The shock of a sudden death. Last minute back-to-school preparations. Troubled marriages. Dog slobber. Major surgery. Laughing at a text thread between old friends. Exhausting home renovations. 20-foot waterslides. Baptism preparations. Another cancelled party. Facebook pregnancy announcement. Translating ancient languages. Cooking dinner.

If you’re thinking, “Wow that seems like a jarringly random juxtaposition of events,” you’d be right – it does read a bit like a Billy Joel or REM song from the last century. But actually, it’s just a sample of this past Wednesday ­­– a genuine emotional rollercoaster. And that wasn’t even the most extreme ride I went on in the past couple of weeks! As a mentor of mine often tells me, “This world is a difficult place to live. But it’s also the only place to live.” I’ve taken to reminding my children of this, too, as we navigate the whiplash together. Everyone has a life like this.

Early in the television series The Chosen, a frustrated young Simon finds himself in a lonely boat with empty nets, railing at the sky, and demanding whether this fickle God who leads his people into and out of slavery, (and wilderness… and exile… and foreign occupations…) has even decided whether his people really are chosen or not. Simon’s pain has put him on a path to nihilism, a view articulated well by Shakespeare: “Life,” the grieving Macbeth laments, “is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.” Man, you can just hear the hurt and fear in his voice. “Fate” has dealt him horrific blows and he is somewhere between resignation and raging against it all.

God’s answer to Simon’s (and my) tantrum comes, not in the form of a verbal reply, but in the form of a man who, though he was equal with God, did not grasp for control of this world. No, instead He humbled himself and strapped into the carnival ride with us. And he is no idiot – He gave us things like broken bread and poured out wine, which He tells us signify everything: His life for ours. What appears random and unbearable to us is in fact designed and borne for us. All the things we’ve labeled as distractions and derailments may actually be the gracious provision of God to us. Indeed, they are. The answer to the chaos of life has always been this: God with us.

This week we’re looking at a few verses I paraphrase in prayer every time I preach: Isaiah’s words of comfort about flesh and flowers, grass and glory, and the enduring Word of an everlasting God. I can’t wait to share him with you!

- josh

Where do you go after Ruth? Good question, one we have talked about and pondered from a pastoral posture. We have done a lot of listening as we’ve thought our plans for the fall and this next season of ministry at St. Patrick. One of the things we continue to hear is just how tired and discouraged people are. I get that, we have been through an extended Lenten season over the past fifteen months. It seems like bad news is the air we breathe, doesn’t it? Just when it looked like the virus was gone for good, the Delta Variant shows up. I was reading an article from David Brooks this morning in the New York Times entitled, “What is ripping American Families Apart?” He goes through many causes, mostly the move to an “individualistic culture.” Sort of like the one we talked about in Judges, where “everyone did what was right in their own eyes.” Brooks concludes, “I confess, I don’t understand what’s causing this. But social pain and vulnerability are affecting everything: our families, schools, politics and even our sports.”

So in the midst of this, is there any good news? Not Pollyanna good news which ignores the harsh realities, but news of comfort and hope right in the midst of the mess? Enter the prophet Isaiah. I don’t know if you have read Isaiah lately, but the first 39 chapters are bleak. In fact, in chapter 6, Isaiah was commissioned to preach to a people who absolutely would not listen. He ends the avalanche of bad news with the troubling reality that, because of Israel’s refusal to listen, they would be taken into exile.

Then, out of nowhere it seems, we land in chapter 40 with “Comfort, comfort my people.” If you are reading it for the first time, as Clarke Griswald would say, you couldn’t be more surprised if you woke up with your head sewn to the carpet. Because now, Israel is ready to listen; doing what was right in their own eyes only got more and more bad news. So why the sudden change? Did Israel suddenly amend their ways? No, the character of God, his glory, begins to shine through. Discipline is never the last word––comfort is. It is not what is in God’s people that brings comfort; it is what is in the heart of God. Even your sin and mine can’t stop God’s determined purposes to do his people good.

So for the next few weeks we will look at good news in the midst of the bad news. Chapter 40 of Isaiah is usually reserved for Advent, but it seems just about right for right now! I hope you will join us as we ponder God’s words of comfort for troubled hearts. Join us live and in person or via livestream. A new season is upon us. We have listened to the voice of the culture, now let’s listen to the voice of the Shepherd.

Blessings,

Jim

There are mixed reviews about epilogues among those who love a good story. Some people think they are a waste of time. That, after the story ends, everything resolves, and epilogues detract from the story. Others appreciate an afterword that gives some account years later, just a word or so that assures you that the characters are doing well and thriving. Me, I like them. I do want to peer into the future of characters I have grown to care about and know that all is well with them.

