on joy before, but hey, if Paul did it over and over again, why can’t I?

Our church is in a joyous moment right now. We are experiencing blessings upon blessings. A new addition nearly done, a new pastor and his beautiful little family, visitors coming all the time. When those kiddos come running in on Sunday mornings for the Children’s Sermon—well, if that doesn’t lift your heart, you may not have a heart to lift. But as wonderful as this moment is, it is just that—a moment. Stuff is going to happen. There will be difficulties, disagreements, tough financial times, and who knows what? But that is no excuse to lose joy.

We have an enemy, you see. And that enemy’s goal is to rob us of joy. Satan loves it when we get lost in our problems and our woes. He delights in making small inconveniences seem like big problems, and big problems seem like impossible obstacles. He enjoys taking an insignificant disagreement and turning it into an all-out war. He cackles with glee when we suspect the worst of each other rather than believing the best. Because he does not know joy, he hates us for having it, and so he tempts us to believe that we can’t have it or that we don’t deserve it or that events beyond our control are preventing us from holding on to it.

Paul’s joy, you will note, is not in his circumstances. He doesn’t say that he is rejoicing about being in prison. Who would? He is rejoicing in spite of that, because his joy doesn’t lie in his personal situation. His joy is in the Lord. This is a thing that should be true for every believer. If we look around us or even within ourselves for a source of joy, we are likely to come up a good bit short. But if we fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, we will find a limitless wellspring of joy. In Christ every need is fulfilled, every promise kept. In Him we have the gift of eternal joy, not something momentary, fleeting, or circumstantial, but joy that will last forever.

Things happen, friends. Big things, little things, and things in between. But remember this: Nothing happens that has not been sifted through the fingers of the Almighty. And He knows all things and works them for our good. The sovereign Creator of the universe, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, loves you beyond measure. And He wants you to have joy.

Peace.

Jackie

God-Breathed
“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” -2 Timothy 3:16

 Am I the only one who’s a bit world-weary just now? I have long since stopped watching the news on TV. I pick up a few things here and there on the internet, and I pay close attention when something big is happening. But honestly, the day-to-day stuff is wearing me out. The constant fighting, the endless criticism, protest after protest. And to what end? Nothing changes meaningfully, and it just goes on and on. It’s actually getting a little boring. I’m a genuinely glass-half-full kind of person. I was just born like that. I’m an optimist by nature. I stand at the front door of my school on Monday mornings and greet students with hugs and fist-bumps and say stuff like, “Welcome to Monday! A whole new week of endless possibilities and opportunities!” I say it with a smile and I mean it, for real. I’m honestly not a Debbie Downer; not even close.
 
But this past week, something finally got to me. A certain Texas politician won the Senate primary in his state. And no, this is not about politics. I wouldn’t do that to you. What it is about is the published words that he has said concerning Scripture and what it teaches. When I read it for the first time, I literally felt my stomach turn. It made me angry. Many of you have read things that I have written before about the Word of God. There is nothing more precious to me, except Christ Himself, and He is the one revealed in the Bible. The Word is how we know about Him. Not by how we feel, not by what culture says, not by research or science, but by the revealed Word of the Lord. The word “inspired” literally means “God-breathed.” The ESV translates it as “breathed out by God,” but the meaning is all the same. The same God who breathed out stars and planets, who spoke the universe into existence, breathed and spoke the words in the pages of Scripture. To hear it twisted, perverted in such a way as I saw this week—it nearly crushed my spirit. After I got sick,  I got angry. And then I got sad. And then, as I said, I just kind of got tired.
 
But I’m getting over it. For one thing, I have to. Believers can’t walk around all sick and mad and sad and tired. That’s for the people without hope. And we have hope, friends—a living hope; an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading. We know that because that precious Word tells us so in 1 Peter 1:4. So, I have learned (or remembered) something this week: The Word of God has been around for a very long time. The Bible as we know it today has already stood the test of time. God protects and preserves the Scriptures, just as He will protect and preserve His people. I believe the time will come, if the Lord allows it and doesn’t return first, when this country will have only a righteous remnant of Christians. But however few they may be one day, they will remain. Whatever happens to governments and to leaders, to cities or even nations, the Church Herself will stand forever. In fact, she is the only thing that will.
 
My glass is filling again. I know that God is sovereign, and that no matter what else happens, Christ will reign for all eternity. And I will be with Him. How do I know that? The Bible says so.
 
Peace.

The Future is Almost Here
 “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” -Isaiah 43:19a

 So, Thursday evening I walked into the church for handbell and choir practice, and even though there were only three or four people there at that particular moment, I felt the hum. You feel it too, don’t you? Every time you’re at the church, or even when you run into a fellow member at Walmart or somewhere, it’s there. It’s that weird, wired quiver. Come on, you know what I’m talking about. I’m pretty sure we are old-fashioned excited.

I find it fascinating that our new pastor and family are on the way just as spring is getting serious around here. (Side note: aren’t you glad spring starts here in late February? I know I am. Thank You, God.) Anyway, spring feels this way to me every year. Those first azaleas burst into bloom, and you know that everything else is just about to happen. Dogwoods will be next, for those of us who still have them. Crepe myrtles, those odd trees with the tiny white flowers that try to be dogwoods but just aren’t the same; lilies and Gerber daisies and all kinds of wildflowers. Not to mention trees that are just now budding, little critters of all kinds who are stirring in new ways, and all the people heading to Home Depot and Lowes and all the places because it’s time to start…well…everything.

That feeling of almost but not quite yet is happening at CPC right now, too. There has been painting going on in the new addition. Rumors of it being ready really soon are swirling. There are also plans in the works for a big welcome reception and helping our new little family get started setting up housekeeping. Meanwhile, it’s almost time for Walk for Life; we’re in the middle of Lent; and Easter is peeking over the horizon. Whew. No wonder we’re all a-quiver. I love this moment as much as anyone and possibly more than many. The last thing I want to do is dampen anyone’s spirits at such a glorious time of anticipation.

But, with apologies, I want to offer a small word of warning. We are likely, at some point, to be disappointed. Things are often better than we ever imagined, but sometimes reality is also a letdown. I say this, again, not to be a wet blanket. I say it to remind us that even with all that is new, there is sometimes a temptation to want things to go back to “normal,” or “the way they used to be.” And so, my advice is not to wish for that. Every pastor that CPC has ever had has been chosen by God for the time in which he served. Joshua Fried will be no different. This time at CPC is his time, the time he is ordained and appointed to be here. He will not be John Foster. He isn’t supposed to be. He will be himself, God’s man for 2026 and beyond.

