Dear St. Pete Friends,

On Sunday afternoon, Lisa and I accepted a call to become the new Senior Pastor of the First Baptist Church of Murfreesboro, Tennessee. As certain as we were of God’s calling to come to serve you here, we feel the same confidence of his leading to begin a new season of life and ministry on the outskirts of Nashville.

We leave FBC St. Pete with much love and appreciation for our nearly five years together. We have made some good friends and made some good progress together. I am so proud of the increased impact on our community through ministries like Family Promise, FAST, the Food Pantry, and our Lynch Elementary partnership. I marvel at the way we creatively navigated the ongoing age of Covid-19, learning that the un-gathered church was still the church. One highlight for me was our music over the last year and the privilege of being a small part of it. As with all ministries, there have been disappointments and some dreams not realized the way we would have planned. But I am reminded that God is the ultimate planner, and he knows the path ahead for us all. On that we can rely.

Know that this church and this city will remain in our hearts and in our life in the years ahead. I will continue to serve as your pastor through the end of the year. During that time, I will work diligently with the leadership of the church to lay the groundwork for a successful transition, providing every resource that I can. I will also treasure the next three Sundays and our service together on Christmas Eve.

On Easter Sunday of 2016, I accepted your call and told you that I came with no agenda but to love and lead you. I believe I have kept that promise. So, I ask you to release me to do the same for the good people of Murfreesboro beginning in January of the year. We wish nothing but the best for FBC St. Petersburg and will forever hold you in our thoughts and prayers.

Faithfully yours,
Pastor Glen Money

For nearly seven months, the refrain of the old hymn “Shall We Gather” has been replaced with the ongoing question of “When shall we gather?” Along with the Regathering Team, Executive Leadership Team, and Staff, I can share with you the answer to that question.

God willing, we shall gather again on the glad morning of November 1st. 
It has been a long time since that first March sabbath when we first found it prudent to worship from home. None of us then thought the road to regathering would be measured in months. But then we never thought patients would be counted in millions and passings in hundreds of thousands either. But, sadly, they have. Some of those have been our own; our friends and family, people we know and know of. COVID-19 has cost a lot and changed so much. Our routines. Our sense of security and schedule. Our wardrobe. Our jobs and the way we do them. Perhaps the hardest, short of diagnosis and dying, has been our inability to freely be with people. I’ve missed that the most.  Lack of discretion born of that longing has unfortunately made things all the worse.

So, absent a more substantial outbreak, we will once again open the doors at 1900 Gandy Boulevard in four weeks. In our E-Letter and website you will find a document with all the details, but here’s the skinny. At first, worship will be our only gathering. We will have limited entrances and exits, temperature checks at the door, no choir or congregational singing. We will practice social distancing and masks will be required. Those at high risk are encouraged to continue worshiping from home as we provide an online experience just as we are now.

We make this decision realizing that COVID is very much still with us and will be. Yesterday we learned that the one person in America with the most incentive and capacity to avoid the virus has not. This speaks to the vulnerability and responsibility we all share. To that end, I join you in prayers for the President and those around him; prayers for their protection, recovery, and the stability of our nation in an uncertain time. Those are prayers that should be uttered between and beyond all personal opinions and political allegiances.

Even with these reasonable and responsible limitations, it will be good to once again gather to worship. It will not be a return to normal, but it will be a return. And that is good news that finally, I am delighted to share.

FBC St. Pete Re-Gathering Information Document

Ever since we suspended corporate worship in March, a lot of us have been asking the same question; “When will we be coming back?” I can tell you that, as of today, we do now have an answer that comes with a date. We do have an answer that comes with a condition. It is: “When we are confident that we can regather as safely as possible.” While some are ready to enter the doors right now, the vast majority of our people are telling us to go slow. There is too much we don’t know and cannot control. I have long known that the care of souls can be a matter of life and death. This has never been more true than in the making of this decision.

Let me give thanks to the team of eight professionals and church leaders that have been working on a regathering strategy. As you can imagine, it is more than a question of when, but why, how, and at what risk. As your shepherd, I am charged to love, lead, and feed you. But I also am called to protect us all. That’s why I have enlisted and listened to informed opinions, including our wonderful staff. To that end, let me say a few things we all need to know. 

