The Sin of Being a Smartypants (and an exceedingly excellent driver)

The Sin of Being a Smartypants
Romans 12:1–8
August 23, 2026
Sermon
"I say to everyone among you
not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think,
but to think with sober judgment,
each according to the measure of faith
that God has assigned."

What is your opinion of yourself? /
How would you rate your service? /
Five-star? /
One-star? /
Worthy of a tip? ///

OK, / now: /
What is your opinion of your faith? /
How many stars, / there? /
Would Jesus press your tip button? ///

Faith and self-image: /
There's a connection. /
Your soul and your persona go together. /
The Bible tells us so in today's scripture. /
And this can be good, /
or not so good. ///

Between the lines of the Letter to the Romans, /
you can tell Paul is writing to people of the Capitol City /
where it's only natural for folks
to think more highly of themselves
than their measure of faith would allow. /
Paul's polite about it, /
but it's there. ///

If our self-image and our faith-image
are the two halves of one full-body image… ///

And if our opinion of our own opinions is, /
shall we say, /
over-inflated —
then being a smartypants is more than just obnoxious —
we could even say it's a sin. ///

And if this sin of inbred pomposity
is one at which you naturally excel, /
would you even know? ///

And if by some unfortunate event
you did get a healthy helping of humility —
if not just you but your judgment got sober —
how would you repent? /
Would you go one step? /
Or twelve steps? /
Or the extra mile? /
To restore balance between your body and your faith? ///

As the teachers tell the kids, /
"No one likes a smartypants." /
Not even Jesus. /
It's a sin. ///
—
George Carlin asked,
Why is it when you’re driving
That everybody going faster than you is a maniac?
And everyone going slower than you is an idiot?

"I'm an excellent driver." ///

It's a classic line from the movie Rainman. /
Dustin Hoffman plays Charlie, /
a man in the deep end of the autism spectrum. ///

Charlie's driving experience is taking his father's immaculate
1949 Buick Roadmaster Convertible
around their huge circular driveway /
at very low speed. /
And, / not a single accident on his record so far. ///

Thus, / in Charlie's mind, /
he's an excellent driver. /
Definitely. ///

We could all take a lesson from Charlie. /
Some REALLY should. //
It's amazing to me, /
the number of sub-excellent drivers on the road. /
Don't they just make you so mad? ///

I was taught Driver's Ed
by a maker of excellent drivers: /
the high school wrestling coach. /
He was very good at all his jobs. /
Or so he opined. /
I don't know if his judgment was sober /
or even his liver. ///

This was the same man who toughened up his wrestlers
by having them run the length of a hallway, /
at full speed, /
and crash their head into a locker door. ///

It may have explained
why so few of our wrestlers passed the academic requirements. /
And their frequency of road accidents. ///

Coach may not have been a smart man —
and in retrospect, / I see that now —
but one true fact he told us in Driver's Ed
always stuck with me. ///

He said, /
"Everybody thinks they're better drivers than they are. /
And if everybody thinks they're better than they are, /
everybody's average." ///

It reminds me of another man of real big smart, /
Forrest Gump, /
who gave us: /
"Stupid is as stupid does." ///

Flip that chestnut over and it says /
intelligence is as intelligence does. /
Excellence is as excellence does. /
Or does not. ///

That goes for driving. /
And wrestling. /
Teaching Driver's Ed. /
Preaching sermons. /
And just about everything else. ///

You may THINK you're excellent, / at whatever. /
You may think you're the best, /
Neither maniac nor idiot /
But until the rubber meets the road, /
until the cranium meets the locker, /
how do you know? ///

Are you as smart as you think? /
Or do you just have a swollen head, /
possibly concussed? ///
—

Paul tells us that everybody has gifts. /
Everybody has abilities. /
Gifts are good. ///

But the Apostle also knows
people tend to overestimate their gifts, /
their driving skills, /
their wisdom. /
They see them not as gifts /
but as birthrights. /
Baby, / I was born this way. ///

They approach the world going, /
"tsk, / tsk, / tsk. /
It's just so sad that everyone else is so… average. /
Or below." /
As we say in the South, /
"Bless the general population's hearts." ///

Paul tells us all that we ought not think of ourselves too highly. /
He says that we ought to think soberly —
instead of being drunk with our own powers. /
And how do you get sober at that? ///

Well, / that's what he says next. /
That we ought to think of ourselves, /
"according to the measure of faith God has assigned us." ///

The measure of faith. /
Our Faith Quotient. /
Our "FQ." ///

Which sounds like something else, /
but save that for the parking lot. ///

How do you measure faith? /
Can you put it on a 1 to 5 star scale? /
A, B, C, D? /
Do you measure faith in a teaspoon? /
Do you carry it in a bucket? /
Can you lift it in a shovel? ///

The measure of faith is a whole different kind of metric. /
And honestly, /
I'm not sure it's one we're even capable of knowing down here. /
Not completely. ///

Jesus used to say it about his disciples all the time. /
"O ye of little faith." ///

Not that they didn't have faith. /
They had plenty of faith, /
enough to drop their nets and follow him. /
Jesus didn't mean their faith wasn't abundant. /
But that the faith they DID have was too small. /
Too small-minded. /
Too short-sighted. /
Too little. /
They had pieces of the puzzle, /
and thought they saw the whole thing. ///

Isn't it funny
how the people with the smallest minds
make the biggest assumptions. /
Over-promise and under-deliver. ///

Small-minded people are exposed by big mistakes. /
Sometimes go to prison for them.
They get into big accidents. /
Because they're so confident
they know better than everyone else. ///

Therefore —
ipso to that facto —
they're people of little faith —
little faith in anyone but themselves. /
Little faith in anything but their own opinions. /
AND little faith in the worth
of the sub-average general population. ///
—
Back in 1969, /
Dr. Laurence J. Peter gave us the Peter Principle. ///

