Sunday Sermon - "Passionate Love"

May 2 sermon.mp3

John 13:31-35

Passionate Love

James Sledge -- May 2, 2010

Unless you’ve been on a desert island for the last several months, you can’t have missed the uproar in the Roman Catholic Church over abusive, pedophile priests. I don’t want to join the debate over how well or poorly the pope has handled this, but there is no doubt that, at times, church hierarchy turned a blind eye to abuse, exposing the most vulnerable to horrible crimes, all in order to protect the reputation of the Church and the priesthood.

Of course this didn’t protect the Church’s image. It had the opposite effect. It sullied and tarnished the church. Worse, it sullied the faith and therefore its namesake, Jesus. How could it not? Followers of Jesus allowed children to be abused. What does that say to non-Christians about the nature of our faith?

But sullying the faith is hardly restricted to Roman Catholics. We Presbyterians may be less susceptible to the particular abuses seen in the Catholic Church, but in the past we have moved around male pastors who preyed on vulnerable women in their congregations. Beyond that, when we fight in the church, we often fight dirty. In our recent battles over whether or not gay and lesbian members can be elders, pastors, or deacons, we often engage in the sort of partisan nastiness normally seen only in politics. And if you ask a non-church person what they know about Presbyterians, it’s not uncommon to hear, “Aren’t they the ones always fighting about gays?”

Jesus said… “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Jesus says that one of our most powerful witnesses is when we embody his love, when we love one another as he loved us. This is how people will understand what Jesus and the faith is about. So what sort of witness are they getting? Far too often it is church institutions concerned primarily with self-preservation. It is denominations and congregations that fight about everything from who can be ordained to what music we sing to what color the carpet should be. By this everyone will know that we are Jesus’ disciples?

Of course the Church’s failings and fights are not our only witness. There are countless acts of love and kindness done within this congregation alone. Some members diligently visit those who are sick, in the hospital, or confined to home or care facilities. Many people have told me how much love and care they received from members when they were going through some great difficulty, be it an illness, the loss of a job, or the death of a loved one.

And beyond this congregation, church groups and denominations continue to work rebuilding the devastation from Hurricane Katrina and other such disasters long after the novelty wears off for the general public. As Nicholas Kristof wrote in a NY Times editorial the other day, there is a Church beyond what people see in the headlines of abuse and fights.

But before we get too smug about how good we regular church folks are at loving one another, it might be good to remember just what Jesus means when he says to love one another. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” Jesus defines our love for one another by his love for us. And the love we see in Jesus totally and completely gives itself for us. It risks ridicule and abuse. The love we see in Jesus is even willing to die for us.

One of the more hopeful signs I see for the mainline Church in our day is the movement away from faith as simply believing the right things and toward the idea of faith as deepening spirituality nurtured through particular practices and behaviors. I think that this move opens the door to a much deeper sort of faith because it is inherently more relational.

Love is not about belief; it is about relationship, and in Jesus we encounter God’s passionate love for us. The idea of God or Jesus as a passionate lover is an ancient one in the Christian faith. But many modern, Protestant churches gave up such notions in favor of theologies rooted in rational understandings of God and Jesus. All we can do with a rational idea is accept it or not. But the love given by a lover is something altogether different.

When someone loves another deeply and passionately, it is amazing what she will do for the one she loves. She will put her desires and needs on hold for the sake of the other. She will sacrifice for the sake of the other. She will forgive terrible pain and hurt caused by the other. But none of this will really matter if that other has not fallen in love with her.

Jesus has loved us deeply and passionately. Jesus put his own desires and needs on hold for our sake. Jesus sacrifices for our sake. Jesus would forgive even the pain of the cross out of love. But none of that really matters if we do not fall deeply and passionately in love with him. And when we do, Jesus says that it will be visible in how we care deeply and passionately for one another.

When Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in the spring of 1968, he was not the universally revered figure he is today. Much of the country was still segregated. I was in elementary school at the time, but I still knew many folks who thought of Dr. King as little more than a rabble rouser and trouble maker. And when he had come out against the Vietnam War in 1967, that only intensified their dislike.

