Rescued From the Lion’s Mouth

2 Timothy 4:6-22
Ordinary 33
October 26, 2025
William G. Carter

As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

Do your best to come to me soon, for Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica; Crescens has gone to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Only Luke is with me. Get Mark and bring him with you, for he is useful in my ministry. I have sent Tychicus to

above all the parchments. Alexander the coppersmith did me great harm; the Lord will pay him back for his deeds. You also must beware of him, for he strongly opposed our message.

At my first defense no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them! But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen. Greet Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus. Erastus remained in Corinth; Trophimus I left ill in Miletus. Do your best to come before winter. Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Pudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers and sisters. The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you.

I don’t know about you, but we often receive mail that was not intended for us. If it’s a credit card statement or a utility bill, we take it back to the post office and ask them to get it right. If it’s an advertising flyer, my tendency is to throw it in the recycling bin unless it’s interesting. Then, I might take a peek. It’s extremely rare to get personal letters at all, much less letters that are misdelivered. 

When we read the New Testament letters of Paul, we are reading letters that were never intended for us. At some point, the church decided we have something to learn by overhearing this personal correspondence. Paul mentions people we do not know. He says, “Tell Prisca and Aquila that I said hello. Greet the household of Onesiphorus.” We don’t know who that is. But we keep looking over his shoulder. Today, unlike most of Paul’s other letters, we listen in to somebody who has traveled a very bumpy road.

In this letter, Paul is an old man, far from home. He's tired. He’s cold. He is worn out. In an uncharacteristic moment, he admits about how other people have let him down. He usually doesn't grumble like this. Paul frequently stays upbeat and positive, and usually takes the high road. Yet today we hear a twinge of weariness in his voice.

"Dear Timothy," he writes, "do your best to come and see me. Demas ran off to Thessalonica, chasing after the pleasures of this world. Crescens has gone to Galatia. Titus disappeared in Dalmatia. I sent Tychicus back home to Ephesus. Now I'm stuck here all alone, with only Luke to keep me company."

Paul says, "Bring that cloak I left behind in the fellowship hall at Troas. Pack up my books and my parchments. Bring them too." Here is a man who is summing up his life at the close of day.  He says, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race. The time of my departure has come."

This is a remarkable moment of self-reflection. Maybe that's why the apostle sizes up his successes and failures. Like Alexander the coppersmith. We don't know much about him, except that Paul was ready to write him off. "He did me great harm," said Paul, "and the Lord will pay him back for his deeds."  Then he gets on his high horse: "You also must beware of him, for he strongly opposed our message."  Then he starts wagging his finger, "At my first defense, no one came to my support. Everybody deserted me."

These are the words of somebody who comes up short. According to the accounts, nobody worked as hard as the apostle. Paul traveled throughout the known world, preaching the good news about Jesus, debating in the synagogues, starting churches, training the next generation of leadership, working tirelessly. There was opposition along the way – of course there was resistance and opposition – but he accomplished so much.

At the end, most of his closest companions had left him. Everything he worked so hard to accomplish seems at risk. His entire life’s work might be circling around the drain. In this letter, he gave a lot of encouragement to young Timothy. It sounds like he could use bit in return. He’s disappointed. Anybody knows how he feels?

Some of us raise our kids, teach them to stand up and be productive. We encourage them to be independent. And they are so good at being independent that they never call, forget to keep in touch, make other plans at Thanksgiving. It’s disappointing.

Or there was the dream job. From the moment it’s posted, you imagine how good it would be: more money, better hours, more vacation time, greater responsibility, in an excellent location. And then you get the job, and it’s all those things – and it’s also a whole lot less. As a wise old sage said, “If it looks like the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, just remember it’s still grass. It’s only grass.” That can be disappointing.

Others of us can’t wait for the holiday catalogs to arrive. All these wonderful things we never thought to purchase, and here they are in glossy splendor, with the enticing tag line, “Free shipping.” So we put together the wish list, give out quiet hints, live in patient hope. Christmas comes, and there is the perfectly shaped package. Rip open the paper, squeal in delight, and it’s the wrong size, or the wrong color, or nothing like we expected.

How do we deal with disappointment? Sometimes the best way is to push through it, stay positive, spin the situation in an affirming way. Squeeze that lemon into lemonade. Turn that frown upside down. Accentuate the positive.

Or in Paul’s situation, begin by listing your accomplishments. How does he spin the situation of weariness, abandonment, and disillusion? He says, “I’ve fought the good fight, finished the race, kept the faith, and I know there is a crown of righteousness waiting for me. And you can have that crown, too!”

Yet it sounds empty when the next words out of his mouth are, “Demas has abandoned me, Alexander the silversmith has done me wrong.” Which is it, Paul? The good fight or the lingering resentment? A good place to stand is in the honesty of that ambivalence, and say, “All the above, and I’m a tangled mess.”

