2.24.13--Sermon on Genesis 15:1-12,17-18

When I was growing up, I was blessed to be surrounded by a community that seemed to be almost through and through Christian. Everyone belonged to a church—whether they attended regularly or not—and all of my friends were extremely involved in church activities. Now, there was a lot of cross-pollination occurring among the youth of the community; it was very rare for a junior high or senior high student to have only attended youth group at one of the many churches in town.

And let me tell you. There were a lot of churches.

Southern Baptist. American Baptist. Methodist. Lutheran. Episcopal. First Christian. Church of Christ. African Methodist Episcopal. Non-denominational. Churches of all denominations and from all walks of life littered this tiny town. In fact, my home town is in the Guinness Book of World Records because of its ample amount of churches: it is the only town in the world that can boast that it has four churches and jail all on one city block.

Now, I was a good Methodist, heavily involved in the United Methodist Youth Fellowship, or UMYF, that happened every Wednesday night and Sunday mornings at First United Methodist Church. But I was also known to show up on occasion to the youth events put on First Baptist. I also found out that some of the best food to be found on Wednesday nights was at the Church of Christ youth fellowship, so every once in a while I would head over there for a bite to eat and Bible study. Church at the Epicenter, a new extra-denominational church—which is just another fancy way of saying non-denominational—was just starting while I was finishing up high school. Their services were always spiritually filling and I loved sneaking in the back to join them in worship.

This ecclesial cross-pollination led to some very interesting conversations between people with different church backgrounds, but it also led to the forming of some absolutely amazing faith-based relationships. The minister the Church of Christ congregation is still a friend and mentor of mine, and some of the members of the First Baptist Church and Church at the Epicenter had faiths so strong that to this day they are still some of the examples to which I strive to emulate.

No matter where I went, though, whether it was my home congregation, the church across the street, or one of the many within walking distance to my house, I know that I could walk through the doors and be immediately greeted by people I knew and loved and who knew and loved me. I would see families with children as young as James, young men and women my age, and highly experienced men and women who looked like they could be my Papa’s parents; but everyone was glad to see me, and I was glad to see all of them.

It was a great time to be in the church, because it seemed like everyone was there.

Now, as all of you can see and as many of you have pointed out, I’m still a young’un. It hasn’t been a full decade since I graduated from high school. But it seems like a good bit has changed since I was in high school. When I went back to my hometown a few weeks ago, I got to go back to that church I grew up in. I got to see many of the people who had helped raise me in faith, and it was a wonderful, nostalgic time of fellowship and worship. But something had changed. Now, there were still people of all ages there, some of the ones in high school are the little brothers and sisters of my friends, which still trips me up because I think they should still be in second or third grade. The old friendly faces that I missed so dearly were still there, and there were a good many new faces alongside them.

But the attitude had changed. The atmosphere of the church was just a little different. Instead of that feeling like I was entering a celebration or large family gathering, I felt like I was walking into a bunker full of soldiers who knew they were fighting a losing battle. Now don’t get me wrong. The worship was wonderful. It was great to see all of my old friends and to spend time praising God with them. But something was off.

It wasn’t until after the service when I had a chance to talk to some of those people that I began to understand. You see, no matter whom I spoke to, I heard the same few statements from almost everyone:

“No one comes to church anymore.”

“We can’t compete with Sunday sports.”

“It’s not like it used to be. Everything’s changed.”

This church—still reaching a large number of people and still full of many of the individuals from my past—this church had seemingly forgotten who they serve. For whatever reason, and they could give you a laundry list of them, they had taken their eyes off of the true prize, the true reason for doing church.

They had lost sight of the promise. 

2.17.12--Sermon on Deuteronomy 26:1-11

When I was eight years old, my brother and I caught a kitten.

We were at the softball fields on Hickam AFB on Oahu, waiting for my dad to finish his game. Korey nudged my arm and pointed to this tiny ball of fluff that was cowering near the dugout, and we set off on a mission to capture the cat. Never once did we think that this might be a bad idea. Never once did we think that the poor animal was probably frightened out of its mind, that it might have rabies, that it might actually belong to someone.

We just saw a cute little kitty, and we wanted to play with it.