I can recall some of these people rolling their eyes when President Johnson declared a national day of mourning following Dr. King’s murder, as well as when Atlanta schools closed for the day of his funeral. It can be difficult to recall now, but it was a terribly tense time and racial divisions were high, especially in my native South. President Johnson did not even attend the funeral over fears that his presence might spark riots or violence.

As thousands of African Americans, civil rights workers, politicians, and dignitaries streamed into Atlanta for funeral events, lodgings were scarce. And at that moment, Central Presbyterian Church, a mostly white, upper middle class congregation, knew they had to help. Led by Pastor Randy Taylor, they provided meals and lodging for as many as they could. Members brought food. Nine hundred cots were set up, but more people than that came. Folks were sleeping on the floor, and the church stayed open round the clock for days.

Given the times, it would have been easier to have done nothing. But Central Presbyterian had realized years earlier that Jesus’ call to love one another just as Jesus has loved us meant getting involved in the civil rights movement, even if it invited insults and threats, even if it put them in danger.

American Christianity has often had a tendency to become mostly about ideas and beliefs, and about very individual, personal decisions to embrace those beliefs. But Jesus came to love us passionately with a love so fierce he would even die for us. And when that passionate love truly moves within us, we cannot help but respond with love of our own. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.”

Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Christianish

I was glancing at my new Presbyterians Today magazine this morning, and I saw a review of the book Christianish: What If We're Not Really Following Jesus at All? And then I looked at today's reading from Matthew. Jesus has just finished saying that he came not to abolish the law but to fulfill it. He then references the commandment, "You shall not murder," adding, "But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, 'You fool,' you will be liable to the hell of fire."

Wow, if this is what Jesus means by fulfilling the law, following him is hardly the free pass some of us seem to think it is. It is certainly hard to read this and say that Jesus doesn't really care what we do as long as we believe in him.

I've not read the book Christianish, but I am intrigued by the title. And I can't help wondering to what degree my own faith might accurately be labeled Christianish or Christiany or something similar. Do I really want to follow Jesus, or would I just like to be associated with him in some way?

Now Jesus says in another place in Matthew that "my yoke is easy, and my burden is light," so it can't be that following Jesus is impossible. But it would seem to require a pretty serious commitment that shapes and transforms every single aspect of our lives.

I have felt very spiritually restless of late, and one thought that has emerged from this restlessness is the idea that the mainline church has gotten far too settled. We sometimes think of faith as a something where all the answers have been given and we simply need to agree with them. But following Jesus can never be settled. It is always going somewhere. It demands that we keep moving, keep growing, keep being remade more and more in Christ's image.

In my spiritual restlessness, I've thought and written a lot lately about how many people, especially younger people, find the Church to be irrelevant. And I wonder if this isn't related to being Christianish rather than following Jesus. But I am increasingly hopeful on this topic because I see more and more signs of restlessness within the Church. Many in the Church are looking for something beyond Christianish. They are looking to go deeper in their relationship with God. They are searching for help to learn practices and habits that can renew and transform them as disciples. And I am convinced that the Spirit is behind this restlessness, and she is seeking to birth new life into an old Church, that we might continue to be the living, vital, and very relevant body of Christ in and for the world.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Obedience

I've mentioned before how Christians, especially American Protestants, sometimes confuse "believing in Jesus" for faith. The Protestant notion of salvation by grace and not by works sometimes gets distorted into "It doesn't matter what you do, only what you believe." But Jesus' words in today's gospel would seem to dispel such notions. After insisting he comes not to abolish the law but to fulfill it, he adds, "Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

I saw yet another article the other day about how young people are abandoning the Church, even though they still think of themselves as spiritual people. There are many ways to interpret this, but my take is that young people still hunger for something more than they get from living by the ways of our culture. They work hard, make money, buy lots of stuff, but still feel like they are missing something. But many have concluded that the Church is of little help with this.

