Nice Calf; What's Its Name?

2026-10-11 Ex 32 01-14 Mt 22 01-14 Nice Calf What’s Its Name

Nice Calf; What’s Its Name?

I’m told that beef farmers don’t name their livestock. They give them numbers. And that’s good because If you had a big ranch, you’d never learn all the employees’ names. And, not to be prejudiced, but they really do all look alike. To us. 

Farmers also don’t give them names so they don’t get attached. Because, you know, “Beef. It’s what’s for dinner.” You don’t want your mom saying, “And here’s sweet little Billy-bob! He sure was a chunky one. Bon appetit!” 

One of the things you notice about the story of the Golden Calf is that the Calf never gets named. Why do you think that is? 

Naming your Golden Calf. We all have them. And we’re pretty attached. It takes a shakeup to get us to recognize them. Maybe even takes an invitation from God.

—

It has been such a week. I’m so grateful to see you here today. Last week reminded me how much I need you. We all need people around us. People who care about us. People we can name. We need our herd.

I live by myself in an apartment a couple of miles from here. Most of last week, it was just me and my dog. Bandit’s great company, but he’s 13, so he sleeps most of the time. I felt very alone. I know it was only a few days, but after just a couple of hours of hurricane darkness, it felt like forever. 

You know how it was. No phones, no lights, no motorcar trips. Barely a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, it felt primitive as can be. Even sending texts was like communicating with astronauts. You’d send a message, and wait 20 minutes for a reply. 

And I know. Compared to Hurricane Ivan, compared to Katrina, compared to what people in other neighborhoods and cities were going through, Isaias was a brief and minor inconvenience. Yes, I had to suffer through digging cold Chef Boyardee from a can. But at least I had processed food-like substances and bottled water. My family and my church were checking on me. I knew I would be OK.

But even as things returned to normal, later in the week, I knew something wasn’t right. I was forgetting things. Forgetting names. Misplacing my keys that I had in my hand a few minutes before. And then when I got back to work, I was on a hair trigger, ready to get angry over silly things. I was disoriented.

Disoriented.

Anybody else been feeling disoriented?

Hurricanes are disorienting. Storms are disorienting. Having our normal pulled away from us is disorienting. Our Golden Calves may not be God, but they give us direction. And when they’re gone, they take God with them.

–

Moses was up on the mountain, talking to God, for forty days. Meanwhile, his brother Aaron had to be the Interim pastor. The Israelites were disoriented. Moses had disappeared. I wonder if they were starting to forget his name. They were impatient. Angry. Ready to go off on anyone. Literally, losing their religion.

So Aaron made them a Golden Calf. A substitute God. Something just like the gods of their past, the golden bulls of Egypt. The gods of their slavery. Something to make them feel great again. They knew it was wrong. But it gave them a sense of normal. It made the world feel familiar. Comfortable. 

Last week, my own disorientation got me to wondering, what are my Golden Calves? What’s your Golden Calf? What substitutes for God do we call up when storms, and change, and loneliness, and stress, and cans of mystery meat turn our three hour tours, turn our three days without power and air conditioning and internet into a state of confusion? What gods do we call to when the world gets blown away?

—

Meanwhile, in the New Testament, Jesus tells a parable about a king with his own beef. Several beefs. The king says:

Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ 

And… the party’s a bust. This nameless king serves up his nameless calves, and these nameless guests don’t even name a good excuse. They ghost the invite, send it to voicemail, and go on tending their own favorite sacred cows of life. It says:

But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them.

Golden calves can tell you to do funny things.

—

We live in a world FILLED with golden calves and sacred cows. There are so many. We can barely count them, much less keep up with all the names. And – there are always newer versions. This week’s shiny new upgrade. This week’s savior. 

They’re on the news. They’re in the commercials. They’re on sale at Target. Every day we’re promised better. Better candidates. Better protectors. Better distractions. They look golden, until they’re not. It makes us mad. It makes us angry at people and tools and toys who don’t do what we want. When we want. The ones we find disagreeable. When our lanes are blocked. When our fences are broken. It’s just so… disorienting. 

