SEVENTH SUNDAY OF EASTER 2016 ACTS 16:16-34 Three years ago when I toured California with my son Rob, we drove one Sunday afternoon through King's Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. We were leaving this stunning cathedral of natural beauty, heading down a steep hill, through the woods, when my eye was caught by a sign at the side of the road, so small I almost missed it. And it filled me with fear. 'San Andreas Fault' it read, and just to prove it there was an arrow pointing to a line, beneath which lay this subterranean cause of my anxiety. My initial reaction was to inhale sharply and hold my breath, fearing that exhaling would destroy California. I wanted to slam on the breaks, stop the engine, and tell Rob to get out. Then I imagined one of us lifting the front of the rental car and the other raising the rear and tiptoeing ever so silently over the Fault line in case we disturbed a continental plate and unleashed carnage. It was only a Fiat 500, so it wasn't out of the question. Instead I screamed, "Rob. The San Andreas Fault!" And he said, "What's that?" And I shouted, "The Big One. What good is a wasted youth spent watching movies when you have never even heard of The Big One – it's coming."

Earthquakes are never good. At best you lose your house, at worst you lose your life. Earthquakes strike where they will, with no reason, meaning or purpose. Plates randomly shift, continents bump together or move apart, and nations are devastated. When the earth quakes we remember that we are but dust; in fact, less like dust and more akin to ants busily going about our ant business, scurrying around our nest, doing ant things, focused on ant concerns, living like ant people. And then a curious child exploring the woods, kicks our community home or beats it with a stick just to see what will happen.

When the earth quakes people die. And so there he stands, contemplating his death, staring at (Read the full Sermon here: Unchained Melody)