First, we are closely monitoring the Covid crisis, specifically as it affects our city and region. That has led us to be more cautious right now than we anticipated being just a few days ago. Things change on a dime, and as you know our state and region is in crisis mode. Please pray for an abatement of this trend, and do your part to bring that about. Wear your masks. Wash your hands. Keep your distance. It’s the caring thing to do.

Secondly, we are preparing for when that day comes. We are accumulating supplies, establishing protocols, and working already to sanitize the parts of the building we will use. Things will be different when we do come back. We will make sure you are aware of as many of those changes as we can. The experiences of churches in safer regions have shown us that people have not flooded back. Instead, it’s more of a slow stream. We can talk later about why that is, and likely will be for us.

Every church is unique, and that influences the decision to return. Numbers of people and the size of the sanctuary come into play (that helps us).  Numbers of senior adults, young families, and physically compromised congregants also come into play (that doesn’t). Worship styles and practice of sacraments and ordinances bear influence on reentry.

Lastly, we are trying hard to provide an exceptional online worship experience and other ways to virtually engage. Our success in this area takes some of the tension off, as does your shift to online and mail-in giving (don’t let up. If you haven’t yet, step up). We are purposefully not using the term reopen, because we never closed. The church is still being the church in every way we can. It is encouraging that some of our ministries have become more effective, new ones have emerged and our footprint has greatly expanded during a time when one could expect it to shrink. 

So keep tuning in. Keep praying, giving, serving, and caring for one another. Stay encouraged and encouraging. There will be a “great getting up morning” soon enough. And it will be a sweet one.

Wednesday Around Midnight.

I can’t be quiet anymore. I’ve held it in all day thinking of how just 17 days ago I preached as clearly and passionately as I knew how about the response – primarily some white Christian’s response – to the murder of Ahmaud Arbery. It is beyond me to decry any louder such acts of racist anarchy. My voice is only so strong. So that day I went hard after the attitudes that make these actions possible, and to some, even permissible and palatable.  I shared my great frustration – mild word – with fellow white folks whose first response to these atrocities start, and usually end, with “yeah but” and “what about.” NO! For God’s sake, NO! You cannot defend the indefensible by creating some diversionary moral shell game. No. Just no!

But God help me, within minutes of this morning’s news of George Floyd’s killing in Minnesota, I began to again see and hear those kinds of words. Not by just the evil, violent bigots out there, though there appeared to be no shortage of them. But from people I know. People I love. People who claim the mantle of Christ as imperfectly as I so often do. People I have done life with for years. Family. Friends, old and new. People who call me pastor. People who I knew had watched my Mother’s Day diatribe, clicking like and share. People who should know better.

It makes me want to leave social media. “Snooze” certain friends hoping their perspectives will be more in line with the carpenter from Nazareth in thirty days. (Not likely.) Reasoning with people who have already staked out their position (or more likely had it staked out for them by the recreationally misguided and misguiding) doesn’t work. And a pastor’s moral authority ain’t what it used to be unless it gives cover for what you want to believe and do.

So, here is what I am going to do.

I’m going to lean into these three words and post them respectfully in love. No argument. No name calling and shaming. No threatening relationships or crafting compelling words behind a combative spirit. Just posting these three words.

“No. Just No.”

Raising the volume only invites escalation it seems, so I won’t. Before long we will all be deaf if we are not already. Silent dissent is of little use either. Evil’s voice has always traveled further, faster, and louder over those still waters. (Hitler comes to mind.) So, what’s a preacher to do? In the days ahead, I may say a lot of words. But for now, I’ll let these three remain.

“No. Just no.”

Thursday Evening.

I have been overwhelmed by today’s response to my poorly edited but passionately written late night lament. I am clearly not alone in my righteous indignation. So, here is what occurred to me midway through the day.

What would happen if every time someone posted something that aided and abetted racial violence, a friend would simply reply “No. Just No?” Same goes for anything hateful, demeaning, divisive, or blatantly untrue. To encouragement and celebration of the treatment of people in a way we know the real Jesus never, ever would. What if we all just hit reply and typed these ten characters.

“No. Just No.”