If you watched The Office, /
you know it as the Michael Scott Principle. /
The tendency of pretty good people
to get promoted into incompetence. ///

Michael was a good salesman, /
so they made him Regional Manager
of the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin. /
Cringe comedy and Jim and Pam's romance ensued.
For nine seasons. ///

I try hard NOT to be the Michael Scott of Senior Pastors. /
Some days I'm more successful than others. /
At least Jean hasn't put my stapler in jello. /
Yet. ///

30 years after the Principle of Peter, / in 1999, /
David Dunning and Justin Kruger
gave us the Dunning-Kruger effect. ///

Dunning-Kruger explains why we know
we're better drivers than all the maniacs
racing through your neighborhood
and all the idiots creeping down Bayou Boulevard. ///

The Dunning-Kruger effect
is the tendency of people with low ability
to give themselves overly positive assessments. /
Grade inflation. ///

According to D-K, /
we judge ourselves as being better than we are, /
as being excellent drivers, /
because that's as far as we know, /
and as far as we care to know. ///

But, / wouldn't you know, /
the Bible had this figured out all along. ///

Way back in around 55 AD, /
the Apostle Paul gave us HIS principle /
that people —
not just Romans —
that we the people tend to think more highly of ourselves
than we ought to —
when we should be thinking more soberly, /
and according to the measure of faith God has given us. ///

Paul's Principle says
we are wise when we're NOT
People of inflated opinions and little faith, /
but when we're people of big faith
that lifts up our opinions of everybody else. ///

That we should be people
Not of little faith, but
People of big faith —
big faith in God, /
big faith in the faith Christ pours into us. /
That we should be people with big faith
that God has given each and every human being
a measure of faith
for which they should ALL be treated with worth, /
with dignity, /
and with care. ///

With the firm belief that in God's eyes no one —
NO ONE —
is sub-average. ///

Every one of us is a treasured child of God. /
Every one of us is a treasure to God. /
All of us: /
The rich, / the poor, /
the most excellent, /
even the most sinful
Even the maniacs and the idiots. ///

This is the sobering thinking
that comes from faith that's bigger than we are. /
This is the sober judgment our faith puts IN us. /
This is the sobering judgment God puts ON us. ///

No one likes a smartypants. /
Even Jesus got mad at the people
who were too big for their britches, /
the ones whose heads were too swollen to fit in the car door. ///

And yet — /
and yet —
these are the people Paul is writing to. /
These are the people the Bible was written for. /
These are the people Jesus died for. /
Like us. ///

Not to punish us for our sins of self-delusion, /
but to open our faith, /
to grow our faith, /
to make it bigger —
to widen our focus. /
To show us still more excellent ways —
as he says in 1 Corinthians 12:31, /
"But I will show you a more excellent way." ///
—
What is the more excellent way? /
What is the more excellent way
to drive, / to speak, / to live? ///

In Romans 12:4 and following, /
Paul says, ///

For just as each of us has one body with many members,
and these members do not all have the same function,
so in Christ we, though many, form one body,
and each member belongs to all the others.

To show us the big picture of our sinful ways, /
Paul points to the people around us. /
Not as examples of sin, /
but as reasons for hope. ///

He says that we all —
we all —
are one body in Christ, /
that we're all part of each other. /
Everything and everyone is delicately interconnected. /
Like it or not, /
we're stuck together like glue. ///

Some of us have the gift to see the truth and speak it. /
Some of us have the gift of ministry. /
Some have the gift of caring. /
Others, / visiting. /
Others, / teaching, /
or leading, /
or compassion, /
or cheerfulness. /
Or driving —
a van full of youth to Montreat —
and returning them safely to the Earth. ///

Which means, /
none of us have to be THE most excellent at everything. /
None of us have to go around correcting everyone else's errors, /
blessing them with OUR example of perfection. ///

That job's already taken —
and surprise, /
the Boss promoted his Son and gave it to him. ///

Our job as disciples of Jesus Christ
is to use our gifts to lift up the gifts of others, /
to lift up others, /
to recognize in others the gifts
that we might not have, /
or might not have — / yet. ///

Look around. /
You'll see lots of examples of excellence –
excellence enough. ///
—

Some days, / life all just works so well for us. /
Some days we honestly know
we deserve five stars for our faith and our actions.
We’re excellent. /
Other days, / a 2.5. /
Other days, / a 0.5 is really good —
the best we can muster. ///

Hey, / we got out of bed. /
And we didn't curse at anybody. /
Yet. /
We didn't cause anyone else to crash and burn. /
And some days, / that's OK. ///

Another day will come tomorrow. /
We may not get the whole job done, /
but there are other people, /
with stars of their own, /
who are also stars
in God's sober and loving judgment. ///

At the end of the semester, /
we all get grades that say, /
"Needs improvement." /
God knows – "It's OK not to be OK." ///

[see Rabbi Brian Mayer, www.ROTB.org]

Our job of faith is not to be the best, /
but to witness to the best, /
to point to the One
who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. /
And that One is not us. ///

Our job is to humbly and soberly
be our part of Christ's body
with all these different working parts. ///

Thank the Lord
that none of us has to wear the smartest of pants. ///

And thank the Lord for the measure of humility —
the measure of faith —
within us all. ///

So What IS Next to Godliness?

2026-08-16 Mt 15 10-28 That’s Next to Godliness?

Scripture 1: Isaiah 56:1, 6-8

Scripture 2: Matthew 15: 10-28

So What IS Next to Godliness?

Cleanliness is next to godliness. Right? Right?

Then Pharisees and scribes came to Jesus from Jerusalem and said, “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat.” Matthew 15:1-2.

Who would have thought washing your hands was a theological debate? Important enough to make the Bible? But peel back a layer, and you’ll see.

