Were Jesus Born Here

Had Jesus been born on Tybee Island, it would have been under the Pier.

On the island it one of the only places people can find refuge from the elements, especially when there's "no room" in the short term vacation rentals or families can't afford the steep overnight prices of a few hotels.

Naturally the police are called the moment poor Joe lights a fire for his pregnant wife because a local strolling pass fears arson by radical left wing Democrats.

The family's arrested but the Chef's a nice guy trying to combat previous charges of racism from Orange Crush and the poor family has dark skin and they might be Muslim.

An emergency Council meeting's called to appoint a special public task force to get community buy in before policy is made.

Meanwhile, the poor woman's water breaks and she screams bloody murder.

Several officers reach for tasers but the Chef shakes his head from side to side.

The Community Task Force unanimously recommends the County Department of Family and Family Children Services be called as the municipality isn't equipped to deal with refugees of any kind.

The baby's delivered in a new Jail cell funded by a Special Local Option Sales Tax meaning 60% of the construction costs was born by tourists which inexplicably makes locals happy.

The social worker from Family and Children Services gets stuck on the Tybee Road because of an accident on the Bull River Bridge.

The child is given toys to play with donated by the community for children of incarcerated adults.

The Vicar at All Saints Episcopal Church hears that unto us a child's been born, calls the Chief offering to put the family up at the Royal Palm for a couple of nights using funds from the social services fund.

The Chef readily agrees.

The planet Mercury appears as a yellow orange star in the sky directly over the Royal Palm parking lot.

A small crowd of Effingham County wet day trippers gather wrapped in sandy blankets and with a Styrofoam cooler from which they offer Joe a beer.

The baby's cold and is wrapped in a swaddling cloths torn from the blankets.

"The kid's not mine," Joe explains.

The day trippers don't seem to care.

He introduces Mary who hugs him warmly as blue lights of three police cars fill the hotel entrance though they remain in the vehicles.

"You can't stay here," a day tripper explains.

Joe nods, tenderly wiping a tear from his teenage bride's face.

The baby cries.

Pam from The Sand Bar arrives with boxes of food collected from the Bars and $213 in cash raised after an auction with music by local musicians. She also gives them a bottle of Patron which they share with the day trippers toasting the Baby's birth.

The Police Department is flooded with alleged reports of rogue Choirs violating the City's noise ordinance and the officers rush to investigate.

"It's a good time to get out of here," the Day Tripper's snap, throwing their stuff in the beds of pick up trucks.

"Y'all want a lift?"

Mary nods so Joe grabs the boy and they leave.

All is calm on Tybee again.

All is bright under the billions of blazing stars dancing over the Ocean.

The Sun bubbles out of the Sea as a small crowd gathers for the Men's Prayer Breakfast at the Trinity Methodist Church.

Sand in my heart

The most nautical thing about this coffee shop I'm sitting in is a painting of a Blue Crab someone has for sale displayed on the wall between colorful paintings of birds in flight.

Other art ranges from impressionist colors I have no idea what they represent to an obvious love of chickens hanging helter skelter around though the center piece of the place is a very defined stage equipped with everything except musicians.

A piano, guitar, banjo lay silently in wait for whoever left them, the sound system's on with green, blue and red lights, a microphone is front and center and a white fedora hat lay on a stool waiting to be worn.

It's the Blue Crab I focus on.

My heart pumps sandy blood in my veins.

Jerry Jeff Walker's "Cowboy Boots and Bathin' Suits" streams in my eyes as I people dressed in "casual business", every woman wears spandex as a fashion statement and not because of working out, a few are in work clothes and I'm wearing a tattered "Sex Wax" tee shirt, black running shorts, a string of leather around my right ankle and flip flops.

Actually the flops are on the floor as my bare feet dangle from the chair at a high top table.

I miss the Beach.

We've been to spectacular ones in Belize, Costa Rica, Key West and a hundred others.

I may leave the Ocean but it never seems to leave me and it's got a grip on me staring at the lone Blue Crab hanging on the wall.

"You must seek the place the Lord your God will choose for you from all the tribes to establish a a dwelling place for Her name, and there you must go" (Deuteronomy 12:5).

I hear you Lord, I hear you.

I know the place you have chosen for me and we understand that's where we're destined in spite of where we're at.
______________

Turtles in Church

Most Churches have large screens on the stage to show Hymn lyrics, Bible verses or sermon illustrations that are used to visually enhance the worship experience.

At Bar Church The Sand Bar has a large flat screen television most used to broadcast football games for the patrons. During worship, it displays a running montage of nature scenes, mostly nautical in nature, because we're on a island.

This passed Sunday, I'm preaching away and can't help but notice that every eye in the Bar is focused directly at me.

"I am really rocking these Bible verses," I tell myself, picking up the intensity.

