Author: David Jones

Sometimes, I have John the Baptist living in my head, which can make my brain a very uncomfortable place to be. The Gospel of Matthew describes John like this in Matthew 3:   4 Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.   If you’re going to have someone residing in your brain, I encourage you to choose someone not clothed in camel’s hair, it’s quite itchy. I also suggest someone who doesn’t eat bugs, and someone who doesn’t yell. John yells a lot.    5 Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to (John)…  7  when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?… 10 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.   I heard John the Baptist a lot as a child. For example, I remember when I stole some gum from a grocery store. When my mother found out, she told me she was disappointed in me. What I heard was John’s voice “You’re a disappointment.” My father didn’t have to speak what I could hear on my own. I was the youngest of four children. My older brother was the athlete. It meant a lot for my father for me to play football like my brother. I wasn’t quick enough, fast enough, or strong enough. Instead, I was signed up for baseball where it was not the lack of speed, strength, or skill that got me in trouble; it was the lack of attention. Let’s see, what was I talking about… Oh, yes, I remember being in the outfield watching a bird flying over the field and the parents on the bleachers. I always wondered where and when a bird would poop and if they just let it fly when they felt like it or aimed it at cars and people. Then I would hear my name called out, “David!” When my name was yelled like that, it meant a ball was coming. Since attention was a big problem for me in the outfield, the coach repositioned me to first base. Do you know why first base was a guarantee I would focus more on the game? Because in the outfield, the ball might be hit every so often in your general direction, but at first base, several times an inning, a ball was likely thrown at you, about head height. You had to pay attention to survive. Late in a game, I was going up to bat when my coach said, “David, we can win this one. We really need you to get a hit and get on base.” I wanted to please my coach and do what he said, only instead of “We need you to get a hit,” I heard, “We need you to get hit.” So, I did. I leaned in my left shoulder and the ball hit me high on my back. “Take your base!” the umpire yelled. I took one for the team. I found getting hit was a lot easier to accomplish than getting a hit, after all, my back was larger than any bat. The only problem was, as I got older, the pitches came harder, faster, and were a lot more difficult to keep from hitting my head, so my on base percentage dropped significantly. Though he never said it, I could tell my father was disappointed that I was not the athlete he wanted me to be. No father sits in the stands and yells, “Come on, Son! Get hit! That’s my boy!” With John the Baptist in my head, I heard not that my father was disappointed, I heard, “You’re a disappointment.” At school, I found math was like a second language to me. If there were 100 questions, I would get 99 of them right. I was quite the math whiz. The problem was, even though I could get 99 out of 100 questions correct, 9 times out of 10, I would forget to put my name on my paper. The teacher would return our quizzes, paper by paper, and child by child, calling each by name. Then she would say, “This last one doesn’t have a name on it.” Everyone would look around the room. There was one child left without a paper, me. As she handed me my quiz, she would lean over to me as I was sliding deep in my seat, “I don’t know what kind of boy can do so well at math but not put his name on his paper.” I knew what kind of boy could. A disappointment. John the Baptist was at it again. John the Baptist also attended church with me, whether remakes of John Edwards yelling at sinners in the hands of an angry God or John Calvin telling us how our basic nature was total depravity, they all just reinforced John the Baptizer in my head. I really didn’t understand grace or the love of God until March 9th, 1995. That’s when our daughter Cayla was born. We named her, Cayla Joy Jones. Cayla means pure and so her name is Pure Joy. As I held my new born daughter in my arms, I loved her simply because she was. I loved her simply because of who I was, her parent, her father. Through a father’s eyes, John the Baptist disappeared, and as the heavens parted, I could hear the voice of God. In contrast to the voice of John the Baptist is the voice of God in Matthew 3,   13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14 John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” 15 But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. 16 And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved,[d] with whom I am well pleased.”   This love is from God and rooted in God, not only evident in the voice at Jesus’ baptism but when in his ministry the voice comes. Again, this is Matthew chapter 3 with 25 chapters to go. What has Jesus done so far? Nothing. This is the beginning. Jesus has not healed anyone, not walked on water, not confronted wrong doers, not stood up for the poor, not feed 5,000 with 5 loaves and 2 fish or anything else, and certainly not died on the cross or risen again. He has done nothing. Yet, here, God says, “My child. Beloved. With whom I am well pleased.” Is God pleased because Jesus showed up? No. God is pleased because God is pleased. Jesus is Beloved because God is beloving. God loves because God loves. This is a different sort of love. It is not about meeting parent, teacher, coach, or the world’s expectation, disappointing or otherwise. It is not about setting yourself apart, proving that you are somebody, someone, something special, or even showing the world that you are alive. You are loved simply because God says so. Listen for God’s voice and turn away from all the others.