What if these simple, clear, strong admonishments came from friends, relatives, coaches, co-workers, and fellow Christians? If one person did it, well folks just may seem a bit confused. If two tried it, maybe people could begin to spot a trend. But what if every friend of good sense and good will typed these three simple words to the comment line of every shameful post? Well, then we might just have ourselves a movement. And we might begin to make some real progress in stemming the sickening tide that just won’t quit coming ashore.

Tell me the truth; are you as mad as I am? Are you sick of the never ending, senseless, shameless taking of minority lives? Does the cover up and shifting of blame onto the victims make you want to scream? Are you embarrassed by people you know and love who are complicit in minimizing the reality of these murderous acts? Do you catch yourself asking “But, what can I do?”

Start with this.

“No. Just No.”

The Apostle Barnabas shows up early and often in the story of the first-century church. Throughout Acts and the Epistles, his name gets paired so often with the fiery apostle Paul that it sounds like a law firm, business, or a couple whose names just always get said together. Morgan and Morgan. Sears and Roebuck. Glen and Lisa. Paul and Barnabas. And those two rode through the pages of the New Testament together, spreading the gospel to all the known world. Hard to imagine a Christian faith without Paul. It might be harder to imagine a Paul without Barnabas.

For starters, he was there first. A full five chapters and Lord knows how long before Paul was blinded by the light, we get the story of this lesser character’s greatest act. And like Paul on the Damascus role, it involved a change of identity. Up till Acts 4, Paul’s sidekick was a little know Levite from Cyprus named Joseph. But because the Bible already had too many Joseph’s to keep straight, they gave him a new name. Just kidding. Actually, it was because, at a very pivotal moment, he caught the spirit of communal generosity. He felt compelled to sell some land he owned and give the proceeds to the apostles, who in turn, gave to those who had need. In that moment Joseph became Barnabas, a biblical name he could have all to himself. So what did the name mean? In his native tongue, he was the “Son of Encouragement.” And by all accounts, he lived into that name well for the rest of his life and ministry.

So why the tutorial on a little known biblical figure? Well, it is because we are living in equally uncertain days where there is a lot of local need. Some of it is financial; many in our community have taken a hard hit these days. And the discouraged among us need some lifting up. So how about a church initiative that bears the name of one who shared both? It’s a good idea.

We are calling it “The Barnabas Fund.”

The Barnabas Fund will be a ministry arm of FBC St. Pete. In the spirit of its namesake, this fund exists for two purposes. First, and primarily, it will afford financial support to members of the FBC family whose livelihood has been directly affected by the Covid-19 Pandemic. We can’t meet all of anyone’s needs, but we can come along beside our most vulnerable folks and make sure they do not lack life’s necessities; just like the early church did. Secondly, it will be used to do acts of encouragement for folks who are on the frontline risking their own health to protect ours. It’s a way of telling our community that the congregation at the corner of 275 and Gandy loves, appreciates, and cares for them. And we are stepping into these defining moments to let it show.

The Barnabas Fund is separate from our operating budget and the funding of benevolent ministries such as our food pantry. It also does not encroach on regular mission giving that is advancing the gospel through our mission partners around the world. The fund has been seeded with $5,000, but ultimately will only be able to expend what comes through your Barnabas like gifts of encouragement. Four years of pastoring FBC has taught me that you are a generous, encouraging lot when presented with the opportunity and need. So here it is. Through initiatives like these, you are truly being the church. And being is better than attending, even when you can. And especially so when you can’t.

We do ask that gifts to the Barnabas Fund come over and above your regular giving to FBC. I both thank you and encourage you to continue to grow in faithfully supporting the primary way that our congregation’s ministry is funded. But we also offer you this opportunity to go above and beyond, presenting heartfelt gifts that allow your church to reach out and do the same. It is as simple as making the designation “Barnabas Fund” on any online gift or check.

I think old Barnabas would be proud to be part of something like that. I know I am. I’m guessing you will be too.

To Give to the Barnabas Fund, please write “Barnabas Fund” in the memo line of a check, select “Barnabas Fund” in the list of funds for a Realm Online Gift, or Text FBCSTPETE Barnabus to 73256 to give using your text messaging and receive a link back to give.