Just as I kick it up a notch, everyone's eyes divert to other things ... the beer or coffee they're drinking ... their phones ... people strolling by through the large glass windows.

Finishing, the band launches into the final Hymn ... "Knocking on Heaven's Door" ... and everyone sings along as worship comes to an end.

Greeting people while packing up the sound system and instruments, Jaime Lawrimore says, "Rev, I couldn't get my camera out fast enough to get a picture of the two Loggerhead Turtles making love on the screen above your head during the sermon. That was great!"

"What?"

"Sure enough," her husband and Bar Church founder Gordon Hill agrees, "Two Turtles doing it right above your head."

"It was a good sermon though," Jamie quickly adds.

"Oh well," I mutter.

You don't get this kind of stuff in most worship services but you do at Bar Church.

Happy Veterans Day (Whatever that means)!

Honestly Dad didn't join the Marines out of some great sense of patriotism but to get the Hell out of his parents house.

The Marines happened to be the branch of military that would accommodate 17 year old's with such a problem.

In the blink of an eye, Dad was marching with Dog Company and off to Korea where he was captured twice, escaping both times until he was shot but found by another group of GI's, taken to a Hospital, processed and shipped back home.

While he was there he was assigned, after volunteering for it, as the only white guy in a group tasked with gathering the wounded and dead after a battle.

It helped him later land a job at Fountain's Funeral Home back in Port Wentworth Georgia where he again lived with the folks he was desperate to get away from.

Throughout the rest of his life he had a Love/Hate relationship with the military.

He was proud of the Marines but loathed war.

He'd watch war movies wiping tears from his eyes during the killing yet cheer when the good guys one.

A Marine tattoo adorned his right arm though he never showed it off or called attention to it.

He shied away from gatherings with his fellow Veterans but when I drug him kicking and screaming to the dedication of the Savannah Korean War monument he hugged his fellow Vets and they cried together touching the engraved names of their friends who didn't make it back.

That's my last memory of him as a Veteran.

He was ready to go on to the next assignment soon afterwards.

Watching the pomp and circumstance of Veterans Day, I remember how his service changed him and I'm exceedingly thankful he took the turns he did.

I lean much more to the pacifist, peacemaker side of foreign policy decisions but also have the grit to dig in and fight back when justice is greedily provoked.

So Happy Veterans Day Dad, if that's such a thing. You never cared much for it but I find myself grateful for what you gave, and the others too, how the experience changed you and the lessons you left, not so much through words but through the ways you lived with it all afterwards.

Bless you and the rest of them too.

A Thanksgiving Toast

This is my latest article in Tybee Beachcomber magazine.

Tybee Island is different from the rest of the world and everyone who's ever lived here, or visited, knows it.

It's the beauty of the River meeting the Sea, an abundance of Marshes, the Back River, rolling Sand Dunes, incredible wildlife, glorious sunrises AND sunsets.

The island's dotted with an imposing Lighthouse, remnants of a Fort, Palm Trees, lush sub-Tropical foliage, a terrific Pier, beautiful restored Theater with live entertainment, active American Legion, parks and quaint streets to explore.

If all that wasn't enough, there's uninhabited islands easily accessible and the majestic city of Savannah a mere twenty minute drive away.

There's a great deal to be thankful for on Tybee Island but perhaps the most forgotten and under appreciated are it's bars.

More than any other group, it's the Bars that define the Tybee Island community!

Sure there's Churches, active civic organizations, outstanding volunteer efforts and even a Bacon Club, but none define the loving spirit of Tybee Island more than the bars.

There's an abundance of them, each eclectic, eccentric and electric when they're hopping.

Tybee's bars are drenched in salt, blessed with great staffs, creators of delightful food and an abundance of live music!

More than anything else, it's the Tybee's Bars that create it's giving spirit!

The bars of Tybee create who we are as as islanders, more than anything else.

There's 24 bars on the island and, more than any other entity, they define the giving spirit of this gorgeous clump of sand floating in the Sea.

Individually and collectively, they raise more money, sponsor more causes, help more people, celebrate more life, generate more fellowship and help navigate life's tragedies and difficulties than any other institution on Tybee Island.

Because of the Bars, raising money for people or disasters are almost daily occurrences on Tybee and you can't say that about most any other small community.

There's even a church in a bar on Tybee Island on Sunday mornings, which is something hard to find in most places.

And on Thanksgiving, most every one of the Bar is hosting a giant, family spread for most anyone wanting friends, fellowship and food.

Sure, there's alcohol and the occasional craziness that comes along when it's abused, but you travel the world and you'll struggle to find a town with a bigger heart that the one birthed by the Bars on Tybee Island!

And for each of them, we are most thankful!

So raise a glass to the bars.