Cleanliness. And godliness. There IS an arguable connection. The arguments never end. Not now. Not then. Just ask Jesus.

—

Back in the 1900’s, when I was but a sooty waif, I thought this obsession with cleanliness was just my grandmother, being primitive. Raving about the good old days of lye soap. Now with bleach! You’re healthier without that top layer of flesh.

Purel? Ha! Compared to the old soaps, Purel is the Bud Light of antiseptics. You know what really cleans you? Leeches.

Remember back in our COVID era? When we were afraid to touch anything? Or anyone? Nothing says “Hello, glad you’re alive” like a heartfelt elbow tap. Carrying a pool noodle to maintain distancing, and to swat people who get too close. Spraying down our groceries. Oh COVID.

We’d stand under the instructional hand-washing signs, soaping up like a surgeon, singing the Happy Birthday song, twice. In Tennessee they told us to sing the chorus of Jolene. That’s two songs ruined.

For almost part of a year, we acted like we really believed “Cleanliness is next to godliness.” We were so close to God. About 6 feet.

In Matthew 15, we step once again into this debate between dirty hands and clean hearts. This time it’s between Jesus and some other Jews, the white-glove Pharisees. On the surface, it’s about cleanliness. But on a deeper level, it’s godliness. And purity. Of hands. And blood. And hearts. Purity of souls. 

Even in the Bible, they were having the same fights that went around during COVID. They keep going around and coming around. Questions about the under-stuff, the stuff that doesn’t wash off. The ugly biases. The stains of prejudice. The dirt that never goes away.

Matthew 15 puts its finger on some really foul stuff. The same kind of stuff we hear online and feel in our squeezy stomachs. From TV talkers, or rally rousers. Shakedowns at checkpoints. And those times when we get mad when ask for another fork and the person waiting the table can’t understand us.

Matthew 15 asks, Who’s clean? Who's godly? Who's in? Who's out? Who’s a dirty foreigner? And if that’s what they are, then what percentage of our goodness do they deserve? How far do we socially distance them from our brand of salvation?

Cleanliness. Godliness. They were biblical issues for Jesus. For us, too.

—

Some of you remember the Handwashing Song from the happiest rock band ever – The Wiggles. 

Before you eat food…

After you play with animals…

And after you use the toilet…

Wash your hands!

It’s no “Fruit Salad.” But it gets the point across.

For Jesus, washing your hands was the Law. It was holy.

Back in Temple times, priests were required to ritually wash their hands before eating sacred offerings to maintain spiritual purity on behalf of all the people.

In 70AD, the Romans flattened Jerusalem and burned the Temple to the ground, except for one wall. The rabbis decided to keep the faith alive. They said all Jewish people should ritually wash their hands before breaking bread. This way every home becomes a sanctuary and every meal is holy. They said we are not animals, so we shouldn’t eat like them. Be godly. Be clean.

In English, the handwashing blessing goes: Blessed are You, Infinite One, who makes us holy through our actions and honors us as we raise up our hands.

After Jesus, when the early church was growing, there were converts. “Foreigners” who didn’t grow up with Jewish decency and order. Even handwashing was “foreign” to these “beastly” people.

Churches asked, “What if they don’t do things OUR way? Can they still be members?”

Like, what if they weren’t dunked when they were baptized? What if they think trespassing is worse than debt? What if they don’t read the King James Version? What if their sanctuary has carpet? Well, obviously. Won’t be seeing THEM in heaven. Hope y’all’s rugs are flame-retardant.

Jesus looked at what was under the rug. He saw the dirt under the pointing fingernails. His point, and the dilemma his followers faced, was, what’s really important? How do you save the baby if the bathwater gets thrown out? 

Rituals are important. Handwashing is important, in ways Jesus couldn’t begin to understand nearly as well as The Wiggles. Rituals are important. But which nes are essential? Are any?

And this is what the early church was trying to figure out. Along with pricklier issues. Like, circumcision, and women.

Yes, wash your hands. Do it well. Do it with God’s blessing.

But is that where the real dirt hides? Your dirt?

How clean do you have to be? 

And still be godly? 

And not some… animal?

—

But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 

What??? 

Jesus! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

I think it’s important to remember: The gospels aren’t documentaries. They had no court reporters, no subtitles, no transcripts, no bodycams. We Presbyterians affirm, the Bible and Matthew’s version of the gospel is “the unique and authoritative witness to God and God’s activity in the world.” Matthew contains truth. But each gospel writer weaves their facts into a story of a bigger truth.

In this story, Jesus is just plain rude. Kids, don’t be like Jesus in this one. What Would Jesus Do? Well, don’t do that. 

I think what Matthew is trying to say is that sometimes the followers of Jesus treated foreigners like dogs. They, like the finger-wagging Pharisees looked at this woman and her demon-possessed child, and thought, 

“Animal.” “Filth.” “Probably never even washed a hand.”

And, given the times, the place, the sanitation, the absence of germ theory and basic scientific knowledge, the disciples’ assumptions may have been right.

But, there is larger truth in this story of cleanliness and godliness. The woman herself points it out. 

She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

She - a woman, a foreigner, life source of a demonic child – this dirty Canaanite woman corrects Jesus – JESUS!  She changes his mind, opens his mind. 

The truth that fills the dining room is that her station, her status, her race, her and her daughter’s gender, their cleanliness, their lack of godliness, their impurity, their demonic spirits – none of it – none of it disqualifies them from the healing mercy of Jesus Christ Our Lord.

As Paul writes in Romans 8: Nothing – nothing – can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus Our Lord. 

And this unnamed woman and her daughter prove it. 

Nothing – not us – not even Jesus himself – can separate us from the healing, the life, the holiness God bathes us with. From birth to death and every beautiful spring shower in between.