It did not take long for the COVID-19 pandemic to start threatening and claiming lives with recognizable names. The first loss in the country music family was Joe Diffie, a lesser but not insignificant force in the genre’s 1990’s explosion. His hits were mostly upbeat and whimsical tunes with simple rural themes. He told us how there’s just something women like about a “Pickup Man” (as in truck) and how unfading love got declared on a local water tower in “John Deere Green.” His best, by far in my estimation, was his vocal blending with Mary Chapin Carpenter, whose soft, soulful voice remains my favorite of the era. You can feel the heartfelt love, doubt, and fear when asking for someone’s affection is “Too much to expect, but not too much to ask.” My Lord, what a line.

As this crisis covers more ground, takes more lives, and alters all others, it leaves us with far more questions than answers. How bad will it get? Is anybody safe? Does leadership know what it’s doing? Will sports return to the screen, even if fans can’t get in the seats? What’s the economic fallout going to be? Will I ever retire now? Can politicians serve more and posture less? Are competence and character at best an aspirational value? How will faith communities weather the short run and be reconstructed in the long one? How long before most has it or knows someone who does? And the list goes on and on. The realist in me knows these answers won’t come soon and that we probably won’t like them when they do. But this persistent positive force of mine keeps wondering if some things might be better once we get to the other side of this. Not everything is good; but there is good in everything.

Is there a chance that we might emerge from this less divided, more sensitive, less selfish, and more appreciative? It’s a big ask given our recent trajectory. We are watching as health care workers and grocery clerks get the proud reverence usually reserved for our military. Could scrubs be the new BDUs? I’d like to think that this might help us say “Thank you” more and demand less from the people so often taken for granted that we now rely on. Like teachers, whose daily shoes parents have been filling and seem really ready to take off. Walk a mile in …?

Could family time become once again more precious? I’m not talking about time spent running between personal pursuits, but real heart to heart and face to face time. I have seen more family walks in our community in the last four weeks than I did in the previous four years. Good sign. Seniors like my mom are quarantined away from children, grandchildren, and friends. It’s been hard for us to stay away, but so much harder on them. Protection from a virus that can take their lives requires the isolation that saps the soul. Tough trade. When these doors do open back up, I hope we are more inclined to go say “Hello in there.” I know I will be.

As Rabbi Herold Kushner taught us that a virus has no conscience; it doesn’t show favorites. But its impact is revealing flaws in our system that leave particular pockets of people more at risk. The poor. The elderly. The urban and the rural. African Americans. The ones whose systemic health care deficiencies had rendered them more vulnerable to begin with. Will we be willing to learn what COVID-19 can teach and address the inequities in nutrition, health, housing, and education that surely leaves some folks less protected? We can hope.

We’ve learned what we can live without, and maybe that will make us more selective on how we allocate our money going forward. Forcing some of us to slow down might lead us to reassess the breakneck pace we have insisted on keeping up for the last twenty years. To be busy and depleted has become virtuous at the expense of relationships and the care of self and soul. An undisciplined pursuit of more has left us with a lot less of what matters more. COVID-19 could teach us this lesson.

And what about the church? I am foolish enough to believe that this virus may provide the impetus for spiritual deepening and authentic Christian witness. The fear and anxiety we are feeling point us all toward the God we have been missing and the frailty of things that have taken his place. Throughout history, the church has been at the forefront of plagues and could be again. See a need, meet a need and do it in the spirit of Jesus even if it’s costly. The world is looking to see if the church has anything to offer in their search for a mooring point in these tumultuous seas. Grandstanders, divine conspiracy theorists, serial judgers, and shepherds who endanger the flocks they are called to protect, as well as the communities they are called to love and serve are not helping. Maybe we can.

Congregational disruption, however, is not without its positives. Corporate worship and fellowship might be valued more since it has been deprived. Ministers have been forced to be more creative and find new ways to be attentive. Not bad things. Neither is depending on God’s people to care for one another with more urgency and intentionality. I have spent my ministry telling folks that attending church is not the same as being church. COVID-19 has forced that upon us and I hope that when we come back, we do not go back.

Do I think all this and more will happen on the other side of Corona? Well, to borrow from Cornell West, who borrowed from the prophet Zechariah, “I cannot be an optimist, but I am a prisoner of hope. My experience suggests that the shelf life of seasonal better angels is a fairly short one.” But I’m praying that maybe this time it can be different … just maybe. I know it’s too much to expect.