But what if the epilogue is a genealogy? What a downer for us! Or is it? In our last lesson on Ruth, we have a genealogy of ten names, most of whom we don’t even recognize. On the surface it doesn’t look like much, but what if this list is telling us something about the story behind the story? What if it is reminding us that, even with the coming of David, we are not seeing the true king? What if we are meant to look at some of the names, even considering the ones that are omitted, and marvel that the story even made it to this point at all? What if it is showing us that behind all kingship is the True King of the universe, so determined to bring about his purposes that he will carry them forward even in the midst of the sin and unfaithfulness of his people?

That or something like that is on full display in our epilogue. While these ten names mean little to us, they scream the power and grace of the God who holds the universe and, yes, our very lives in his hands. It reminds us that, as G. K. Chesterton said, “The church has all but gone to the dogs at least 6 times in history and each time it was the dogs who died.” A good word for us. Especially when we live in a time much like Ruth and Boaz did, where everyone does what is right in their own eyes. I need to hear that often, and I suppose you do as well.

So join us on Sunday, live and in person or via livestream as we wrap up our series on the book of Ruth.

Blessings,

Jim

It is easy to think of the Bible giving us wisdom and guidance in dealing with the lonely, the broken, and the outcast. And in the book of Ruth, we are not disappointed. I mean, if the church were to look like the field of Boaz, it would be a little piece of heaven in a place. But what we don’t expect to see in the Bible is talk about romance! And yet we find one of the most delicately sensual passages in all the Bible this week. When Naomi is thinking about securing rest for Ruth, she has a plan. Rather than waiting for something to fall out of the sky, she thinks of a person––a redeemer––and suddenly we are in a passage teaming with sexual tension.

If that seems hard for us to get our head around, it may be evidence of bad theology and the fact that we tend to get our ideas of romance from novels and movies, rather than letting Scripture be our guide. But what if romance exists because God is a romantic? As one writer says, The Bible speaks not only of ardent love between men and women, but it presents God himself as a lover and his courting of creation as the Great Romance. (Rodney Clapp, Christianity Today, February 1, 2001)

So, for the next two weeks, we will be at the threshing floor of Boaz. Wonders await. Hope to see you Sunday! And, just a reminder, we have a Congregational Meeting immediately following morning worship to approve our Operating Budget for 2021-2022.

Blessings,

Jim

What a difference a day makes! The last time we saw Naomi in the story of Ruth she was walking into her hometown telling everyone she is accursed and empty. She doesn’t so much as mention her daughter-in-law Ruth, trailing along beside her, who has forsaken everything to show her love. She gives no word of encouragement or instruction to Ruth as she goes out among the poor of Israel to glean hopefully enough grain for their daily bread. Broken, forlorn, and forsaken—that is Naomi.

She must have waited fitfully throughout perhaps a 16-hour work day, wondering what happened to Ruth. In her state of mind, I am sure she must have assumed the worst as her daughter-in-law, a foreigner in a strange land, is risking her safety and perhaps her purity to keep the family afloat for another day. Yet when Ruth returns with enough grain for two weeks and a meal already cooked, we see hope rising! From cursing to benediction, from near blasphemy to blessing—from lament to laughter.

Oh my, how does this happen? Behind this whole story of Ruth is a God who is so powerful and so good, He will (in the words of Joni Eareckson Tata) “… permit what he hates in order to accomplish what he loves.” And, as we will soon find out, provide more than we can ask or imagine.

I ponder these words from Georgetown, South Carolina, between trips to Charleston and visits to churches and buildings over three hundred years old. The stories these old buildings could tell. And yet, all of them tell a similar story. All these places are uneven, good and bad, full of sin and grace, lament and laughter. Such is the shape of the world. Life is hard and suffering abounds. Oh, but if we know the Author of the story, we know all lament ends in laughter.

I can’t wait to be back in Collierville at the end of the week and ponder in a new and fresh way how the community of St. Patrick will, like Ruth, be an instrument that brings joy in the many places of brokenness and sorrow. It is a big task, but hey­­––we serve a God who from the hallowed foot of the cross does just that.

Blessings,

Jim

This week someone on staff observed that the closer we got to the end of Vacation Bible School, the happier I looked. I suppose that’s true, but don’t get me wrong: I don’t dislike VBS, or kids! In fact, I think this is one of the most important things we do all year, and despite my personal inability to manage kinder-chaos, we have a whole team of amazing people who are uber competent in that area. It brings me abiding joy to see children being given the Word of God in their own imaginative idiom. For example, the VBS theme verse for Wednesday (delivered by a talking monkey) was taken from 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, a personal favorite of mine:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

I still remember the first time these verses really impacted me. A few years ago, I was with some fellow pastors at an event being hosted by George Robertson of our founding church, Second Presbyterian in Memphis. George had just lost his mother, and someone expressed their concern that he was having to lead this gathering in his bereavement. He replied with gratitude for their care and quoted this verse to us. It’s not that he wasn’t grieving, nor that he had been able to compartmentalize the pain and focus on his task. Rather, it was that he had made it his aim to give to us only what he was receiving from Christ in the midst of his own deep neediness. Let me tell you, it was more than enough.