So be excited. Rejoice and be glad! Spring is coming. And it will be new and fresh and unlike any other spring in years past. Love the men who have come before. Appreciate them and treasure the good memories. But look ahead, not back. A new thing is coming.

Thanks be to God!

Purpose
“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.” -Romans 8:28

 The second-grade teacher at my school is one of the most gifted teachers I have ever known. When her students are dawdling or goofing around when they are supposed to be walking in line somewhere, she doesn’t nag them to hurry or tell them to stop playing around. She simply says, “Walk with purpose, second grade.” I love that so much. Walk with purpose. What a beautiful thing to teach. It has an obvious practical application for seven-year-olds; but it’s also good advice for the rest of us.
 
When John Foster left seven months ago, it was hard. It was a sad parting, as it always is when people we love leave us in one way or another. But one of the things I heard multiple times from the people of CPC, especially some of our leaders, was that we would continue to walk with purpose. It wasn’t said in exactly those words, of course, but the message was clear: We will continue to be about the work of the Church and the spread of the gospel. We will move forward, not stall in a holding pattern. And we have. I don’t mean to sound prideful for us. I mean only to say that we have indeed continued in the work. It goes without saying that it isn’t us. It is grace upon grace that has been visited on us by the Father. Scripture is plain. Without Him, we can do nothing. That’s pretty unequivocal. And so, guided by the Holy Spirit, driven by the mission of the gospel, we have kept moving, walking with purpose.
 
And look at what the Lord has done. Week by week, our new addition is taking shape. It was a shaky start, I know, but we persevered in faith and God made it happen. We have even raised a steeple. The steeple has purpose, too. Back in 2001, I don’t think we even dreamed of a steeple, but oh, we need it today. It stands against that sky as a message and a beacon: “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” In a time and place where many people are weary and hurting and lost, that matters.
 
We have continued in outreach to our community, continued to invite people to everything from breakfasts to festivals to church itself. We packed 199 boxes for Operation Christmas Child. We have served and loved and worshiped and prayed together. We have cared for each other in difficult times. We haven’t done it perfectly; we never have and we never will. But we have done it with willing hearts and hands, and that’s what counts, I believe.
 
Helen Keller is quoted as having once said, “No one can do everything, but everyone can do something.” She was correct. That’s why we are called the Body of Christ; why we are called a temple built of living stones. Once upon a time, there were a whole lot of hungry people, and one little boy with five pieces of bread and a couple of sardines or something. But he took what he had to Jesus and let Him do the rest. Which is really all any of us can do.
 
But now for the hat trick. We have a new pastor coming. It is very tempting to let out a sigh of relief and go on a spiritual sabbatical. But we can’t. Now is the time, more than ever, to continue as we have been. We have a new family to love, and new visions for what is possible in the days and years ahead. My prayer for us is that we will continue to walk with purpose.
 
Amen.

Worship
“And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and all that is in them, saying, ‘To Him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and  forever and ever!’ And the four living creatures said, ‘Amen!’ and the elders fell down and worshiped.” -Revelation 5:13-14

 The season of Lent is upon us. I looked up some things about Lent. Not a deep dive, just a quick peek; but I learned enough to know that Lent is somewhat of a controversial thing in terms of its purpose and its importance. There are a few things I do know about Lent. For about five years growing up, I lived in a corner of Northwest Indiana where the population was largely Roman Catholic. Most of my friends were Catholic. The first time I heard them talking about Lent, little Baptist me had no clue. I did have the impression that some of them did not take it very seriously. When they talked about what they were going to give up for Lent, the majority of them said something like broccoli or brushing their teeth. Even I knew that probably wasn’t exactly the point. Anyway, it seems that Reformed folks even have some dissent among themselves about the whole issue. In general, however, it appears that for most of us, Lent should be a time of preparation for Easter. It is a time to reflect upon the sacrifice of Christ and His life, death, and (obviously enough) resurrection.

One thing I know for sure about Lent is that it does not include Sundays. If you don’t believe me, look it up. Better yet, do the math. Start with Ash Wednesday; count the days through Holy Saturday but leave out the Sundays. Yep. That’s exactly forty days. Whether one is Catholic or Reformed or some other flavor of Christian, no one includes Sundays in Lent. Or at least they shouldn’t. There is a simple reason for this: Every Sunday is a little Easter. Every Sabbath Day we celebrate the Resurrection of Christ. No Sunday should ever be mournful or gloomy. No remembrance of the day when the stone was rolled away and death was defeated should be shrouded in sorrow or draped in black. Every Sunday, we should, we must, worship in joy. Week after week, no matter the season, we should praise the Savior with loud singing and grateful hearts.

The passage above from the book of Revelation describes the moment spoken of in the book of Philippians, when all of creation will praise Him. Every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that He is Lord. Imagine that moment—the entire universe worshiping God. This is what we are foreshadowing every Sunday. I think maybe we should sing a little louder. I think maybe we should smile a little more widely. I think maybe—just maybe—it would be okay if the neighbors heard us and wondered exactly what in the world we were up to. Okay, that last one might be asking a bit much, but you get what I mean, I hope.

Actually, I don’t think God requires that we be loud (I mean, I don’t think He would mind, but…). I think what He does require is that we pay attention and worship from our hearts. I think what He expects is that we don’t just go through motions or practice rituals—like giving up broccoli for Lent. He just wants us. He wants every bit of us. He is owed that, in fact. Scripture is clear that He is worthy of all glory, honor, and praise. It’s almost literally the least we can do, isn’t it?

There is a contemporary song called “King of Kings.” I love it because it echoes the praise that began with the angels, in time before time, and will continue into all eternity: “Praise the Father, praise the Son Praise the Spirit, three in one; God of glory, majesty Praise forever to the King of Kings.”

Hallelujah! Amen.

Little Things
“When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them.  And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight.” -Luke 24:30-31

 It all started with an eyebrow pencil. I tried to sharpen it, but it kept breaking. I finally had limited success and was able to fill in my little bald spots. Then there were the groceries that got delivered the night before and were belatedly discovered on the front porch; they had to be dealt with. Then I couldn’t find the shirt I wanted. And so it went. The entertainment continued after I got to school. The button on my jeans fell apart, and I had to use a paper clip to deal with the situation. The whole day was that way, and I was glad when it was over. Nothing awful happened; there were no genuine catastrophes or cataclysmic events. It was just that whole “death by a thousand cuts” thing. It. Was. Exhausting.

