PALM SUNDAY 2016 LUKE 19:28-40

April 23 is a famous day. For one, it’s Shakespeare’s birthday. For another, it’s St George’s Day, so if you’re English April 23 is a day to celebrate. But, thousands of miles west of England, April 23 1985 was a momentous, historic, even world-changing day for less joyous reason. Not a day of celebration, but of dismay; not of glory but of ugliness; not of jubilation but of catastrophe. April 23 1985. If you were alive that day, what were you doing? Where were you enjoying that beautiful spring morning, what daffodils were you picking, what blossoms were you sniffing, what birdsong were you enjoying? I hope you were oblivious to the pain caused by that day. I hope the agony did not trouble you or the despair come near your door. Because April 23 1985 will long live in the archives of infamy. They say it was Roberto Goizueta’s fault. It was he, they said, who unleashed this new horror onto an undeserving world. How could he do it, why would he do it? Was it the money, was it the power, was it the greedy human impulse to brook no rivals, to crush all opponents?

I don’t know. But one thing is certain. When Roberto Goizueta, the CEO of the CocaCola Company, sipped a glass of New Coke at its launch on April 23 1985, it spelled the end of the world for a legion of fans of the Real Thing. According to Wikipedia, many southerners, who considered Coke a vital part of their regional identity, viewed the change of formula through the lens of the Civil War, and as a surrender to the Yankees. The company received over 400,000 calls and letters including one delivered to Goizueta, that was addressed “to the Chief Dodo, The Coca-Cola Company". Another letter asked for his autograph, as the signature of "one of the dumbest executives in American business history". The company hotline received over 1,500 calls a day. Coke hired a psychiatrist to listen in on these calls, and after listening to a few they told executives that some callers were talking as if they were discussing the death of afamily member. Even Fidel Castro, apparently a longtime fan, called New Coke a sign of American capitalist decadence.

Isn’t it strange, the choices people make. A better one was the..... (Read the full Sermon here: Trampled by donkeys.pdf )

FIFTH SUNDAY OF LENT 2016 JOHN 12:1-8

How much is too much to spend on your feet? Well, because I like you to leave church with your knowledge expanded, I have done some research into that question. And the answer seems to be ‘no sum of money is too much.’ I went to Gucci.com and found a pair brown crocodile skin gentleman’s loafers for $2,600. Which is a mere drop in a swamp of alligators compared with an unlaced and unworn pair of 1988 Nike Air Jordan sneakers which I found on Ebay for $30,000. But even that is a mere free-throw in the footwear hall of fame. If you have been to the Smithsonian American History Museum you will have seen a pair of ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz. Well, that is just one of three pairs that Dorothy wore in the film. One of the other two was sold at auction a few years ago for $612,000. But even those posh kicks only make it to number 9 in the list of most expensive shoes in the world. And number 1 isactually the official replica of those magic slippers which you knock together three times to be transported back home. They were made to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the cult film, and boast total of 4,600 rubies and 50 carats worth of diamonds. So, how much is too much to spend on your feet? Well apparently $3 million isn’t, because that is what they’ll set you back. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

How much is too much to spend on Jesus’ feet? Well, how about $15,000. That’s the minimum that Mary of Bethany spends on those.... (Read the full Sermon here: Foot Odor.pdf )

FOURTH SUNDAY OF LENT 2016 LUKE 15:1-3, 11-32

It wasn’t the smell that made him want to throw up. But that was bad enough. The heady whiff of pigs. That’s what the pitiful wretch before him reeked of. And it wasn’t the sight of him that made him want to heave. But that dirt ingrained in his face, embedded beneath his fingernails, matted in his hair would surely have done the trick for more sensitive digestions. And neither was it those ragamuffin clothes, so badly in need of burning, that almost induced him to wretch. It wasn’t even the shocking realization that beneath the rags, underneath the pig muck, behind the aroma of goodness-knows-what, stooped the skeletal frame of his little brother. No, it was noneof these assaults on the senses that caused his belly to contort. It was the reaction of his father. That is what disgusted him.