As we read in Isaiah: 

for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. Thus says the Lord GOD, who gathers the outcasts of Israel: I will gather others to them besides those already gathered.

There are no strangers, no outcasts, no dirty foreigners in the Kingdom of God. Everyone has a place. Everyone is bathed clean in God’s love.

Cleanliness. Godliness. For all.

The final word in this story says just this. The story finishes by saying: And her daughter was healed from that moment.

It sounds like the followers of Jesus, and maybe Jesus himself, in that moment, received some healing, too.

The cleanliness wasn’t NEXT to godliness. 

The godliness IS cleansing. 

And that’s next to nothing else.

[eos]

Business card: https://jamesmctyre.com

Does Your Lifeguard Float?

2026-08-09 Does Your Lifeguard Float?

Or, Your Lifeguard Sinks

“My lifeguard walks on water.” It’s a witty little saying I wish I had come up with, and copyrighted. You might have a T-shirt that says it. On Etsy, there’s all sorts of fan favorites with it written on them. Embroidered pillows, hoodies, yard art, a keychain buoy (faithful, AND practical). Even rocks with it hand-painted on them. Rocks? Really? That just feels like putting the Lord thy God to the test. At least bundle it with a keychain buoy.

The image of Jesus walking on water is one of God’s Top Ten “holy smokes” amazing miracles. Everybody knows this one. Not to critique Our Lord, but in my humble opinion, he made the effect so special that it distracts from the bigger point. Or, points. “Walks on water!" It’s like, Jesus at his best.

Nobody else has that. Moses PARTED the sea, but walked on dry land. Mohammed – no water features we know of, but also no pictures. Our lifeguard is clearly the best. And he's ours. We get the saying, the T-shirt. But then we ignore everything else that's happening in this almost too famous Bible story. And that’s a shame. We get distracted. And then, we sink.

That’s not Jesus’s fault. That's people for you. People skim the surface. Even in religion, we skim the surface. We quote the quips we can iron on our shirts, or poke in our pockets, or put on bumpers that WE own, that WE pay for, so we can look witty and cute. It’s not really the lifeguard. It’s ME. MY lifeguard. MY Savior. MY lifeguard walks on water. What tricks can YOURS do? My lifeguard floats. On his feet. Does yours? Or does your Lifeguard sink? How sure ARE you? 

But you know what else sinks? People sink. And not just when we have too many painted rocks in our pockets. We sink. We can sink so low. We can sink deep in our own importance. We can sink into our cliches, our biases. Drown in them. Even the best of us. And if we don’t watch our step, we will willingly sink into being smart as rocks, bless our hearts, and before we know it, we’re in a race to the bottom.

The point to remember about this Bible story is that it's not about the walking. Jesus walked on water, but that’s Jesus. One time only, as far as we know. It’s not about the walking. It’s about the sinking. It’s about drowning, about us drowning in our own little worlds. 

And when we do find ourselves sunk, and we will – sooner or later – when we do find ourselves sinking, we find out this story’s not about the walking, it's about the crying out for help with our single, dying, last breath.

Just like that other guy, That apostle. That… rock.

—

Witty sayings are a problem. The problem with witty sayings is how quickly they become cliches. 

The point of cliches is that everybody knows them already. They’re common knowledge. Everybody knows them so there's no reason to think. I'll show you. 

Finish these for me.

Look before you… leap. 

It is what it… is.

A slight chance of afternoon… 

Thundershowers. We’re in Florida. It could be 20 degrees and snowing. Still a chance. Of those afternoon thundershowers.

Here’s a cliche we all know. It doesn’t sound religious, but today it is:

Sinks like a… rock.

You know what’s going to happen in today’s story. The story itself has become a cliche. We know it so well it saves us the trouble of thinking. And not thinking is a problem. Especially for religious people.

Not thinking gets religious people in trouble.

Not thinking gets religious people into arguments. Not thinking gets religious people into wars. Not thinking, as we’ve lately discovered, sometimes gets religious people - rightfully - put in jail.

We get so mentally cozy in our faith that we let our brains go on vacation. We think, “Flooded road ahead? Eh, I’ll walk.” And then, we're sunk. In over our heads. Like Peter.

Peter was the impetuous disciple. All through the gospels, Peter was known for NOT thinking. Blurting? Yes. Denying? Three times. And, oh yeah, sinking like a rock. Peter’s T-shirt could have read: “Don’t think. Sink.”

If Peter had thought, he would have remembered: People don't walk on water. Basilisk lizards - also known as Jesus lizards - run like the Roadrunner on water. Google them. Dolphins at Sea World can use their tails to walk on water if treats are involved. But people? Evolution hasn’t yet given us that bag of tricks. Our boots are made for ... walking - another cliche - and that's just what they do. That’s all they do. We walk. We’re land mammals. Think, Peter.

If you went to Sunday School, you learned: Peter was an alias. This guy was so slippery, Peter wasn't even his real name. The Apostle Peter's birth name was Simon – Simon bar Jonah, which means Son of a Jonah. You remember Jonah. The prophet who also sank in the ocean. So deep, he got swallowed by a whale. 

The name Simon means to Listen or to hear. Hence the game, Simon Says. How do you win Simon Says? You Listen. You do what Simon says. Or you're out. Shamefully. Out of what? Out of everything, loser. You're sunk.

But Jesus gave Simon a nickname. Maybe because he knew listening was not his forte. Jesus said, "OK Simon, listen up. From now on, I'm calling you Peter.” 

Peter. From Greek, Petros, which means, The Rock. As in "upon This Rock I will build my church." Or also as in, “Peter, Petros – You’re gonna sink like a rock.” 

And, shock, he sank like a… you know. Everybody knows how it goes. The Bible doesn't say Jesus rolled his eyes. But I think it's implied. Wait, Peter! Listen! Think! Oh, never mind. Thank goodness your lifeguard walks on water.

