Grief is a lonely and sad place. Though it is a natural response to loss, grief can shatter our peace like a sledgehammer. The sobering fact is, we are all one phone call away from it. This week we find ourselves with the disciples as Jesus is telling them he is going away, and we see the disciples in the throes of grief and loneliness with Jesus’ words. 

As we have seen, times like Christmas turn up the volume on our expectations of happiness. The expectations we have built around the Christmas season are unrealistic and often harmful. We may get a temporal distraction from the pain of these things, but then reality sets in. Many have said the third Monday in January is the saddest day of the year. I suppose you could make a case for this— debt from Christmas, failed expectations, dealing with family stress, and, after a couple of weeks in to the new year, you already see the resolutions you made have not formed you. 

In our passage, Jesus confronts the loneliness and grief of his beloved disciples with compelling truth. He confronts it with the peace he gives. He does this because he will be leaving, and he knows that their hearts are about to be ripped out. He is offering a new kind of peace, not a peace won and guarded with a sword or power, but one given through sacrifice and blood. He is offering himself. But it is more than that. While Jesus’ death will bring peace to their troubled hearts, he is preparing them to carry on his mission of being peacemakers in a world of loneliness and grief. 

Sound depressing? Actually, it is a message of hope and a challenge to all his people who are part of his kingdom of peace. Join us as we wrap up our series on the Prince of Peace and prepare our hearts to really celebrate his coming!

I didn’t grow up with brothers, having been providentially flanked on either side by siblings of the fairer sex. My sisters were (and are) fierce, uncommonly beautiful, and socially graced bringers of social and domestic order. They exercised their influence in working alongside our mother to civilize me in ways for which my wife, who took over the impossible mantle, is forever grateful. They initiated me into a world of subtext and subtleties that has been very helpful to me as a father of daughters, uncle to nieces, and worker alongside women of many stripes. Any amount of chivalric charm in me began in their labors; all else must not be held against them. 

What recalcitrant wildness remains is in part because I did, in addition, have boy cousins who lived across the street. Because of them, I also had close proximity to the strange and savage world of fraternal relations without ever actually belonging to such an order. I was older than I should have been when I learned that pears were for eating and not for plucking off the tree half-ripe in order to bean someone in the head and other sensitive areas. I was victim and villain in the execution of all kinds of dangerous dares. I was competitive in many of the less seemly bodily arts. I still bear scars for which rational earthly ambitions cannot account. I belong to blood pacts. 

I therefore find it impossible to believe that Jesus was not profoundly shaped by his own upbringing in a household of four brothers and at least two sisters. These are our first friends: the “secret society of people made… somehow… by Mom and Dad.” The little we get in the New Testament about Jesus’ family of origin shouldn’t lead us to believe that this immersion experience failed to form the default settings of his adult social life – for good and for ill – just like the rest of us. What did it mean for Jesus to apparently replace his mother and brothers and sisters with strangers in Mark 3? How did he feel having his ministry mocked by his brothers in John 7? Did he know in those moments that some of them would convert after his death, would write books of the Bible declaring their complete devotion to him, and even die for him? Did they have regrets? 

This week we look at the incarnation of God through the dynamics of Jesus’ family of origin. A dear friend related to me this week how his experience with the death of his father has convinced him that the holidays “turn up the volume” on everything: our joys, yes, but also our pain. As we slow down and lean into family this time of year, many of those dull pains can become acute again, even as they intermingle with laughter and fondness. So, let’s look to the Savior, who laid down his life for his brothers, for a bit of perspective on all that.

Nothing can wreck our peace and fill us with anxiety like money—yes, filthy lucre! It is a big factor as we come into this season of Advent. Let’s admit it, Christmas costs a lot of money! Not just the gifts, but all the parties with friends and family gatherings. When we entertain people we haven’t seen in a long time or invite cherished friends over in a gesture of love and gratitude, we do not tend to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So, is it possible to enter and enjoy this season of wonder, pondering the Incarnation of God, with a deep sense of peace on our hearts?