They may be correct. If the people they see at Church look no different from the prevailing culture, act no differently from anyone else they meet (other than occasionally attending worship), what help can we be to them? If we don't model a life that is different, more meaningful, more Spirit filled, more life-giving than what they see elsewhere, why should they be part of a congregation? If we say that we "believe in Jesus," but little about us embodies the way Jesus lived and taught, are they not correct to conclude that we are simply the archaic rituals of previous generations?

I'm over generalizing. Almost no congregation offers nothing distinct from the prevailing culture, and many do a wonderful job of embodying Christ. But to continue the generalization, if we in the Church don't take Jesus' commands, God's commands seriously, why should we expect others to?

O God, help me ignore the siren call of culture with its radical individualism, consumerism, and general unwillingness to put anyone other than "me" first, so that I might follow Jesus in my everyday life.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Saltiness

"You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?" So says Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. It was interesting to see this verse today when I was already wrestling with what it means to be faithful people in today's world. I grew up in a world where most people presumed the culture to be Christian. Beyond that, we thought that living in the culture shaped you into something that was more or less Christian.

But that world is long gone. Significant aspects of our culture are downright corrosive to Christian faith. Radical individualism, consumerism, and the need for immediate gratification all work counter to the faith Jesus preached. But am I in any significant way able to provide an alternative to the culture, or am I salt with no saltiness? Is the Church able to proclaim Jesus in any significant way, calling people to be formed as disciples who follow the teachings and commands of our master? Or are we salt with no saltiness?

I'm not very confident that my life provides any sort of compelling alternative to the world around me. I look much the same as my neighbors and friends who never go near a church. I like to think I'm not a bad guy, but there is nothing distinctly Christian about being a decent guy. Jesus didn't say, "Be good and decent." Jesus did say, "Take up the cross and follow me... Love your neighbor as yourself... Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you... Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven... Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven."

It seems to me that if we want to get back any saltiness, we need to get serious about helping form each other into people who live out the teachings of Jesus and follow the example of his life. How we live says a lot more about our faith that any words we use. Faith must become much more about what we do, the practices and habits we engage in, if we are to be what Jesus expects us to be. After all, what good is salt that isn't salty?

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Kings

The first line of both morning psalms speaks of God as king. Reading those lines likely shaped the way I read both the Exodus story about the golden calf and the Beatitudes in Matthew. The notion of God as king, as absolute ruler over my life, sounds great when I say it, but God often seems absent in my life, as the Israelites experienced at Mt. Sinai. And Jesus' list of those especially blessed by God is not exactly the list I would prefer. I say I'd like God to be ruler of my life, but I would also like God to conform a bit more to my notions and expectations. God should jump when I call. And God should make me feel happy and content without asking me to live at odds with the culture, and certainly without asking me to take up the cross.

When I was in seminary, I saw some interesting arguments about the resurrection. Most saw the resurrection as a tangible, historical event, and if you didn't believe that you were not really a Christian. Some others argued for a more metaphorical notion of the resurrection. They spoke of the importance of experiencing the presence of the risen Christ in their lives over believing in any particular historical event.

But it strikes me that you can be on either side of this argument while still denying a central truth about the resurrection. The resurrection vindicates the life of Jesus. It proclaims that this life which followed God's will no matter the cost, even when it meant a cross, is indeed the shape of true human life, life as it is meant to be lived. Our fullest humanity comes when God is indeed king, even when that leads to a life that makes someone appear strange and perhaps even dangerous to the prevailing culture.

"The LORD is king!" Well I guess saying it is a start.

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Sermon Thoughts on a Non-preaching Sunday

We Presbyterians have often been labeled "head" Christians, especially when it comes to our worship. Our faith sometimes seems to function mostly from the neck up, and historically our preaching has tended to be on the didactic side. More than once I've had someone come up to me after worship and say, "I really enjoyed the lecture."

Now I like to think that my sermons are not at all like lectures, but perhaps I need to work on that, and perhaps we have trained our folks over the years to expect a lecture. But as important as learning and teaching have been for Presbyterians, Christian faith can never dwell primarily between the ears. It must be lived out as we follow Jesus.