After about twenty minutes of running around, we finally cornered it against the fence. I picked it up, and it was the tiniest cat I’d ever seen. At eight years old, I could hold it in my hands and have room to spare. We brought it to my dad after the game and told him that we were going to keep it. I’m not sure how we got away with not asking, but we did, so that night, we brought this tiny cat home and he became part of our family.

We named him Pete the Barn Cat, because that was the name of a character in a line of children’s books that I was reading at the time.

Pete traveled from Hawaii to Texas with us, and at some point transitioned from being an indoor cat to an outdoor one. I always felt that I had a special bond with Pete, for even when I’d been gone for long periods of time, he would always run up to me and sit happily in my lap while I pet him. After I went to college, Pete kind of slipped from the forefront of my mind. When I would go home, I’d always try to spend a little bit of time with him, but that time continued to grow shorter and shorter. 

1.13.13--Sermon on Luke 3:21-22

The night that James was born was by far the scariest night of my life.

We had already spent about twenty-two hours in the delivery room, and Jess’ water had broken about four hours before that. Now, I don’t know how much y’all know about pregnancy—though I am assuming most of the women here know it on a much more intimate level than I ever could—but when the mom-to-be’s water breaks, there is only supposed to be a twenty-four hour window for the baby to born. With the absence of the protective water sac, the risk of infection for the baby grows immensely.

And after 26 hours of labor, Jess was not progressing. We both already knew why the mid-wife was coming in to talk to us, but that did little to truly prepare either of us for what she had to say.

The baby had to come out, and he had to come out now. It was time for a caesarean section.

I was stunned, and did not know what to say or do. I have to give Jess a lot of credit, though, because even in the midst of this revelation, she stayed focused and stayed strong. The doctor came in and told us what would happen, and then they began preparations. I was given a set of paper scrubs to wear, and I was so nervous that I actually tore the shirt and one of the shoe-covers trying to get it on. It was basically a t-shirt and a sock for my shoe, but I was so freaked out that I couldn’t remember how to put either on.

Finally, it was time to go into the operating room. In what was easily the brightest and whitest room I have ever seen, the doctors and nurses were gathering around Jess. A partition had been set up at her neck, and I was moved to a stool next to her head. As the final preparations were being made, I talked to my wife and tried to comfort her. The surgeon began his work, and in what seemed both like mere moments and also an eternity, a cry erupted from behind the curtain. One of the nurses lowered the partition enough for the doctor to show us our son. He was crying as loud as his little lungs would allow him, and he was filthy with afterbirth, and he had the angriest look I’ve ever seen on that tiny little face.

And he was beautiful.

The nurses took him over, cleaned him up, and then brought him over to me. I held him close and just looked at him. After all of the stress and fright from the past 27 hours—not to mention the past nine months—he was here. I can honestly say I had never loved anyone as much as I did in that moment, and I have never been happier in my entire life.

Now, James did nothing to earn my love, and he did nothing to elicit those emotions from me. He did absolutely no work in the birthing process; all of that credit goes to Jessica and the medical staff. But when I looked at him that night, there in the OR, I knew that I would always love him, and that he would always be a source of joy in my life.

He didn’t have to earn it. He is my son, and it is his birthright to be loved by his father. 

12.30.12--Sermon on Luke 2:41-52

Have you ever read a book or watched a movie that was so good, you couldn’t help but go back and experience it again and again?  Jess makes fun of me because I have a half-shelf of books that I read constantly. Usually once a year, I make my way through all of them. Three of the books on it are a trilogy that I have read so many times in the past five years that I’m about to have to replace them because mine are falling apart. I also have a stack of movies that I love to watch. I’ve seen the new Muppets movie so many times that I know not only all of the songs but most of the dialogue too!

There are just some stories that are so good, you can’t help but revisit them often. Something about them, be it the narrative or character development or whatever else, is so complex and so rich that it makes you want to come back time and again to see what jumps out at you next time.

For Christmas this year, my brother-in-law, Josiah, gave me Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy on Bluray. Now, as many of you already know, I am a big Batman fan, and I love these movies. Since Christmas, we’ve already watched through all three of them, and I’ve had so much fun reliving these stories. After we finished the third movie, The Dark Knight Rises, Jessica and I had a discussion on how these stories are so well-told that we actually enjoy watching them over and over again. We catch new things every time, and there are even some plot sequences that we are pretty sure only make sense the second or third time watching them.

These movies are definitely on my favorite movie stack.