Of course, another time-honored approach to disappointment is to reduce our expectations. The runner-up to the contest says, “The winner was a lot better than me.” Or the graduate with below-modest grades says, “I wasn’t valedictorian material anyway.” Or the bar-room romantic describes his girlfriend by singing the old country song, “She wasn’t much to look at except through the bottom of a beer glass.” Hear all of that? Reduced expectations.

Sometimes it’s called “putting cushions on the floor,” a softening of the outcome. Yesterday, I married off my nephew near Ithaca, New York. At the hotel yesterday morning, there was a swarm of young women, most of them six feet tall or taller. Women’s basketball team? No, the Columbia University volleyball team. They were in town to play Cornell. I looked them up on the internet – Columbia was 2-15.

I checked last night. Columbia is now 2-16. We can imagine the pep talk on the bus ride home. “At least we won two. There are more games to come.”

Sometimes the best way to salvage a disappointment is to look for the blessing in the middle of the experience. It can be a way of parenting. The beloved girlfriend dumps the sophomore, and me, and Mom might say, “Well, wait for the right one.” Thanks, Mom, even though there is little consolation. Or a six-point buck kissed your bumper on a Friday night, Dad says, “The car can be replaced but not you.” The intent is there.

Someone calls this, “Looking for the grace in the grit.” That’s a great phrase. There may be flecks of gold in the mud, so look again.

It sounds like the advice of Yoda to Luke Skywalker. In one of the Star Wars movies to say, “Pass on what you have learned. Strength, mastery, hmm… but weakness, folly, failure also. Yes: failure, most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters.” True enough.

And if we look at Paul’s final words, we see plenty of grace in the grit, blessing in the brokenness, and mercy in the mess. He laments how everybody ran out on him. “They all ran away,” he says. “Everybody deserted me.” Did he remember that happened to Jesus, too? Thugs came to arrest Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane while everybody else ran away. Yet Jesus had the graciousness to say, “Father, forgive them. Forgive them all.” There’s Gospel there.

So, Paul takes a breath. He has been abandoned, and he prays, “I hope these things aren't counted against them." It's a remarkable turn, a turn toward mercy. Sometimes the Gospel appears in the small details.

And then, as Paul unloads about how weak he feels, how abandoned he is, how there’s nobody except Luke by his side – what does he do? He names all the people he still loves. They are out there somewhere, cheering him on, grateful for his life’s work, affirming what he cannot see in himself on that cloudy day.

There’s Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus. Then he adds, "Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Pudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers and sisters." We don’t know any of those people, either, but isn’t it striking that Paul, who cries “boo hoo” that nobody is with him --- still has people with him. Eubulus, Pudens, Linus, Claudia, and “all the brothers and sisters.”

It's a good reminder that the circle of support is always larger than he think it is. There are cheerleaders on your side of the field. Today they are all around you.

All of this brings us to the final insight. It’s best summarized in one of our old hymns:

“Do your friends despise, forsake you? Take it to the Lord in prayer!
 In his arms he'll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.

Friends can be helpful. Or they can be fickle. But Christ himself stands with us. Paul can finally confess it: “The Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth.” He got through it. By the grace of God, he got through it.

Maybe you remember that poem, “Footprints in the Sand”? Some of you may have that printed and posted on the living room wall. Someone has a dream, sees two sets of footprints in the sand. It’s a sign the Lord has been walking alongside. Then the dreamer sees a section of the sand with only one set of footprints, and says, “Lord, did you abandon me when things got tough?” “No, my child,” comes the reply, “I was carrying you.”

There is a variation on that little poem. According to the variation, Christ says, “My child, I never left you. Those places with one set of footprints? It was then that I carried you. And that long groove over there is when I dragged you for a while.” That sounds a good bit more accurate.

Walking beside, carrying, or dragging us – it’s all a good reminder that life is not really about us. It’s about Christ, the Christ who rescues and saves. Paul looks back upon his life, names his disappointments, names his friends, names his needs – and reaffirms he couldn’t have gotten through all of it without the invisible, incomprehensible grace that holds us when we feel weak and all seems lost.

The good news of the Gospel is that God finishes what we cannot. The saving is not up to us. Paul has the clarity to finally say, “the Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever.”

And in case we need it said again, he says it again. “The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you.” That is always the final word.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Do Your Ears Itch?

2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
October 19, 2025
William G. Carter

But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it,  and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.

 

In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I solemnly urge you: proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage, with the utmost patience in teaching.

 

For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths. As for you, always be sober, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.

Today’s memory verse is inscribed on our bulletin cover. All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work. It’s quite the verse. There’s nothing quite like it in the Bible.

