Always a Bridesmaid

2026-11-08 Mt 25 01-13 Always a Bridesmaid

So, last week, while getting a touch-up on my Botox treatments and collagen fillers… [yeah, right]

my style consultant offered me the kind of advice you can only get from a licensed aesthetician.

She said that even though the diamond-based moisturizers were doing a great job of making me LOOK mad youthful, that maybe I should DO something that I did, you know, back in the 1900’s. She said, “Looking young slaps, but FEELING young is fire.”

If I’ve learned anything in these 65 years, it’s that you should always listen to your looksmaxxer, even if you’re not sure what they’re saying. 

The scripture today, about Bridesmaids – the parable, not the movie – was the source material for the very first sermon I ever wrote, back when I was in seminary, riding my horse to class, and preaching by kerosine lamps. I dusted off the stone tablets, and share it with you now, in the hopes that it’ll bring all of us back to a youthful, childlike love of Jesus.

“Always a Bridesmaid”

My mother has blocked out the memory of exactly how many weeks premature I was born, she just remembers that I was.

Surprise!

I thus began my life by disregarding the people around me

(namely my mother),

and heading out into the world full of the one attribute which has become my birthright and my lifestyle: Impatience.

Luckily, I am not alone.

The best and the brightest minds in history have banded together to create a world where arms and legs have been replaced by the fingertip,

a world where the point and click is now a thousand times stronger than the clean and jerk.

Thanks to miraculous technology, what was once considered a character flaw – nay, a sin – has become the grand motivator, the driver of all society: impatience.

Move over Jesus. Impatience has taken the wheel. Impatience makes all the wheels spin.

And designing our conveniences to avoid impatience has been elevated to a fine art.

And the men – mostly men – who create these wonders have become like gods. And we, the worshipers, bent over our own devices.

I was thinking about this yesterday, when I did an emergency half-time run to our local convenience store.

They had two lines going because of the rush, both about the same length.

Predictably, I chose the slow one.

The people in front of me -- two women in dark sunglasses to conceal eye redness – were debating which cigarettes to buy.

I began to wonder what the heat lamp that warms the ham biscuits to the optimal temperature for growing bacteria was doing to my pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

(One of life’s cruel jokes – when a “convenience store” isn’t.)

It was around this point, perhaps because I was blankly staring at a deodorant stick, that I realized how most everything I own provides a second layer of added protection against my impatience.

We have a remote control that flips through 40 TV channels in 36.2 seconds.

We have a VCR that we can preset for decades, providing Y2K doesn’t wipe it out.

(Oh, were we ever that young?)

Our microwave has preset “quick-times,” so instead of having to manually punch in “2 - 0 - 0" minutes, we can just hit, “Popcorn" – and voila! Food-like substance arises.

Our telephone not only greets our calls with a very pleasant recording, it also lists the names of our top ten friends beside buttons for speed dialing their answering machines.

(Again, laughably antiquated.)

Our cars are electronically ignited.

Our banking is done by an instant teller.

Our spelling is checked by a computer,

and our pizza is guaranteed delivered in 30 minutes.

Life is so good.

I know I’m an impatient person.

These moments of checkout line lucidity do little more than confirm the obvious.

I hate to wait.

I have surrounded myself with gadgets, buttons, and services which save me from the pain of exertion,

and which I have come to call “mine” (as in “my” personal computer) – as if no one else has anything quite like them.

As if they have in subtle ways become extensions of myself.

Perish the thought that I might have become an extension of them.

It is not without some anxiety that I recall a famous television commercial and ask, “Am I really able to see myself in my dishes?”

It would be rather strange if I had heard a frustrated sigh behind me in that convenience store checkout line,

and had turned around to see five women in first century Jewish party dresses,

each clutching their own can of lighter fluid, tapping their feet, and rolling their eyes in impatience.

Strange, indeed.

But according to the scripture we read today, two thousand years ago the night manager of a Jerusalem 7-11 might have had his crossword puzzle interrupted by five impatient women bursting through his doors and yelling for butane.

As someone for whom “stocking up on food” means buying more microwave burritos,

as a person who kind of likes being able to drive to a money machine (four times a week),

I’m not certain I would want to rush to call these five women “foolish” as quickly as Jesus did.

I would prefer to see the situation as “taking reasoned advantage of the services offered by the market forces of supply and demand.”

Someone knew that people would forget to plan ahead, that they would need fuel to get themselves through a late night,

things like, lighter fluid, and slow-rotating hotdogs, and Slurpees,

so a place was invented where these things could be obtained: A store called “convenience.”

These so-called “foolish” women were just helping their capital trickle down.

This is the economic order.

But Jesus was talking about a different kind of order.