—

Last spring, I was at Pensacola Beach, doing my part to raise the median age. Enjoying the sunshine and the tourists. And the most horrible thing happened. 

Everyone started crowding around, pointing out at the gulf. And then, out of nowhere, like, twenty lifeguards appeared. Lifeguards of lifeguards on ATV’s. Lifeguards on waverunners. The EMT’s in their ambulance tore down the beach. Everybody kept looking, and pointing, but nobody could see anyone. Everyone was searching. 

Except this one woman. And she was screaming. Screaming in a sound like I’ve never heard anyone scream in my life. Screaming for her child, her boy, her son. Find him! Find him! Save him!

Eventually, they did find him. They laid him on the beach and did CPR. And they put him in the ambulance and raced off, sirens wailing, with a helicopter landing. It seemed like it took forever, but then it seemed so fast. I watched the news for days, but never found out if he made it. I’ll never know.

What I remember the most about that day, though – wasn’t the lifeguards, so brave, so selfless, so dedicated, working so hard. What I remember most, was his mother. I remember her terror. Screaming. Crying. Calling out. Calling out. Calling out for somebody, anybody, to save her son. Calling out for Jesus. 

—

If you slow down. If you really read today’s Bible story about your personal lifeguard Jesus walking on water, you’re struck by how little cliche and much terror is in this story. 

Jesus has been teaching crowds by the waterside. But evening comes and he goes by himself up to pray. He leaves his disciples alone. Alone. Unguarded.

It says… but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea…” 

Did they find this relieving? No. The opposite. They weren’t relieved, saying, “Oh look! Here’s our lifeguard, walking on water!” No. It says, “they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear.

Notice, they weren’t afraid of the storm. Maybe they should have been. Maybe they figured, “We’re fishermen. We’re smart. We know the weather. We’re not worried. Been through worse.”

It’s not the storm that scares them. Jesus scares them. Not the storm: Jesus. They think he’s a ghost. Here’s the part we don’t think about because we make it about the walking. The cliche.

Jesus wasn’t coming to the boat - or to Peter - in the form of a lifeguard. He wasn't a rescuer, wasn’t a comforting figure. They literally thought he was a ghost. Not a friendly ghost. Back then, ghosts weren’t nice. Ghosts were haunting, terrible demons of nightmares. The disciples might have been afraid of the storm. But they were more afraid of the ghost. They were more afraid – of Jesus.

And that's why I think this story is not first about saving, not about doubting, not about the magic of walking on water. Yes, These are the adorning background parts of it. But I think the heart of the story is about terror – plain, simple, gut-level, scream out, helpless terror. It says they saw Jesus… “And they cried out in fear.” There’s an understatement, on a biblical level.

I think deep down, this story’s really about when moans of agony are all we have left in the bag. It’s not about the lifeguard. Not about safety. This is a story about fear. It's about the fear. Peter’s fear. Our fear. The fear that's left after all our confidence, all our arrogance, all our thoughtless cliches. It’s about when everything else – even when our faith – when everything else has sunk to the bottom. 

It says, “But when he (Peter, the Rock, the walking rock) – when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” The Lord the lifeguard? No! The Lord he thought – the Lord he feared might not be real, but might be just a made-up ghost. What he really feared was that his Lord was only in his imagination. A ghost. Peter’s true fear was that the demon who looked like Jesus wasn’t really the Lord after all. That it was just an illusion ready to watch him drown.

Fear. Mortal Fear, and Peter the alleged rock's final, desperate, drowning last words, "Lord, save me.”

—

It says, When they (Peter and Jesus) got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

You know who else said that? In Matthew 27:54, after the crucifixion, when Jesus’s body has died, the Roman centurion says, “Truly, this man was the Son of God.” Not a disciple. Not a follower. Not someone you’d expect. Not a person in the boat.

But on this day, it says, those in the boat – it says – those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Centurions, sailors, spectators, tourists, T-shirt sideliners. People who didn’t know what to think about this Jesus. All of them. The ones with dry feet. All of us with them.

It says to me the good news, the merciful news, that those of us still in the boat, those of us still in relative safety, those of us who haven’t thoughtlessly, stupidly sunk in over our heads – We in our safety, and comfort – we in the spectator seats – we get to see Jesus for who he is, too. We don’t have to be scared out of our minds. We don’t have to be devoured by fear – we don’t have to watch someone almost die and hear the screams. We don’t have to live through the awful worst to see the life-saving hope – the life-giving hope of knowing Jesus truly is the Son of God. Not a ghost. Not a cliche. Not what your preacher told you you have to believe or else you’re going down. 

We don’t have to be as brave as an apostle, or as dumb as a rock, to worship Jesus. We just need to be in the boat. Which boat? Here’s another cliche, but it’s true: We’re all in the same boat. And once we get that – once we see we’re all in this together, the storms - and even the saviors - aren’t so scary.

It’s OK to just be in the boat and hope and pray that there is a lifeguard who hears our cries for help and who WILL come to us, however he gets there.

Let’s pray.

[eos]

2026-07-26 Ro 08 26-39 You're Still Here

 Sermon: “You’re Still Here”

I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Is there something treasured, someone treasured, that you’re separated from? We all know how it feels to be separated. They call it “heartbreak.” That’s a good word. A heart pulled apart from itself. You may not understand why you feel like you do, you may not have words for it, but you feel it. You’re separated – broken-hearted – inside as well as outside.

How does scripture tell us to handle separation? 

And this might be separation from a person. But it could also be separation from your purpose, your life, your health. Retirement. A move. Starting college. Even if it’s good, it’s change. Transition from one form to another. How do you bear the separation? How do you repair the separation? Whether person, place, or thing – How do you mend a broken heart, an injured heart, a missing love?

How do you go on when: you’re still here?