As I was reliving this mini horror of a day, I thought about how many times I had said a little prayer for help. It was a lot. The older I get, the more inclined I become to just stop, breathe, and say, “Lord, help.” Praying over eyebrow pencils and pants may seem strange and even absurd to some of you. You’re welcome to that characterization. But I’m pretty sure that if nothing is too big for God, then nothing is too small, either. Honestly, it’s not as if God gets too busy to be bothered with us. I mean, I get that there are wars and famines and things, but God is big enough for all of it, isn’t He?

The Emmaus story is one of my favorite parts of Scripture. Here are these two guys, all sad about Jesus being dead, and He’s right there walking with them. For seven miles, they had no idea to whom they were speaking. He unfolded prophecy and Scripture for them, did the whole teaching thing that He did so often—and nothing. You know when they figured it out? When he broke bread. An ordinary, mundane, everyday event. And when they finally recognized Him, well…He disappeared. I don’t really get that part. I’m sure there are theologians who could explain it, but I’m not one, so I won’t try.

All I know is, Jesus shows up a lot in the regular stuff. He is there when we lie down and when we wake up. He knows how many hairs we have on our heads. So, I’m pretty sure he knows when we brush our teeth and drink our protein shakes and whatever. He’s also probably highly aware of when we do things like misplace our cellphones or forget to start the washer.

Let’s face it: as hard as life can sometimes be, it’s rarely truly tragic. Of course, awful things happen. I am keenly aware of that fact. But not all the time. Most days, it’s just malfunctioning eyebrow pencils and paper-clipped pants—or whatever your version is of that. When those true catastrophes happen, God tends to show up in big and unmistakable ways. But all those other times? The keys and the parking spaces and the wardrobe malfunctions? He’s there, too. We just sometimes forget to notice.

So, as you go about your days this week, keep your eyes open. You never know when you might meet Jesus in your living room, or at your office—or at the table.

Peace.

Eternal
“I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.” -John 10:28

Did you ever read a passage of Scripture that you’ve heard and/or read a hundred times or more, but suddenly it “hits different”? (Excuse the expression; I spend a lot of time around middle schoolers, remember.) That happened to me just a little while ago. I was doing my daily devotional, and the “assigned” passage for the day was John 10:28-29. I read it dutifully, then read the study notes in my Bible, then started reading the surrounding verses for context. This sort of thing happens to me a lot. I can’t help it; I’m a Bible nerd. Anyway, it isn’t exactly that I had a new revelation about what this passage means. I’m well aware of its meaning. It just suddenly became a little more personal, I guess?

At any rate, I started thinking. Thinking can be a dangerous pursuit, in a way. Dangerous because Scripture tells us that we are transformed by the renewing of our minds. So, I suppose that if you don’t ever want to change or learn or possibly alter your way of thinking; if you never want to have to say, “I may have been wrong”; if you believe you’re just fine as you are and you have it all figured out, then may I suggest you give up thinking. At all. Just stop. Because thinking can lead to reasoning, and reasoning can lead to new conclusions, or at least new ideas. And, as I’ve already said, this can be dangerous. For my part, I was blessed to grow up in a home where thinking was encouraged. Questions and even doubts were met with conversation, not scoffing or belittling. So…I think.

And what I thought when I was reading today was that verse 28 is a very definitive statement. The context here is important: Jesus was speaking to Jews about His flock, the true believers, the sheep who knew Him and followed His voice. He uses some important words. One of them is the word “never.” Those of us in the flock, those whom He has chosen for His own, will never perish. There is no exception suggested. There is no waffling here. If you are one of the Good Shepherd’s sheep, there is no going back, even if you think you want to. You are sealed for eternity. I suppose I have always taken that for granted, but isn’t it an extraordinary promise? You’re a child of the King, and you will never, ever be disowned. No matter how badly you mess up, how awfully you may behave, your Father will always love you and claim you for his own. How cool is that, really?

The other really incredible phrase Jesus uses here is “no one.” Once you are in the Shepherd’s hand, no one can snatch you away. More than that, you can’t even snatch yourself away. No matter how hard the world may try to pull you from the faith, no matter how hard you may try to leave it, it simply cannot be done. The reason for this complete and utter eternal security (we Reformed folks like to call it the perseverance of the saints—it sounds fancier) is quite simple: Our Shepherd is sovereign. If He decides that we are to be of His flock, there really is nothing we can do about that. That metaphorical Hound of Heaven will relentlessly pursue you until you are captured by His amazing grace. And, once he holds you in His almighty hand, He will never let you go. You’re stuck. Forever.

What a precious promise is contained in that single verse. What grace, what love, and oh, what peace—to know that we belong to a perfectly loving Father until the end of time and beyond.

Thanks be to God.
Amen.

Celebration
 “Just so, I tell you, there is rejoicing before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” -Luke 15:10

 Friday afternoon. It’s a middle school basketball game, the opening act before the evening’s Homecoming festivities. The score is pretty lopsided in our favor, and so players who don’t see a lot of action are out there on the floor, giving it their all. Among them is one boy who hasn’t scored a single point all season long. He is fouled. He has one precious free throw. He shoots…he scores! And his team erupts. The guys out there with him are slapping him on the shoulder and high-fiving him with gusto. On the sidelines, the bench rises from their seats, arms in the air, jumping up and down, shouting for all they are worth. If you saw the moment in isolation, you would think it was a game-winning three-pointer.
 
My eyes filled right along with my heart, and a thousand thoughts flew at me: This is sportsmanship. This is friendship. This is Christian brotherhood. And then another thought. This is a glimpse of heaven. In a relatively small gymnasium in a very small school in a small southern town, I witnessed a kingdom moment. This is what it looks like in heaven every time a sinner comes home. There is rejoicing before the angels.
 
It seems right now as if such moments in heaven must be few and far between. Maybe that’s true. Then again, we’re pretty Amero-centric here. These things happen all around the world, and sometimes we forget that even when there is darkness in one place, there is always light in another. It’s not really important how often it happens, anyway, because that is all within the will of a Sovereign God and the power of the Holy Spirit. And besides, it isn’t the many the angels are cheering for, remember. It’s the one. The angels don’t celebrate every time the counter rolls to a hundred, or a thousand, or a million, but for every single one.
 