Tybee Island wouldn't be the special community it is without them.

A Book Review: All Hallows' Eve

I first read J. R. R. Tolkien, then became engrossed in the writings of C. S. Lewis who introduced me to a third friend of theirs, a member of "The Inklings", a literally group meeting weekly to share each others works.

Tolkien first read "The Lord of the Rings" to this gathering over beer. C. S. Lewis read "The Chronicles of Narnia", among other things, and Williams, an editor at Oxford Press, read "All Hallows' Eve."

The editor of Oxford Press, Williams was a mostly self-educated genius fascinated with the Occult and Christianity. His novels combine the two in awe inspiring fashion.

Two ghosts, Lester and Evelyn, discover they're both dead, hit by a falling airplane as peace descends on post WWII London. An angry Lester's waiting to meet her husband Richard, who's late, on a bridge. Her friend Evelyn is nearby and the two are left to wonder what's happened, slowly coming to the realization that they are dead.

Longing to return to the way they lived in the world, both reach through the supernatural veil separating the living from the dead. Simultaneously, a renown minister uses the occult to reach, and manipulate, the spiritual world for his own purposes.

The result is an intriguing story of a man and woman who discover how much they love one another through death through examination of their shortcomings when they were together. Theirs is woven with that of a bitter woman who believes she never got the support needed for a happy life, demanding to bring the living and the dead into her own universe of bitterness. The overarching structure of religion, and lack thereof, demonstrate how the living will go to any lengths to use faith to achieve what they desire.

Williams forces readers to inquire how they themselves are living. Are we kind or unkind? Do we try to right wrongs or merely move on? Is redemption important and how far are we willing to go to achieve it? Can we become so self-absorbed to become demonic as anything that's already gone to the grave? What is life after death?

Many times I found myself so engrossed in a particular character I lost myself on the page pondering these questions waking long minutes later searching for where I'd left off. Williams genius is drawing the reader into another world forcing us to grapple with the same issues the characters are wrestling.

In the 1945 context of University academics, Williams writing is more literate than today's modern, fast-pace prose. Taking great care to lovingly craft each sentence, it may take some a while to get accustom to the reading. Even the dialogue that takes place is lavishly constructed appropriating the vernacular of mid-20th century England.

I highly recommend All Hallows' Eve as a fascinating entry into a world you already wonder about. As for myself, I've already started another one of his books.

Life's Recovery

After spending yesterday almost entirely asleep, fighting sickness and being cared for by Sarah, I'm nearer normal today.

Two year old Che is glad.

"She missed you yesterday," Sarah explains, "but she knew you weren't feeling well."

She's making up for it today.

This is me having coffee.

She's not letting me go.

So far today we've played in her room dressing up like royalty, taken old bread to feed the turtles in the Lagoon, danced to Richie Haven's "Freedom", pretend to sky dive jumping off the sofa onto the pillows, sing nursery rhymes together, tickle each other relentlessly and she's eaten four Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ... my stomach can't ha ndle it yet.

She's also lays quietly with her head in my lap, tells me she's "Clare Elliott Che", her mother's "Sarah Wonder Woman" as we watch "scary monsters" on television.

When I get up to leave the room, she whimpers but follows me to the fridge, pantry and bathroom.

If I sit at the table and stare at my laptop, she strolls over, grabs my hand and leads me back to the sofa.

"Wuv you Daddy," she says, laying her head in my lap again to resume our show.

Fading in and out of consciousness yesterday, sweating as I slept, my life plays like an old video in my head.

People and events I haven't thought of in years come back to life and, tossing and turning, I find them irritable, choosing instead during my more lucid moments, to focus my thoughts on Sarah, the girls and wishing I was in the other room with them.

Life is now and I'm not enjoying this disruption.

"HELP!" Che cries as I write this.

Laying in the floor she purposely fell on, my daughter holds her arms in the air for me to pick her up.

"OH NO!" I exclaim.

She laughs as I pull her up high into the air and throw her on the couch.

"Do it again," she says falling on the floor.

I can't think of anything else I'd rather do.

Goodbye Again

She's stoic, like her mother, when it comes to emotions though she has a fiery temper and passions are expressed loudly.

So I was unprepared as her voice breaks when she tells me she loves me, hugging me tight and we both cry.

A master of words, I can't think of a single one.

We share tears instead.

Turning quickly to leave, wiping away the tears, she rushes to the car her Mom's decorated in white "UGA 2023" letters on the windows.

Sarah's in our loaded vehicle.

Maddie's driving her car loaded with her sisters Laurel and Cassidy.

The three couldn't be more different yet here they are in an incredible showing of "family" as one moves away for good.

Che, the two year old, occupies Maddie's room as soon as the house is empty, knowing somehow her "best friend" won't be around in quite the same way.