Apparently, Christmas is a huge time of anxiety for folk. Just google it, and you’ll get either statistic after statistic about folk going into debt during this season of glory or you get advice about how to reign in our passion. This Sunday we look at how Jesus teaches us a whole new way to approach peace during this season of largesse, without killing our passion. It is all there in a story about a little boy with essentially 5 cheap crackers and 2 sardines. Leave it to Jesus to find buried treasure in a small lunch box and throw a lavish feast for the masses. I can’t wait to talk about it.

Also, I'm excited to share an update on Our Big Backyard! We're so thankful for your generosity and look forward to what God will do with the funds raised.

I just read about the number of people going through the Memphis airport this weekend. It is mind boggling. With air travel what it is, that is a lot of anxiety in one place. Thanksgiving is the most traveled holiday of the year. It kicks off a season of joy, to be sure, but also one filled with hustle and bustle—chaos! This Sunday we begin the season of Advent, and we will be talking about the Prince of Peace—the one who is Peace in himself and brings peace to his people. We are doing this for two reasons. The first is, it sort of keeps our theme going from this fall—love, joy, and now peace. Things only the Spirit of God can give us. Secondly, as joyous as the next month of festivities is for us, it comes with a great challenge to our peace of mind.

So, during Advent we will talk about peace and keeping our peace from God in the midst of our anxiety over the busyness of the season, the way our consumeristic model feels us with dread and debt, how family conflicts (as extended family gathers) can wreck our peace, and how grief and loneliness sap us. That sounds about right! So how do we, in the midst of all the distractions, keep a calm, stead, confident trust that all will be well? I hope you will join us during Advent as we seek to wrestle with this question, right where we live.

Also, remember, we have an Advent Wreath Workshop for all ages during the Sunday school hour this Sunday. I hope you will join us. It might be a great aid in helping you and your family shape and frame this extended time of pondering the greatest mystery of all—God taking on our flesh!

We all know the classic trope about a genie who grants the wish a bit too literally. Perhaps it’s exploiting an interpretive loophole. A middle-aged man asks that his wife become half his age, and he’s instantly turned into a 90-year-old. Or maybe the genie isn’t dolling out just deserts to wicked men but is victimizing them unprovoked. One commercial shows a man asking for long life who then gets turned into the Energizer Bunny. In other versions, the wisher gets exactly what he wants for, but then his desires change over time and now he’s stuck with fame he no longer enjoys. In any case, the old adage warns, “be careful what you wish for.” 

These stories resonate because we know that desire is a dangerously powerful phenomenon with an uncanny capacity to ruin lives. After all, “The heart is deceptive above all things. Who can understand it?” Well, the Lord says in the next verse of Jeremiah 17, “I the Lord search the heart and test the mind, to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his deeds.” Be careful what you wish for, indeed! 

This often leads the more risk-averse among us to bury our desires and lower our expectations. But what if God isn’t like that genie at all? What if he’s listening, not like a lawyer, but like a Lover? What if he’s hearing the core of our longings, the heartbeat underneath even our more frivolous petitions, and interpreting our wishes in their most favorable light? Paul seems to read Jeremiah this way, in Romans 8: 

26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 27 And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. 28 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

This weekend we wrap up our series, Surprised by Joy, with a look at the longings that lie beneath our most cherished fantasies. We will find that the things we believe will bring us joy are not too extravagant, but instead far too mundane. So, Jesus invites us in John 15 to wish big, and to hang on. The fruit that follows might just look like James’ Giant Peach!

On Wednesday afternoon, I blew in later than expected to get ready for our Community Group to arrive at our home. It was pouring down rain, buckets of rain. (My weather app said to expect flash flood warnings.) I was thinking about the three large packs of chicken thighs I was planning to grill and staring at the quart of heavy cream, chicken stock, white wine, a stack of sage leaves from my garden and shallots, all on the counter by my stove, that would make up the quasi-French sauce (a sage cream sauce). Also, the patio still needed work before it would be ready for guests. Ben Weir was coming to help cook, and yet I could feel anger and self-pity threatening my joy. I love to host, but let's face it, hospitality is hard work. Then, looking at the rain, Teri commented, “If we were not hosting, I don’t know if I would get out in this rain." “Great," I thought. "And God, you are no help. I am sort of doing this for you, and you are raining on your own parade!"

