A Handful of Advent

The Bubbas are back — at least for a bit!

We wanted to let you know about the publication of our newest book, A Handful of Advent. As the blurb says…

“From the veteran preaching/writing team of Delmer Chilton and John Fairless (aka, Two Bubbas and a Bible) comes a handy volume for planning and conducting worship during the season of Advent. The volume is packed with background information, textual commentary, sermons, and other worship aids to help make the most out of this beautiful season of the Church.”

Y’all come on over the Amazon and get you one…and tell a friend!


We’ll Be Seeing You!

After lots of sermons, commentary, podcast episodes and a generally pretty-good time, the Bubbas are hanging up their spurs and ceasing publication of the Lectionary Lab weblog and podcast. We’ve enjoyed it, and we thank you all for joining us.

Please note that we have a final podcast episode for those that care to listen — you’ll find it by clicking here.

Also, we’ll leave the site up for a while and encourage you to use the Search feature on the left-hand side of the page to search any scripture or Sunday in the 3-year lectionary cycle. It’s all there!

Delmer will continue to publish sermons on the Living Lutheran website.

And, that’s about all we’ve got to say about that!

Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

For February 19, 2017

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Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton

Not too many years ago, a mother of two young boys called me, laughing, to let me know that while her sons had listened carefully to my children’s sermon the previous Sunday, both of them had failed to completely grasp the concept I was attempting to explain.

The night before, her oldest had come running into the kitchen. He was crying, loudly, and was hopping on one foot while holding his shin. In between sobs, he complained, “Tommy kicked me, he kicked me and he wasn’t supposed to. The pastor said he wasn’t supposed to kick me.” Of course, he was followed by his brother, who said, “Pastor said ‘strike’ and ‘cheek,’ ‘turn the other cheek.’ He didn’t say nothing about not kicking your brother when he kicks you first.” Mom turned to Billy and said, “Did you kick Tommy first?” “Well yeah, but he wasn’t supposed to kick me back. Pastor said so.” All I could think to say was, “Well, this sort of thing has been going on since the first set of brothers – Cain and Abel – and at least no one died this time around.”

Even as adults, many of us are more like Tommy and Billy than we would like to admit. Though in the Ten Commandments God was very clear about what was expected of us in terms of our behavior toward one another, we persist in what appears to be self-serving misinterpretation, reading God’s commands with our own self-interest in mind. To put it bluntly, many of us are strict with others and lenient with ourselves. For example – today’s first lesson comes from Leviticus. The 18th chapter of Leviticus is often cited by people in debates about sexuality, usually with stern admonitions that we “must follow God’s law.” Recently I saw someone with “Leviticus 18:22” tattooed on his arm – a “you shall not” text about sex. Funny, he seems to have missed Leviticus 19:28 “you shall not . . . put tattoo marks on yourself.” Like I said, stern with others and lenient with ourselves.

The question is, “How do we sort through this business of hearing and obeying God’s laws without being either inappropriately lenient or self-righteously stern?” Leviticus 19 takes a stab at it by expanding some of the bare bones of the Ten Commandments into more specific regulations on how to treat one another. For example, “Thou shalt not steal” evolves into commands about not defrauding, not dealing falsely, not cheating your workers. “Thou shalt not bear false witness” is expanded with words about not slandering, not lying, not defrauding. “Thou shalt not kill” is explored in terms of not bearing hate in our hearts, not taking vengeance, not bearing grudges, etc. All this is summarized in verse 18 as “you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Increased specificity helps, but as the story of the Good Samaritan makes clear, the human tendency to be strict with others and easy on ourselves persisted as people cleverly asked, “Well, yes, but who, after all, is my neighbor?”

Underneath the “Who is my neighbor?” question is the basic human quest to know the bottom line,

What must I do to be saved?” “What is required?” Questions which too often become “What’s the least I can get by with?” I have never forgotten my first finance committee meeting in my first church so many years ago. We were working on the new budget for the next year. I told them what the denominational “minimum salary” requirement was. The chair said, “Well let’s write that down. Reckon we can’t do no less than the minimum.” (And yes, I know, I shouldn’t bear a grudge, Leviticus 19:18, and I don’t. But nobody said I had to forget.)