But it’s not too much to ask.

And Lord, we’re asking.

I have ridden the good lyrics to Good Lord train for years. I suppose it grows out of an intuitive sense (redundant coupling, I know) of how God uses many means and messengers to keep his redemptive themes in front of us. Music seems to be one of his favorites. For the past day or two, I’ve been traveling Tampa Bay to Leonard Cohen’s live concerts from London and Toronto. I was a latecomer to his music beyond The Broken Hallelujah, but have become a keen listener to his beyond human deep voice, and often even deeper thoughts and stories.

Cohen was raised an Orthodox Jew in Toronto and held steadfast to his faithful heritage. He employs lines and images from the Hebrew Bible like a country writer carefully drops cliches. Later in life, he studied Buddhism, claiming it posed no conflict with his Hebrew faith absent a deity to have before Yahweh or a call to corporate worship. (He once joked of spending many years delving into the great philosophies and religions of the world, but cheerfulness kept breaking through.) Interestingly, there is a lot of Jesus in there too. I mean a lot.

Cohen showed an interest in Jesus as a universal figure, saying:

I’m very fond of Jesus Christ. He may be the most beautiful guy who walked the face of this earth. Any guy who says ‘Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the meek’ has got to be a figure of unparalleled generosity and insight and madness … A man who declared himself to stand among the thieves, the prostitutes and the homeless. His position cannot be comprehended. It is an inhuman generosity. A generosity that would overthrow the world if it was embraced because nothing would weather that compassion. I’m not trying to alter the Jewish view of Jesus Christ. But to me, in spite of what I know about the history of legal Christianity, the figure of the man has touched me.

Listen to what Cohen says about the Stranger of Galilee. Who does he stand with? Who are the blessed? What about this “Unparalleled generosity and insight and madness.” Yes, the ways of Jesus indeed sound like madness to a world gone insane. They always have. But what if they were embraced, starting with his kind of people and spreading out from there? Could all hate, selfishness, pettiness and all other ungodliness weather such love? He thinks not. Neither do I. Neither does Jesus. But in the absence of that radical, generous grace, they will naturally flourish. 

Jesus said, “This is my commandment that you love as I have loved you.”  Paul said, “Love conquers all.” John said that love is from God because, after all, “God is love.”  And the deep bass rabbi from above the border sang “There ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure for love.”  This inhuman generosity, born of divine love really is the cure for all things. better still, there is no cure for it. Whether it’s heard from Jesus, Paul, John or Leonard Cohen, we can believe it. Better still, we can live it. If we do, Lord only knows what could be cured.

Lead me not into temptation
I already know the road all too well
Lead me not into temptation
I can find it all by myself

On a whim, I riffed this chorus into a recent sermon from Luke’s telling of the temptation of Jesus. In the moment, I remembered the words and could hear the gospel piano, the light and soulful tune, and the remarkable voice just like it emerged from my nineteen-ninety-something radio. Couldn’t recall the singer, and would have guessed wrong if I tried. Didn’t matter. On the fly, it seemed like a good light moment to slide into the telling of how, in moments of weakness and best intentions, temptation can lure us to the point of at least a momentary no return. Honestly, we do know that road all too well.

I did a little surfing and found that the singer was a young lady named Lari White. (I would have guessed Carlene Carter and lost my turn on Country Music Jeopardy.) Born and raised right here in Pinellas County singing with the White Family Gospel Singers; how about that? She won one of the first musical reality shows and parlayed it into brief, but solid career as a Nashville performer and producer. Sadly, she died at 52 with cancer, leaving a husband and three kids. Perhaps her most odd role was a brief one most of us will remember. She was the young lady who met Tom Hanks at the door in Castaway’s last scene; package delivered and leaving him literally at the crossroads.

But like Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant, I didn’t come here to talk about all that; just the temptation that got the whole thing started. In the story of Jesus’s series of enticements, the Evil One hit with precision. Hungry? Stones to bread. Power? Worship me for all the kingdoms. Spectacle and selfish attention? Jump! At the heart of most of our temptations, unchecked appetites, along with quests for power and attention covers most all the best stumbling blocks. As a pastor who leans to the priestly ways, I’ve always read this passage with an eye for how Jesus identified with us through temptation, so we could identify with him in overcoming it. It’s good to know that in our weakest moments there is a God in flesh who can softly say “Hey sinner, I’ve been there too,” and if you hang with me, I can walk you out.