—

This passage from Romans is one of those scriptures that pastors tend to know by heart because it’s part of our internal playlist. Our Funeral playlist. We read Romans 8:26-39 at almost every funeral. In a funeral service, Romans 8 comes right after Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd,” and right before John 14, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” You know how when you’re listening to a favorite album (vinyl), or a playlist, or a familiar queue over and over. You don’t have to think what song’s coming next. The notes are so familiar. Same with this scripture for us pastors.

in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

I know the New Revised Standard says “more than victorious.” And that’s probably a better translation. But my brain is too set in its grooves to change the lyrics now. I’d love to be more than a conqueror, even though I’m not sure what that would be. I’m not sure what comes after conqueror. But I like the idea. Victorious. A conqueror, but more.

What we hear today is Paul’s great, conquering testimony of faith. Romans 8 is the hope we have for our loved ones as they make their way to heaven. They’ve gone on, so we read it FOR them, at a service of memorial. We read it for them, but we also read it for ourselves. It’s our hope for their souls, but assurance for ours. It’s the assurance, the strength, the prayer that we can go on. It’s the confidence that even though we might be separated from those who have died, we go on. We go on living. Because we’re still here. You’re still here. 

You’re still here. 

That’s what I tell people going through cancer treatments, or painful divorces, or funerals, or grief. 

Your life may feel awful, but “You’re still here.”

“You’re still here” is the simplest, strongest, most defiant statement of life I can come up with. We may be separated from the ones we love, but we’re still here. They may be absent, but we’re still here. The chemo may have taken away our health, our hair, our purpose, but we’re still here.

I think in Romans 8, Paul’s saying: “By God – By GOD – I’m still here.” He’s saying, By God’s grace. By God’s love. You and I are here. We’re all still here. And so is God and God’s love. And nothing, nothing can separate us from the love of God. Nothing, nothing can separate us from the love that lives on in our hearts. Nothing can separate us from the love we share with God – the love God shares with us. Especially the love of God we share with each other, and through each other. Because we’re still here.

Some of you remember the TV show, “WandaVision.” In a time of separation, a character asks the most profound question. He says, “What is grief, but love persevering?” Did not expect that in a kids’ show. The character asking was an allegedly immortal superhero, named, ironically, Vision. Vision saw clearly. Vision saw that grief is the defiant love that perseveres. A truly super power nothing can stop.

So, like Paul. We’re still here. Our love perseveres. And nothing can separate us from this love. Nothing can separate us from God’s love. This is the gift of being more than victorious, more than conquerors. That’s the heart of the scripture, and it is not broken.

We’re still here. And so is God.

—

Last Sunday, we had a baptism. Baptisms are the best. Since we’re Presbyterians, people of moderation, decency, and order, we don’t dunk. Especially not babies. That could get really messy. Maybe lead to prosecution. No dunking in this house.

Baptism by dunking might be more true to early practices, Jewish AND Christian – but to me it feels, well, dangerous. Precarious. 

As sweet and precious as the baptism of babies is – and it is so sweet, and so precious – Baptism is, at its heart, the reenactment of a dangerous act. Symbolically, the person is – metaphorically – drowning. Drowns beneath the waters of chaos from Genesis 1. Drowns beneath the waters of Noah’s flood. And then, by God’s grace, they’re lifted up, out of death to life. New life. Rebirth. Proving again that nothing, neither death nor life nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So, while Romans 8 is a funeral text, it’s also a baptismal text, a birth text. A rebirth text.

A life text. 

As it says in Psalm 118:17, I shall not die, but I shall live, and declare the works of the Lord.

Or as Paul says in Romans 14:8, If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.

At birth we say, “I’m here.”

Later in life, when our knees stop working, when we choke on even soup, we pull ourselves up, and say, “I’m still here.”

“My heart may someday be broken, my spirit split apart, and death, you may get me. 

But – you – won’t – keep – me.”

I’m still here.

And so is God.

—

But what about the time in between birth and death? What happens when we feel – not like conquerors – but conquered?

Those times when we want to be anywhere, but here? Because, as the wise person once said, “Life’s hard.”

Paul doesn’t start Romans 8 with bold confidence. He starts with a gentle hope. He knows defiant victory over life and death is rare. Most of the time, we’re not superhero high, or super-loser low. Between birth and death, we spend a lot of time just trying to figure out what the heck’s going on.

Verse 26 starts right there, in the trenches, with us. 

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with groanings too deep for words. 

What are groanings too deep for words?

I know a lot of people who’ve given up on prayer. They think, I’m just in my own head, talking to myself, hoping God can read my mind. They think prayer is just all talk. We talk, God listens, and God never tires of hearing us. 

I can’t speak for God’s infinite patience. But I know I get tired of hearing myself. I get tired of hearing my thoughts echoing off my skull. Thoughts that bounce around, keeping me up nights, and getting me nowhere. 

This is one of the reasons I’m so glad Jean leads the group for Centering Prayer. If you’ve never been, it’s really different. There are a few spoken words at the beginning and at the end. But most of the time, it’s a group of people sitting still, enjoying – what is it they call it – oh yeah, silence. 

I don’t know what was going through Paul’s mind when he spoke of groanings too deep for words. I do know that in Exodus, when God was speaking to the Israelites wandering in the wilderness, the Bible says it sounded like thunder, or a long, low, loud trumpet. I’m pretty sure those are approximations, because God’s voice probably defies comparison to anything earthly. 

Some Bibles say, “sighs too deep for words.” What’s the sound of God sighing? The version we have says, “groanings too deep for words.” God groans. But more, God groans for us.

Many times, like when I’m say, coming out of a committee meeting, where everyone’s been talking – in lovely voices – for an hour – or two – I’ll catch myself walking down the hall, sighing deeply. Is it frustration? Exhaustion? Or do I just want to hear my own breath, without providing narration or opinion?