But like Aaron, we’re crafty with those beasts. We can melt our own, thank you very much. We can form them. Order them on Amazon. We can dance around them. We can worship them. New and improved stuff, new and improved people. Better looking ones, thinner, smarter ones, who this time won’t leave us stranded.

And – like the people in Jesus’s parable – we can be so consumed by our own Frankensteins, our own diversions, our American idols – so infatuated with them that we ignore the real meat.

Nice calf you’ve got there. What’s its name? That’s the difference between real livestock and the golden ones. Once you see the idols as idols – once you give the idol a name – you can start to let it go. And then you can start to worship the God who Is, not the substitute who isn’t.

—

The parable Jesus told was brutal. The sin of the people in the parable. What was it? 

The king sent not one but two invitations. And they ignored them all. They laughed at the invites. 

They went back to their jobs and their busyness. Just like before. They killed the messengers. They didn’t answer the call. Why? Because they loved their idols – whatever they were – and really, really disliked change. How many of God’s invitations have you turned down? How many DO you turn down? Turn them down because they require you to change, to re-orient?

How do you think God feels? According to the Bible, it makes God angry. Very, very angry. And you won’t like God when he’s angry. God smash.

God smash and Moses melt. Moses melts down the calf and makes the Israelites drink the molten soup. Swallow that.

But that’s not where the story ends. The cruelty is not the point. In the last verse it says: 

“And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.” 

“And the Lord changed his mind...”

Did you catch that?

The Lord changed his mind.

The final word in the story is: The Lord changed his mind.

God decided to divert the storm of his anger. And do something new. Something better.

If God’s mind can change, what about yours?

—

Every church has its golden years. Remember the good-old days? Lightshine? Logos? I hear they were great. I don’t want to step on your sacred cows, but I don’t want you to trip over them, either. Because if you try to live today by reheating the past, that liquid gold will burn you on the way down.

Trinity Presbyterian Church (USA) of Pensacola, Florida: God is calling you by name – calling YOU to a rich, new banquet. After this storm, Isaias – which literally means, ironically – God saves – today, now, your God is calling you to a brand new chapter in your life together as a congregation. God is inviting each and every one of you, calling all of us – by name – to a banquet of salvation together, just like in the parable. 

As you – Trinity – as you rise on your way to a new feast, do not let your Golden calves block your way. Find a closet for them in the Narthex. Put them on the rack in the Rummage Sale. Do NOT – DO NOT – put them in Wendy’s office. Y’all keep bringing her stuff you know she doesn’t want. Just sayin.

Give thanks for the sacred memories of your church past. Celebrate them. Pour cream of mushroom soup on them, top them with corn flakes, and bake them into a golden casserole worthy of a feast.

But be careful. Idols of old are hard to digest.

—

So, after this past week, pause a minute. 

Ask yourself: 

What sacred cows keep you stable?

Which ones keep you frozen?

Frozen in time?

Frozen in opinions?

Frozen in habits?

Frozen thinking we can’t live without them?

Truth be told: We all have our Golden Calves and Sacred Cows. If we’re honest with ourselves, we see them. We know their names. We do. And that’s good. 

Use their names.

Call them over.

Give them a good pat on the head.

And set them free.

Let the storms you’ve come through reorient you – let them redirect you to what’s sacred now, to what’s sacred today, to the true gifts of God that are always left standing, once all the idols get washed away.

[EOS]

James McTyre

Business card: https://jamesmctyre.com

After The Storm

2026-10-11 1Ki 19 11-31 After the Hurricane

11 He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake, 12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13 When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

This was not the sermon I had written for today. Funny how plans change. Things you don’t anticipate seem to arise out of nowhere. Your plans, your hopes – they may not be gone, but they’re delayed. And there’s nothing you can do about that.