Jesus directly addresses this minimalist, “what is required,” approach. An “eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” was an attempt at being fair, at avoiding escalation in human relationships by limiting the amount of vengeance one could take on another. It is a law that limits unfair and “disproportionate justice.” Jesus raise the ante by advocating “disproportionate mercy.” Jesus changes the question from “How can I appropriately get even?” to “How can I show mercy and love in this situation?” Thus, he says, “You have heard it said, but I say to you.” Jesus reinterprets the rules, the laws, about how to treat your neighbor – using principles that run throughout the Hebrew Scriptures. There’s really nothing new here. Jesus is just underlining, and highlighting, and drawing attention to, principles that have been stated over, and over, and over again throughout God’s relationship with God’s people.

Now, back to that question about how to read and interpret the Bible without being either inappropriately lenient or harshly judgmental. The Bible a sprawling, messy, somewhat inconsistent, beautiful, occasionally frightening, complex compilation of history, prophecy, poetry, hymnody, biography, correspondence, and apocalyptic visions composed by hundreds of human writers over thousands of years. Is it any wonder that it lends itself to so many competing opinions and understandings? Both Leviticus and Jesus show us the key – the scriptures call us to do that which shows love to our neighbors – whomever that neighbor may be. We are called to do that without stopping to think about whether or not we’re required to, or how little we can get by with, or whether they deserve our help, or if they will be able to return the favor. None of that matters. God loves us, we are invited to love one another. Period.

And, just in case there’s a Billy or Tommy listening to this today; “strike” includes kicking. And “cheek” includes any possible part of your body you can think of. I’m just saying.

Amen and amen.

Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

Fresh sermon, a “rerun” on the podcast — but we always do the best we can! Thanks for following us here on LectionaryLab.com!

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Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton

In the 1980s, I was a pastor in Rowan County, NC.  The local afternoon daily paper, the Salisbury Post, ran a weekly church page.  They listed things like address, worship times, pastor’s name, etc. – all in really tiny print.  The Post was different from most newspapers that I had dealt with – it asked you to supply a sermon title or they wouldn’t publish your church’s information.

My titles were never very good, I just don’t have a talent for titles, but one of the other Lutheran pastors in town was really good with titles.  One of my favorites was “You Can Rust-Proof Your Car; but Can You Rust-Proof Your Soul.”  I still remember his title for a sermon on this gospel lesson – “Things I Wish Jesus Had Never Said.” Can I get an amen?

There are several things in this text that many of us might well wish Jesus had never said. Even though we take the part about “whacking off limbs” and “poking out eyes” as metaphor and hyperbole and “exaggeration for the sake of emphasis,” Jesus still sets out a personal moral standard higher than anyone I know could actually achieve. No anger, no lust, no swearing, no little grudges and resentments and petty drama with siblings, or co-workers, or fellow church-members, or all of the above?  Is he serious?

And no divorce except for adultery?  What about people in abusive relationships, or people married to alcoholics or drug-addicts, or people who find themselves trapped in a relationship with someone who refuses to even pretend to pull their weight in the marriage?  Was he serious about that? Well yes; yes he was.  Jesus was digging beneath the surface of the letter of the law into get at the spirit, the intention, the principle undergirds it. Jesus was inviting his hearers to think with him about the “why” of the rules they have been given.

Most people, then and now, don’t want to do that. We want to know the rules, the facts, the guidelines, what do we have to do. The Bible is full of people asking these types of questions:

What must I do to be saved?  What does the Lord require?  What is the greatest commandment?

And the always difficult to comprehend part is that when we find out what the rule or law or guideline is, many of us seem to then want to find a way around it. “What’s the speed limit here?”  “It’s 55.” “Hmm,” we think, “I can probably get away with 60 at least, probably a little more.”

Here, Jesus declared that “Thou shalt not murder,” was not only intended to keep people from bashing each other’s heads in – but was rather to call for people to restrain their anger and seek peace in all their relationships.

But most people, then and now, decide that the minimum is enough.  We think something like – “The fact that I hate my sister-in-law and treat her like dirt on a regular basis, that I passive-aggressively make her life miserable every chance I get, is not a moral issue because I have not murdered her.” Jesus said to this, “You have not killed her but you have killed the relationship, you have slowly poisoned a sacred connection with the toxicity of your hateful feelings.”

And so it goes with each of the things Jesus talks about in this part of the Sermon on the Mount.

Adultery, divorce, lying – in each of these things Jesus asks us to look behind what is required to find what is both possible and preferred.