I have found this to be especially true as I learn how to parent an adolescent. My eldest daughter rarely needs me to fix whatever is afflicting her. She just needs to be seen by someone who understands what it feels like to be living in between childhood and adulthood and has recovered from the trauma. Fortunately, her mother was once a little girl, and her father had his own truly awkward pubescence! We are therefore abundantly qualified to speak words from our experience ­– not dismissing or reframing – but just relating. We can see her where she is because we’ve been in similar spots too, and our presence tells her she’s not alone, nor an alien.

That reminds me of the way Boaz reached out to Ruth. Not that Boaz had ever been an orphan or a widow, or a foreigner (though his family tree did indeed bear its fair share of scandal). Paul tells the Corinthians that the particular comfort we’ve received is enough to then comfort others in any affliction. Even if their pain is not identical to our own, there is a mercy that meets us both. Boaz could be a redeemer because he too had been redeemed; a welcomer because he too had been welcomed. How do we know he’d been redeemed and welcomed first? Well, we’re going to talk about that this Sunday, and hopefully get a few handles on how we too can turn the ways in which we've been cared for by God into powerful care for others.

- josh

Well, it’s finally June, and that means Holy Week Part Two, (also known as Vacation Bible School). From the way things look around here, I’d say our team is putting two years’ worth of love into preparation for next week’s festivities. There’s a volcano where the piano used to be, ancient ruins in the narthex, and the halls look like a haven for jungle creatures. It’s a great picture of what we mean when we say that the bulk of discipleship is immersion. These kids are being transported to another place and time, and those activated imaginations will then be bathed in the truth of how treasured they are in Christ, by instruction, for sure, but more importantly experientially, as they interact with tons of caring volunteers.

Whenever we get into one of the more story-oriented parts of Scripture, it always feels a bit like VBS to me. There’s this whole other world to enter into, with dynamic characters from a long time ago and far, far away. Because the Bible contains such high-quality literature, you can trust that themes and symbols and motifs will tie together in surprising and rewarding ways, leaving you breathless and inspired all at once. The more I immerse myself, the more these elements become conduits of grace for me.

As we continue this Sunday in The Redeemer, our sermon series on the book of Ruth, I can almost smell the barley fields of ancient Bethlehem. I can hear the bleating of nearby lambs on a hill nearby, (but only the few who survived the Passover sacrifice a few weeks ago). And as I relish the taste of roasted grains shared at a table with fellow workers, I notice a foreign girl from a forgotten tribe of shameful repute. Our master has welcomed her as though she were one of us. It’s almost like he believes all those things we say at the Firstfruits Festival, about being kind to orphans, widows, and foreigners, because we too were once wanderers without a home…

- josh

It was not supposed to be like this! How could it be? How could this happen? Or better yet, how could a good God who is also in control of all things allow this kind of thing to happen to me? The gap between what God had promised and my present reality were so far apart, I didn’t know what to do. I later would sit in my study and, in hurt and loss, accuse God of messing up my life. Yes, accuse him of being out to get me. Was I off-base in this? Well, even a cursory reading of the Psalms would suggest I was in good company. Shocking, isn’t it? Over one-third of the inspired prayers in our prayer book are people accusing God, bringing charges against him, wondering if he is there or if he has abandoned them. Shocking, because our culture doesn’t process deep hurt very well. We are more stoical than biblical in this.

This Sunday we are forced to deal with the brutal language of Naomi as she accuses God of messing up her life. She refuses to go quietly into that good night. Is her bitter lament the ravings of a bitter woman or of a woman who has loved well and been broken by it? Does God accuse her in this or is he quietly loving her and sending messengers of his love to her? That is what is before us in the book of Ruth this Sunday—love and lament. If you dare to love like God loves, like we see Jesus love, you will be broken. Lament is the language we learn in the Bible that helps us process our pain. As one writer says,“Lament is the honest cry of a hurting heart wrestling with the paradox of pain and the promise of God’s goodness…Lament stands in the gap between pain and promise.” (Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds Deep Mercy)

It is Memorial Day weekend and lots of you will be traveling. Think of me, I will be building a fence for our new puppy who is supposed to arrive in the Holland house next month. Yes, it is true­­––another thing I swore I would never do again has come to pass. My experience with dogs is long and dark, to the point that I made rash vows to never own one again—ever!! It is true I am viewed by some as the Scrooge of dogs. Then something happened that I never anticipated. I have a little dog lover in my house and yes, love does things, even to Scrooge. It is true, I have lamented this prospect, but as we will see in lament, it is “prayer in the meantime,” it is never final. Our final prayer is always “Hallelujah!” I am not there quite yet, but watching the joy in my daughter as watches videos of these four week old puppies is getting me there—fast!

Hope to see you Sunday, live and in person, or via livestream.

Blessings,

Jim