Who is the one? For me, it may be the difficult kid who won’t make any effort at his work, because he is so accustomed to failure, he is now afraid to try. Or maybe it’s the quiet one, the one in the back, on the right. He doesn’t say much, but I know his home life is a minefield. Or maybe it’s the sweet one with the tender blue eyes and the mischievous grin. He works so hard, and he never seems discouraged, but I know sometimes he must be. His struggle is extremely real. It's different for you, of course. Maybe it’s the surly one in the next cubicle. Maybe it’s the shy one you carpool with. Or it could be the crochety, elderly one next door. Only God really knows that. All we can do is look at whomever He has placed in front of us and go for broke.
 
So, look around. Find the one. Share the good news of Jesus Christ. And if and when it is received with an open heart, tune your ears to heaven and listen for the cheers.
 
Amen.

Why?
 “Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” - John 14:6
                                                                                                       
Recently, a pastor named Alistair Begg retired after forty or so years as the senior pastor of Parkside Church in Cleveland, Ohio. He is a heck of a preacher. There are video clips galore out there in cyberspace, but probably the best-known one—and one I recommend you watch if you haven’t seen it—is popularly known as “The Man on the Middle Cross.” In the brief clip, Begg sets up the scenario of the thief on the cross as he stands at the gates of heaven. He is asked by what right he is standing there. I won’t go into the details of Mr. Begg’s scenario; I could not do it justice. Suffice to say that in the end, the only answer the thief has is the same as your answer or mine; the only one that will do, in fact: “The man on the middle cross said I can come.” I have probably watched that clip twenty times or so now, and so far, I have cried every single time.
 
I am currently reading a book by R.C. Sproul, entitled “Reason to Believe.” Again, I highly recommend it. One of the questions Sproul addresses is, “Why is there only one way to heaven?” I won’t try to explain his reasoning here (read it for yourself), but his response is itself the great question. “Why is there any way at all?” It’s worth considering, isn’t it? God made a perfect world and put people on it. He gave them everything they could ever want or need. All he asked in return was one simple act of obedience. And the minute they got a chance, they disobeyed. Why didn’t God just stop it all right there? He could have, you know. He could have just thrown in the towel and started all over again. Or not. But instead, He made a way. The way of mercy, the way of grace.
 
And so it begs Sproul’s question: Why? There is no practical answer, no human reason why He should have done that. God is God. No one can make Him do something. There is only one answer that makes any kind of sense. He loves us. It’s as simple and as breathtakingly profound as that. God loves us in a way we cannot comprehend. We are His people, the sheep of His pasture, the works of His hands. He made us, fashioned us from the dirt of His earth. He breathed His Spirit into us and made us living souls. He formed us in the wombs of our mothers and gave us life. He just…loves us. It defies comprehension.
 
Because of His great love for us, He made the way of the cross by which we may come to Him and have joy and life eternal. And because of our great brokenness, that way is the only way. We can never earn it, never deserve it, never be good enough to claim it on our own. Our only hope is in His mercy. We can be saved, and we can belong to God forever, because and only because the Man on the middle cross said we can come.
 
Thanks be to God.

New
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” -Isaiah 9:2

 Christmas has come and gone. An old year has departed, and a new year has taken its place. The Israelites of old had a habit of looking back while moving forward, and it isn’t a bad idea. Recalling our history, remembering what God has done, has a way of encouraging and strengthening us that nothing else can do. So, I encourage you, as we move forward into a new year, to remember all that God has done and is doing. But as you do that, never forget that He is still working and doing and changing lives, every moment of every day.
 
You will likely read this on Epiphany, which for us is January 6. Other traditions may mark it on other days, but no matter. Western Christians regard this as the time when we remember the visit of the wise men; for Eastern Christians, it is usually a commemoration of the baptism of Jesus; some people even commemorate the wedding at Cana on this day. There is a parallel, of course. In all cases, it basically comes down to a realization of the deity of Christ. The worship of the wise men, God’s announcement that Jesus is His beloved Son, or the first miracle recorded by John--it is always a time to remember the greatness and the uniqueness of Christ. As we move forward in this new year, let us remember the promise of Christmas—we who walked in darkness have seen a great light.
 
It feels to many of us as if there is a lot of darkness these days, and it’s true; there is. It’s easy to think that this is new, different, worse than it’s ever been, but that part is not accurate. You see, long, long, ago, a woman named Eve and her husband, whose name was Adam, made a choice. They did what was forbidden. And from that day until now, there has been darkness. All the evil, all the wrong, all the death and tragedy and sickness—all of it—traces back to that one moment. As tough as things seem right now, it’s no darker than it’s ever been. Sin has existed since Eden.
 
The good news of the gospel is that we have a cure for sin, and the cure is redemption through Jesus Christ. As I have grown older, I have realized that I cannot get rid of all the darkness in the world. But I am not helpless against it, either. I can bring light to the places I go and the people I meet. I can carry the light out into the world and speak to people of hope and peace and joy and love. I don’t really make New Year’s resolutions, but I do pray for a renewed sense of purpose and a renewed love for people. This year I have decided that the important thing isn’t to be right or to win or to be admired or anything like that. The important thing is to be light. The Christ candle of the Advent wreath isn’t only for Christmas Eve. I can share the Christ-light every day of the year. So can you, and I encourage you to do it. It is a powerful thing. Light reflects. The more you share, the more you will see.
 
Happy New Year.

Peace
“And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” -Philippians 4:7

 I was born in 1959. Which means I was raised in the shadow of the Cold War. My entire childhood, we heard of nuclear threats and nuclear war. There were books about it and educational films about it. In 1983, a theatrical movie called War Games was released. It was a relatively innocuous nuclear threat thriller. In the same year, ABC aired a made-for-TV movie called The Day After. The picture it painted of the aftermath of nuclear war was, to say the least, a bit bleak. I remember having dreams about being trapped in Russia or being attacked by the Soviet Union and unable to find a safe place. My youngest sister suffered a great deal of anxiety over the idea of a nuclear holocaust.
 
I think it is safe to say that most of the nation longed for peace. From the mid-sixties through the 1970’s, the word “détente” was tossed around. This apparently meant that things were better, but maybe not so great. By the eighties, things were heating up again. The situation was sometimes spoken of as if we were actually going to achieve “peace through strength,” but I think most of us knew that wasn’t true. At some point during the late 1980’s, I learned of the government terminology for the state of affairs between the United States and the Soviet Union: “permanent pre-hostility.” That’s…not exactly the same thing as peace, is it?
 