The language about gouging out eyes and sawing off limbs is not an invitation to self-mutilation; rather it is a reminder that being the person God made us to be may require us to painfully and carefully control, or even remove, some part of our life that we are not sure we can do without.

Here are a few very difficult questions Jesus’ words raise for us on this day.  What is killing your spirits and keeping you from giving yourself completely to Christ and the Kingdom of God?  Is it something so valuable that you cannot bear to part from it?  Even if keeping it means losing your very soul?

Lent is only a month away; Ash Wednesday is March 1.  Perhaps now is a time for all of us to take an inventory of our lives, to see where it is that we are living by the letter and not the spirit of God’s way; to discover what things are weighing us down and keeping us back from living fully into the joy and hope of our new life in Christ.

Rather than giving up chocolate, or red meat, or drinking, or smoking –  perhaps we could consider giving up some lingering hurt, or an unresolved anger, or a judgmental and critical attitude, or a closely nurtured resentment, or a festering hurt, or an inappropriate desire, or anything else that we hold so close and dear so that our hands and hearts are not free to reach out to God and to one another in love.

Amen and amen.

Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

For February 5, 2017

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Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton

“When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom.  For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”  1 Corinthians 2:1-2

I have struggled with my weight most of my adult life. I frequently launch a new plan to create a thinner, healthier me – especially around New Year’s, or after Thanksgiving, or after Christmas, or after the Super Bowl – well, actually, pretty much all the time. I have read a lot of diet books and have gone on a lot of web sites. As my young nephew used to say – “Here’s the deal!” – ninety percent of what they say about fitness and diet can be summed up in four words: “Eat less. Move more.”

There is a scene in the movie Bull Durham where the manager goes on a locker room rant, screaming at his losing minor league baseball team.  After he calls them a series of unprintable names, he says “This is a simple game.  Hit the ball. Catch the ball. Throw the ball.”

In our second lesson, Paul has come to an “eat less, move more” moment. He tells the church in Corinth that his message is simple – “Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”  To me this sounds a lot like, “Eat less. Move more.” Or “Hit the ball.  Catch the ball.  Throw the ball.”

I have now been a pastor for almost forty years. In that time I have been inundated, year after year, with new programs guaranteed to make the church grow, or expand the Christian Education program, or revitalize the worship service, or get people to give a lot more money, or grow a vital youth group, or, or, or . . . .  While I am sure that one or two of these ideas worked somewhere else, some other time, for someone else – none of them has ever worked anywhere for me. I don’t know; maybe my heart wasn’t in it.

What I have learned is this: if the gospel of Jesus Christ, and him crucified, is at the heart and core of a church’s life within the walls; and is the motivation and content of its proclamation and service outside the walls – the church will be a happening place full of joyful and motivated people.

And if some other agenda takes center place in a church’s life together, and forms its mission and message to the world; it won’t matter what programs they try; the church will be somewhat unhappy and struggling.  “Jesus Christ, and him crucified,” is the “Eat Less. Move more,” the “simple game,” of the church.

What gets us off base is the fact that we do not trust the simplicity of the gospel. We think we need to jazz it up and make it more appealing and, in the process, we risk hiding the truth in the barrage of hype. This is what Paul warns us about in First Corinthians. We have to be careful about adding things to the basics of the gospel in an attempt to dress it up and make it more exciting.  What is there is exciting enough.

English mystery writer and lay theologian Dorothy Sayers said it best in her book Creed or Chaos: “We are constantly assured that the churches are empty because preachers insist too much upon doctrine – “dull dogma,” as people call it. The fact is the precise opposite. The Christian faith is the most exciting drama that ever staggered the imagination…and the dogma IS the drama.”

(Sayers, Sophia Institute Press, 1949, p.3)

The very words “Jesus Christ, and him crucified” say to us that the God who made us has not abandoned us, the God who made us loves us and wants to be in relationship with us; indeed, wants it so badly that this Holy One, this divine Creator of all that is, came to be with us as one of us, a human being who ate and slept and learned and worked and talked and listened and healed and loved just as we do. We had to learn how much we are loved and how we are invited and inspired to go about loving each other.  Telling us was not enough; we had to be shown.

And so, this humble holy one, in a mystery that it is impossible to unravel, with a wisdom too deep for words, died upon the cross for us – in the place of us, because of us – to show us how to live and how to die, and how to live and die for each other – how to love one another.