Today’s Psalm is close. Psalm 119 is a long meditation on the value of God’s teaching. It has 176 verses, all of them grouped by a letter of the Hebrew alphabet. God instructs us by wisdom through the texts of the teaching. We heard only eight verses from that psalm, which constitutes the longest chapter of the Bible. If there is a singular theme, it is: God’s words are good for us. The Torah – that is, the Instruction – saves our lives.

Today’s prophetic text takes this understanding forward. The prophet Jeremiah has taken note that, just because there’s a Bible, that doesn’t mean anybody reads it. Or that they follow it. Or that they understand it. Lamenting that this lack of engagement has led his nation into ruin, the prophet foresees a day when all of God’s people will know the Torah and understand the Torah. Not because it is written in a book, but because God has inscribed it upon their hearts.

Then we have this text, this memory text, from the second letter from an old pastor to a young preacher. We will call the old pastor “Paul.” The young preacher’s name is “Timothy.” It is clear they share a high regard for scripture. Paul speaks of the “sacred writings,” plural. He alludes that these writings come from different times, through different authors, addressing different topics in diverse ways.

Yet the scriptures share some common purposes. They are useful for teaching, that is, teaching the ways of God. They are texts intended for training – “training in righteousness,” he says. That is, they teach us how to live. Not just what to think but what to do. And then, Paul says something dramatic: “All scripture is breathed by God.”

For some, that’s why this is the memory verse. They believe God blew words onto the page; the text doesn’t specify this, but some folks have a high enough view of the Bible that this is what they believe. They overlook that that the original texts were written down in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek, or that there are scores of competing translations, or that there are several wrinkles in the manuscripts. Some of those handwritten manuscripts disagree with others. A few are missing a verse or two. The Gospel of Mark has at least three different endings. And so on.

None of this undermines what Paul is saying. He is saying God “breathes.” The inspiration is the respiration. When we ordain elders, deacons, and pastors, we ask in effect, “Do you accept the Scriptures to be, by the Holy Spirit, the unique and authoritative witness to Jesus Christ – and God’s Word to you?” It’s that phrase “by the Holy Spirit” that matters. God’s Spirit breathes upon the text, within the text, and then upon us – and that’s how the words get written upon our hearts. God’s respiration is our inspiration.

The bottom line is that what we need to know is in the Book. By the Spirit of God, it can be a living Book. A life-giving Book. A saving, salvaging Book. That’s why we honor it.

And I have to say, the more we read the book, the more hidden treasures we find. I’m not talking about secret codes or ancient treasures, but treasures. Some of them are so human they are a hoot. Like Proverbs 22: “Make no friends with hotheads, lest you learn their ways and entangle yourself in a snare.” (22:24-25) Good advice! Given that, I can think of a few television channels to turn off.

Or there’s my favorite story of the prophet Elisha. Some Cub Scouts made fun of his bald head, so Elisha utters a curse. A mama bear comes out of the woods to teach them a lesson. Point is, don’t make fun of God’s prophet. Or else! The tale probably began as a campfire story to warn the kids.

There are little treasures, highly human. Last Thursday the Men’s Breakfast group finished an exhaustive reading of the Acts of the Apostles. We decided to read next one of the letters by Paul. So, we’ll start with the letter to the Philippians. I can’t wait to tell them there’s a swear word in chapter three (don’t look for it now). His point is not the swear word – he was writing about Jesus and how everything else smells like the stuff you scape off your shoe.

The point is God’s holiness is imparted to everyday humanness. There is holiness. And there is humanness. Just like Jesus, they are bound together as one. Let’s not tint the pages of this book in gold and put spotlights on it without reading it. The Bible is only as good as our engagement with it. Are we sinking into the pages so that God’s wisdom can sink into us? That’s what counts.

Our worship committee recently surveyed the Bibles in our pews. Some of them are worn out. That’s a great problem to have! A sanctuary with Bibles that are falling apart. I imagine you’ll help us replace them when the appeal is made. Because the Bible is good for us. When God breathes the ancient words of alive, we come alive. Faith, hope, and love come alive.

So, you might ask, why all this emphasis on the Bible? I’m glad you asked. Good question. Paul brings up the Bible because he knows all the other messages out there in the world. Without God’s instruction, a world left to its own impulses becomes ugly and twisted out of shape. Right before our text, right before Paul speaks so glowingly of the Bible, he describes what he calls his own “distressing times.” Here’s the list, from the beginning of chapter three:

For people will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, unfeeling, implacable, slanderers, profligates, brutes, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to the outward form of godliness but denying its power. (2 Timothy 3:2-5)

This is how he describes those who live without God. They are totally turned in upon themselves. They abuse others. They build themselves up while they tear others down. Some of them are so intoxicated by their selfishness that they wrap themselves in religious talk as they cut down their neighbors. Pretty horrifying, isn’t it? And it needs to be said that all of us are prone to turn in upon ourselves. Without God, without God’s instruction, that’s who we could become. That’s the human condition.