In 1989, the Berlin Wall came down. Again, the language was interesting. It was known as “the peaceful revolution.” By that time, I was thirty years old, and I knew that it had been no such thing. Totalitarianism has caused and continues to cause far too much suffering and far too much death to have anything associated with it—even its overturn—called “peaceful.”
 
By this point I suppose you are wondering about this political and historical discourse, so I will explain. Today in church we lit the candle of peace. There is always a bit of sadness for me associated with this candle. The Scripture tells us that we will long for peace, but there will be no peace. We cry for it, ache for it. We even— dare I say it? —fight for it. I don’t suppose I have to explain the irony of that. I often wonder at people who discuss whether folks are pro-war or not. Who in their right mind is pro-war? There may be those of us who acknowledge that sometimes war is inevitable or even necessary, but only a sociopath would actually want war. And yet, here we are, and here we have been for millennia now. Someone is always at war somewhere. There is no such thing as literal “peace on earth.”
 
And yet there is. Remember the candle of hope? Remember that relentless Light, shining in darkness? Each of us, in our hearts, can have peace. We can know that somehow, sometime, all will be well. We have a Redeemer. Christ came to earth to give us the peace that Paul talks about, the peace that surpasses understanding. It’s a peace so deep, so profound, so very, very real, that war and strife and conflict simply cannot touch it. It is a peace that makes no earthly sense. But it is there. May we all know this peace, not only during Advent and Christmastide, but always.
 
Amen.

Hope
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” - Isaiah 9:2

 Today (Sunday) the season of Advent begins. This morning in church, we lit the first Advent candle—the candle of hope. Hope is possibly one of the most beautiful words in our language. It is a word that reminds us that rarely if ever is all truly lost. Even when things are at their worst; even when it seems that nothing will ever be good again; even when life seems bitter and bleak, there is almost always hope.

There is actual research in the field known as positive youth development that indicates that the most important component for young people to overcome adversity and thrive as they mature is hope. There is literally nothing more important or more beneficial. The secular approach to this is to use programs and models and so forth to cultivate hope, but of course we know a better way. It has long been a statistical fact that young people who are involved in faith-based activities such as church, Sunday school, youth group, and so on are overall more successful and less likely to end up in serious trouble than their peers who do not have such involvement. To those of us who have been around for a while, especially if we are involved with youth, this comes as no surprise. For thousands of years now, the Church has offered a kind of hope that nothing and no one else can.

This isn’t just true for young people. We all need hope, every single one of us. And real hope, the true hope of the world, lies with Christ and Him alone. There is a reason why the Advent and Christmas season is all about lights—twinkling lights, stars, candles, all the kinds of light we can imagine. It is because Jesus entered into darkness to bring us the Light of the World, the true Light, the light of the gospel of Christ.

Our guest pastor today was asking about “life verses.” I do not love this concept, because what my “life verse” is may well depend upon the day and my current crisis. But when pressed, I will answer with John 1:5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.” No matter how deep the darkness, it is overcome by even the tiniest spark, the smallest candle, the merest suggestion of light.

In Christ we have far more than that. We have the light that conquers all darkness, that lights every corner of our hearts, that brightens the whole world. The light of hope shines relentlessly wherever we are, and it can never be extinguished. Be blessed today, friends. Walk in light; live in hope.

Amen.

The Great Commission
“And He said to them, ‘Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation.’” -Mark 16:15

Mark 16:15 is the verse that is known as The Great Commission. I grew up hearing this, but of course I was probably in my thirties before I thought about it too much. It was just something the grownups said, something preachers preached about. It had little to do with me until I was mature enough to understand that it actually had everything to do with me.
 
As I write this on Sunday evening, my car sits in my driveway containing 95 brightly colored red and green shoeboxes. Forty-nine more are already stacked in my classroom. All of them are waiting to be loaded into a truck tomorrow and taken to the Loxley First Baptist Church. From there, they will make their way to Atlanta. In Atlanta, they will be inspected. Some may have items added, others may have items taken out. What is and is not allowed by customs laws in various countries changes with astonishing speed these days. (Presumably, this is largely because people keep finding creative ways to smuggle contraband.) As the boxes are inspected, all of them except the ones for the very youngest children will have materials added that contain the story of the gospel. Once all of that is completed, the boxes will be sorted into pallets and shipped off to places all around the world, to children who have never before heard the story of Jesus. There will be workers in these places to teach and disciple the children who receive boxes.
 
As I often remind us, these boxes are not about toys or school supplies or water bottles. Those things are a means to an end. And that end is the fulfillment of a command from the very lips of the Savior: Share the gospel with the world. You may find this odd, but as I write this I am in tears. (Of course, I cry about pretty much everything, so don’t put too much stock in that.) I am moved by the thought of your generosity with your finances and with your time and energy. From folding to organizing to shopping to packing to stacking to loading up my little red car with a seemingly impossible number of boxes, you made this happen. And because of all of you, 144 children we do not know and will likely never meet will hear the story of the One who died for them.
 
Some folks expressed concern that boxes were not full enough, or that they had the wrong thing, or they didn’t have exactly what the packers would have liked to put in. Trust me, it’s okay. People at the packing center in Atlanta will take care of all of that. You have done your part and done it well. Soccer balls and stuffed toys and pencils and flashlights are not the point. You have given to 144 children a far greater gift than those things could ever, ever be.
 
Thank you, and thanks be to God.
 
Amen.
 
Jackie

Seasons
“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.” -Romans 8:28

 Romans 8:28. I’m not sure how old I was when I memorized that one. Not more than six or seven, I guess. It has stood me in good stead through a lot. And in the last few days, it has come up in conversation a time or two.

As usual, I am writing this on Sunday evening. This morning, I wrote in a Facebook post that I am thankful for the gift of adversity. That really is true these days. I suppose it is because I have lived long enough now to look back on a good bit of life and see how God used every circumstance, every struggle, and every hard thing to lead me to now. I plan to live on for a while yet, Lord willing, and I suspect that there will be a few more tough times to look back on, and that I will thank the Lord for that particular challenge.

But as I sit here expecting a sharp change in the weather by morning, I am thinking about it all over again. I am thinking about seasons. I am thinking about how the earth revolves and seasons go around and years go by. Seasons can be bitterly cold or suffocatingly hot or, as Goldilocks put it, “just right.” Here on the Gulf Coast, we can experience all four seasons in a span of about forty-eight hours. I think that might happen this week, in fact. But every season has purpose. As we approach Thanksgiving, the season of harvest tends to be uppermost in people’s minds. Again, it’s a little different here in the warm climes, because we have multiple growing seasons and multiple harvests in a single year.