“Jesus Christ, and him crucified” is the “eat less and move more” of the church. It is the story with which we will catch the attention, and the hearts, of the world. It is the simple game at the center of our faith, our life together, and our life together in the world.

Amen and amen.

Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

For January 29, 2017

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Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton

All parents have things they say so often that, eventually, their children can predict what Mom or Dad will say before they say it. My Daddy’s was; “Is that absolutely necessary?”

Child, “May I go with you?”

Daddy, “Is that absolutely necessary?”

Child, “Can I buy a new toy truck?”

Daddy, “Is that absolutely necessary?”

Whenever Daddy said that, I usually wanted to say, “No Daddy, I just thought it would be fun; after all, I am a kid,” but because my Daddy was severely sarcasm-challenged, I usually just responded with the time-honored and kid-tested, “Please, please, can I, can I, please, please!?”

The trouble with this parental line, and others like it, is that after one hears the line a few hundred times, one stops listening; one no longer really pays any attention to what is being said.

Many of have the same problem with the beatitudes. We have heard these words of often that we think we know what Jesus is saying before he says it.   And here is the really difficult and somewhat sad truth; most of us have come to an uneasy peace with the belief that we can’t really do what he is asking of us.  We have concluded, either out loud or in our heart of hearts, that he is calling us to a standard higher then we believe to be humanly possible.

Yes, we have forgiven ourselves for our inability to live up to the Sermon on the Mount and we occasionally wonder if, after all, such high standards are absolutely necessary. It’s all well and good to say that the hungry will be blessed but what the hungry really need is to be fed. The last century has seen more death by cruelty and violence than the previous 19 combined; there are many more who mourn than ever before and heavenly reward is cold comfort in the face of today’s hot pain.

The last time I looked, the meek were still being trampled underfoot, and the strong and the unscrupulous were still in possession of most of the earth. As for those hungering and thirsting after righteousness; well, it appears to most of us that most people spend most of their time hungering and thirsting after the rewards of the flesh, better known as creature comforts, or “a certain lifestyle.”

So, when we hear what Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount it appears to be far removed from the world as we know it; so we nod our heads and listen politely and think nice thoughts about being meek and hope that reading a two-minute devotional every morning counts as hungering and thirsting after righteousness; then we go out the door and into the world and about our business.

Our mistake is to think that the Sermon on the Mount is about us, about our personal behavior, that it is kind of like a graduation speech in which a wise and witty famous person explains to us the nine secrets of lifestyle success; or “How to Be a Happy Christian.”

Well, the Sermon on the Mount is not Jesus’ Little Instruction Book. It is, rather, a proclamation of the coming of the Kingdom of God. It is a rallying cry aimed at those called by God to become a part of that Kingdom. Notice where it is in the Gospel of Matthew. In chapter one and two, Jesus is born and grows up. In chapter three he is baptized, in chapter four he goes into the wilderness and clarifies his mission through temptations dialogue with the devil. Now, in chapter 5, he comes out of the desert and begins to preach.

In these opening words, Matthew shows Jesus announcing his plan, his program, his priorities for everyone to hear, for everyone to either accept or reject. Here, Jesus divides the world into two categories – the haves and the have-nots.

In verses 3 through 6, Jesus talks about the have-nots are those whom the world has beaten up and beaten down, those who have lost both their dignity and their hope. There is no need to spiritualize these things; this is about cold hard facts. The world is full of poor people, the world is full of people who mourn; the world is teeming with the meek, those whom the powers that be have pushed under and held under so long that they can’t remember up, much less see it. The world is full of those who seek justice, of those who have been deeply, deeply wronged by pure injustice. These are the people Jesus is talking about.

In verses 7 through 10, Jesus talks the rest of us, the haves, and where we count in this new kingdom. In a world full of war, we are called to make peace. In a world full of injustice, we are called to do justice with a pure heart. In a world full of oppression, we are called to stand with the oppressed and to help them find mercy. In a world full of people being treated unjustly, we are being called to stand with them and to allow ourselves to be untreated unjustly with them in hopes of relieving their distress.

In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus unveils, reveals, the Kingdom of God. It is a kingdom that includes all of us. If we are down, it seeks to pull us up. If we are up, it seeks to pull us into the battle on behalf of the least of these, the brothers and sisters of Christ. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount is not an unreasonable, unattainable, idealistic pipe-dream of a higher standard.  No, it is a clear and unmistakable call for us to join the battle for the Kingdom of God. This day Jesus invites us to a life of service and sacrifice, to a life of caring and compassion. In the words of Micah: we are called to do justice, love kindness and to walk humbly with our God.