They say humming a happy tune, is a reprise of our mothers singing lullabies to us. Humming is a deeply remembered echo of the heartbeat of a hug. 

And what is a sigh, but a reminder that despite whatever life throws at us, we’re still breathing. It’s hope. It’s reassurance. Maybe it’s what Paul called, the Spirit, interceding for us. After all, as you may remember from our Sailboat Church study, the Bible’s word for Spirit literally means, “wind.” The Spirit’s wind is deeper than our frail words. It’s the sound of God. It’s God’s lullaby, God’s breath across our faces, reminding us: I’m still here.

—

Paul asks, 

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will affliction or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword?

No, he says.

No, he says, in defiance. In defiance of all the junk that takes our breath away from our baptism to our funeral.

No, he says.

No, in all these things we are more than victorious – more than conquerors – through him who loved us.

—

I’ll close today with a poem by Wendell Berry called, The Peace of Wild Things.

The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry.

When despair for the world grows in me

And I wake in the night at the least sound

In fear of what my life and my children’s life may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

Rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

Who do not tax their lives with forethought

Of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

Waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

May the peace that passes understanding remind us of the beauty of this and every day. And may we shout – or may the sighs of the Holy Spirit shout for us, shout to the world:

I’m still here!

An Enemy Has Done This

 An Enemy Has Done This

Matthew 13:24–30

July 19, 2026

Scripture: Matthew 13:24–30

He put before them another parable:

"The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone

who sowed good seed in his field,

but while everybody was asleep

an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat

and then went away.

So when the plants came up and bore grain,

then the weeds appeared as well.

And the slaves of the householder came and said to him,

"Master, did you not sow good seed in your field?

Where, then, did these weeds come from?"

He answered,

"An enemy has done this."

The slaves said to him,

"Then do you want us to go and gather them?"

But he replied,

"No, for in gathering the weeds

you would uproot the wheat along with them.

Let both of them grow together until the harvest,

and at harvest time I will tell the reapers,

Collect the weeds first

and bind them in bundles to be burned,

but gather the wheat into my barn."

Sermon

When a real emergency happens, /

you don't have time to think. /

You react.

You call a doctor, a lawyer, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker. //

Real emergencies bring their OWN energy. ///

But small emergencies. ///

Small emergencies are the ones that drain OUR energy. //

Small emergencies are the ones that get us flustered, /

get us angry, /

get us writing strongly-worded emails, /

using hand signals out the driver's window

because someone dared cut us off in the Cordova Mall parking lot last Thursday – and I know that sounds very specific. ///

You forget where you’ve parked and now everyone is judging you. /

The freezer starts leaking. /

The tire goes flat. 

Small emergencies feel so… personal. 

Minutes later, sometimes hours, /

I catch my breath /

and see that — / despite the evidence —

the world has not ended. ///

That's when I have this thing I like to do. ///

I quote scripture. ///

I'll raise a finger in the air — / pointer finger — /

and dramatically recite Matthew 13:28 — ///

"An enemy has done this!" ///

Try it next minor emergency. /

It'll make you smile at yourself. //

It’s from the Bible.

Plus the added benefit of shifting the blame to someone else. /

It’s great for those overblown irritations when the 

Undefined, / but undeniable. /

"Collective, / unnamed — / They"

Have been at work. ///

Them. ///

Whoever that is.

Those people. ///

Them is the problem. ///

As in, /

"They" have ruined this Walmart. /

Or, /

"They" have made my TV too complicated. /

Or, /

"They" stole my credit card —

Oh wait, /

here it is in my left-side pants pocket

where I definitely did not put it. ///

Clearly, /

"An enemy has done this!" ///

Who is your enemy? /

And what have they done to you, personally, now? ///

—

Matthew 13 says, ///

…but while everybody was asleep

an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat

…And the slaves of the householder came and said to him,

"Master, 

Where, did these weeds come from?"

He answered, 'An enemy has done this.'"

Jesus knew about them hooligans. ///

Them is the problem. ///

That's actually what I wanted to name this sermon. /

"Them Is the Problem." ///

But then I realized

it would be plastered all over the internet. /

People would see it and say of Trinity Church —

"I feel so sorry for them people. /

The Interim Pastor's an illiterate hillbilly."