We almost made it through hurricane season this year. Seemed amazing. Lucky. Some would say, divine providence. I actually had a couple of church members tell me, “We hate that you’re going to make it out of here without the true Pensacola storm experience.” Your hatred paid off. Thanks so much. You didn’t have to do that. Not only did you get me a storm, you got one I’m still not sure how to pronounce. You even got Jim Cantore. Woo.

It reminds me of the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, make plans.” One of the things I really believe, something I think I said my first Sunday here, is that God’s standard operating procedure always involves surprise. Not because God’s a trickster. Not because God likes jumping out from behind the sofa yelling, “Surprise!” Like it’s a party, planned just for us. God surprises us because God is God. And we’re not. It’s more like it says in Isaiah 55: 

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Which means to us that God’s always going to be surprising. God’s always going to do things differently than we’d expect. Because we’re just people. We’re the clay and God’s the potter. The wheel spins, the world turns, and we can’t predict what’s next. Even with Doppler radar. Even with Artificial Intelligence. Even with psychics and Ouija boards and your Aunt Louise’s bunions. We just don’t know what’s coming. And even if we can predict what’s coming in, say, the weather, we can never say for sure what’s coming next. We can prepare. But we can’t pick the outcome.

What I do expect is that along the Gulf Coast today, there are a lot of preachers who have picked the same passage I have: 1 Kings 19. It’s about Elijah. Elijah’s a prophet on the run. Wicked Queen Jezebel is out to kill him, because that’s what dictators do to prophets who speak the truth about them. If you can’t change the prophesy, dispose of the prophet.

So, Elijah headed for the high hills. 40 days and 40 nights, just like Moses did on Mount Sinai. Elijah was ready to quit his job. He was sure that if Jezebel didn’t get him, the people would, because his ratings were in the toilet. But then, something he never expected surprised him.

The Word of the Lord spoke to him. Told him to go out of his hidey-hole, out of the cave where he’d been hiding. Told him to go stand on the mountaintop, exposed to all the elements. 

[The Voice] said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” 

God predicted what God was going to do. 

Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake, and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.

And then.

After the great wind, so strong it was splitting mountains.

After the earthquake.

After the fire.

After all the natural disasters, there was the sound of sheer silence.

Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

I don’t know how many of you saw the sunset last Thursday night. I have never, ever seen such a sight. The sky lit up like it was on fire. As far as you could see, the red sky at night was no sailor’s delight. It was a sign. A sign that something wicked was on its way. It was beautiful. Too beautiful for anyone to ignore.

But God was not in the fire.

And then there was wind. There was wind. And there was rain. There was the sound that sounded like the earth was shaking, splitting open. Throwing everything not tied down. The floods came. The surge pushed on homes, cars, businesses. And people.

But God was not in any of that.

Where was God in the hurricane?

Was God in the hurricane?

Something I’ve heard of, but until now hadn’t experienced, was the legendary “calm after the storm.” I don’t know if things were really so calm. But the wind stopped howling, the branches stopped scraping the house, the rain stopped hammering. The earth paused, stilled, and caught its breath. It felt like the sound of sheer silence. The still, small voice that speaks to us in the palpable, visceral absence.

It’s like God sees us, puts a finger under our chin, and lifts us from darkness, whispering: “Surprise.”

Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Asking us, “What are you going to do? Now?”

Yesterday morning, I got out early to drive to the church and see how the building fared. I had to weave around the downed trees. I made my way under power lines. I rolled down the window and talked to others surveying the damage. As the city awoke, you could hear the churning generators, the ripping of chainsaws, the line trucks in caravan. But, then, the noise passed. Mainly, it was quiet.

And then you and friends from faraway started texting. We checked on each other. A “Thumbs Up” emoji was worth a thousand words.

Pensacola was lucky. This was no Ivan. Isaias (another “I” hurricane) was mean but not brutal. I suspect in a few days, the cleanup will carry on, and life will get back to normal.

I don’t believe God sends natural disasters to punish us. But I do believe God sends silence to confront us. Like Elijah, God puts the question to us:

“What are you doing here?”