Regardless of the particular circumstances, we all know what it is like to experience seasons, whether seasons of the year or seasons of life. And like the slow revolution of the earth around the sun, the revolution of our lives also has its purpose. God’s Word promises that in the end, that purpose will be for good. We are not promised that everything that leads there will be good. Nowhere in Scripture does the Lord promise an easy life for the believer. In fact, it’s rather the opposite, isn’t it? Jesus said that we would have trouble in this world. But He also said, “I have overcome the world.” What a comfort that is.

When I explain this concept to students, I usually use the old reliable devil’s food cake analogy. Not everything that goes into a devil’s food cake is good. But put it all together and sweeten it just right, and the result is undeniably delicious. And so it goes with us, too. Sometimes you might have to taste some bitter cocoa or get a little bit of tasteless flour on your tongue. Every now and then, life tastes a bit like a raw egg or a stick of butter. But from time to time there’s a little bit of sugar to keep us hoping and believing, and that’s why we labor on.

I hope nobody’s having a raw egg or plain flour kind of a week this week, but if you are, just remember that there’s some sweetness to this life sometimes. More importantly, there’s eternity to look forward to. And that, my friends, will literally taste divine!

Peace

Jackie

Rejoicing
“Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” -Luke 15:7

 As usual, I am writing this to you on Sunday evening. We had a baptism today. Baptism, as we understand it in the Reformed tradition, is an outward sign of an inward change. It is a way of saying without words, “I know I am a sinner. I understand that I need Jesus. He is now my Savior and my Lord.” The young lady who was baptized today is, as far as I know, a very nice girl. She seems sweet and quiet and good and all of the things. Although I don’t know her well, I find it hard to imagine her committing horrible, egregious sins. I suppose I could be wrong, but I rather doubt that. Still, as both of our sacraments remind us, we are all sinners in the sight of a holy God. We need redemption. Without Christ, we are all hopelessly and irretrievably lost, nice girls included.

Luke 15:7 is of course the denouement of the parable of the lost sheep. I wrote about black sheep a couple of weeks ago, and at the time I reminded us that we are all at some point that black sheep—wandering, lost, confused, and pretending it’s all just fine while fighting against the Good Shepherd trying to rescue us. It is still true and always will be. The question is, why would the angels rejoice more over the one than over the ninety-nine? In a nutshell, it’s because the ninety-nine don’t actually exist. There are no righteous persons who need no repentance. Not a single, solitary one. Jesus Himself was the only human for whom that applies, which is why He was able to take the punishment for the rest of us.

Once a long time ago I took a class on what was called “The Six Great Ends of the Church.” Even as I was participating in the course, I knew it was largely nonsense. I don’t recall now specifically what those alleged six ends were, but I remember thinking that there was actually only one, and that all the other stuff was either a means to it or an outgrowth of it. That one great end is to bring people into a relationship with God through Jesus Christ and to disciple them in that relationship. That’s it. The Great Commission. Go ye unto all the world and preach the gospel. Or go ye next door, or to work or to school or to Walmart or wherever it may be that there is need for the good news. Spoiler alert: it’s everywhere. You can’t tell too many people, you know? It’s not like there’s a bag limit or something.

The other side of this, naturally, is that sinners come home all the time. Every minute of every day, somewhere in the world a sinner falls to his knees and repents and invites Christ into his heart and life. And every single time, the angels rejoice. God’s goodness and mercy are great indeed. I know hearts were singing this morning as we watched our young friend receive the sacrament of baptism. There was joy in the house of the Lord today—in our house, for our family; and there was joy in heaven. May that joy be known everywhere.

Peace.
Jackie

Love
“By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” - John 13:35

 A few months ago, before he departed for Memphis, John Foster recommended a book to me. The book is Life in the Negative World, by Aaron M. Renn. I bought it (of course; I have a terrible addiction, you know). I have been slowly plowing my way through it during my morning quiet times. I have found this book to be both fascinating and somewhat terrifying. Mr. Renn addresses ways that the Church may have to adapt to the times in which we live—what he calls the negative world, wherein Christianity is not viewed positively or even neutrally, but with active hostility and negativity. Yes, sadly, in modern American culture, evangelical Christians have become the bad guys.
 
Mr. Renn does not suggest that we compromise our beliefs or the mandates of Scripture; rather, he suggests that we find new ways to live out our faith and our belief in the inspired and infallible nature of the Bible that will be relatable and useful in the world around us. It is an encouraging book. This is not a hopeless time for Christians in the United States. Actually, it is a time of great opportunity. The fields are ripe unto harvest, for sure, in our time. Those folks we call Gen Z are returning to church. They have grown up in a chaotic world that, in spite of (or maybe because of) cell phones and computers, is in many ways more disconnected than it has ever been. They are hungry for the real.
 
But in the end, no matter how we analyze it or mull it over or write about it, people young and old need what they have always needed: love. I know how that sounds. I know it’s corny and schmaltzy and simplistic. My guess is that at least a few of you rolled your eyes when you read it. But it’s still true. You know there are a lot of people out there who still watch reruns of “The Andy Griffith Show” and “The Brady Bunch” and even “Leave it to Beaver,” right? Why do you think that is? Well, the folks of Mayberry always had each other’s backs. The Brady kids argued a lot, but they also stood up for each other and even sacrificed for each other. Even as a little kid myself, I always suspected that Beaver Cleaver wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but his parents were patient and loved him in spite of his shenanigans. As hokey and admittedly unrealistic as those shows are, they are essentially shows about people who love each other. And we like that, even if we don’t want to admit it.
 
Mr. Renn uses an interesting word in his book: pre-evangelism. He references the widely controversial “He Gets Us” ad campaign. One of the objections of many evangelicals to these ads is that they don’t really share or explain the gospel. Which is true, but it’s because that isn’t what they are trying to do. They are simply trying to teach people about who Jesus is, to introduce Him in a new way, because until people have at least some understanding of who He is, they are not ready to hear about what He did.
 
