"No one ever said that to me before."

My neighbor had stopped by for a talk. The day before, he told me of his wife's health and how he was caring for her. I told him I would be praying for them both.

"No one ever said that to me before." It was as much a shock to my system to hear him say those words as my pledge to pray had been to his. All my life, I had known people were praying for me (even before I was a Christian). To me, it was the most natural response imaginable. To Jim, it was a level of grace he couldn't grasp. Someone would care enough to pray for him!

I wonder if we fully comprehend how saturated our lives are with prayer. Do we recognize what a blessing it is to know someone out there is praying for us . . . possibly even right now?

Among the 100 "one anothers" we find in the New Testament is James 5:16 and the call to "Pray for one another."

It had been a late night and an early morning. Sitting at the breakfast table with my friends, bleary-eyed, and wading through another cup of coffee, I confessed, "Look, I'm barely here. If you have anything important to say, you're going to need to repeat it, like, three times."

My exhaustion was a convenient excuse, but we would all have to confess that we don't always pay attention. But I was right; repetition is the key to remembering. Way back in 1885, Hermann Ebbinghaus discovered that repeating a name three times locks it into our long-term memory (though I have my doubts it would work on a name like "Hermann Ebbinghaus").

Repetition helps us remember. I think God already knew that. In the New Testament, we find 100 passages that tell us what we should do for "one another." We should pray for one another, speak truth to one another, bear one another's burdens, and serve one another, just to name a few. If Ebbinghouse says three times is the charm, the Bible's 100 "one anothers" shows us that God doesn't want us to forget how to love one another!

Everyone has their own heroes from the Bible. When we're young, the boys choose David and dream of fighting off giants. Maybe the girls choose Esther and know that part of their beauty is the conviction to stand for what's right. Daniel inspires our faithfulness; Mary reminds us that God uses unexpected people for his purposes. Whomever you've chosen as your biblical hero, you have found something in them that you want in your character and story.

As for me, my hero is the demoniac Jesus encountered in the Gerasenes. You remember the story, right? Rampaging possessed naked guy, chained up in the cemetery. Jesus sends his demons into a herd of pigs that drown in the sea. Don't miss the ending of the story, though. When the man begs Jesus to let him become a follower, Jesus says, "No." Instead, Jesus tells him, "Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you" (Mark 5:19).

The biblical character I find myself related to most is a man Jesus told to go home. In this sermon, given at my home church, I unpack this story and share about a few of my demons and—most importantly—the mercy I've known from Jesus.

Tucked in the middle of the movie, The Passion of the Christ is a scene that I find my mind going back to again and again. Jesus has been beaten bloody and carries his cross through the streets of Jerusalem. The weight of the wood, the exhaustion of the beating, and the blood in his eyes from the crown of thorns suddenly become too much for him. He collapses to the ground, the cross pinning him there.

His mother watches on, and like any mother who sees her child fall, she runs to comfort him, saying, “I’m here.” Jesus turns to her, cups her cheek, and says, “See, mother, I make all things new.”

It’s a line you won’t find in any of the Gospels or their passion narratives. Instead, it comes from the throne of heaven in Revelation 21:5. “Behold, I am making all things new.” I love that promise there at the culmination of all things, but I’m moved by how the Passion of the Christ reminds me of the price of the promise.

The chaos of this world is conquered by the cross.

Humanity’s final union with the Father is delivered by the one who was rejected.

The promise of the end of mourning and pain was accomplished through the man of sorrows.

The transformation of the sufferings of Jesus into the glory to be revealed in us is beyond my comprehension today. Still, it is the hope we share and extend to the hurting around us.

I’ve appeared in court on three different occasions. I was called to be a witness all three times, compelled to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And, on all three occasions, I did precisely that. The first two times, I was there to testify to the character of the defendants, or a lack thereof. I did not enjoy either of those appearances.

But the last time I was called to testify was on behalf of my son, Connor. When Connor turned 18, he became an adult in the eyes of the state. I was in court to testify that, given his challenges, Connor needs our help and support and will always have our love. On December 10, 2020, with a bang of a gavel, a judge awarded us guardianship of our son. We celebrated with sushi.

