Bret Hammond

I can't tell you how often I've sat in a movie theater watching the previews for coming attractions and thought to myself, "What's the point of seeing the movie now? The trailer told me everything that's going to happen!" The bad news is that the trailer ruined the end of the story; the good news is I saved myself ten bucks by not needing to see the movie!

But sometimes, the end of the story is not the story. We see that in the cross, and Jesus' empty tomb as the story continues in the life of the church. We also see it in the story of Jesus raising his friend Lazarus from the dead. Is the story really about Lazarus living again, or is there more than just the end of the story?

There's more happening than just Jesus raising Lazarus to life. Through the story, we see him raising the faith of his disciples, Lazarus' sisters, and the whole community. And the story doesn't end there because he still raises our faith through what he did for Lazarus.

There are some people we know by name and others we know by shame. We know their stories and mistakes and how they've disappointed themselves, their families, and their communities. But everything we know about someone is in the past. So how do we look ahead and see the possibilities known only to God?

In John 4, Jesus encounters a woman at a well. Everyone in her community knows her story and shame. As far as they're concerned, they know exactly what she is. But the one who knows her heart sees potential she hasn't even seen in herself. And through one encounter with Jesus, everything changes; her life, home, and community.

I think about her encounter with Jesus, and I think about those we know who convinced themselves long ago that they were too broken to be of any use to anyone—especially Jesus. How might we convince them of the potential Jesus has in store for them? How do we see that same potential in ourselves, for that matter?

Today at Kansas Christian Church, we invite you to "come and see" what Jesus does through this woman at the well and see what he longs to do in the lives of people we may have written off long ago.

I never thought I’d be one of those old guys, but it turns out I am! I was standing in line at Walmart, waiting to check out. I turned to the complete stranger behind me, showed him the picture on my phone, and said, “This is my granddaughter!” It all happened so fast that I didn’t even realize what I was doing!

And no, it wasn’t an isolated incident. It happens almost daily now. It’s really not my fault; she’s just so darn cute!

Love does that, though. We want to include others in our joy and invite them to see its worth for themselves. So grandpas show off pictures, newly engaged couples show off rings, and families show off new homes. We invite people to “come and see” what we value and love.

We hear the invitation in the Gospel of John. Philip wants his friend Nathanael to meet Jesus because he believes him to be the one they’ve all been waiting for. His invitation in John 1:46 is simply those words, “Come and see.” It’s an invitation we can still extend to our friends when we want them to encounter Jesus.

Today at Kansas Christian Church, we invite you to “come and see” what Jesus is doing in and through us. Come and see the relationships that strengthen and support us. Come and see the possibilities that Jesus has for you.

I call it my "Blurb," and I post it on Facebook every Sunday morning. In fact, you're reading this week's blurb right now! I try to keep it short and encouraging and use it as a preview for the sermon I'll preach later in the morning. My goal is always that the blurb will stand on its own, but if I've done it right, it might whet your appetite for what I'll be serving up in the sermon.

I was in a preaching class last summer when our professor posited that while we're all interested in learning to preach better, our listeners could benefit from an occasional message on how to hear a sermon—listen for our main points, follow the structure, recognize the power of illustration, and anticipate our conclusions. I thought it was a great idea and took it as a challenge, so today, on the first day of 2023, I'll be presenting the "How to Listen to a Sermon" sermon.

I believe in preaching and take my calling seriously. I'm also aware that (to misappropriate an old quote) "Sermons are like sausages, no one should have to see how they're made!" It's a messy business, but today at Kansas Christian Church, we'll take a peek at how the sausage is made and see where we will be going with our messages in the coming months.

It's Christmas morning, and not a creature is stirring except for me (and one cat). My mornings usually start early anyway, but this morning I found myself lying awake in bed, contemplating getting up, contemplating Christmas on a Sunday, thinking about the old, old story and the new sermon I'll deliver today. I finally decided it was time to get up a little over an hour ago.

The cat was already waiting for me.

One of the struggles preachers feel this time of year is the question, "how do we tell the same story again this year and make it feel fresh and new?" Does it require a laser light show or drummers suspended on wires (I've seen videos of both this year)? Or, as the Grinch wondered all those years ago, "What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?"

The truth is, it means quite a bit more! That moment in time we call the incarnation—the Christmas story—originates in eternity itself. Long before "unto us a child is born," there was, as John puts it, "the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God" (John 1:1). In Christmas, that eternal Word stepped from eternity into time and, as Paul follows up, "emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men" (Philippians 2:7).

The story we tell again this year is not just about the birth of a baby but that God emptied himself of himself, submitted to life among us, and death for us. It's not just the old, old story, it's the eternal story, and every time I hear it, I hear something new.

It's such a small detail and seems so insignificant. All babies were wrapped in swaddling cloths in those days! Why does Luke feel the need to mention it twice?

Because there's mystery in the ordinary for Luke and there's God wrapped in strips of linen at the beginning of his Gospel, and then again . . .