Then I recalled a story, a story I will share with you Sunday, that lifted me out of my despair and into the realm of love and joy. Just recalling it made me look around and see things with new eyes—to really see! After all, I had a good friend showing up to help prepare a delicious feast, a beautifully cleaned house because of my bride, and, on top of that, a German Chocolate cake she had worked on in the wee hours of the morning, just to bless me. And I saw a grander vision of, not just this endeavor, but all the mundane endeavors we do that make up a life. I can’t wait to talk about it with you on Sunday.

Another thing I can’t wait for is this: Sunday is when we bring our gifts, our investment—our pledge—to further the work of God’s kingdom in Our Big Backyard. We have talked, dreamed, and challenged ourselves for a few months, and now we have the privilege to invest in future glory. I can see kids playing on this playground—my own child, some of my grandchildren, and yours, as well. I can see parents idling close by in the pavilion to make sure no one gets hurt too badly. I can easily imagine that one day the children on the playground are now the ones in the pavilion, watching their own children play and telling stories of grace, wonder, and joy—and giving thanks that their parents and others had invested well. 

It may feel a bit jolting to shift our focus from national politics back to mundane life in the local polis, to our own homes. Yet, as Samuel Johnson famously observed, “To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavor.” Even in 1750, this was not a new or novel idea. “The return home” forms the basic premise of the book of Genesis, Homer’s Odyssey, Virgil’s Aeneid, and just about every other story you can think of. “Domestic tranquility” is even at the heart of our Constitution.

So, why do we pretend that joy is somewhere “out there?” Why do we expend so much time, energy, and money on our questing and conquering and other ambitions? Well, in part it’s because we are not yet home, and we know it. Even at our “permanent” addresses, we are, as the Bible puts it, strangers in a strange land, foreigners and exiles. 

As I read a very appropriately timed Psalm 137 in the Soul Room on Election Day this week, I was arrested by how the Psalmist would rather be cursed to lose his gift of song than fail to direct its powers toward the vision of Jerusalem. It would have been so easy to assimilate to Babylon, or even to harden his heart against wistful longings for deliverance. Only the persistently stirred vision of Zion could prevent him from taking those easy outs.

As we look this weekend to a passage that talks about “no greater joy,” it’s important to have in mind that there’s something even “above [our] highest joy.” It’s the thing to which we point all our work and longing and ambitions. Jerusalem is not merely a city. It is rather the fulfilled promise of God’s dwelling richly with us, in a place overflowing with the harvested fruit of all our well-directed joys. It is a place where our children might peacefully walk in the truth together, welcoming the stranger and exile home again, and for the first time. 

I sometimes wonder if joy is not the new apologetic for a world that no longer believes in rational argument. I read this week a story about David Barrett. He was an Anglican missionary who studied evangelism globally. He was giving a talk to a group of influential businessmen. During his talk, a gentleman raised his hand and asked, “Professor Barrett, can you tell us what’s the most effective missionary tool the church has.” 

Barrett replied, “Based on our research, I’d have to say the answer is martyrdom.” 

There was a long silence, then another man asked, “Professor Barrett, can you tell us what the second most effective missionary tool would be?”

I suppose what Barrett is getting at is that, while history is full of stoics who would die for their country or for a person, only the Christians have died with joy. This was unprecedented. It was because of hope! 

This week we are looking at joy as it relates to hope. Hope and joy are bound up together in the Bible. Hope in the Bible is not a wish that something in the future would come true, though that has power as well. But hope in the Bible is a certainty not just that all will be well in the future but that all will be restored! It is so powerful, it actually is fuel for our lives when things are hard, not in spite of the hardship but in the midst of it, and can actually color our lives with joy.