In Isaiah 43:1, the prophet testifies, “But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah then launches into a courtroom drama and calls his people to testify to God’s faithfulness to them. Standing before his witnesses, the Lord testifies to our need for a savior, a deliverer, and his love.

Lyn Marshall was one of those people I would never have known if it weren't for the church. The first few times we talked, we seemed so different from each other. But, then, on a long car ride to visit her sick mother, we bonded over a mutual love of The Moody Blues. And when she told me about how she met Vincent Furnier (maybe better known to you as "Alice Cooper"), I was sold! This was one cool lady!

Lyn's passing yesterday reminded me of the truth I'll try to convey in my sermon today. "So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God" (Ephesians 2:19). We have a myriad of differences that can pull us apart and keep us apart; everything from our politics to our musical preferences (some people DON'T like the Moody Blues, if you can believe that). Yet, in Christ, we become family. No longer strangers but members of the family of God.

Some churches have a long-held tradition of placing salt on the tongues of newly baptized believers and giving them a lit candle to remind them they are "the salt of the earth and the light of the world." I love the symbolism and the message it sends. It's not, "Go out there and try to be the salt of the earth," or "You better make sure you keep your light shining!" Instead, with commitment fresh and hair still wet from baptism, it lets the new believer know precisely who they are in this world because of Jesus.

Salt and light are two identities given to us by Jesus himself. If Christians are to understand who we are together, we need to grasp the impact these two images have on the world around us.

One of my first roles in the church was as a shepherd. I don't mean that in a pastoral sense, but rather in a Christmas pageant sense. In Junior High, for our church's live nativity, I was one of the three guys chosen to play shepherds. I had the headgear (one of mom's tea towels wrapped around my head), a staff (a stick with a bent clothes hanger duct taped to one end), and an old bathrobe. The only thing I didn't have—that none of us shepherds had—was sheep.

We looked the part, but without sheep, we were just three guys standing to the side of the manger, waving at passing cars. We were as useless as the fake frankincense among the three Magi's gifts.

A shepherd simply isn't a shepherd without sheep. So, when Jesus describes himself in John 10:11 by saying, "I am the good shepherd," what he tells us is as much about his followers as it is himself. "The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."

Jesus as the Good Shepherd defines who we are together as much as it describes Jesus. Dad's old bathrobe and mom's tea towel do not make a shepherd. A shepherd needs sheep, and sheep need each other to be the flock.

The most frequently used designation for Christians in the Bible is the word "Brother." It appears over 250 times in the book of Acts and the Epistles. So while you and I call ourselves Christians and speak of ourselves in groups as churches, the Bible shows us, again and again, that we cannot understand what it means to be a follower of Jesus without the concept of family.

We often worry about the state of the family these days. We see the struggle of broken homes and absentee parents and the aftermath in children left with no role models. Unfortunately, the problem only gets worse as it perpetuates into new generations. And yet, here we are, called "The Family of God." That's a gift our world desperately needs.

When I started attending church, families invited me to sit with them, adopted me for church activities, handed me an extra plate at potlucks, and made me feel . . . well . . . like family. Those gifts made lasting impressions, and they all stem from understanding that above all else, we are the family of God.

Dad said I was named for one of his favorite westerns. Mom said she picked my name because it worked well with my brother's. I like dad's story better, but whether the name had meaning or they just liked the sound of it, I'm stuck with it.

There are far worse names to be stuck with. For example, in the Bible, the prophet Hosea has a son named "Lo-Ammi," Hebrew for "Not my people." Can you imagine being stuck with a name like that? Whenever Hosea introduced his son, he said, "He's not mine."

People want to belong, be included, and be told they matter. But unfortunately, we have to confess that we often draw lines that exclude more than wrap arms around to include others. It's not just the names we call others but our actions and attitudes that tell them, "you don't belong here."

God's heart does not exclude. God speaks in the next verse, "In the place where it was said of them 'You are not my people,' it shall be said to them, 'Children of the living God.'" God adopts the rejected, includes the forgotten, and welcomes home those who have no place to belong. The question is, do we share his heart?