Asking us, “What are you going to do? Now?”

What is the silence whispering to you? 

How is it surprising you in the absence of the whirlwind?

I hope that today and in the weeks to come, you’ll remember the gift of silence God sends after all the fury is over.

Text a friend. Call an acquaintance. Surprise someone with your presence, your small but enduring voice. I hope you’ll find your own answer to God’s question, “What are you doing here? Today?” 

James McTyre www.jamesmctyre.com

World Communion Sunday*

World Communion Sunday*

Matthew 21:33–46 · October 4, 2026

Matthew 21:33-46

Betrayal. Theft. Murder. Real estate. 

If I asked you what these have in common, you might say, last week’s episode of Landman. Or your favorite true crime podcast. Or an average newsday in South Florida.

I doubt your first answer would be, The Bible. Even more doubtful would be a parable by Our Sweet Jesus. And yet, here we are – assigned this reading on this day for reasons known only to God and the Revised Common Lectionary.

I wish I was skilled enough to seamlessly tie betrayal, murder, etc. to Stewardship Dedication, World Communion, and a presentation by our African missionaries. Frank could probably have pulled that off. I’m just an Interim Pastor.

Plus, if you notice, there’s an asterisk on today’s sermon title. The fine print on the back of the bulletin says, “Items subject to change.”

Aren’t we all? Subject to change? Subject to crimes? Like the landman in the parable?

You never know you’ve been a victim of crime until after the fact. If you can’t prevent it, the best you can do is clean it up.

I think that’s the greater point of Jesus’s spicy little parable: Do the cleanup. Manage the damage. Watch your asterisks. Because more often than not, that’s where we find God.

—

It happened again last week. I – or rather, you – were victims of a church-related cybercrime. Someone posing as me emailed the lot of you. Wendy and I spent a day doing cleanup. We posted warnings. We answered confused and occasionally angry phone calls and texts. 

This is now a common scam perpetrated against churches. Someone or some AI gets its claws on the church directory and impersonates the preacher. It makes me so mad. Like the landowner, I also would like to put those wretches to a miserable death or at least take their computers away. It’s betrayal, theft, and internet real estate fraud. See? The Bible does speak to us today. 

Basically, if you get an email from me, ignore it. Some people do that already. Fine. Don’t open it. Don’t click on it. Don’t reply to it. What gets me fuming is that I’m not the real target; you are. Do not mess with my people.

—

And I think that’s like what Jesus was saying in his parable. Except instead of his people, he was saying, “Do not mess with my God. Do not mess with my people. Or, as they said in The Wire: “If you come for the King, you best not miss.”

So Jesus says in verse 43: “Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces its fruits.”

“The one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces, and it will crush anyone on whom it falls.”

That doesn’t sound like sweet baby Jesus, meek and mild. 

What happened?

This parable was written down in the Gospel According to Matthew. It was written years after Jesus had been crucified and risen. But even then, the early church was still in cleanup mode. The church people were trying to figure out what Jesus meant in all his parabolic stories. What did the Resurrection really mean? They didn’t yet see the big picture.

They were searching for the footnote at the bottom of their bulletins. Asking: “What does all this mean? To us? And what does it mean for the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven?”

–

Matthew says the people regarded Jesus as a prophet. This they got. But they had to put an asterisk on that. They knew he was more than a prophet, but what, exactly? They were searching for clues at the scene of the crime, piecing together the mystery of faith. What did Jesus mean in these puzzling parables? What was he really saying in these shocking sermons? These things like, “The meek shall inherit the earth?” Things like, “Blessed are the poor, the hungry, the weeping.” 

How does it add up?

2000 years later, we’re still asking the same questions. Still trying to put the pieces in place. We’re searching for the footnotes at the bottom of our bulletins. What is Jesus saying to us, today? What do WE put after the asterisk?

—

What we share – what we share in faith – what we share with each other. These may not be the whole answer. Because there’s always more to come. 