Che lays in her bed.

Plays with a porcelain doll Maddie leaves behind.

And some blocks the two of them shared.

Much later, she and I meander out into the drive way to stand in the spot where Maddie parked her car and we feel the emptiness.

"Maddie coming home," Che asks.

"Thanksgiving, I think."

"Yay!" Che claps.

I thank God for the lack of understanding of time.

Reflecting back to my older kids, Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea leaving home,  it never dawned on me I'd have to let go again.

Mad drove me crazy.

I drove her crazy.

But we agree on politics, women's rights, acceptance of people regardless of sexual orientation, race, Trump, the Tybee Island Police Department and College football.

We do not agree on music, fashion, humor, food, entertainment or who's fault it is that pop corn spilled on the floor before the latest installment of  "The Lord of the Rings" or "Star Wars" even began.

I covered her ass on occasion.

And she covered mine.

God Damn I already miss her and it's not even one day yet.

It's alright.

She's smart.

And beautiful.

Lord knows she's full of her mother's stoic passion and the last person you ever want to pick a fight.

But you're right here Maddie, at the beginning of everything.

Just like Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea, you'll find your way and it will be incredible!

And you'll rarely look back.

Maybe, on those rare occasions when you do, you'll smile at things we did.

And when things you don't understand come your way ... and God knows you hate to admit it ... you'll remember you can always call or text.

I'm here.

Like your Mom, we're always here.

Kick ass Mad!

And you can laugh at me now as I keep wiping the tears away.

Leaving it at that

Where's Chip?

He's not in this picture because he has a wireless connection on his guitar.

He's probably meandering around The Sand Bar during service while playing lead solos and sampling from the Potluck on the Pool Table, sipping a Bloody Mary during the sermon, or watching girls in bikinis walk outside the large windows.

The rest of the Band are playing Hymns and call out for a guitar solo ... "TAKE IT CHIP!" ... and sure enough there's a priceless, pristine, glorious lead guitar solo.

We just have no idea where it's coming from.

Eye contact is am important part of a band seamlessly playing multiple instruments orchestrated for the glory of God.

"WHERE'S CHIP?" Eric Johnson bellows before taking the next verse.

Davy the drummer's suddenly worries the rapture occurred and he missed it.

Monty Parks and David could care less 'cause they're really into the music and are sort of oblivious it's Church taking place.

The Rev's wondering if it's an epiphany.

Somehow it all comes together.

We have no idea how it comes together but ... it sort of comes together.

God probably knows.

We leave it at that.
__________________

Free to go

"We're free to go where we wish and to be what we are," Jonathan Livingston Seagull explained.

It's true.

It's also amazing how so many aren't where they wish and are nothing like they really are.

Instead they're carried wherever the currents of popular persuasion carries them and try to live up to the expectations of others.

When all's said and done, that's Hell on earth.

Finding Heaven, on the other hand, requires forgetting what others think or want to follow the dreams planted inside by a Holiness we can't explain.

We know, regardless of what everyone else says,  what're supposed to be.

But you have to go looking if you're going to get there.

There's no better time than to start now.

Take stock of where you are now and remind yourself there's a better place for you.

Look at who you're with and ask yourself, "Are they helping me become who I wish?"

And grab hold of the promise you've let go ... that God willed you here for reasons that only you know ... and it's time to fulfill them.
_____________

Parental Purgatory

Maddie graduated from High School the other day and is set to enroll in College in a few weeks. She's 17, knows everything so if there's something you don't know but really need to know ... just ask Maddie, she knows.

At graduation, Sarah and Maddie's sisters take pictures posting them on Instagram.

Cassidy, our 12 year old, writes under the photos, "Congratulations on graduating. I am so proud of you and know you're going to do great in life! I love you. You're the best!"

Underneath the same images on our 15 year old's Instagram, Laurel writes, "I'm oldest now."

Of course Maddie didn't know it was coming and's mad as Hell!

Aw man it still cracks me up!

I know ... I know ... as a parental figure  you have to stay neutral with the kids which is difficult enough whenever there's more than one ... crazy complicated if your's is a blended family ... stupid if you happen to be 62 and your kids range from 41 to 2 ... and outright insane when you're the only male at home ... surrounded by five girls and a gay dog.

I know being a parent is the hardest thing in the world but I've come to believe being a Stepfather is harder!

Who came up with the lame word "Stepfather" or "Stepmother"?

What's it mean?

We've stepped into something like dog shit and now we can't get it off our shoe ... or in my case from between my toes?

I've done research and the term originated in 8th Century and means "orphan" ... and in those days a man or a woman took in children without fathers or mothers.

I don't know what the word mean today because I try with everything in me to be a real, 100% Dad, to our girls if they want.