 

Jeff Foxworthy got a lot of laughs from “You might be a Redneck.” As a pastor, I came up with my own “You might be…” Here is, “You might be a church committee.” You can decide if it’s funny… or tragic…

You Might Be a Church Committee Continue reading “You Might Be a Church Committee”

Jesus was asked, “Who is my neighbor?” and he replied with this famous story in Luke 10,

³⁰  “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.³¹ Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.³² So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.³³ But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity.³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii,^[b]gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’³⁶ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”

While the Samaritan has been called ‘good’ while we’ve looked down on the priest and Levite for two thousand years, I’d like to offer them a little sympathy. By nature of their roles as a priest and Levite, they had somewhere to go. They were likely in a hurry.

In Social Intelligence: The New Science of Human Relationships, Daniel Goleman relates this study, One afternoon at the Princeton Theological Seminary, forty students waited to give a short practice sermon on which they would be rated. Half the students had been assigned random biblical topics. The other half had been assigned the parable of the Good Samaritan, who stopped to help a stranger by the roadside, an injured man ignored by people supposedly more “pious.” The seminarians worked together in a room, and every fifteen minutes one of them left to go to another building to deliver his sermon. None knew they were taking part in an experiment on altruism. Their route passed directly by a doorway in which a man was slumped, groaning in evident pain. Of the forty students, twenty-four passed right by, ignoring the plaintive moans. And those who were mulling over the lessons of the Good Samaritan’s tale were no more likely to stop and help than were any of the others.1 For the seminarians, time mattered. Among ten who thought they were late to give their sermon, only one stopped; among another ten who thought they had plenty of time, six offered help. Of the many factors that are at play in altruism, a critical one seems to be simply taking the time to pay attention; our empathy is strongest to the degree we fully focus on someone and so loop emotionally. People differ, of course, in their ability, willingness, and interest in paying attention—a sullen teen can tune out her mother’s nagging, then a minute later have undivided concentration while on a phone call to her girlfriend. The seminarians rushing to give their sermon were apparently unwilling or unable to give their attention to the moaning man, presumably because they were caught up in their thoughts and the press of hurrying, and so never attuned to him, let alone helped him.2 People on busy city streets worldwide are less likely to notice, greet, or offer help to someone else because of what has been called the “urban trance.” Sociologists have proposed that we tend to fall into this self-absorbed state on crowded streets, if only to gird against stimulus overload from the swirl around us. Inevitably, the strategy requires a trade-off: we shut out the compelling needs of those around us along with the mere distractions. As a poet put it, we confront “the noise of the street dazed and deafened.”

While at a Seminary and studying the parable of the Good Samaritan, these students in a hurry still passed by the person in need. What did the seminary students have in common with the priest and Levite besides working toward being religious professionals? They were walking. Even at the speed of walking we can be in too big a hurry to notice the person beside us. Most of us don’t live at the speed of walking but at vehicles 5 mph or more over whatever the speed limit is. Driving down a highway, we can see a wreck and feel no responsibility to stop. Our speed gives us distance from the problems of others. If we want a more compassionate world,  the answer is not more rules, regulations, ought-to lessons from your mother, or even sermons on the Good Samaritan, we simply need to slow down then we’ll see the stranger as our neighbor.