Sharing Communion not just with each other but with churches all around the world. Sharing seats at one, infinitely long table. 

Sharing our money with each other, with the church. Investing our gifts, whatever they might be – investing in a future for our congregation, making pledges of funds and prayers for missionaries and ambassadors of faith all around the world. 

Things like World Communion. Like Generosity campaigns. What we share is what follows the asterisks. And what we offer is always subject to change, always inspired to grow. 

Whenever we’re not wasting our talents in miserable acts of betrayal, theft, murder, and fraud. When our sins decrease, the love of Christ is set free to fill the vacuum. 

Those on whom the stone doesn’t fall… we who stand on the Rock of our salvation instead of beating people over the head with it… we who share good news instead of throwing it like a weapon. When we step beyond our anger and boldly walk into an earth as it is in heaven – that’s when we start to figure out what’s yet to come. 

And it’s not death. It’s life. Life beyond our schemes. Life beyond victimhood. 

How exactly will this new life look? 

That’s for us to discover. That’s for us to find in this adventure of life. This journey our Savior calls us toward, saying, simply, “Follow me.”

“Follow me. Let’s see how far we can go together.”

[EOS] 

James McTyre www.jamesmctyre.com

Early Adopters and New Arrivals

Matthew 20:1–16

September 20, 2026

Sermon

Way back in 1981 —

Which I still think of as 20 years ago

Barbara Mandrell had a hit song, /

"I Was Country When Country Wasn't Cool." ///

Barbara was a very early adopter. /

You might be, too. /

But now you’re a Golden Oldie

but you were there first. /

You can still hear the ker-klunk, / ker-klunk

of the 8-track

before it ate the tape. /

Good times. ///

I did some early adopting, too. /

I was into prog rock

before prog rock was cool. ///

In the golden year of 1974, /

I was the proud owner of the very first album by Rush

right when it came out. /

Working Man. /

Back when John Rutsey was still on drums. ///

I even saw Rush in concert

when they were the opening act for a band called, /

KISS. ///

You just can't get entertainment like that anymore.

Except for their expensive reunion tour. /

Maybe you prefer Taylor Swift? /

Ha. /

My "era" was the best. ///

But isn’t that what everyone says?

I was an Early Adopter.

But now I’m an oldie.

I was first. But now I’m last. ///

Wouldn’t it be great to be first again?

We may want to talk to the Manager -

or a good aesthetician - about that.

—

Some of you are new to Presbyterian, new to church in general.

I've been a Presbyterian from birth. /

I was Presbyterian when Presbyterian wasn't…. ///

OK, /

I don't know if Presbyterian has ever been cool. /

But I adopted it, /

or it adopted me at birth. ///

There's a special buzz that goes with being an early adopter. /

There's pride in knowing your good taste, /

your beliefs, /

your foresight got you ahead of the pack. /

Others may follow. /

But you were first. /

Rock on. ///

The scripture today, /

Matthew 20:1-16, /

was written for people who were Christian

before Christian was cool. /

The ones who were The First. ///

But wait. /

Flip the parable over, /

and it's also for the noobies. /

The youngsters who had no right to wear the T-shirt

as if they'd seen Jesus back in the day. ///

Jesus gets it all mixed up.

As Barry White used to sing:

My First, My Last, My Everything.

—

Look around, right here. 

Open the doors, and see all these people in church now, /

Over there, those are the first, /

The ones who were here pre- Frank Beall era.

And then look there – the ones who joined the church two weeks ago, and are already having babies.

Church was and is a mixed up place.

There are the first and the last. /

The earlies, / and the latelys. ///

There are the veterans of days gone by, /

The ones who have served with honor, /

given their lives for these places.

Baked so many casseroles.

Sung so many anthems.