THEY should stop him. ///

Did Jesus really say

the Kingdom of Heaven is like this? /

Is heaven having someone else to blame? /

When silly things go wrong. /

When we back over the garbage can. //

Thank the Lord we can blame

the anonymous, / all-gender-inclusive "Them." /

Is that almost heaven? /

It can sure feel that way. ///

Is the kingdom of heaven the assurance

that someone else, / anyone else, /

anyone but us —

some bad person —

is to blame? /

Snuck in while we were sleeping. /

It's not our fault. ///

It's them's fault. ///

An enemy has done this. ///

—

Are you an internet personality — ///

Do you own a major news corporation — ///

Are you running for elected office (Boyce) —

like, / governor, / school board, /

or fourth-grade class president — ///

Are you a television evangelist — ///

If you answered "yes" to any of the above, /

you know the fastest way to generate clicks, /

capture views, /

gain votes, /

or receive generous gifts from rich widows and congressmen — ///

is to get people angry. ///

Angry sells. /

Angry is cheap. /

Angry is instant. /

Angry is viral. ///

You get people angry, /

and the shark brain kicks in. ///

A nibble turns into a bite. /

A bite turns into a feeding frenzy. /

It's like how once you bite your cheek, /

you can't stop. /

The taste of blood is sweet. /

Sweet, / like righteous anger. ///

Jesus must have known this. ///

Because in his parable, /

his short story, /

his post — //

Instead of having the people tap their head and laugh, /

saying, /

"Silly me. /

I must have bought the wrong seeds at Rural King." ///

No. /

Jesus the master storyteller knew. /

If you want to capture people's attention, /

then capture their sense of what's wrong. /

Get them angry. /

Get them looking for an enemy. /

Get them looking for THEM. ///

—

THEMs are kind of an epidemic these days. /

We live on alert. /

Because we know a whole city – or whole nation of THEMS is right out there. //

Them folks from across the tracks

or beyond the border, /

or across the ocean. /

Suspicion sells. /

Paranoia profits. /

An enemy may not have done this. /

Yet. /

But they could. /

Those THEMs. ///

Even Jesus knew how it works. ///

"Master, / do you want us to plow the whole thing up?" ///

Lord, / shake the holy Etch-A-Sketch. /

Make it rain 40 days and 40 nights. /

Flood it again. ///

Even sweet Christian people

have short patience and long memories

And overactive imaginations. /

—

After the workers have come

and told the owner what happened, /

it says: ///

He answered, 'An enemy has done this.'

The slaves said to him,

"Then do you want us to go and gather them?"

But — it says — he replied,

"No, for in gathering the weeds — the THEM —

you would uproot the wheat along with them.

Let both of them grow together until the harvest,

and at harvest time I will tell the reapers,

Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned,

but gather the wheat into my barn."

OK. ///

Dramatic pause. ///

I know many times, /

when reading the Bible, /

people hear references to "wheat and tares," /

and "binding and burning" /

and immediately think Jesus is talking about

sending the bad guys to The Bad Place. /

See Matthew 13:36-43, / for reference. ///

But Jesus hasn't gone there yet, /

so neither should we. /

Let's not jump ahead to a five-alarm hellfire. /

Let's let THEM be the weeds for a minute /

because that's as far as the crowds would have heard. ///

—

When I read this parable, /

I don't hear divine judgment

or Delta Force damnation. /

I hear Jesus telling a story for normal people. /

Dealing with normal problems.

The point is not vengeance. 

The point is perspective. ///

Perspective. ///

So, / OK, / you're right. /

Yes, / an enemy has done this. /

OK. /

But wait. /

There's more. /

Wait a minute —

get some perspective —

before you escalate this to Tier Two Customer Service. ///

It goes: ///

"So when the plants came up and bore grain,

THEN the weeds appeared as well."

Emphasis on THEN the weeds appeared. ///

I'm not a farmer. /

But I've lived in Dothan, Alabama, /

the Peanut Capital of the World. //

The National Peanut Festival —

with its country singers, /

demolition derby, /

and pig races —

happens only once a year. /

Don't laugh. /

It's really fun.

Once a year. ///

The point I'm trying to make —

is it's a long time between planting and harvesting. ///

So in the parable, /

the time between the alleged criminal seed-sowing

and the emergence of the weeds

would have taken a long time. ///

Jesus is not, then, talking about an emergency,

Or a legitimate crime. /

Just because something FEELS like a major emergency, /

doesn't mean it is. //

Don't plow up the whole field

just because you suspect a few weeds. /

Maintain your perspective. ///

The landowner tells his workers: ///

"Let both of them grow together until the harvest,

and at harvest time I will tell the reapers,

Collect the weeds first…"

Take a breath. /

See how bad it really is. /

That's the first point of perspective. ///

But then, / a second point of perspective. /

Look what the owner says: ///

"At harvest time, I will tell the reapers."

Wait a minute — /

who's he gonna call? /

Not you planter-people. ///

"At harvest time," / he says, /

"I will tell the reapers." /

The reapers. ///

He's saying: /

You guys are planters. /

And thank you very much for your work. /

You've done your job. /

Now we wait. ///

And then, /

after the waiting, /

and ONLY after the waiting, /

it's time to call in the reapers. /

You're the planters, /

they're the reapers. /

Reapers are a whole different department. ///

Second point of perspective: /

Do your job. /

Let the reapers do theirs. /

It's not just about you. /

Small emergencies are more about loss of control. /

Not that we had control in the first place. /

But we like to think we do. /

Especially when it comes to God. /

Especially when it comes to growth. ///

We like to think we're in control of our own growth. /

That we get to pick and choose

how and when we're going to grow. /

And yes, / we participate in our own growth. /

But we're not the ones in charge. /

We're not the Masters of the Universe. /

We're not the soil of sainthood. /

That would be God. ///

God owns the field. /

We're the seasonal workers. /

Sometimes we're God's planters. /

Sometimes we're God's reapers. /

Sometimes we're simply the beneficiaries

of someone else's labor. /

Thank God for our blessings and our good fortune. ///

But — ///

sometimes, / truth be told — ///

sometimes, /

we're the THEM. /

Sometimes, /

we're our OWN enemy, / our OWN saboteur. /

Sometimes we vandalize our OWN fields. /

Declaring emergencies. /

Pitching fits. /

Blaming the enemies 

Who just happen to be watching from the mirror. ///

When what we really need is time, /

and a season of growth, /

and the gift of perspective —

the kind of wisdom —

that can only come

from the kingdom of God

and all its rich, / bountiful soil. ///

—

"An enemy has done this!" ///

Maybe so. /

Probably so. /

Possibly so. /

It could be THEM. ///

But if you’re not even sure who THEM is.

Who, really IS the enemy? ///

—

The parable ends with Jesus having the owner say, ///

"Collect the weeds first

and bind them in bundles to be burned,

but gather the wheat into my barn."

We hear "burn" from the Bible

and we think, /

flames, / punishment, / hell. //

But burning weeds doesn't punish them. /

It just gets them out of the way. /

Provides mulch. /

Clears the ground so the work can move on. ///

With perspective,

Deep breaths, and a little time,

most weeds blow away. /

We can walk around being angry all the time.

Or we can let the silly stuff go. /

So we can hold onto the good stuff. /

And fill our barns, /

our days, /

our hearts, /

with a harvest for God. ///

Let's pray.