But then there is my latent prophet. He’s been showing up a lot more lately. The prophet in me recognizes the lure of corporate temptation. Happens to baseball teams; sorry Astros and Red Sox fans. How ironic that the Astro’s home park was first named for Enron, the business brought to its knees by hubris and greed. Nations go there, the Bible is as full of those stories as today’s New York Times. How much of our international mission help is necessitated by such corrupt oppression? Or local ones? You get the idea.

How about the church? The bride of Christ has taken quite the hit with our scandals, crazy offshoots, and the misguided quest for self-preservation. These wayward turns have led us down the road to irrelevance, and often at odds with the very folks we are charged to love and reach. It’s a regular cottage industry writing about the whys and wherefores and where do we go from here. Maybe we only need to look back as far as the beginning of the ministry of the one whose name we claim.

“Satisfy yourself,” said Satan.” Jesus said “NO.”

We pick and preserve our churches by our insisting on what we want.

It’s a discipleship that demands preference and manages preferences.

“Operate from a position of temporal power.” Jesus said “NO.”

We cozy up to Caesar and exchange a prophetic witness for political access. Gathering only in groups who think, feel and act the same as us, it gets easier by the day.

“Put on a big act and watch God make you look good.” Jesus said “NO.”

We elevate the religious shows and showmen who draw crowds primed to hear what they want; emboldened to do what they will. Meanwhile, we miss the communal call to mission, submission and a shared identity in Christ and his radical values.

I’m not certain just how these temptations have brought Christ’s church in America, like Castaway Tom Hanks, to this honest to God Crossroad; but they have. I am pretty sure the way has been pointed by the same one who long ago tempted our Namesake. Sadly, we seem to be failing the test he passed. “Lead me not into temptation,” Jesus told the tempter, before teaching us to recite those same words in a prayer of our own. I suppose Jesus knew just how much we would need to know and pray them. We really do.

Lord knows, we do.

You might notice that my sometimes weekly blog has a new heading. Money Talks and First Things have made room for “The Prompter.” It’s a name that needs, as Ricky Ricardo might say, “Some ‘splainin'”. So here goes.

Soren Kierkegaard was a mid-1800’s Danish author, poet, theologian, and existential philosopher. Old Soren’s ideas have influenced modern thought more than most of his ilk and era. But my favorite SK pondering has lately fallen out of favor. Frankly, it has been forgotten, devalued and overthrown at the individualist insistence of modern churches and their worshippers. Yet, I suppose if he felt the need to opine about this way back in 18-something, it might not be an entirely new development. Here it is in a nutshell.

The term “Audience of One” originated in Kierkegaard’s book “Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing.” In it, he confronted the worship trend – yeah, they had those then – to see pastors as performers. He carried the metaphor out to suggest the people had become the audience, and God, at best, their prompter. In drama, the prompter is the quiet one who sits in the wings and feeds the actors their lines when needed. So in short, God helps the preacher who uses his sometimes considerable (or not) gifts to deliver a message to the liking congregants whose spiritual experience will rest on their assessment of the music and message delivered before them.

SK turns this idea on its head, returning a far more biblical and practical view of the preaching relationship. God is the Audience of One, the object of our worship and affection. That also affords God the role of critic, one many parishioners seem to covet for themselves. The worshippers are the actors, learning and lifting their prayers, praise, and affection to God. Pastoral leaders, bring a word from the God who called them to the peculiar people they are called to. The hope is that this prompts the followers to deepened faith and understanding, vibrant expressions of worship, and an actualized faith. That is worship, and the pastor to people relationship, at its very, very best.

Hence, “The Prompter.” Because three decades and change into the life of ministry, I know that’s what I am. Moreover, that’s what I am supposed to be. I am a fellow struggler vocationally called to love and lead these particular people by way of my relationship with God and with them. I am called to prompt understanding of and commitment to the mind, heart, and radical values of Jesus. I am called to walk with you through life’s hills and valleys. I am called to prompt us to view our world through the lens of Jesus and the way he wants it, not the other way around. I am called to prompt a people to express and expand the very presence of God in the city where he has placed us. In this prompting, I am called to comfort the disturbed. And disturb the comfortable. I am called to prompt us all to hold tight to the things that are essential and eternal and keep a loose grip on all else. Above all, I am called to prompt my people to love, and do all things in the spirit of God, who is love.