Worked so many Rummage Sales. /

And there are the new recruits. /

The ones who don't even know what PW stands for. /

They see stained glass of Jesus holding a lamb and ask, /

"Who's the bearded guy with the puppy?" ///

The answer is Jesus. /

Like in Children's Sermon: /

the right answer is always Jesus. ///

Gray-hairs like me,

We’ve been around the block so many times

we can walk the halls with our eyes closed, /

and sometimes do. ///

Then there are these upstart teenagers

who go to Dogwood Acres, or Montreat, / once, /

and think they know everything. /

"Let's change it all!" ///

And there are those of us who quote 

the Seven Sacred Words, /

"We've never done it that way before." ///

"We tried that in 1974 /

and I think we all remember

how THAT turned out." ///

Just like the workers in the vineyard, /

there are saints who started at sunrise. /

Built the place with their bare hands. /

Paid for the steeple. ///

But there are also new startups, /

the ones who drove past on their way to the mall. /

People who saw our brand-new website which debuted last week on that World Wide Web /

"My goodness their Internet presence is astounding. /

Let's give that Trinity church a shot. /

They're Presbyterians. Sounds cool." ///

That's the thing about being part of an organization

where the first and the last, /

the old and the new, /

the founders and the fledgelings, /

the early adopters and the latest adoptees —

that's the thing about a place 

where they're allegedly all equal. /

A place where they all get mixed together:

Things can get mixed up, for good and for bad. ///

As Jesus taught, /

as Moses found out —

you mix the old and the new, /

you take people to a new place,

when they're used to the old ways —

even if the food is good —

there's gonna be grumbling. ///

Because change is hard. /

But maybe that's Jesus's plan. ///

Your first, your last, your everything 

get flipped like 45’s -- side A, side B, /

Get shaken, get stirred 

by the winds of the Holy Spirit 

enough —

sometimes, / sometimes —

you're not just a record: you become a church. ///

A church where Jesus mixes us up

and makes everything, /

and everyone… /

better. ///

The early adopters and the new arrivals.

Singing their same old songs, singing brand-new ones.

Or just good ones. ///

—

Jesus tells a story about workers and management. /

And the moral to his story is: ///

The last shall be first and the first shall be last.

What kind of a nutty HR policy is THAT?? ///

When I worked at Texas Instruments, /

we all had our clip-on name badges, /

with our picture, /

in case we became confused. ///

The badges were color-coded. /

Red, / blue, / yellow, / silver, / gold —

depending on how long you'd worked there. /

25 years or more, / you had a gold badge. /

Gold meant you were there in the startup days. /

You were a god. ///

New hire badges were red. /

Redbadges. ///

It reminded us of Star Trek. /

Of course it did. /

We were all nerds. /

"Rock, / paper, / scissors, / Spock." ///

In the original Star Trek, / still the best, /

they had Red Shirts. /

And you did not want to be a Redshirt. ///

Redshirts might beam down to a planet, /

but they were not beaming back up. /

Redshirts were always collateral damage 

for aliens in rubber suits. /

It was canon. /

Last in the credits, /

first to leave the episode. ///

In the real world, we have an employment saying: /

"Last hired is first fired." /

But apparently nobody told Jesus. ///

The landowner in his parable demolished the seniority system. /

And, / the workers in the vineyard united. ///

"What do you mean, /

the first shall be last

and the last shall be first? /

We've got gold badges. /

Our salaries should reflect that. /

We're not redshirts. /

We're not new hires. /

We're the workers who built the means of production. /

Pay us what we deserve, / Comrade." ///

But that's not the way Jesus tells it. ///

—

The first job of Matthew's Gospel

is spreading the good news of Jesus Christ. /

But look closely and you'll see

it's also kind of a Manual of Operations

for the early church. ///

Instead of 100 color-coded sub-paragraphs

like our admin manuals have, /

Matthew uses stories that people actually remember. /

For this new kind of organization they called, /

"church." ///

This weird place where early adopters and redshirts came together, /

to figure out this strange new world. /

Just like Captain Kirk. /

Just like Moses and the formerly enslaved Israelites

had to learn how to live together

in the wilderness of their own freedom. ///

They asked:

What are the membership requirements? /

What days are your Sabbath? /

What about sick leave? /

How do you reserve a meeting room? ///

We are not the first, /

nor will we be the last, /

to wrestle with these angels, /

these demons of spiritual insecurity. ///

These are birth pains. /

These are living pains. /

First become last and last become first enough /

Shake it up – shake it off –

Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,

and — / sometimes —

a church falls out. ///

—

OK, / hang on.