His father. A good man. Too good, the older brother thought. Soft, even. That was his problem. Always being taken in - by beggars faking poverty, able-bodied people pretending to be infirm, staff playing hooky. Why, just the other day he dropped a coin into the cup of a disheveled woman holding a scrawny child, oblivious to the fact that that same waif had been held in the arms of a different beggar a few days earlier. Yes, that summed up his father. Gullible. Sure, he possessed a good heart – an infuriatingly good heart, but he was a sucker, a fallen victim to the sob-stories of the undeserving.

He loved his dad, he really did. And that is....... (Read the full Sermon here: Our nauseating God.pdf )

THIRD SUNDAY OF LENT 2016 LUKE 13:1-9The first thing Lee does after services on Sunday is to collect all the bulletins that have been left in the pews. Then he brings them to the office where, on Monday, Liz sifts through them to see if anyone has accidentally left some money in one. Now occasionally, one of these discarded bulletins bears a handwritten message from a worshiper. For example, here’s one from last week; and someone has written in pencil two words – “Rubik’s Cube”. So this got me wondering. Why would someone write ‘Rubik’s Cube’ on their bulletin? I’m not going to conduct a witch hunt, it’s OK. You know who you are. Now, it seems to me that the only time anyone could do this is during the sermon – the rest of the time we have our eyes closed, or we’re reading, or singing. So, what was it about the sermon that made someone think of this 1980s puzzle? I like to think that it is because the sermon was ingeniously designed, perfectly structured and adorned with vibrant colors. That’s what I’m telling myself. The alternative is that it was impossible to understand. A priest friend of mine tells his ushers to hand out a GPS to everyone as they come to church so they can try to follow where the sermon is going.

It was a bad day to be at the Pool of Siloam, the day the tower fell. It dawned just like any other at that pleasant reservoir by the southeastern wall of Jerusalem. Women were coming and going, fetching water for their families. Children dangled their hands in the pool and splashed each other before being ordered to stop by their mothers. Tradesmen hurried by, en route to the city to wheel and deal. The day the Tower fell did not surprise the handful of Roman soldiers who had been posted to the aqueduct. Pilate had built that bridge, part of a program of civil engineering works to improve this remote corner of the Empire. But those sentries were not impressed. They whispered to each other about the shoddy workmanship, and now they could see water dripping steadily from one of the towers. Later that day, when it collapsed, it took eighteen lives and broke countless more hearts. It was a bad day to be at the Pool of Siloam, the day the tower fell.

It was a worse day to be at..... (Read the full Sermon here: When towers fall and soldiers come )

SECOND SUNDAY OF LENT 2016 GENESIS 15:1-12You know the problem with stars? Many of them may not actually be there. It’s a crazy thought, isn’t it? But it’s quite possible that some of those twinkling balls of fiery gas could have burned themselves out millions of years ago, and we don’t even know it yet. It looks like they truly exist, but the light that will reach your eyes tonight when you gaze into the sky – that light left some of those stars millions of years ago. There’s one star in particular. It is romantically named MACS0647-JD, which is what you get when you ask a science major to name something, rather than an English major. MACS0647-JD is 13.3 billion light-years away, so in theory it could have died 13 billion years ago and it will be another 300 million years before we know it. But there it is, shining away, maybe lying to us, possibly claiming to be something when it isn’t.

You know the problem with stars? We wish upon them, we fall in love under them, we lie beneath them plumbing the depth of our imaginations below their comforting blanket, they stir us to dream. Yet all they are is balls of hydrogen. Hardly the stuff of poetry, the grist for wonder. Sailors tell the time by them, explorers steer a course by them. Stars seduce mariners, reminding them of their loved ones at home, cheering them with thoughts of safe harbor, comforting them in the nostalgic night. These astral friends are reliable, constant, dependable. Even if they may not actually be there. You know the problem with stars? You can’t visit them. You can’t touch them, taste them, hear them, or smell them. You can’t stand on them. The problem with stars is you have to take them on faith. You have to trust them, believing that they won’t let you down. Believing that they exist even though you can’t prove it.