There is a “way” to joy. Psalm 98, while an unabashed celebration of joy unspeakable, also offers a way out of bitterness and self-pity. As we know, “pain is unavoidable, but we can miss joy.” (Tim Hansel, You Gotta Keep Dancin’) What a story we might tell if we were the people of joy even and especially in the difficulties of living in a fallen world. We will talk about this and more on Sunday. 

Also, as we move into our third week of raising money for our place of joy, Our Big Backyard, begin to prayerfully consider what investment you can make in future joy at St. Patrick. Then, in faith, fill out a pledge card and drop in the offering plate or in the collection box in the Narthex as you leave. 

There is this incredible scene in our text in Ezra this week. It is about God’s people coming back from Exile. Home! They are finally back to their own land. The first thing they do is to begin spiritual formation, which means they reinstate the annual feasts God commanded. The first one is the feast of joy, The Feast of Booths, a week-long remembering of God’s faithfulness to them in the wilderness. The crescendo of the celebration is the laying of the foundation of the new temple. Can you imagine? A people forbidden to sing the songs of Zion in a strange land are now home and about to cut loose in song. Song that has been absent in their ruined homeland for seventy years. Song that will celebrate God’s goodness in keeping his promise to bring them back to the land.

And celebrate they do! The joy is so great, it must have felt like revival, but then we hear another sound—weeping. The text seems to indicate that, as loud and joyful as the people got, the ones weeping in sorrow were trying to drown them out. It is kind of sad, really. The ones in sorrow were older folk who had seen the former glory and were weeping at this paltry beginning. I wondered at that, and then both Haggai and Zechariah both in their letters rebuke them! Straight up, telling them not to despise the day of small things because the real point is, God is at work! 

The Apostle Paul says something instructive to the Corinthians, and I think it helps us understand why the Israelites’ sorrow was rebuked: “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death.” (2 Corinthians 7:10) Their sorrow was not godly sorrow but more like self-pity or nostalgia—a mourning of “the way things used to be.” Much like happiness and joy look similar on the surface, so sorrow and self-pity look similar in the external presentation. This Sunday we will talk about it. And then we will feast like there is no tomorrow at our Annual Fall Festival at 4pm. Hope to see you there!

A couple of weeks ago, I (like many of you) packed my van and headed to the beach. At other places around the state Tennessee and in Mississippi, others were doing the same thing. Our destination was a hallowed beach in Florida where all my children and their children make an annual pilgrimage to be together for a week. It is a lot of work but, really, we do this for joy. We do nothing productive while we’re there—we build sand castles, lay out on the beach and read, swim, eat delicious food, play card games, make signature drinks, and just talk and be! It is sort of a celebration of God’s goodness to us that produces nothing of value, as the world counts value. But as I look around and see all these folk together, the fruit of Teri’s and my life together, I experience stabs of joy, sometimes almost too much to drink in. As I said, we really produce nothing, but that is not the point. The point is to be fully human and give thanks.

This week, as we ponder the way God forms us and what he wants to see in us, we see something similar. When God formed his people, who were to be like him—his images in the world to reflect to the world what he is like—he did it through annual festivals. Under command, three times a year, a family would pack up all their extended family and head to Jerusalem. The feast we are looking at this week to start a new series called Surprised by Joy is the Feast of Booths. So they packed all these people in sort of like a caravan and went to Jerusalem and lived in booths for a whole week. It happened after the harvest was in and was to be a reminder of God’s grace to them while they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, when the only way they survived was his great grace. It was also to give thanks for the harvest. But what is more interesting about this feast is, it is the only festival with the explicit command to rejoice! 

I have thought about that a lot. Why joy? I suspect it is because, as C. S. Lewis says, “Joy is the serious business of heaven.”  (C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer)  Even before the world was created, God existed in himself full of joy. Joy is intrinsic to God. Quite simply, we serve a happy God. The good news is we don’t have to wait to get to heaven to experience joy—we can experience it right now. And so, for the next several weeks, we are going to dive into this joy and explore the feast of joy God has for his people. 

We are also relaunching Our Big Backyard generosity campaign as we seek to build a place to house and express this joy—a place that screams joy, a place of festival and celebration for all of us and for our neighbors. I can’t wait to talk about this with you.