Most of the time they don't so I'm in some sort of parental purgatory ... where my opinion and help is not necessary ... unless their Mother won't give em what they want.

Luckily two of the four girls living at home with Sarah and me have boyfriends so when they're around, we can give knowing glances at each other and ask, without using words, only glances and facial expressions ... "Can you believe this shit?"

I love Parks and Cooper and thank God for them every night.

Anyway, yesterday Laurel and Cooper find this chair, obviously part of a larger ensemble, in someone's front yard and drag it home as a gift for Maddie.

Sarah and Maddie are doing all the shopping and furnishing  of a first year college student's dorm room.

"We got you a present," Laurel explains to Maddie, who's just showered after a long day of work at the Breakfast Club and is wrapped in a blue towel with wet hair.

"Wha is it?" Che, our 2 year hold, asks leaping from the sofa wearing a yellow Princess Elena dress complete with gold crown and wand.

"It's for Maddie's room when she goes to College," Laurel explains.

"What?" Maddie asks following Che to inspect.

As soon as they're outside, Laurel strolls across the living room and locks the door ... all three locks.

Cooper shoots me a wordless question ... "Do you believe this shit?"

I'm still laughing.

Recently, Eamon Sheehan, friend of our older kids Jeremy and Kristen ... and son of my dear friend Dan ... was visiting from California introducing me to his son ... and we fall into conversation about his Dad and my friend ... who's gone now.

Dan and I still have lots in common.

He was a Dad in blender like me, older when he and Carolyn had Eamon and would sneak off with me to talk about how crazy life is but how thankful we are to have it.

"You know Mike," Eamon says on the sidewalk in front of the Sand Bar before Bar Church, "Dad just loved being a Dad. That's why I was born. He couldn't get enough of it."

That night before I went to bed, I say a prayer.

"Hey Dan. Met you grandson today. Man! I know you're proud. Eamon talks just like you ... hopefully your grandson will talk more like Leila's side of the family ... anyway ... I want to say thanks for all those times we rode around just talking ... about life and kids ... and what makes a family."

"You probably already know Dan, being in Heaven and all ... but you're in Catholic Heaven and there's probably lots of rules and all your information may not be the latest ... but I seem to have followed in your footsteps ... which is the not the same as a mis-step ... which has nothing to do with being a Stepfather."

I could hear Dan laugh in the darkness ... a crazy eruption of delightful Irish elation.

"You gonna let her back in?" Cooper finally asks out loud.

I wasn't going to ask.

I'm enjoying this.

Laurel unlocks the door and all Hell breaks loose.

It just doesn't get any better.

I love being a Dad!

Just like my buddy Dan.

And neither one of us stepped in anything God didn't lead us to.

Everything Inside of us

"And they said, 'Isn't Jesus the son of Joseph? We know his father and mother! How can he say he was sent from Heaven?'" (John 6:42).

It's a most fascinating Bible verse.

You never hear it talked about in Church.

People are saying they know who Jesus is!

They're friends with his Dad and Mom ... known him his whole life!

They watched him grow up!

How in God's name can Jesus claim to not belong to Joseph and Mary?

And how in God's name can he claim to be God's son?

The unspoken sentiment behind the question is, "this boy's out of his mind!"

It's in the Gospel of John, the last one written, long after Jesus had lived, died, came back to life somehow and ascended to Heaven in front of witnesses.

Most of the witnesses have died by the time John was written.

Unlike the other Gospels, which come across as eye witness accounts of the life Jesus lived, John is all about the son of God.

Matthew, Mark and Luke are about the things Jesus did.

John is all about who Jesus was.

Whoever wrote John ... it wasn't an Apostle ... believes in Jesus though they've never met.

"In the beginning was the word," John starts, "and the word was with God and the word was God" (1:1)  ... and the word is Jesus.

Jesus is the word ... of God.

It helps to understand a bit of Hebrew.

"D'bar" ... Hebrew for word ... has life ... once spoken it can never be taken back or killed ... words live forever once your mouth births them ... it's a principal reason we forget so little ... remember so much!

As living things, words are actions ... deeds ... lives.

So if in the beginning was the word ... and that word was Jesus ... and Jesus was with God ... and Jesus was God ... then it has a life of it's own.

The Gospel of John is classic Greek storytelling ... meaning it couldn't have been the Disciple who wrote the Gospel or it would have been in Hebrew or Aramaic ... but it's really good Greek ... with an introduction of the biography.

Though it's funny too the concepts are Hebraic ... whoever wrote John wasn't writing to the Jews but is introducing Jesus to a bigger world.

"This is the story of Jesus," is how it'd be put today, "the word of God in action."

In Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus is human ... he gets mad ... has a soft spot for children and loose women ... hates seeing sick people so he healed them ... even raises the dead because he's not ready for them to go yet ... and takes naps in boats.