In John 10 Jesus says, "My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me." I went to the Middle East as a seminary student and I once saw a scene that I think is the backdrop for Jesus' words. From the window of a tour bus I looked out over a valley and saw a young Palestinian boy, perhaps 11 years old, walking down a well worn trail. And behind him followed 9 or 10 sheep. He wasn't driving them or herding them as we Americans tend to think of such things. He was in the lead and they were walking, single-file, behind him. In my imagination, that boy was calling his sheep. Trusting him, the sheep willingly went along behind him, confident he would lead them where they needed to go.

To borrow from that image, believing that Jesus is the shepherd is important, but following him is crucial. It does no good to say, "Jesus is my shepherd," if we do not go with him when he calls.

Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Commandments

The 10 Commandments show up in today's Old Testament reading. They are hardly the only legal commands given to the Israelites in the wilderness, but these are the only ones actually spoken by God to the people. God never speaks directly to them again. Everything else is mediated through Moses. (It's worth noting that different faith traditions divide these commands differently. Jewish commands 1 and 2 are combined as command 1 for Roman Catholics and so on. All the major Jewish/Christian divisions end up with a total of 10, but if you mix and match the divisions you could end up with 11 or 12.)

I suppose this fact that God delivers these commands firsthand warrants the special status they have enjoyed over the years. Not that this special status has necessarily meant we take these commands seriously. The opening commandments relate to God's jealousy, God's passionate zeal for this relationship with us that requires our full devotion. But I find it very easy to have a rather casual relationship with God.

Also, I and many others routinely trot out God to support our views on this issue or that. The commandment against making wrongful us of God's name should probably give us pause, but it rarely does. This commandment is often trivialized into "Don't swear or curse," but it is really about invoking the power of God's personal name, Yahweh, for our own personal gain.

The "second table" of the Law, the part dealing with human-human relations, is perhaps more straightforward than the first. And while the commands against stealing and murder and perjury are more or less universally endorsed, coveting is an essential part of our economy. If advertisers can't get us to covet that shiny new car in our neighbor's driveway...

There's been fair amount of stink in recent years about whether or not the 10 commandments can be posted on public buildings; classrooms, courtrooms, and the like. Doing so has become a major cause for some conservative Christian groups. But given how easily we've ignored them over the years, I'm not sure this is energy all that well spent. Perhaps Christians would do much better to consider taking them seriously ourselves.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Our Response

Today's reading from Colossians speaks of how people who were once estranged from God, who used to live in ways contrary to God's desires, have been reconciled through Jesus, "so as to present you holy and blameless and irreproachable before him - provided that you continue securely established and steadfast in the faith..." These verses seem to speak of a dialectic inherent in the faith. Our status before God is not our doing; it is a gift to us, a matter of God's grace. But living in this new relationship with God requires a response to the gift, a life of faith.

But too often, this dialectic gets distorted into "Believe in Jesus and get the goodies." Faith becomes agreeing with certain religions beliefs and principles and getting rewarded as a result. But the Colossians passage - and many other places in the Bible - describe a new relationship that is simply given, and a new life that emerges from living into this relationship. In the gospels, Jesus welcomes people into his fellowship by calling them to follow him. The invitation is pure grace, but being a disciple means following: doing as he says, living by his teachings and commandments.

In the Church, we've often forgotten this "provided that you continue..." side of faith. In traditional denominations such as my own, you can see this in how we approach membership. Although our theology would beg to differ, we generally consider people members in good standing as long as they show up for worship now and then. We do very little to encourage them to live out that faith, to serve as disciples, to embody Jesus in their life at the church and in the world.

But this is changing. One of the exciting things in the church is the recovery of "Christian practices," habits and behaviors that shape and form us into the disciples Jesus calls us to be. Be they ministries of hospitality or spiritual practices that deepen our awareness of and attentiveness to God, these encourage the response side of the faith dialectic, and help us actually follow Jesus in our daily living.

What practices help you to respond to God's grace in Christ?

Click here to learn more about the Daily Lectionary.