Amen and Amen.

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

For January 22, 2017

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Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton

Every time I read this section of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians I think of a story my mother used to tell about the visiting preacher who couldn’t find the church where he was scheduled to preach.  He stopped at a gas station.  There were a few men sitting about on Coke crates, smoking and gossiping and drinking coffee.  The minister got out of his car and walked over to them and said, “Can anybody tell me how to get to the Church of God?”

A man stepped forward and said, “Well, Preacher, you go down here about two mile, then you go right at the post office and cross the tracks, then a left turn at the schoolhouse. . . naw, wait a minute, that’s the Presbyterian Church – that’s Mr. Watson’s church.”   He thought a few seconds and said, “I got it. I believe you go up this here hill here, then you go left at the light and out past the VFW and it’s on the left.  Nope, nope, hold on, that’s the Lutheran Church – that’s Mr. Larson’s church.”  He wrinkled up his brow and pondered a few more seconds, “Now I remember – go on down Main Street here until you get to the Feed Store – then you turn left and go a mile or so and you’ll see this big ol’ graveyard – it’ll be back in behind there, down a dirt road.  Aw shoot – that ain’t right neither, that there’s the Baptist Church – that’s Miss Peabody’s. Church.”  The man though a few more seconds, “You know what Preacher, I don’t think God’s got a church in this here town.”

“I am one of Paul’s people.”  “I am one of Cephas’ people.”  “I’m one of Apollos’ people.” And for the hyper self-righteous people, “I belong to Christ.”  Paul’s remedy for all this infighting and fussing and back-biting was what, in another place, he called the foolishness of the cross, the ridiculousness of the Gospel story. He calls upon the Corinthians to remember the highly unlikely way God has chosen to save the world –  the foolishness of the cross.

In this season of Epiphany, we find ourselves looking at the world’s continued darkness:  its wars, disease, ignorance, prejudice, and violence. Looking closely, we see at the root of most of this humanity’s disconnectedness – our alienation from our true selves, from each other, and most of all from God. It is this lack of genuine, open, trusting, loving community and connection that either causes most of the world’s problems, or makes them worse.

In the midst of all this darkness and disconnection, the church is called to shine the light of God in Christ into the world. We are invited to be a part of God’s intention to pull the world’s disparate peoples into one community, one interconnected and interdependent family, one kingdom of heaven, one beloved people – the people of God.

This calling has never made much sense to the world. It looks to most people like a quixotic quest, a nonsense proposition. The world operates by a different set of rules. Perhaps it’s not exactly cut-throat, dog-eat-dog out there; but it certainly is “Look out for number one, and know who your friends are, and you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

When Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee and called to his side “Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother;” then a bit later “James, the son of Zebedee and his brother John,” we can be pretty certain that those who watched them walk away felt that those who went were fools.

On the face of it, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?  Matthew makes it clear that these men were gainfully employed commercial fishermen – casting their nets, out in their boats.  And, in the case of James and John, we know immediately that they were turning their backs on commitments to family members, “they left their boat and their father.” For what?  To fish for people? What does that even mean?  Where’s the profit in that?

I was ordained forty years ago this June.  When I first went before the Candidacy Committee for permission to start seminary, one of the members asked me, “What are you giving up to enter the ministry?” I think I said something about a potential career as a teacher or something like that, but the most honest answer would have been “Not much.  I have an undergraduate degree in sociology.  If y’all don’t endorse me, there’s a lot of ‘Would you like fries with that.’ in my future.”  In the years since I have had my turn to sit on the other side of that table in Candidacy Committee meetings and I have been humbled to hear the stories of people who have walked away from lucrative careers and a well-settled life to answer Christ’s call “to fish for people.”

Now, God does not only “call” pastors and deacons and other church professionals.  God calls each and every one of us to be a part of the “priesthood of believers.”  And this call will not make sense to some people in our lives.  Even Jesus’ family came looking for him after he went out on his preaching, teaching, healing tour.  They wanted to take him home because they thought he was acting crazy and embarrassing the family.  Each of us must look at our lives and decide “What, or sometimes who, must I give up in order to follow Jesus, to walk the way of the cross, to fish for people?”