The parable of the wise and foolish maidens is found at the heart of the section of the Gospel According to Matthew in which Jesus teaches his disciples about those things which are to come.

The first time I read through this passage, it sounded as though Jesus was simply giving a warning to “stay prepared” for his second coming.

“Watch out!”

“Be ready!”

The warning here is undeniable.

The women who bring fuel for their lights can attend the wedding banquet with the bridegroom.

Those who are willing to wait for Christ will share in his glory.

But the parable cuts deeper than just a command to “watch out.”

Or a description of human impatience.

Jesus gives us a clue in the way he introduces the story.

This is not a parable about wise or foolish people, although they have their parts in the story.

This is a vision of the kingdom of heaven.

It’s a picture that shows how inconvenience is built into God’s divine order.

Inconvenience is built into God’s divine order.

Our Presbyterian church comes from a tradition that says God does indeed have a plan for the way things work.

God created the world and through Jesus Christ, God is calling that world home.

More than that, we believe Jesus Christ will someday return and the kingdom of God will be established in its fullness.

This is one of the things being said by the parable of the maidens:

a wedding feast has been announced.

Unfortunately, the schedule for this great banquet hasn’t been included in the invitations.

God says to RSVP, but doesn’t say when the party starts.

God apparently keeps a very different kind of calendar.

Just as our own impatience with life’s trivialities tends to mold and define who we are, so were ten maidens defined by the way they chose to deal with their inconvenience.

Foolish – Wise.

It all comes down to whether they brought enough fuel to get them through the night.

We aren’t told where it came from, but evidently, the fuel Christ was talking about can neither be borrowed nor bought.

The fuel is, by its very nature, inconvenient.

It’s personal, and hard to define.

If we look through the eyes of those around us, we can begin to see what this fuel looks like.

We can see how it looks in each other.

—

There’s been an argument in this house.

It began in the kitchen and spread into the living room and stopped cold, at the front door that was slammed shut.

The postscript of a car being shoved into reverse was the last the parents heard of their seventeen year-old son.

It had started as something about a party, or his kind of friends, or his homework.

Neither parent was really sure, it happened so fast.

They wanted to lash out at each other, but the anger just seemed to cut them off.

And now they wait in silence over cups of coffee, staring at the kitchen table.

The fuel that keeps them going is not convenient.

“It’s silly. You’re just being silly,” she thinks to herself as she carefully moves down the wide, tiled, disinfected hallway.

But the right front rubber foot piece came off her walker somewhere between the dining room and here, and she worries because the floor is getting scraped each time she takes a step.

Maybe just a little scratch, but somebody’s going to notice.

If she were the only one in the assisted living home she wouldn’t mind.

But there are other people to think of.

If she still lived at home, the scars wouldn’t matter.

Nor would the wobble in the walker.

But now, if she fell, everyone would know.

The fuel that takes her back to her room is not convenient.

Closed windows and locked doors made the farmhouse where these disciples were meeting unbearably hot.

Hours.

Hours they had been inside and nothing seemed to be working.

No one had any ideas.

No one among the men and women crowded together knew what was going to happen.

Any sound that wormed its way in from the world outside froze them in terror.

It might be the Roman guard.

For all they knew, the Romans were looking for them, too, and would gladly crucify them as they had their teacher.

Their Lord had been stolen.

Their hopes had been hung.

There was nothing left but each other.

What does the fuel for our lamps look like?

It looks like parents staring at the second hand of a kitchen clock, counting each of its stops.

It looks like an aging woman who walks the length of a nursing home corridor, balancing her walker on three legs.

It looks like the despondent disciples of a crucified Lord who wait for resolution to come in the form of Roman guards.

It looks like the extra bottle of oil for a lamp, tied to the belt of a bridesmaid.

In a world ticking away on God’s time, the night can be very long.

The wait can exhaust our patience.

God’s plan – not our calendars – and digital watches – and maps,

(maps! LOL)

but God’s divine order – requires us to carry reserves:

hope,

faith,

enough to get us through the night.

Whether we’re waiting for a second coming or hoping for just a brief glimpse of God’s love and grace,

we are asked to sacrifice our own conveniences.

Our hope is not seated in what happens today or tomorrow,

but in the desire to meet the bridegroom, to be able to light our torches and escort him into the wedding feast.

—

At the stroke of midnight, when the call went out, “Behold the bridegroom!”

all the maidens – wise and foolish alike – were found asleep, exhausted.

In that moment of alarm, there must have been terrible confusion, the kind that comes with waking up in a strange place and trying to figure out 

where one is

and what’s going on.

Turn on a light. Let’s see.

Even though we may grow impatient,

even though we may fall asleep,

even though God’s absence may be long, uncomfortable, inconvenient,

God has promised to wake us up.