For us, for CPC, I think pre-evangelism looks a lot like the Fall Festival and VBS and Community Breakfasts and all the rest. They are ways to love people, aren’t they? And when we love people, we are imitating Christ, which is what He calls us to do. This, says Jesus Himself, is how people will know we are His disciples. CPC is not a perfect church. But as imperfect as we are, we do a pretty good job of loving each other. Like the citizens of Mayberry, we have each other’s backs. Like the Brady kids, we may squabble from time to time, but in the end we care more about each other than we care about ourselves—usually. And like Beaver, we don’t always do the smartest things (at least, I don’t), but in the end we are a pretty forgiving bunch.
 
When we love each other, people see it; and it spills out into the community and the world around us. And in that, maybe, just maybe, folks will catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of God. It might not be a perfect image, but one thing we can always do is to love. We can love each other and the world around us, and give people a glimmer of hope that there is something more. If we can help even one person grasp that, we are doing something right, just by loving. It isn’t very complicated, and honestly, it isn’t really very hard. Just…love.
 
Peace.

One
 “Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” - Luke 15:10
I have a new favorite song these days. It’s called “Black Sheep,” and it’s by a man named Ben Fuller. I don’t know the details of Mr. Fuller’s life history. I do know that in the past he struggled with substance abuse and other issues, and that when he found Jesus, it changed everything. When I listen to the words of his song, it seems evident to me that he fought hard against his election to the flock. Some of the words are stunning in their blunt honesty, but the part that grips my heart the hardest is this:
 
The Good Shepherd’s love smells like smoke
There ain’t no hell so low that He won’t let the hounds of heaven go.”
 
And a few lines on:
 
“Amazing grace is a pesky, pesky thing;
Guess the good news is He’ll never leave you be.
Jesus loves you, black sheep.”
 
This man knows what it is to be pursued by the One who loves us more than we can imagine. He knows what it is to fight hard against the will of God, only to lose to His sovereign and inescapable grace. He knows what it is to finally give in to the life-changing mercy of the Savior.
 
That was not the road I was called to walk. But that makes me no less of a sinner than Ben Fuller, or for that matter anyone else. My call was early and my journey was easier. My late sister used to put it this way: “Jesus is the only way to God, but there are a whole lot of ways to Jesus.” She was right. The paths God uses to draw us to himself are, I believe, unique to each one He calls. But the grace is the same for all, and His love is the same for all. He will not, cannot, leave us be. He pursues us passionately and persistently until we hear the call of his irresistible grace and respond.
 
This morning, I was talking to a fellow church member about this song, and she wondered out loud if that one sheep that the shepherd went after, leaving the ninety-nine, was a black sheep. It’s an interesting question. It could have been. I mean, it is the black sheep who are the outcasts and the loners and the ones no one seems to care much about. It also makes perfect sense when one considers the fact that at some point we have all been the black sheep. We have all been pursued by those hounds of heaven, sent by our insistent Redeemer to round us up and bring us home.
 
Ponder Luke 15:10 for just a moment. When you came to faith, heaven rejoiced. Imagine angels cheering and dancing with glee over the redemption of your soul. The same thing happened when I decided to make Jesus my Lord; and when Ben Fuller finally gave in to grace; and for every single believer, ever. Think of what a joyous place heaven must indeed be with all of that going on all the time! That is what we have to look forward to one day, all because of Christ.
 
Once upon a time, each and every one of us was the black sheep. Each and every one of us was the one for whom He left the ninety-nine. And each and every one of us who believes was pursued by the Good Shepherd’s smoke-scented love and brought home to the Father.
 
Be grateful, friends, and be blessed. Peace.
 
Jackie

“Feets”
“So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” - James 2:17

 Hey there, friends. As has become my practice, I am writing this on Sunday evening. This morning in Sunday school, the discussion was partly about prayer. In our nation today, the notion of prayer being an actual and effective thing to do is becoming increasingly uncommon. Many even find it laughable. Often when there are national tragedies, leaders will say something like, “Our thoughts and prayers are with those impacted by this event” or words along those lines. And this is often met with backlash such as, “Thoughts and prayers are not enough. Something needs to be done.” Which, as was discussed in Sunday school, is both true and not true. It is true that praying is actually doing something, and that we do well to trust in the God of the universe rather than ourselves; but it is also true that prayer is the thing that gives us guidance and the will to act. As the verse above states, faith that does nothing is dead.
 
During our lesson, I recalled a story I was told by a friend years ago. In a less enlightened time here in the Deep South, it was common for white pastors to lead Black churches. This was because it was thought that people of color were in need of a white shepherd, because they may not be quite capable of managing on their own. Once upon a time, this kind of paternalistic racism was common, and to be fair it was in large measure well-intended, if incredibly misguided. Anyway, my friend’s father was such a pastor. At one of his churches, there was a sort of existential crisis over a planned “gentlemen’s club” that was being built—right next door to the church. For months, the church prayed fervently that the Lord would intervene. Then, one night just before the club was due to open, it “mysteriously” burned to the ground. The following Sunday in church, my friend’s father demanded of his congregation that the responsible party or parties confess. Finally, one older lady stood up and said, “Brother, sometimes you got to give feets to your prayers.”
 
Now, off the top of my head, I can’t think of any episodes in Scripture where God endorsed arson. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for giving “feets” to our prayers. The Bible verse immediately preceding the one above tells us that there is no point to telling a cold and hungry brother to be warm and filled if we aren’t going to actually do anything to help him. When James puts it that way, it seems glaringly, almost absurdly, obvious. Praying for people is real, and sometimes it actually is all we can do. But not always, and maybe not even most of the time. For example, I cannot cure cancer. But if I have a friend who has it, I can check in on them, take them a meal, or maybe just make sure I don’t become hesitant to touch or hug them (that happens when people have cancer; I’ve noticed it).
 
Our choice is actually pretty simple: We can look at all the sickness, heartache, and desperation in the world, tell ourselves we can’t fix it all, and become sort of spiritually paralyzed; or we can be like the little boy with the loaves and fish and take what we have to Jesus. He will take it from there. We don’t even have to know all about everything that’s going on with everybody. All we really have to do is pay attention and be kind. That  may look like financial generosity or generosity of time. It may be as simple as a brief conversation or even just a smile. Sometimes it’s just looking someone in the eye and making sure you call them by name. Have you ever thought about the fact that most of the people who serve us daily in places like grocery stores or restaurants wear their names? It doesn’t take that long to read a name and greet the child of God in front of you with respect and politeness.
 
So…pray. Pray without ceasing, as Paul says. Pray for your family, pray for your friends, pray for perfect strangers. Pray for our nation and our world. Send up prayers of gratitude and praise and joy. But while you’re walking around the world, don’t forget that whenever you have a chance, you need to give “feets” to your prayers.
 