Nude Karaoke was the first sign I saw as I walked up Printers’ Alley in Nashville on my way to a bar where Etta and Bob were playing. I was a little stunned by the sign having never imagined such a thing, until then. “Don’t you want to come in?” said a slouched over man on a stool. He was wearing a once white t-shirt that also once fit. “This is a good place for a guy like you,” he said. I smiled wondering, ‘what did he mean, like me?’ He added his next sales pitch pointing to the door in case I was wondering how to go in, “We got nudes.” My uncontrollable imagination then gave me a brief image of a bar full of men identical to the man on the stool, naked and singing. “No, thanks,” I said walking onward. A few others spoke to me from different doorways inviting me to come in, but I did not stop and only walked faster remembering my destination. I am easily distracted. When we moved The Moment worship to a sanctuary in downtown Franklin, Tennessee, the noises from the nearby intersection brought a different set of distractions as we prepared our hearts and minds for worship. The most consistent noise was the automated crossing signals as they beep to let the visually impaired know it’s okay to cross. When it is not okay, there is a repetitive, “Wait.” “Wait.” “Wait.” Before our first service, I put up a sign by hammering poles and stakes into the ground. While hammering the first pole into the ground, I heard the voice saying, “Wait.” “Wait.” I thought it was God and so it took me a half an hour to get the first pole in the ground. Some distractions come into our lives challenging our inner peace but most distractions we choose. Some nude karaokees may be devilish temptations, or at least shocking distractions, but most are in essence, ‘good things’. As Jim Collins describes in Good to Great, often it’s good that can be the greatest barrier to great. Most life choices are not between good or bad but good and better. C.S. Lewis wrote The Screwtape Letters about a senior level demon writing to a lesser demon with advice on temptation. In one letter, he writes about how a simple distraction can tempt us away from significant moments.   I was once in charge of tempting a fellow who used to go into the British Museum to read. One day as he was sitting and reading, he had a train of thought that concerned me. The Spirit of God was at his elbow in a moment, before my eyes I could see twenty years of work on this fellow tottering on the brink. I had to think fast. I almost lost my head and tried to counter argue with the thoughts the Spirit was putting in his head. But I came up with a better plan. I struck out at the part of the man that was under my control. I invaded his mind with this suggestion, “Isn’t it about time to eat? Remember that little deli around the corner? Don’t they have a great roast beef? It will be much better to think about this with a fresh mind, after you get something to eat.” That was all it took.   List your distractions noting even the ‘good’ things which can draw you away from the ‘great’.

The Moment and other books by David W. Jones are available for free at Macland Presbyterian or for a small fee on Amazon. amazon.com/author/dwjones Previous Moment Practices can be found on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/welcometothemoment

I have difficulty accepting the world around me and letting anything be. I am easily distracted and noise can shatter my focus. My motto is “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with everyone and everything else.” My attempt at gaining peace is by trying to change the world and avoid my inner turmoil altogether. Even though it doesn’t work, I keep trying the same thing hoping for different results.  For example, early one morning our house contained sleeping parents and children until a horn woke us up. Apparently, a neighbor was being picked up by his carpool. Instead of going to the door, the driver just sat in the car and blew his horn, again, and again. I thought to myself, ‘I want to be Gandalf (the wizard from Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings).’ I waved my hands in small circles and hummed. “What are you doing?” Carrie asked me. “I am magically causing all the tires on their car to go flat,” I said. “Oh,” she said. The horn blew twice next door. I waved my hand again. “What now?” she asked. “I’m magically causing their horn to mute,” I said. The horn blew again. I swayed my whole body from side to side. “What are you doing now?” Carrie asked. “I’m causing the car to catch on fire so that the driver will run away, and all will be quiet,” I said. “How’s that working for you?” she asked. I then began waving my hands at her. “Shhhh,” I said. I often catch myself wanting power to control the world, to end all my frustrations by magically and even prayerfully changing current reality to calm my inner rage, yet, with little results. The Let it Be practice is aids our inner peace by letting the world around us be as is. (For another way of thinking about this, try the three buckets from Growing Leaders.)  https://growingleaders.com/content/uploads/2020/04/Habitude-Home-Chats-Three-Buckets.pdf

The Moment and other books by David W. Jones are available for free at Macland Presbyterian or for a small fee on Amazon. amazon.com/author/dwjones

And they left their nets and followed him. Matthew 4:20 To suggest that we might end prayers with, “Here I am” as opposed to, “Amen,” is ludicrous. Some might say, “But that’s the way we’ve always done it!” Or ask, “What’s wrong with saying, ‘Amen?’” There is nothing wrong with, “Amen.” There is nothing terrible about tradition as long as our past patterns don’t keep us out of our present moments. Consider this deep theological question, “Have you ever wondered why the most popular time for Church worship is 11:00?” There is no commandment in scripture where God commands, “Thou shalt worship me at 11:00.” The time was set to meet the schedule of dairy farmers so they could milk the cows in the morning, go to church, and then return to the farm for the evening milking. The 11:00 worship schedule is set and followed religiously still in order to meet the scheduling needs of the dairy cow. According to Alan Watts, “The great symbols of our culture are the rocket and the bulldozer.” Each is a conqueror of space. Since we cannot go too much farther in outer space in our era, and there is little land left to explore below the stars and above the oceans, we turn back to time. We try to conquer time by transforming time into another space which we refer to as the calendar and the ‘to-do list and fill every minute with as much ‘stuff’ every day making our schedules as tightly packed as our closets and our attics. To encounter God, we are called out to a place beyond our understandings of both time and space. Here is my version of an ancient story I heard from Alan Watts,   Once there was a fisherman. He cast his net into the water. After fishing for a while, he held up his net and looked through the squares and into the horizon. Off in the distance, he saw the mountain. He had been there when he was younger but found the mountain too difficult to climb. Now that he was older, there was something comforting about looking through his net at the mountain in the distance. What he could not climb, he reduced to what he could count and measure The mountain was six spaces across and four high. He took his net with him. Through the spaces, he measured and compared his hut to other huts. That night he had a disagreement with his son, he held up the net to see how many squares tall his son was. Others adopted his way of measuring and made similar grids putting space on parchment and then paper. Even time was transformed to space as days were given formal boundaries on calendars. Moments gave way to minutes and lives transformed to lists. In the midst of this objectifying of time and space walked a rabbi. He approached the shore and some fishermen casting their nets into the sea. “Follow me,” he called. They did. He had one initial requirement. They had to leave their nets behind.   What are your nets? Spaces you use to gain control of your life unaware they can become barriers to the call of God.   The Moment and other books by David W. Jones are available for free at Macland Presbyterian or for a small fee on Amazon. amazon.com/author/dwjones Previous Moment Practices can be found on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/welcometothemomentCopyright © 2020 Macland Presbyterian Church, All rights reserved. News from Macland Presbyterian Church Our mailing address is: Macland Presbyterian Church3615 Macland RoadPowder Springs, GA 30127 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