You know the problem with stars? You can’t count them. Even if....... (Read the full Sermon here: Count the Stars If You Can.pdf )

FIRST SUNDAY OF LENT 2016 LUKE 4:1-13His name is Matt Harding, and he dances. Boy, does he dance. Truth be told he’s not very good, like I am a reliable judge, but what he lacks in styleand grace he makes up for in enthusiasm - and in geography. Because in 2005, 29 year-old Matt Harding quit his job as a videogame designer, telling his boss that he didn't want to spend the next two years of his life writing a game about killing everyone. Then he withdrew his life savings and travelled the world. Dancing. And for the next seven years he travelled and danced, traveled and danced. It wasn’t elegant, It wasn’t agile, it wasn’t polished. But it was, in a more profound way than mere aesthetics, exquisite. He made a series of videos of himself dancing in over seventy countries on every continent, in front of some of the most cherished landmarks, and always joyously joined by local people. If, like 90 million other people, you watch any of his videos on YouTube, and you must, then you will not be able to stop yourself smiling. You will feel better afterwards, I guarantee it.

His name is Jesus, and he, too, dances. You can watch his video in the Gospel lesson today. He dances with the devil. This is not a pleasant 2 dance, an attractive dance, a dance any of us would enjoy. Frankly, it is hard to watch. This is dancing with the stars, gone seriously twisted. He dances on the top of the Temple while his partner urges him to leap off and win a world of fans. He dances in space, surveying all the wealth, power and glory of the nations, and imagining owning all of it, as his sidekick invites him to bow down and worship him. He dances in the desert, while his companion points at a stone and remarks how similar it appears to a loaf of bread, oh, and by the way, was that your stomach I just heard. You must starving.

Dancing in the desert. It’s not pretty, it’s not joyful, it’s not carefree. It will hurt your feet, it will test your resolve, it will ask deep, painful questions about who you are you and who your God is. Dancing in the desert will get inside your head and mess with you. You will feel.... (Read the full Sermon here: Dancing with the devil.pdf )

3RD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 2016 YEAR C LUKE 4:14-21

He stands on the highest peak of preaching endeavors, a colossus towering over mere mortals such as your average pastor, minister, or priest. Those of us who occupy the foothills of Mount Sermon can only gaze adoringly and enviously at his feet, because those are the only parts of him that are visible, so far above us does he tower. At gatherings of clergy, his name is mentioned in hushed tones, that is, if it is mentioned at all. Some of us are too in awe of him and too conscious of our own inadequacy, that even naming him appears disrespectful. Remembering his accomplishments urges uson to cultivate interesting verbs, to climb the dizzying heights of effective metaphors, and always apply astronomical amounts of alluring, agile, alliteration. His name is Donald Thomas, but you can call him the Rev Dr Donald Thomas, or ‘your majesty’. Quite simply, he is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as having preached the longest sermon ever delivered. It was a challenging 93 hours. God's filibuster. There are no reports of any survivors. Don’t worry, his record is safe today. It reminds me of the research undertaken by some social scientists that found that if you took everyone who has ever fallen asleep in a sermon and laid them end to end, they’d be much more comfortable. I don’t know what the shortest sermon ever preached was, but I think Jesus may be a contender. He once preached a sermon of eight words. We read it last week, and we’re reading it again this morning. And, sorry to tell you, that record is not in danger today either.

If you were here last week you will remember that we accompanied Jesus to church. He is visiting his hometown, Nazareth, and on the Sabbath he goes to the synagogue, good Jew that he is, and he is invited to preach. He reads from the prophet Isaiah; chapter 61, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim..... (Read the full Sermon here: Drop the Debt )

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 2016 LUKE 4:21-30

If you were attending Mt Calvary four years ago you may remember that I had a bike accident, which involved me rolling over the hood of a car and banging my head on the less than flexible surface of Carlisle Pike. It was no big deal, and after 24 hours in the hospital they sent me home with a diagnosis of ‘post-concussion syndrome’. Now, you might think that this was a bad thing, but not at all. No. Because, now I had … a syndrome. It opened up limitless potential for getting my own way. I had the perfect excuse for being lazy, forgetful, and thoughtless. I could protest that I wasn’t really like that, but I had a syndrome. I remember a week or two later I went bowling with the youth group. Every time I sent a ball into the gutter I could say, “Sorry kids, I’m usually way better than this, but I have this syndrome.” Anyone who asked me to do something I didn’t want to, I could reply, “sorry, I’d really love to help, but you know, syndrome.” Now, I know what you’re thinking. You can only use this excuse for a few weeks. But, no. Apparently in about 15% of people, symptoms may be permanent. So, don’t think that this will be the last time you hear about my syndrome.