Do you have a book or movie that does this for you? Maybe it’s a short story or a poem or a printed copy of one of my old sermons :). What wonderful work of literature has sunk its hooks into your brain and refused to let go? What narrative keeps reeling you back in, always exciting and surprising you with new twists and depths that had not been revealed to you before?

What I've Been Doing these Past Two Weeks...

Hey Everyone,

So I haven't posted a sermon the last two weeks because we engaged in a more... experiential worship time for the last two weeks of Advent. It was going to be a four-week series, but when James came a little early, he kind of put a damper on my plans, as I hear children tend to do.

I am posting the PDF to the curriculum that I wrote for this Advent season. Like I said, we only ended up doing weeks three and four, but I thought all of my loyal followers--if there are any--might like a chance to look at the whole thing. Maybe next year, you might want to borrow all or part of it for your worship times.

Just click on the link to open it up: Advent through Art

God bless!


-wes

12.9.12--Sermon on Luke 3:1-18

In the summer of 2000, my family took a vacation to a beach house in Port Aransas. This was the first time that we had gone to the beach as a family since we had moved back to Texas from Hawaii, and I have to tell you, I was extremely excited about it. We had a large group of family and friends going with us, and I couldn’t wait to play in the waves, find amazing-looking seashells, and go snorkeling in the midst of all of the beautifully colored fish in the bays.

I kept telling everyone in the car with us how excited I was, talking about all I wanted to do and bragging about my expert-level boogie boarding skills.

I was a mean boogie boarder.

Everyone with us, though, kept looking at me funny, like they were not understanding what I was talking about. My cousins and friends—who had all been to Port A before—didn’t seem to share in my excitement about snorkeling in the clear blue ocean water or about the chance to dive in and out of eight foot waves. I could not understand why they weren’t jumping up and down like I was, how they were able to contain their pent-up excitement so well.

Then we arrived at the beach, and it all made sense.

You see, the Gulf of Mexico is not exactly known for its tubular waves or clear blue waters. It is not known for beautifully-shaped shells or brightly-colored tropical fish. Its waters are more of a brownish color, with breakers rarely peaking over a couple feet, and the most colorful fish you are likely to find are red fish, which are great for fishing, but lousy for snorkeling.

As beaches go, the Gulf is left wanting.

I was so disappointed! My hopes were dashed, and I felt betrayed. The beaches I had grown up around were the tropical paradises of Guam and Hawaii. In my head, all beaches are pristine, beautifully clear, just the perfect temperature, and surf-ready. Port Aransas had none of these things. How could I go from picture perfection to this?!

I spent the first few days that we were there complaining to anyone and everyone around me. While everyone else was enjoying themselves and soaking up as much sun and sand as possible, I was nostalgically and annoyingly reminiscing of the good old days of yore. Finally one of my uncles had enough of it. He called me over and told me stop moping around and go have fun. He said I was ruining the vacation for myself and others.

And he was right.

I had been so wrapped up in the past—so wrapped up in how great and amazing and beautiful things were—that I was missing out on the chance to enjoy and engage the wonderful time of fun and fellowship around me right then.

The beach at Port Aransas was not the white-sanded surf spot that I had grown up loving, but it was full of my friends and family, full of sunshine and water, and had the potential to be an amazing adventure. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was just as amazing for completely different reasons.

A Litany for Veteran's Day

(I did not write this, but I found it very moving. It is from "The Book of Worship for United States Forces," #625.)

Leader: Let us give thanks to God for the land of our birth with all its chartered liberties. For all the wonder of our country's story:

People: We give you thanks, O God.

Leader: For leaders in nation and state, and for those who in days past and in these present times have labored for the commonwealth:

People: We give you thanks, O God.

Leader: For those who in all times and places have been true and brave, and in the worlds common ways have lived upright lives and ministered to their fellows:

People: We give you thanks, O God.

Leader: For those who served their country in its hour of need, and especially for those who gave even their lives in that service:

People: We give you thanks, O God.

Leader: O almighty God and most merciful Father, as we remember these your servants, remembering with gratitude their courage and strength, we hold before you those who mourn them. Look upon your bereaved servants with your mercy. As this day brings them memories of those they have lost awhile, may it also bring your consolation and the assurance that their loved ones are alive now and forever in your living presence.

People: To you, O God, be the glory. Amen.