But in John, "there's nothing Jesus doesn't know, nothing he can't do, and when they take him in the end, you feel he could blow them right off the map if he felt like it. Majestic, mystical, aloof, the Jesus of the fourth Gospel walks three feet off the ground, you fell, and you can't help wishing that once in a while he'd come down to earth" (Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures).

John believes in a Jesus he's never seen ... didn't meet ... hadn't heard ... but knows with everything inside that it's the Son-of-God ... word become flesh ... he's talking about.

Which what makes this particular verse ... this part of the story ... so awkward and funny.

"We know who you are!" they accuse.

"We know your shit head parents!"

"Your Dad's an out of work carpenter who died young."

"Your Mom was a hot teenager who was forever pregnant ... and you were the first kid ... but she was always knocked up ... your parents obviously liked to do it.

"And now here you are ... claiming they're not your parents ... but you come directly from God."

It's funny if you put this in the context whoever wrote John wrote it.

Jesus stuns the world feeding 5,000 with fish and bread ... his Disciples can't take the crowds and leave him behind when they take a boat to get away ... later Jesus walks up ... on water ... asking, "Where'd y'all go?" and climbs inside.

The next day the 5,000 or so realize Jesus is on Little Tybee so they boat, paddle board, surf and float over ... and when they arrive they ask, "How'd you get over here?"

"Jet Ski?"

And Jesus gives a lecture ... "I've fed you once! You want more?" ... and he talks about how he's the Bread that comes down from Heaven" ... and whoever wrote John does a funky version of "The Last Supper"  ... he'd obviously heard about it and does a re-imagining ... the "you can do it even if you weren't there" version ... the beginning of "Do this in remembrance of me."

This is when the crowd ... the same crowd that ate the first ever fish sandwich for $1 from McDonald's ... with fries! ... ask, "Wait a minute! You're no better than us! We know your folks! They weren't shit! How can you say you're God's boy and not theirs?"

And that's the Gospel of John in a nutshell.

Do you believe you're more than you are?

Are there bigger things in the Universe than you?

Have you seen things you can't explain?

Do you wonder why?

How can a carpenter knock up a teenager and have a son of God?

A daughter of God?

God knows I don't know.

Just like whoever wrote the Gospel of John didn't know.

But somehow God knows.

Whoever wrote the Gospel of John believed that with everything inside.

And we're gathered here today because we want to believe it with everything inside of us too.

Jesus' Mom

Well, it's Mother's Day so ... I suppose I have to start talking about mine.

She's great!

And, if I didn't say so, she'd kick my ass.

I'n blessed she's still here ... at my age I'm blessed with lots of things ... but my Mother runs circles around me ... and honestly can kick my ass any time she chooses ... without lifting a finger ... cause she's got the look.

You remember the "Look."

Your Mother has one too.

It freezes you instantly because you know ... you're in deep.

And if you're a Mother, you have the "Look" too but your Mother's "Look" far exceeds your "Look" as you still try to emulate hers.

But My Mom, I have to say, is quite the remarkable woman.

It's hard to know where to begin ... her career began when we were broke and Dad's paycheck wasn't enough so she got a job as a secretary at a Credit Union ... moved to a bank ... learned the trade ... became a loan originator ... broke all the records men held ... made more money than the Bank President one year ... broke glass ceilings for women ... refused to accept the "Originator of the Year" award once because it was a man on the plaque so they had it redone ... with a woman ... in a mini-skirt ... which Mom thought fair ... so she brought it home.

I could go on and on about my Mom.

She did a lot.

Won lots of plaques.

My Dad sold them all one day when she was gone.

He made a lot of money off them.

She still hasn't forgiven him ... though he died a decade ago.

"What would you've done with them?" I asked her.

"I dunno," she laughs. "Who needs a bunch of plaques from the past?"

This is what I remember most about "me Mum" ... as I say ... is once when I was a kid ... little ... though I don't recall how little ... she picked me up and slammed my butt on the kitchen table ... and cupping her hands around my chin ... intense blues eyes looking in blues ... she snaps!

"Let me tell you something Micheal" and her voice is stern and hard and full of conviction, "you ... are ... going ... to ... be ... great! ... that's your life! ... GREAT!"

And she kisses me, leaving my feet dangling towards the floor they couldn't reach.

Over the remaining "formative years" she tells me this a lot ... grabbing me by the shoulders ... slamming my ass on the kitchen table ... cupping my chin in the palms of her hands ... blues staring into blues .., and her clam, steady voice says, "You're great! You're gonna be great!"

I dunno how great I've been but ... I've done a lot of cool stuff.

The best though is I'm Sarah's husband.

I've seen and done lots of great things in my life ... but the greatest is being Sarah's husband.