Musings on the Daily Lectionary - Repentence

I've written previously about a huge study of the faith of young people in America, one that labeled that faith "Moralistic, Therapeutic, Deism." Central to this faith is the notion of believing in God and trying to be good (along with hoping God may help you out of a jam). I doubt the faith of the people in our gospel reading would ever have been described as Moralistic, Therapeutic, Deism, but believing in God and trying hard to be good certainly could describe the Pharisees we meet there.

While the Pharisees are often seen as "bad guys" in the gospels, they were a very dedicated reform movement in Judaism, one that insisted ritual alone was not enough. People needed to work hard to be obedient to God's commands. And yet, John the Baptist tells the Pharisees who come to him that they need to "bear fruit worthy of repentance."

Over the years repentance has taken on a narrow religious meaning of feeling remorse and regret over past actions, with an implication of conversion. But biblically speaking, the term has to do with changing one's mind and going in a new direction. Pharisees tried very hard to be good, to be obedient, so I'm not sure we would expect them to be remorseful about such behavior, but still John expects them to turn, to become something different.

Christian faith in 21st century America is often difficult to distinguish from generic notions of spirituality and good citizenship, from Moralistic, Therapeutic, Deism. But if John the Baptist is any guide, following Jesus apparently calls us to turn and become something much more than that.

Beyond believing in God/Jesus and trying to be good and help others, what fruit is born of your turning toward Jesus?

Click here to learn more about the Daily Lectionary.

Sunday Sermon - "The Story Continues"

Sunday Sermon - "The Story Continues"

April 18 sermon.mp3

John 21 comes after the gospel of John seems to have ended. Perhaps this story after the story has ended serves to unsettle things and get the story moving again. Perhaps we need a similar unsettling.

John 21:1-19

The Story Continues

James Sledge -- April 18, 2010

When the movie ends, the scene fades to black, “The End” appears on the screen, and the credits begin to roll. But rare is the movie where we don’t know it’s the end without these cues.

Music works in similar fashion. More often than not, we can detect that the piece has ended even when we’ve never heard it before. Any musical tension and dissonance resolves into something that feels complete, finished, and we know we are at the end.

In movies, in plays, in novels, in music, this pattern is familiar to us. Things need to be brought to a conclusion. The war must be won. The broken relationship must be repaired. The killer must be caught. The jury must come in. The lovers must find one another. The last note must be played. Otherwise we are left with a sense of loose ends.

The gospel of John has dealt with its loose ends. Jesus has been raised from the dead. Mary Magdalene has seen him. Then he has appeared to the disciples, commissioned them and gives them the Spirit. Finally he has appeared again so that Thomas, who was somehow absent when Jesus appeared that first Easter evening, might see and believe. Thomas does believe, but looking forward from that moment, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

And then the gospel ties up the last loose ends and plays the final note. Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name. Fade to black.

But just as we prepare to get up from our seats, suddenly the story resumes. After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias. It’s all rather jarring. Just when we thought we understood exactly how things came out, the story starts up again. It breaks into the feeling of completeness. All that dissonance that had been resolved is stirred up again.

The scene itself is surprising. We’re back at the Sea of Galilee with seven of the disciples. No explanation is given for why they are there. They are just there. It is late in the day, and Peter announces, “I’m going fishing.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the others chime in together. “We’ll all go with you.”

What’s going on here? Has Peter returned to his pre-disciple profession? I don’t know, but he clearly has a boat at his disposal. And they spend the night fishing without catching a single fish.

When the gospel of John seemed to end a few verse earlier, Jesus had already empowered the disciples with the Holy Spirit and sent them as the Father has sent him. But now here they are fishing in the dark.

Now strictly speaking there is nothing all that unusual about fishing at night. But in John’s gospel this seems terribly out of place. Themes of light and darkness are so prominent in this gospel. Jesus is the light that shines in the darkness. But the world prefers the darkness. Nicodemus sneaks out to see Jesus at night. Judas slips off to betray Jesus in the darkness of night. And now, after the resurrection, after the gift of the Holy Spirit, we find the disciples fishing, with no success, in the dark.

It’s a rather depressing scene, from an actual fishing standpoint as well as the metaphorical one. But then the light dawns, both literally and metaphorically. The disciples don’t realize at first, but Jesus is there on the shore. Suddenly there are fish galore and breakfast is ready and waiting.