“Behold! The bridegroom comes.” The bridegroom comes.”

“Behold! The bridegroom comes.”

God has promised to wake us up.

So, then, wake up you sleepyheads.

Wake up you who fall asleep waiting.

Wake up you who are bored, you who are lonely, you who are paralyzed by the fear of missing out.

The good news of Jesus’s gospel is contained in one brief wake-up call:

“Behold! The bridegroom comes.”

James McTyre

Business card: https://jamesmctyre.com

All Saints And All Ain'ts

2026-11-01 Rv 21 01-06a Mt 05 01-12 

All Saints and All Ain'ts

**Revelation 21:1-6**

New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home of God is among mortals.  

He will dwell with them;  

they will be his peoples,  

and God himself will be with them and be their God;  

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.  

Death will be no more;  

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,  

for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.

**Matthew 5:1-12**

New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he began to speak and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

---

Today is the day after Halloween. I won’t ask you to raise your hand if you went to a Halloween party last night, because if you did – you probably aren’t here.

And you might say, “Oh my. This satanic night filled with zombies and Disney Princesses is encroaching on  Christian decency.”

Fret not. Because even though Halloween spending is in the billions, and that’s just the cost of candy, Christmas spending is now into the trillions. So, praise the Lord, he’s still Number One. In the War on Halloween, Jesus is way ahead of the costumed devils. 

Fret even less because Halloween is actually a religious holiday. The name, Halloween, is a contraction of its original name, All Hallow’s Eve. All Hallow’s Eve is the night whose celebration was, originally, to prepare us for the more sober - and I mean that literally - more sober holiday this morning, today, All Saints’ Day. 

Here at Trinity, and there in churches all around the world, we emerge from the darkness of Hallow’s Eve to celebrate the dawning light of All Saints’.

Today we turn from the spooky mirth of Trunk or Treats – which, by the way, was a marvelous parking lot celebration, thank you Fellowship Committee – we turn our eyes toward heaven, remembering the hallowed saints of our lives. All Saints’ Day lifts our spirits, literally. It lifts our spirits to hold tight to the everlasting light of the men and women and children who were with us, who were nearly with us, who have mysteriously disappeared from us, and those who, by the grace of God are still with us – absent, present, or in the haze in between. These are OUR saints. This day is for honoring OUR personal saints. The people who have made our lives more hallowed, more holy. The people who, like God, have mercifully restored our spirits within us. They’ve given us meaning. Given us purpose. Given us love. They’ve directed us, prayed for us, watched over us like guardian angels. And if we’re lucky, we can name a few of them who are still living now, and will be with us for a brief while longer.

That’s not spooky. That’s holy. That’s hallowed. And thank God, we have this sacred day to focus our minds on the blessings on THIS side of the grave. We can name our saints, and we will be naming some of them aloud in a few minutes. But you don’t have to wait for the choir to sing and the bells to ring. You can start naming them now. In your head, in your heart, in your whispers. I’m certain some of you have already started.

This is not to say that all our saints are perfect. Some of them, honestly, are far less than human perfection. That’s the thing about saints. Some of them ain’t. Some aren’t so saintly. They may be saints, but they’re also sinners. Like us. Saints and ain’ts. That’s just the way we’re all made. But God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – loves us anyway. God says it’s OK to love our saints in spite of themselves. To love them warts and all. Because warts and scars give them, and give us, beautiful oddity, lovely distinction, visible marks of honesty and truth that remind us. Remind us that though we may be far less than perfection, we’re all redeemable, we’re all worthy of saving, we’re all worth keeping alive a few days more, worthy of being named and claimed – in our hearts and in our minds, and in our souls.

And so, a blessed All Saints’ Day for all of us, and for all of our saints, and even for some of our ain’ts.

—

Every All Saints’ Day we start with a reading from Revelation. Revelation is – in my opinion – intentionally impossible to understand. Not because it’s supposed to be confusing, and it is. Mission accomplished. But because it speaks of things that are simply beyond human understanding. We can’t see the future. We can’t know the mind of God. Because that’s above our biology and our pay grade. 

What Revelation does give us is a mystical, spooky vision of what the future holds. And what does this wild dream of the future hold for us?

It speaks of a new heaven and a new earth. Can you imagine? A new cosmos. A new reality. Our current reality is pretty far beyond my pitiful brain. And I’ll bet it’s beyond yours, too.

We don’t know how the new heaven and the new earth will be, or look, or when it’ll land. But the Bible’s dream, God’s promise, is whenever and whatever it is, it will be a realm where:

the home of God is among mortals.  

He will dwell with them;  

they will be his peoples,  

and God himself will be with them and be their God;  

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.  

Death will be no more;  

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,  

for the first things have passed away.”