She's a mother.

Six daughters and a boy ... five grand kids ... our love is mostly moving parts ... it's hard to keep up ... mostly with each other.

I marvel at her mothering.

She's great!

As liberal as I am ... and I'm very liberal ... I'm far more conservative with the girls than she.

I don't trust them.

They'll get in trouble like I did when Mom wasn't slamming my ass on the kitchen table to tell me how great I'm going to become.

Sarah trusts them.

She lets them make their own mistakes where I try to save them from happening.

That take far more strength than I've got.

Sarah lets 'em fall flat on their faces if they're stupid enough to not listen to her in the first place, then she'll ask, "Well are going to do that again?"

And they don't!

How does she do that?

It makes no sense whatsoever.

Though her parental philosophy has obviously had an impact on me too.

They come to me sometimes, "Mike, if I tell you something, will you not tell Mom?"

"Are you out of your frigging mind?" I answer. "No way in Hell I'm hiding anything you say from her. I'll tell you what ... why don't you go ahead and tell me and I'll let you know how fast you need to tell her."

Sometimes they tell me anyway.

I always tell Sarah.

It's a train wreck but we keep on keeping on and like most Mother/Son and Mother/Daughter relationships ... it's complicated.

Which brings me to Jesus and his Mom.

Mary drove her boy crazy.

He ran away from home when he was twelve.

I ran away when I was 3 or 4 ... Mom says I packed some diapers and a six-shooter ... tied them in a kerchief at the end of the broom and walked away from it all.

Three houses later she asks, "Where you going Mike?"

"Running away," I tell her.

"Want to go to the store with Mom?"

I got in.

When Mary found her son Jesus in hiding out in the Temple, she was angry, let him know it and he dismisses her immediately.

Mary even gave Jesus "the Look" and he obviously didn't care.

"Why'd you bother looking for me?" he asks, "You should have known I'd be here."

My Mother would have slapped me a new one!

Years later they're at a wedding and they run out of wine.

Like many of us, Mary obviously attended weddings for the wine.

When they ran out, she asks her son to get more.

"I don't have my ID with me," he answers, which is very feasible translation of the original Greek.

She "guilt's" him into it and, like a lot of sons with their mothers, Jesus overcompensates making way more than is needed ... everyone gets drunk, including Mary, and Jesus sneaks out.

The next time Mary approaches her son, Jesus is riding high, drawing big crowds ... making it on his own.

Mary says, "Tell him his Mamma's here and wants to see him."

"Who?" Jesus asks.

Mary insists ... "I'm his Mother. He wants to see me."

"Every woman here is my Mother," Jesus says to everyone except his Mom.

He keeps on working and Mary has no choice but to leave and go home alone.

The last time Mary sees her boy, he's hanging on the cross dying.

Through the pain, Jesus sees her and says, "Behold your son."

Then he sees a friend of his standing beside Mary and says to him, "Behold your Mother" ... and he gives his Mom away to a new family ... and he dies ... and Mary goes home with the friend.

She's mentioned one last time in the Bible ... in Acts, after Jesus is raised from the dead ... she's with her family and the Disciples ... devoted in prayer.

Whatever it was the Apostles believed, Mary did too.

That's all we get out of the Biblical accounts.

But here's what I think.

When his feet couldn't reach the floor after Mary sat him on the kitchen table to look in his eyes and say, "You ... are ... great!"

And even when Jesus blew off his Mother, she trusted him, let him go his own way, get in trouble she couldn't save him from and become what God intended all along.

There were things she did well ... others she could have done a lot better ... but, to this say, she the reason behind one of my favorite prayers ... "Holy Mary, Mother of God!"

Because in spite of how many issues she and the boy had ... and they obviously had several ... there was a love shared ... and love saves the world ... and if we're lucky we let it save us too.

Stepping stones to God

A long, long time ago when I was a far, far different person, I visited my friend Guy Sayles, the Pastor of the First Baptist Church of Montezuma, Georgia.

If you've ever been to Montezuma, Georgia then you know there's no reason whatsoever to go.

There's nothing there ... except Mennonites.

There's lots of Mennonites in Montezuma.

If you know anything about Mennonites you know they're actually "Anabaptists" ... part of the original Protestant reformation who believe growing things naturally make for better food served in restaurants ... so they open really fine restaurants that are like stepping back in time ... because they dress like the Amish ... believe sex is bad ... though they don't fight about it because they're pacifists and refuse to fight about anything!

Anyway Guy and I are sitting in "Yoder's Ditsch Haus Restaurant and Bakery" ... Yoder's Dutch House ... stuffed with really good home cooking served by really plain looking yet wholesome women wearing blue bonnets on their heads.

"What you want to do now?" Guy asks.

"Let's go to Koinonia," I burp.