A dog chewed up my first image of Jesus. I should probably explain that better, right?

When I was a child, we had a Christmas tree ornament that was a tiny nativity scene. I was allowed to hang it on the tree, and, being tiny myself, I hung it on a very low branch. Unfortunately, the following day we awoke to find that our normally well-behaved dog, Trixie, had destroyed the nativity. It was chewed into pieces and all over the floor. The following year, we found a similar replacement, and I learned to keep Jesus up higher, out of the reach of our dog's jaws.

Is Jesus fragile? Does he need our protection? Does he need our help? It's certainly possible to get that impression from the Christmas story, with him lying in a manger, surrounded by animals and pursued by old King Herod. But beyond Christmas, there are times when we forget just how powerful Jesus is and how he can completely change our lives and eternities. That vulnerable infant in the Christmas story is the conquering presence of the eternal God.

In this message, we will go to the first sentence in the letter to the Hebrews. It takes four verses to get through that one sentence! It's packed with powerful images of who that child is, and I can tell you for sure that my poor little dog Trixie would have been no match for the real thing!

DNA kits have become a popular Christmas present in the last few years, enabling people to discover connections they never realized they had. In some cases, these have led to awkward conversations about family secrets thought long buried. In other cases, it has led to amazing reunions. For example, I’ve been following the case of Melissa Highsmith, who was kidnapped 51 years ago and raised by her abductors in cruelty and abuse. Melissa’s family found her after registering with 23andMe and finding those connections. Her father says of his reunion with Melissa, “it’s unspeakable joy.”

We long for connection to each other and God. In his love for us, Jesus made that connection through his coming to us. Paul writes in Colossians 1:15, “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.” Firstborn! The older brother you never knew you had! More than that, though, he’s the one who connects us all and makes us family.

In this message, we look at the Incarnation—God with us, in the flesh. In that miraculous declaration, we find a gift that fills us with unspeakable joy. It fills us with belonging!

There’s some debate on whether or not we should call them “Wise Men.” Matthew uses the word “magi,” from which we get “magician.” Scholar Richard Vinson wonders if their presence is an allusion to the incompetent advisors in the Daniel story or even Pharaoh’s court in the time of Moses. While guided by a star, they’re still misguided, needing to stop in Jerusalem to get directions (no self-respecting wise man would ask for directions!). Vinson points out, “They have seen a new star, indicating to them the birth of a new king, but they know nothing else, which is less than the readers know.”

Maybe they weren’t the royal Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar of tradition. Perhaps we should think of them more like Moe, Larry, and Curly (Oh, wise guys, eh?)

I believe one of the reasons they’re in the Christmas story is to remind us that following stars will only get us so far. Our knowledge, wisdom, and intuition will only take us so far. Likewise, superstition and sentiment might bring comfort, but they provide no real answers. Finding God’s truth requires a path that he’s illuminated for us. Thankfully his path shines bright. John’s Gospel doesn’t begin with magi, shepherds, or angels. Rather he declares, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

It may be that you’ve found yourself in darkness this week. Maybe it’s been the darkness of grief, fear, or worry. But, while that darkness can feel all-consuming in the moment, John assures us that it cannot overcome the light of Christ that God has brought into your world.

My first pastor passed away yesterday. Dave Butts was, among other things (like a friend and former boss), my pastor for many years. I realize that much of my ministry has been shaped by how I saw Dave, Rich Carmicheal, and others live out their callings.

As I look at my sermon text for today, I'm reminded of a quality I always appreciated in Dave—his trust in God's timing. Our church used to have attendance folders in every pew, and every Sunday morning, we'd fill out our names, whether or not we were guests or members, and check a box if we desired to be baptized. Every week, I checked "YES" next to "I desire to be baptized."

After a few weeks, Dave came to me and asked when I wanted to be baptized. My reply was, "Someday, not right now, but someday." I then asked if I had filled out the form wrong, and he assured me I hadn't. I remember asking, "You're not going to be pushy about this?" He smiled and said, "I'm not the pushy kind." Instead, he would wait until God had prepared the perfect time for me to come to him.

Paul writes in Galatians 4:4 -5, "But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons." God sent his Son in his perfect timing. Shouldn't we trust that he continues to do that as he brings Christ into the hearts of the people we love? Our pushing can never draw a heart to Jesus as well as the pull of His Spirit.

Today begins Advent; it is a season of anticipation. But we don't anticipate Jesus' arrival in Bethlehem as much as we anticipate his coming to each of us who cry out for his love and forgiveness. So we needn't be pushy but trust that God still works in his perfect timing.

It took about three years, but when the fullness of time had come, one cold Friday night in January 1984, I walked into Dave's house and let him know I was ready. He baptized me, and we celebrated with pizza. Dave lived a life of service to the Kingdom of God, and my faith tells me that yesterday, he was welcomed into eternity with the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

But I kinda suspect someone muttered under their breath, "Coulda held that one under just a little bit longer, though."