Peace.
 
Jackie

Broken
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
 
There is a beautiful song called “Image of God” that I stumbled across a number of years ago. The artists are Christa Wells and Nicole Witt. I highly recommend looking it up on YouTube if you get a chance. The refrain says this:
 
“We come in pieces, we come in fragments,
We come discolored to the foot of the cross;
Our maker sees us, all that we have been,
Binds us together, the image of God.”
 
I envy people who can write in such hauntingly beautiful pictures as that. It is a perfect depiction of what God does for us, both individually and corporately. Each of us is shattered. We are ruined by sin, broken by our bad choices, battered by what the world has done to us. We have our sorrows and our losses; we have our mistakes; and we have the day-to-day, never-ending weariness of living in a world that is as broken as we are.
 
But like the potter of Scripture, our Creator sees the beauty waiting to be found in us. He is, after all, the One who made us, isn’t He? He knows far better than we do what we can become. And so He gently lays hold of each of us. He binds up our shattered hearts, minds, and lives. Over and over again, he recreates us. And each time we become more beautiful than we were before. I suppose theologians would call that sanctification, but it doesn’t really need a label. It is our Master molding and shaping us, loving us from brokenness into beauty.
 
And then, He takes those creations and draws them together, and from them He builds His Church. From our humanity, from our failures, and from our pain, He makes us something beyond beautiful. He forms us into His own image, created to share our broken beauty with a world that cries out in pain and loneliness and forgottenness. He calls us, His church, to bring those shattered bits of His people to Him, so that He can love them, too, into something stunning and precious.
 
On days when you feel like so many bits of glass, remember that our Maker has restless fingers. He is ever creating, ever molding, ever mending us, making us both beautiful and useful to Him. And we are called to show this beauty—His glory—to the world he longs to heal.
 
Know today that you are being made beautiful, over and over and over again.
 
Peace.
 
Jackie

Seasons
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” - Ecclesiastes 3:1

 When I was just starting the ninth grade, right around this time of the year, I was forced to read a short story by James Hurst entitled “The Scarlet Ibis.” It is a sad, beautiful story, and it left little thirteen-year-old me devastated for days. It did not have a happy ending. But what also stuck with me was the beginning. The first sentence of the story is, “It was in the clove of seasons, summer was dead but autumn had not yet been born, when the ibis lit in the bleeding tree.” Although I didn’t understand it all then, that one sentence symbolized and foreshadowed what was to come in the story.
 
At the time, we were living in Indiana, where the seasons have somewhat clearer distinctions than they do here; but I had spent my first nine years in northeast Florida, so I was well aware of what that “clove of seasons” was like. We are there right now, here in South Alabama. As I write this on Sunday afternoon, we are in the waning hours of astronomical summer. Tomorrow, fall officially begins. It is predicted to be around ninety degrees tomorrow, with significant humidity. Summer is undeniably dead: Flowers are drooping. Days are shortening. School has long since begun, and those carefree days of swimming and playing and hanging out with friends are a distant memory for most children by now. And yet, obviously, as Hurst put it, autumn has not yet been born.
 
But it will be. We only need to be patient. What passes for fall here is not remotely like autumn in northwestern Indiana, or a number of other places, but we will know it when it comes, won’t we? The mornings will be cooler, the air will be drier, and mums and pumpkins will leave the Walmart Garden Center and the front of Allegri Farm Market and appear on people’s porches and around their mailboxes. The sweatshirts with “Thankful, Grateful, Blessed” emblazoned on them will appear, and the smell of pumpkin spice will emerge from…well…pretty much everywhere. In the meantime, we wait.
 
We have those times in our spiritual lives, as well. Times when something has ended, and we know something new is about to begin. These are the times when we wait upon the Lord. These are the times when we seek God’s face in prayer and trust Him for whatever may lie ahead. These are the times when he trains us in steadfastness and faith. I have often joked with people that they should not pray for patience. For if you do, God will surely offer you the opportunity to learn it. But the truth is that He will give us that opportunity anyway. It’s a natural and unavoidable aspect of the life of a believer.
 
But His word assures us that there is a season for everything, and a time for every matter. Even in the “cloves of seasons” in our lives, there is purpose in the waiting. He also exhorts us in Galatians not to grow weary in doing good, for in due season, we will reap. I love that. All things happen in God’s time to serve God’s will and to bring glory to Him. There will always be a harvest. Mr. Hurst’s story did not end well, but even in its heart-wrenching sadness, it was ultimately a story of love. This old world is just bad sometimes (my grandmother used to say that), but our God is good, and there is beauty to be found even in the most difficult times.
 
Don’t grow weary, friends. The harvest is coming.
 
Peace.
 
Jackie

Prayer
“But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another…”
From 1 John 1:7
 
Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.
 
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
 
The separation is deep, Father. It is a chasm corroding the foundation of all we believe. It is a  wide and seemingly bottomless trench dug with lies and disputes and hateful rhetoric. It is a wall built of bitterness and suspicion and division. We can’t fix this, Father. Like little children who have made a mess too big to clean up on our own, we need Daddy’s help. We really don’t know what to do, where to begin. We’re not even entirely sure how it got this way. We would love to blame the people on the other side of the wall, Father, those across the chasm, but deep down we know it isn’t that simple. It’s our fault, too. We did nothing to stop it, and we played the game we were goaded into. So we need You—desperately.
 
From the time of the very first sin, Lord, You have saved us, over and over and over again. We don’t deserve Your mercy, Your grace, Your pardon, or Your rescue; but we’re asking for it anyway. We’re pleading for it, in fact. And we do so with confidence, because amid all the uncertainty of this moment, we are certain of one thing: Your love for us. We know You care. We know we are precious to you. We know You can help us to achieve what we cannot achieve by ourselves.
 
And so we ask: Help us, Abba. Fill us with Your Spirit. Give us bold courage, Lord. Give us right words at opportune times. Put the truth, told in love, into our mouths. Give us Your hands, Your feet, Your heart, and Your words, Lord. Help us to find a way forward that is loving but uncompromising, meek but strong, faithful but respectful. Keep us from anger and vengefulness and bitterness and despair. Turn our hearts toward You. Guide us to do as You ask—to pray for our enemies, to bless those that curse us. Keep us walking in light, Lord, and show us the way.
 
Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.
 
Hear our prayer.
 
Lord, come quickly.
 
Amen.