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Three perspectives on Holy Ground. For Malcom X it was Mecca. For Martin Luther King it was D.C., for the Prophet Isaiah it was the Middle East. Notice that all three visions all outsiders are brought in.

MALCOLM X on Mecca
Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced by people of all colors and races here in this ancient Holy Land, the home of Abraham, Muhammad and all the other Prophets of the Holy Scriptures. For the past week, I have been utterly speechless and spellbound by the graciousness I see displayed all around me by people of all colors.
“There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blondes to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never could exist between the white and non-white.”
“I could see from this, that perhaps if (WE) CAN accept the Oneness of God, then perhaps, too, they could accept in reality the Oneness of Man – and cease to measure, and hinder, and harm others in terms of their ‘differences’ in color.”
“Never have I been so highly honored. Never have I been made to feel more humble and unworthy. Who would believe the blessings that have been heaped upon an American Negro? A few nights ago, a man who would be called in America a white man, a United Nations diplomat, an ambassador, a companion of kings, gave me his hotel suite, his bed. Never would I have even thought of dreaming that I would ever be a recipient of such honors – honors that in America would be bestowed upon a King – not a Negro.”
… Because of the spiritual enlightenment which I was blessed to receive as the result of my recent pilgrimage to the Holy City of Mecca, I no longer subscribe to sweeping indictments of any one race. I am now striving to live the life of a true Sunni Muslim. I must repeat that I am not a racist nor do I subscribe to the tenets of racism. I can state in all sincerity that I wish nothing but freedom, justice and equality, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all people.”
(The preceding material was excerpted from The Autobiography of Malcolm X quoted in an article written by the Institute for Islamic Education.
 
Martin Luther King on The U.S.

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.
… one day right down in Alabama little Black boys and Black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. …

Isaiah 19 on Middle East
²³ On that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and the Assyrian will come into Egypt and the Egyptian into Assyria, and the Egyptians will serve with the Assyrians.

²⁴ On that day Israel will be the third party with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, ²⁵ whom the Lord of hosts has blessed, saying, “Blessed be Egypt my people and Assyria the work of my hands and Israel my heritage.”

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=2393716543979051

https://www.facebook.com/maclandpc/videos/339868282047868

World Communion Sunday is coming. On this special day, we envision a table and the world that is beyond our divisions and walls that separate us as expressed by poet Jan Richardson.

AND THE TABLE WILL BE WIDE
And the table
will be wide.
And the welcome
will be wide.
And the arms
will open wide
to gather us in.
And our hearts
will open wide
to receive.
And we will come
as children who trust
there is enough.
And we will come
unhindered and free.
And our aching
will be met
with bread.
And our sorrow
will be met
with wine.
And we will open our hands
to the feast
without shame.
And we will turn
toward each other
without fear.
And we will give up
our appetite
for despair.
And we will taste
and know
of delight.
And we will become bread
for a hungering world.
And we will become drink
for those who thirst.
And the blessed
will become the blessing.
And everywhere
will be the feast.

When I chose the artwork for the cover of the 2014 edition of The Psychology of Jesus, I picked this painting by Bartolome’ Esteban Murillo.