This sounds like a digression, but bear with me. /

I will get back to the Bible. /

And Trinity Presbyterian Church. /

But first, /

let me say 

that personally, /

I don't think the transfer portal

is a good thing for college football. ///

Back in MY day, /

when I was playing football -- on my ColecoVision

players weren't paid (above the table), /

and you picked a college —

for its stellar academics —

and you stayed there for four years, /

longer if you did grad school, /

like Peyton. ///

And you knew where your school stood. /

Especially when Bobby Bowden was coach.

A-number-one, king of the hill, top of the heap.

But nowadays — /

Indiana? /

Indiana? ///

Talk about your last becoming first. ///

We read Jesus's line about first and last

and we think of it as a ranking. /

Because everything's about competition. ///

"If you ain't first, you're last," /

Saint Ricky Bobby. ///

But the church Matthew — / and Jesus — describe

has nothing — /

NOTHING —

to do with competition. ///

You read the Sermon on the Mount

where blessed are the poor

and the meek inherit the earth —

competition doesn't begin to enter the picture. ///

It’s all flipped.

In the Bible, /

the church, / the world, /

is just all mixed up. /

In a good way. ///

In the Bible, /

church is the place where the oldies and the newbies

are all part of the same secret sauce. ///

And no secret, /

we all get mixed together —

first and last, / last and first. /

Which one are we? /

I don’t think Jesus really cares. ///

The starter for the Bread of Life has been around forever. /

But it's always baked in a new atmosphere, /

with new salts of the earth, /

pressed into shape by hands young and old, /

Some nimble, some arthritic, /

Some calloused and some smooth. ///

—

In the parable, /

the workers aren't, like, /

"Oh yes, / thank you, sir. /

Now I see the point of divine generosity

and faith-based egalitarianism." ///

The workers argue. /

They look down their noses at each other. /

They protest the company's policies. ///

And I can just see Jesus with his hand on his forehead, /

shaking his head, / saying, /

"Here we go… / again." ///

Moses can vouch for it. /

Whenever there's change, / there's grumbling. /

Often about the food. /

"What is this stuff?"

Exactly. It's manna. which means, "What is it?"

You'll eat what God gives you. And you'll like it.

Welcome to the human race. /

AKA, / the rat race. /

AKA, / the races we run

Racing strangers, 

Running against even the people we love. ///

Trinity Presbyterian Church (USA)

is in a time of transition. /

There's a lot of new going on.

There’s a lot of new coming soon. ///

I think Jesus would say to y’all:

Remember.

Remember you're not racing against each other. /

You're racing with each other. /

Nobody wins until we all cross the finish line. ///

—

In the parable, /

at the end of the day, /

everybody gets the same payoff. /

The early adopters and the latest adoptees

They all get the same wages. ///

They knew that’s not fair, / 

and we know, / that's not fair. /

It's NOT fair. ///

You know what it is? 

It's church. ///

As followers of Jesus Christ, /

it's not our job to be merit-based. /

It's our job to share. ///

Share how much? /

Jesus said, /

"Share Everything." ///

I know that's not the way the economy works. /

It's our job as Christians to live in a different economy. /

The economy of the Kingdom of God, /

where at the end of the day

You can’t tell the Mandrells from the Tame Impalas

Can’t tell the founders 

from the immigrants fresh off the boat,

Who just popped in through the portal, ///

It’s our job as Christ’s workers to build a playlist

Where the last are the first. ///

And the first are the last

To build a church where everybody can sing along, and be cool, with Jesus. ///