If you know Greek then you know "Koinonia" means "fellowship" ... like in the Book of Acts when it's used to describe what the first followers of Jesus did after he was crucified, raised from the dead and went to Heaven leaving us the Holy Spirit.

"And they devoted themselves to the Apostles' teaching and the fellowship ... koinonia ... to the breaking of bread and prayers" (Acts 2: 42).

The "Koinonia" I want to go to is a farm about half-an-hour outside of Montezuma, Georgia.

If you've ever been to Koinonia Farm you know it's a Christian commune dedicated to living out faith just as those first Christians did in Acts 2 with the principals of (1) treating everyone with dignity and justice (2) choosing love over violence (3) sharing possessions and living simply, and (4) love the land.

You don't see many folks trying to actually live out their faith like the very first Christians did!

There's even fewer than there are Mennonites!

So Guy drives me to Koinonia which is a very large Pecan Farm, bakery, commune and retreat center where Habitat for Humanity was born.

Yes I said commune ... like the places commie Hippies formed in the 60s ... though Koinonia Farm actually started in the 40s by a University of Georgia graduate with a degree in agriculture who later went to The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and got a Ph.D. in New Testament Greek.

If you've ever been to The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, like I have, then you know Southern Baptists are nothing like Mennonites because they believe they're the only Protestants and will fight you if you say otherwise ... conduct hostile takeovers of restaurants immediately following their Sunday service ... publicly claim sex is bad but screws mostly everybody ... and loves buildings and war more than Jesus. 

Regardless, Clarence Jordan who founded Koinonia Farm is one of my heroes and if the Seminary was good enough for him then it was good enough for me ... though later the Southern Baptists publicly denounced both of us as pagan, Commie, Hippy heathens.

At Koinonia I wanted to visit the little shack where Clarence wrote "The Cotton Patch Gospels" ... he translated the Bible from the original Greek into the southern vernacular of the Jim Crow 1960s  and he set the whole story in Georgia.

So Jesus was born in Gainesville ... was tempted by the Devil atop Stone Mountain ... biscuits represented his body at the Last Supper ... he was crucified in Atlanta ...

Guy and I arrive at the Farm and standing under the grove of Pecan trees, I remember Clarence's translation of the Beatitudes when Jesus gave the sermon on the mount. 

Most of us believe the Beatitudes are separate verses directed at different people ... meek people will inherit the earth ... poor people will filled.

"The so-called Beatitudes are not so much separate verses, as I was taught in Sunday School," Clarence says. "These are the great ideas governing the development of the Movement ... They are the stages of metamorphosis ... the process of changing one's whole philosophy of life."

Looking at it this way, each verse is a step, or stage, leading to the next until you are "born again" as a follower of Jesus ... and a living part of the Movement.

The spiritually humble are God's people, for they are citizens of his new order ... the first step is to be humbled and be in a place where you need God and are willing to say so.

Those who are deeply concerned are God's people for they shall see their ideals become reality ... humility and a relationship with God leads to dreams of a new world!

Those who are gentle are God's people for they will be his partners across the land ... humble people in relationship with God have a tenderness about them! 

Those with an unsatisfied appetite for the right are God's people for they will be given plenty to chew on ... a burning for justice for others is born and germinates as we grow in our relationship with God!

The generous are God's people for they will be treated generously ... God's people give to justice and, in return, receive gifts of justice.

Those with pure motives are God's people for they will have spiritual insight ... increasingly, we grow to care mostly about others more than ourselves and God speaks to us in deeper ways than before.

Women and men of peace and good will are God's people for they will be known everywhere as his children ... our actions define us and people know we're in a relationship with God without us having to say anything!

Those who have endured much for what's right are God's people and they are citizens of his new order ... it costs a lot to get to this point ... family, friends, reputation and money ... but you gain God in a deeply personal way!

You are all God's people when others call you names, harass you and tell all kinds of false tales on you just because you follow me. Be cheerful and good-humored because your spiritual advantage is great. That's the way they treated women and men of conscience in the past ... people will hate you for this, just as they hated Jesus, but don't stoop to their level or become one of them because God is with you ... that's the advantage.

It's a different way of looking at following God isn't it?

Where are you in the steps of becoming part of God's world ... living the way God intends life to be lived ...  being the person you're meant to be?

Notice what's not part of the steps towards God.

Attending Church ... abstinence from most anything ... political persuasion ... cussing, dancing, chewing or going out with others who do.

Here's the thing.

"The proof that God raised Jesus from the dead is not the empty tomb but the hearts of his transformed disciples. The crowning evidence that he lives is not a vacant grave but a spirit filled fellowship! Not a rolled away stone but a carried away Church!"

That's what we're about here at Bar Church!

Completely carried away as we celebrate life!