Another existential poet and philosopher, Kris Kristofferson sings about fellow singer-songwriters, and probably himself, in “The Pilgrim, Chapter 33.”

He’s a poet, and a picker. He’s a prophet, and a pusher.
He’s a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he’s stoned.”

I am and have been a lot of those things. Add to that alliterative list, “Prompter.” Through my words, spoken or written, that’s what I do. To me, preaching is not a performance, but an ongoing conversation with people I care about. It is a reflection of the journey I am on, and the journey we share. Thanks for affording me this role. And thank you for embracing yours. As we do, I pray we please and honor the Audience of One, whose role it is to inhabit our praise, and through His Son and Spirit, lovingly give our lives meaning and joy.

I first heard this song as the last track on Gillian Welch’s iconic folk album “Revival.” It’s simplicity of line and lyric resonated with me. I could tell it was reaching deeply into the felt language of conversion, renewal, and the personal clinging to divine hope placed in a holy other. For all the world, I thought I had stumbled onto a track that few had heard and experienced. We roots music folks are susceptible to that given our tastes appeal to a narrow swath of a certain musical vein. (As I have shared before, Lisa does not travel that path; so I saw Kristofferson alone last week and will experience my beloved Lucinda the same way next.) But then came “O Brother Where Art Thou.” In the classic siren scene where Delmar became affiliated, there it was for all to hear. Only this time it was Allison Krauss doing the honors. The visceral experience of the song was no longer reserved for me and my ilk. Turns out it never was.

This song, hymn, spiritual, whatever you may call it, has lived for a long time. Different titles. Different words. Same soul. Claimed as Appalachian hymn and gospel song for white folks, it turns out the earliest version on record was found on page 104 of the 1867 collection “Slave Songs of the United States.” Originally sung as “Down in the valley to Pray”, it morphed over time to the river and was a staple for outdoor baptisms. As was often the case, it concealed a code for African American slaves seeking to escape. “Down to the river” was where they would try to get first, to throw off the scent for the howling hounds. “Starry Crown” spoke of navigating by way of the heavenly lights. “Good Lord, show me the way” was a prayer for guidance and deliverance along such routes as the Underground Railroad.” No wonder I felt soul-stirring sounds in my first listenings. I was hearing the echoes of generations of folks, black and white, who did more than sing and hear, they experienced it. Deep in the heart and soul.

In Luke’s gospel, Jesus began his earthly ministry by going down to the river to pray. His cousin John, the wilderness prophet was baptizing folks marking forgiveness of sin and a new way of life. Jesus, who had no sin to be forgiven, got in line with all those who did. As God with us, He came to identify with them, and in time allow that affection to be returned. Salvation we call it now. Conversion. Cleansing. Deliverance. Repentance. Dependance. Forgiveness. Belonging. Death, burial and resurrection. It’s all in there, part of the river passage, or at least should be. Yet experience has taught me when people go under for the Lord, one or two of those will stand out above the other. For me, baptism is best understood as an act of identifying with Jesus and his followers. Through him, we are connected to the God of the universe in a personal way. We are not in this alone. We classify ourselves as one who will walk the Jesus way in a world that generally does not. I ask folks to repeat the good confession that Jesus is Lord. Lord of creation. Lord of our life. Lord of this world as it is and as He wants it to be. And as people who go in dry and come out wet, we are different because of whatever inclined us to go there. Like the people at the Jordan that day, Jesus was in the water with us, and his father was well pleased.

At the end of last week’s service, we placed basins around the church. Folks placed their hands in the water and remembered their baptism. It was an invitation to recall the time and place, who was there and what it felt like. Most importantly, it was a call to consider what it meant then, and how much more it might mean now. And for those who had not personally gone down to the river, it was in an invitation to consider doing so now. An invitation to say for yourself that Jesus is Lord and, moreover, your Lord. That invitation still stands. Just like Delmar said. “Come on in boys. The water is fine.” It truly is. Always has been. And it will be too.