I think what that means is that this world – haunted and enchanted as it may be – is version 1.0. God has a new version in the works. And it will be a place where even if there are tears, God’s fingers will touch our cheeks and wipe them away. It will be a place where death, and mourning, and crying, and pain are – literally – out of this world. Erased. Deleted. Forgotten.

What a wonderful world that will be. Whatever else that means, it means hope. As we say at funerals, it means hope for things yet to come. Hope for glad reunion. Hope for an everlasting Lord’s Supper at a table that has no edges. 

It means that even though the saints, our saints, may no longer be with us – it means we, in the reality of hope, will surely and certainly be with them. Together. In this new heaven. This new earth. This promised reunion of love.

So, later today, in our service and in our hearts, when we name our saints, they can and they will – in a blessed instant of heavenly vision – become alive within us. Alive within us. Alive within God. God Emmanuel, who is with us always, today, and every day.

This is true in church. And it’s true in ghosted graveyards. In the memorial gardens. In the seas rolling with sprinkled dust of that which remains. In the holy neonatal units. In the hospice rooms. In all the places where the breath of those who were becomes the shared gentle breeze of heartfelt hope. These saints still fill our lungs and lift our aching hearts. They whisper to us, saying, hope. Saying, life. Saying hold on. Hold on. Because this is not the end.

—

The other scripture we always read on All Saints’ is from Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount. The Beatitudes. The blessings of beauty upon this broken and imperfect world. Remember, it’s just the first version. You can’t expect it to be one hundred percent.

Blessed are the poor. 

Blessed are the mourners.

Blessed are the meek, the frightened, the afraid.

Blessed are the ones whose voices have been taken from them by the world’s sharp edges.

Blessed are the ones who are hungering, who are thirsting, who are begging for righteousness. The ones who dream of a fair break. The ones who taste only the burnt, crusted ends of the supposed feast of life.

In other words, not only all the saints, but also all the “ain’ts.” The ones who ain’t got the good stuff. The ones who for whatever reason, steal the good stuff out of the hands of the meek, the hungry, the suffering.

Blessed are the ain’ts. Not because they deserve a break. But because they simply don’t understand how good the goodness can be.

Sometimes you’ll go to a funeral, and when you’re leaving, you’ll wonder, “Did I go to the right place?” “Was the preacher really describing the person I thought I knew?” “Did I miss all the flowery good stuff?” 

As a preacher, I have to say that sometimes we’re among the ain’ts. We ain’t got the honesty, or the courage, to say what everybody’s thinking. So we throw a blanket over the darkness. The blanket covers the shape that doesn’t need to be named. The darkness is still there. The ain’ts are gone.

What I think Jesus is saying in his sermon is that in the end, as it says in the Gospel According to John, “the light shines.” “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.” What I think Jesus is saying is that even though this life can be ghastly, can be cruel, can be downright evil – even though all of this may be true, God’s blessings are just as true. God’s blessings upon the wounds of life will turn them into scars. God’s blessings upon the scars of life will make them stronger. The scars will make us stronger. Strong enough to forgive even if we can’t forget. Strong enough to walk away from whatever ain’t. To walk toward that which is.

Jesus says, “Blessed are.” “Blessed are.” “Blessed are.” Blessed are the ones without the blessings they deserve, the empty pockets of the blessings they should have shared. Because in Jesus’s new earth, they’ll get it. They’ll get not what they deserve. Instead, they’ll get what they don’t deserve. They’ll get blessings. And the strength of these blessings are stronger than any scars. The blessings get the final say. God’s blessings get the final say in this life as well as the next.

—

The darkness of All Hallows Eve slowly dawns into the hallowing light of All Saints’. As you hear the music of this day, don’t just look. Close your eyes and listen for the light. 

As you hear the names of our church’s saints read aloud, as you hear the bells chime, don’t be afraid to whisper the names of your saints. Speak the names of the saints that you’re missing today. Maybe death has taken them from you. Maybe the world, maybe stubbornness, maybe anger, maybe the distance of time has separated you from them. Name your saints, the ones you wish were with you. Because, by mysteries of God beyond our understanding, I believe, they can hear you. Forgive them for their absence if you can. But even if you can’t forgive them, forgive yourself, forgive your debts, your trespasses, your oughts, your mistakes. Whatever sins you may have done, whatever things you’ve left undone.

And then, give thanks. Give thanks for the lives of the saints who have loved you, ain’ts who have hurt you. Give thanks for All the Saints who can finally and forever shine this new day, this preview of a new heaven and a new earth. Give thanks for the hope of the time when, as scripture promises, we all can shine,

And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

Amen, and amen.

[eos]

James McTyre

Business card: https://jamesmctyre.com

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