        To me the subject of the painting and the story it tells is obvious. To my surprise, even the most Biblically literate have not immediately recognized this story brought to art by Murillo. I even asked my son, “Who is in this painting?” Not knowing what to answer, he gave the answer most twelve-year-old pastor’s sons would offer, “God.” The painting’s subject matter is given away in the title, “The Return of The Prodigal.”  Painted later in his life, Murillo was part of the Brotherhood of Charity. The group felt that charity was the only activity that people could do which touched the heart of God and eternity. All accumulating, whether power, wealthy, or even knowledge was temporary and lost in death. They highlighted seven acts of charity and mercy. Besides, retelling the story of the prodigal, Murillo’s painting highlighted the act of clothing the naked visually clear in the large pile of clothes the servant holds for the son. 

Continue reading “The Way God is…”

   A man encountered Sophia at the market selling used books. As he searched through a pile, Sophia reached below the table, pulled out an old book with a ratty cover, and when certain no one was watching, whispered, “Try this one. It is a treasure.”
   The man bought it for a few pennies, took it home, read it, and to his surprise, on the inside back cover he found scribbled in tiny letters a few sentences, a brief description, about a magic stone that could turn anything it touched into pure gold. According to the book, the stone was lying somewhere on the shore of the Black Sea among a million other pebbles that looked just like it. The one difference was that the magic stone was warm to the touch whereas all others were cold.
   The man set up a tent on the shore and went to work. Each stone he picked up, if it was cold to the touch, he threw it far into the sea so that he wouldn’t keep picking up the same stones.
   Stone after stone, he picked each up, felt it, and hurled it deep into the water. Stone after stone…
   He worked a week, a month, ten months, a whole year, patiently feeling each stone and tossing it into the sea.
   Then, one evening, he picked up a pebble, and it was warm to the touch! Through sheer force of habit, he threw it far out into the water.

In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.  Leo Tolstoy

Travel with those who love a journey,
accompany those who enjoy adventure,
be a companion to those who laugh often.

 If you heart is like a house with no door,
how can you ever feel at home with anyone?
If your heart is open, you can be at home
with anyone, everywhere.

 The people of The Way are never lost
because they are always at home,
no matter where they are.

Be like eagles,
why care where your nest is,
when your home is the sky?

   In the summer of 1996, just before midnight, the youth and adults on our Mission Trip to Lexington, Kentucky were bunking down for sleep while I was out driving the church van around the same three blocks in what seemed to me a never-ending track of exhaustion. Cayla, a little over a year old, on her first mission trip, was in her car seat behind me slowly losing the battle between wake and sleep. She wouldn’t go to sleep in the church where we were staying, so I put her in the van and went hoping the driving wheels and the hum of the road would lull her to sleep. That was her first of many ‘mission trips’ to come. By age 12, she’d been on 13. As she graduated from high school, she planned a trip to Russia. In college, she coordinated projects for our Haiti partnership that will end up providing ongoing health care to thousands of children in Haiti. Now, she through her cap in the air and her gown aside after finishing Berry College and is off in Morocco with The Peace Corps.
   As parents, Carrie and I have worked very hard to make a home for our family. That’s what we do, as parents, we work to make a house a home not knowing that our children are conspiring against us all along. While we tell them, “Settle down!” making that our life’s goal, having found each other and settled down, our children are, year after year, with every birthday, cranking it up. No matter what age, as soon as you think you’ve mastered being a parent, they grow to a new stage in their development and your incompetence. I had always heard, “Give your children, roots and wings.” Well, guess what. The wings are far more powerful than the roots.
   I should have seen it coming with Cayla. She put on her backpack for school, but school wouldn’t be enough. She chose horseback riding as a hobby but going around in circles only satisfied her for so long. 
   Yes, I should have seen it coming. Every Sunday she heard me charge a congregation to go out in the world, that’s what we do as pastors. But congregations are expected to come back a week later (or at least next Christmas or Easter). Even so, every once in a while, you get someone who does more on a mission trip than get a small dose, they catch fire. Every once in a while , you get someone in church who actually listens to the gospels and the words of Jesus who says ‘build’ 11 times but ‘go’ 111 times. Look at church facilities and budgets, I think we reversed the ratio. Not Cayla. Even though we seldom preach about the Great Commission where Jesus tells his followers to descend the mountain and “Go into all the world,” apparently on those Sundays, she’s been listening.
   Looking back as full-time parent and part-time pastor in my daughter’s life, I guess I should warn you. Be careful if you come to worship on Sunday, the warm coals of your heart might catch fire – then, as Dr. Seuss says, “Oh, The Places You’ll Go.”