There are other kinds of syndromes, of course, and some of them are rather odd to say the least. Take, Florence Syndrome, for example. This condition affects people who visit Florence, and they are so moved by the beauty of the city, and the artistic treasures it houses, that they..... (Read the full Sermon here: I have a syndrome)

2ND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 2016 YEAR C JOHN 2:1-11A few days ago I had a meeting with my spiritual director at 9am. I had about half an hour to spare, and so on my way, I called in at Sheetz to put some air in my tires as commanded to do by my dashboard. Apparently air contracts when it’s cold and other things I would know about if I had listened in my science classes at school. So, I topped up the tires, and still had a few minutes in hand to rush into Giant and pick up some groceries. Now this was a shopping expedition worthy of note. A grocery trip for the ages. The reason is not that I corralled some bargains or even that I managed to get in and out in under a quarter of an hour. No, what made these few minutes of hunting and gathering so special is that I noticed women smiling at me. Every aisle I pushed my cart down I’d pass a female shopper and she’d look me in the eyes and smile. And I’m thinking, “Looking good today, Dunc.” So, I’m smiling back, and swaggering a bit, you know how you do when you’re single. Eventually I reach the checkout, and then I’m off to my spiritual director. And we sit there for an hour talking about all the stuff that I wanted to address, and our time is up and I get up to leave, and she says, “Have you been working on your car this morning?” And I say, “Well, I put some air in my tires earlier, why?” And she says, “Well you’ve got this greasy mark on your forehead.” So I go to the restroom and look in the mirror, and this isn’t just a greasy mark. It is a smear right across my entire brow. It’s like Ash Wednesday on drugs. So, forget what gems of insight my spiritual director taught me, my lesson for the day is that if women smile atyou in the supermarket it’s because you have grease on your forehead.

We’re on this journey to Ash Wednesday....... (Read the full Sermon here: Wine or Whine )

BAPTISM OF CHRIST 2016 LUKE 3:15-17, 21-22

The shrine gleamed in the winter sun, as I took my place at the back of the queue of pilgrims waiting to enter. The atmosphere sparkled with excitement – the anticipation of ecstasy, which enticed the faithful to flock here from all over the world. This modern house of worship was dedicated to the glory of its god in just 2007. In fact, the deity ithouses is a mere youngster – its incarnation occurred just 130 years ago. Yet, despite its brief life, this idol has won billions of devotees (yes, that’s billions with a ‘b’) from every nation, tribe, people and tongue. Worshipers often refer to their savior as “The Real Thing”. For they have tasted and seen that their lord is good. And now, indowntown Atlanta, in the corner of Centennial Olympic Park, proudly rubbing shoulders with the 20 year ghosts of the world’s best athletes, I was visiting this place of prayer, this temple of tacky, this mind-blowing tribute to instant gratification.

The World of Coca-Cola it is called. And it really was like going to church. I had to queue to get in (OK, so that bit wasn’t like church); and it cost me $16 (in fact, this doesn’t sound much like church at all, does it?) But, once I’d stepped through the gates of salvation and into the courts of praise, I was transported into a transcendental world – captivated by inspiring narrative and beloved icons. The sacraments of sugar.

Emblazoned on the wall of the narthex was the verse, “Coke refreshes body, mind, and spirit’. And an ambassador (for that is what the staff are titled) called out in a loud voice that once we had drunk Coke we would, and I quote, “never thirst again”. I learned about John Pemberton (peace and blessings upon him), who, in his Atlanta pharmacy, invented this elixir of all things holy. I discovered that there are only a handful of people on this entire globe who know the divine secret – the recipe of Coke. And although I am a sinner unworthy of receiving this secret formula, I, and my fellow pilgrims, were admitted into the holy of holies to behold the safe in which it is housed. There it was six feet away, behind a rope, and under the constant surveillance of security guards, lest we should touch it by mistake and be struck down.

We then sat in a small theater, enthralled as we watched the.... (Read the full Sermon here: Baptized in syrup )