If the disciples had somehow misunderstood, thought that the end of the story meant things went back to the way they were before, Jesus shatters that notion. The disciples’ last meal with Jesus will not be a prelude to his death, but a prelude to their ministry.

There is a problem with endings. When the movie ends, when all the loose ends are tied up, when any dissonance in the notes resolves and the song concludes, the energy is also gone. Nothing drives events forward any longer. Everything is settled.

Christian faith is bound to an ancient story, and without remembering and embracing that story we cannot be the people of God. But that story is not ended. It has not faded to black. The great preacher Tom Long even suggests that this strange story in John’s gospel that takes place after the story has ended serves to draw the curtain up again, to unsettle things and put the energy back into an unfinished story.

Of course Peter is a special case, and this story after the end of John’s gospel recalls how Peter’s story seemed to have ended. On the night of Jesus’ arrest, a confident, brash Peter had boldly predicted that he would lay down his own life in order to go with Jesus. Instead Peter had denied Jesus three times as he stood warming himself by a charcoal fire that night.

But that is not the end of Peter’s story. Standing by a different charcoal fire, Peter’s threefold denial is undone. Jesus’ love embraces Peter and restores him. But his restoration does not bring Peter’s story to a conclusion. Rather it is a new beginning. “Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs. Follow me.”

This second ending of John’s gospel leaves many questions unanswered and much left to do. What happens to Peter? Presumably he did what Jesus commanded him. He cared for Jesus’ flock, even though it likely cost him his own life at some point. But clearly the story continues, and much of it remains to be written.

Nearly 2000 years later, I wonder if we might not need another, another ending to the story, something like the second ending of John that unsettled things a bit and injected energy and momentum towards a future still to come. I can’t help but think that religion has gotten far too settled, far too fixed. We humans tend to like things settled, but without some tension and the energy it provides, things stagnate. Without some sense that the plot is still unfolding, that we are moving toward something, things become listless and merely habit.

You don’t need to be a social scientist or researcher to know that young people have left the church in droves in the last few decades. Many of them are children of some of you. But researchers can tell us some interesting information about these folks. For the most part, they don’t have any real conflict with the beliefs or doctrines of their parents’ faith, and they didn’t leave to find “better churches.” They believe in God and in being good. They just don’t see any point to the church part. They can believe in God and be good without church.

And I think they got the notion that what goes on at church isn’t very important from us. We got so settled, so accommodated to the world around us. We acted like the story was over and there wasn’t anything significant left to do. We even acted like there wasn’t anything significant going on in our worship.

A member in the pews on Easter Sunday told me this story. It seems that someone was attending worship with family or friends. And as the service ran a bit past an hour – not surprising with the extra music and the large number receiving communion – this person said, loudly enough for those nearby to hear, “You said it only lasted an hour!”

Now I suppose this person can be excused. For all I know, he wasn’t even Christian. But we often act just like him. We check our watches. People complain if the service runs over a few minutes. They grumble if they didn’t like one of the hymns. But if we really expected to meet Jesus here, I doubt we’d care what music we sang or how long we stayed.

But we act like we’re just telling an old story and singing some songs. Perhaps it’s warm and comforting in a way. Perhaps we enjoy it. But it isn’t meant to stir anything up or start anything. The story has been written, and the screen has faded to black.

Like the disciples in our gospel, we have settled back into our everyday routines. Yes, we’ve heard that Jesus was raised. Maybe we even believe it. But that’s an old story, and it doesn’t have much to do with how we live our lives. At least that’s what we’ve communicated to those who grew up in the church. And they’ve taken us at our word, and so many of them have left. And who can blame them.

But the good news is that Jesus does not condemn disciples who settle back into old routines, who live like the resurrection doesn’t much matter, who fish aimlessly in the dark. Jesus does not even condemn Peter for denying him. He only wants to get the story going again. He feeds his disciples, and he calls them, calls us, once more. “Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs. Follow me.” And the story continues.

Sunday Sermon - "The Story Continues"