To be God’s Church in the world – not our church but God’s church – is to fish for people, to cast out nets of forgiveness and vulnerability and risk-taking, nets that are held together with the little crosses of suffering we bear for one another each and every day. We are called to cast these nets across the great chasms of division and distrust, fear and hatred that afflict and terrorize our world. We are to cast out nets that seek to bring all those who have lived in great darkness into the great light of God’s love.

Jesus call out to us, the same as he called out to Peter and Andrew, James and John. We too are called to a ministry of connection, a ministry of casting nets of love and forgiveness toward God’s people, a mission of shining the light of God’s love on everyone. Will we embrace this ministry? Are we prepared to let the light of Christ shine through us? Are we willing to reach out to the world with the foolishness of the cross? Are we ready to fish for people?

Amen and amen.

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

For January 15, 2017

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Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton

His name was David.  His last name was something decidedly Scottish – McCarthy, McCormick, McGillicudy. He had just graduated from the Presbyterian seminary when he came to be the minister at the little Presbyterian Church just down the dirt road from my grandmother’s house. My family went to evening service there about once a month when we were visiting grandma.

He was nothing like the other ministers I knew.  They were all loud, brash, and long-winded; very long-winded.  He wore a black robe and a colored stole and in his sermons, he talked quietly for about fifteen minutes, mostly about things Jesus did that showed us that God loved us and everybody else in the world; and about ways we could show that love to others.   His house, the “manse,” was next door to the elementary school and we often saw him taking walks in the afternoon.  This was a novelty to us farm kids – every adult we knew worked so hard that the idea of taking a walk for exercise was somewhat funny to us. If we were at recess the teacher would often ask him to umpire our baseball games – which he did willingly, competently and without a lot of fuss.

He occasionally came to visit my family, sitting quietly at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, listening to my mother chatter on.  After about thirty minutes, he would take out a pocket New Testament, read a bit, say a prayer, and be gone.  When I applied to for admission to a Quaker College, it asked for a statement of faith and a minister’s recommendation. I went to him for advice.  Though I wasn’t a member of his church, he immediately set to work helping me. He asked me a few questions about my thoughts on Jesus.  His able questions pointed me in the right direction, helped me articulate what I actually believed.  He also wrote the minister’s reference for me.

It was only later, when I felt the call to go to seminary, that I realized that without him, I would not believe in Jesus, would not be a Christian, would not be in the church, would not be a minister. He was John the Baptist for me. He was the one who pointed to Jesus and said, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the Sin of the world!”  He was my Saint Andrew, bringing me to Jesus and saying, “He’s the One!”  He was the one who brought me to Christ!

Well, actually he was “a” one, not “the” one – because I have come to realize that there have been many “lights” in my life, many people who have pointed the way to Christ.  Mrs. Gammons, my Baptist Sunday School teacher.  My neighbor Mr. Reynolds, gentleman farmer, grandfather of my best friend, and occasional preacher, who influenced me more by how he lived his life than by anything he said in the pulpit.  My mother, sitting at the dining room table on Saturday night “getting up” her Sunday School lesson to teach the next morning.  Dr. Boyd, religion professor at UNC-Chapel Hill, who let me know that you do not have to check your brain at the door to be a Christian.  The list could go on and on, both for me and for you.  Let’s take a minute to remember and thank God for those who were John the Baptist for us, those who like Saint Andrew, pointed us to Jesus.

Let’s also remember that all of us are called to be witnesses. Very often we make this witnessing business more difficult than it really it is.  It’s mostly a matter of pointing at Jesus and saying, “He’s the One!” We do not need any special knowledge or special training to do that.

Above and beyond everything else, the church is called to know one thing, and to do one thing. We are called to know the love of God in Christ, and we are called to bring others into that circle of love. That is our purpose for being, that is the reason for our existence, that is the end to which we work, that is our mission, that is our ministry, that is our calling.

Like the Israelites in our lesson from Isaiah, we are beckoned by God to be a light to the nations. It is too light, (too small, too tiny) a thing that we should just talk about Christ and our faith among ourselves – we must share Christ with the world.

It is our calling to be like John, pointing to Christ as the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. It is our calling to be like Saint Andrew, bringing our friends to meet Jesus. It is our calling to be like the people who introduced us to Jesus, it is our calling to tell others about the love of God in Christ. It is our calling to announce to the world, “We have found the Messiah.”