That’s the canine condition, too. Let me explain. We have two Springer spaniels in our home. Both are getting up in years, but they are lovely companions. They both like to have their ears rubbed. I mention that because that’s the phrase Paul uses to describe the beastly tendencies of the human animal – they have itchy ears.

Well, Pippa and Oakley like to have their ears scratched. It’s intoxicating. It gives them great pleasure. It’s the dog version of catnip. Scratch their ears. If you stop, they tap you with a paw. “Keep going! Don’t stop. Ooh, that feels so good. Yes, that’s it. Right there.”

And Paul says this is how some people are. They want their ears scratched. They listen only to what they want to hear. They change the channel if an adverse word is spoken. Either that, or they say, “You can’t trust the news” or “I have my own set of facts.” Or worse they say, “Just keep scratching my ears.” Keep me intoxicated by my own insulated experiences. Don’t try to teach me anything that would make me a better person. No, scratch my ears. Keep me entertained.

I was in the check out line at the market, buying some yogurt, and I noticed all the ear-scratching headlines of the tabloids. Elvis consorted with Martians, and the offspring walk among us. The here-today-and-gone-tomorrow celebrities are divorcing and remarrying. There are secret ingredients in your pantry to eliminate diabetes. There are flying saucers mentioned in the Bible. And so forth. Who pays any attention to these things? Those with itchy ears. 

Paul’s counsel, woven all through this letter to Timothy, is to stay grounded in what he calls “sound doctrine.” This is that body of material that have its gravitational center in the love and justice of the God we know through Jesus Christ. It’s an anchor when the waves are pounding against the boat. It’s the call to love your neighbor when others are trying to divide you. It’s the invitation to trust in God and his ways when there are so many liars, scammers, and doomsayers.

Sound doctrine is when we join together to speak the truth we have inherited, “We trust in God who creates everybody in the divine image. We trust in Jesus Christ, who gave his life to cancel the power of evil and has been raised from the dead to rule over all. We trust in the Holy Spirit who can refresh us and renew us if only we would get over ourselves and stop acting as if we know what we are doing. 

The great reformer John Calvin said it best. The moment of his transformation began, he said, when God showed him he was teachable.[1] He took on an attitude of grateful receptivity. God has something to say. God has something to teach. We are not left to ourselves. Just like us, Calvin didn’t have to rely on his own wits to get through the day or sleep through the night. There is a greater Wisdom at work in the world. We access it by reading the Bible together.

So, we read the folktale of Elisha cursing the Cub Scouts. Rather than focus on the chaos, we discover there’s a great power in the Word of God than we first realized.

Or we read the multiple versions of Mark’s resurrection story and affirm he was doing his best to affirm something so great that it cannot be captured in words.

Or we read the apostle Paul writing to a church he loved. When we come across a saucy word, we know he is amplifying his language to tell us how much he’s willing to give up to claim the transforming power of God.

The Bible is just that useful. So, let’s read it. Let’s read it together. Let’s find ways to increase our understanding and then let’s live out of the treasure chest that generations before us have preserved for our benefit. For if there’s anything scripture can teach us, it’s this. When your heart and mind are full, your ears don’t itch.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] John Calvin, Commentary on the Psalms

Good Treasure, Entrusted

October 5, 2025
World Communion
40th Anniversary of Ordination
William G. Carter

      Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, for the sake of the promise of life that is in Christ Jesus,

To Timothy, my beloved child: Grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.

I am grateful to God—whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did—when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

Do not be ashamed, then, of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner, but join with me in suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace. This grace was given to us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.

For this gospel I was appointed a herald and an apostle and a teacher, and for this reason I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know the one in whom I have put my trust, and I am sure that he is able to guard until that day what I have entrusted to him. Hold to the standard of sound teaching that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. Guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us.

 

Thirty-five years is a long time. Forty, even longer. In some ways, the time has zipped by. In other ways, the days are long, and the years are short. Trust me when I say I’m grateful to be here, still here, and we have many more miles to travel together before I’ll be done.

Given the nature of this day, I hope you won’t think it overly self-indulgent if I say a few words about how I got into this line of work. My intention is not to make it about me, but to make it about God, and the call of God for each of us.

Simply put, I did not choose to be a preacher. I was recruited. Anybody who chooses the pastoral ministry on their own must be insane. If you do it right, the hours are long. The emotional demands are heavy. You rely on volunteers. You live among consumers. At least the pay is extraordinary, right? It’s a little less than the going rate for public school teachers, although you don't get summers off and you must work weekends and hoIidays.

For pastors, the blessing is that we are invited to mark life moments. There are three big ones, which could be described as hatched, matched, and dispatched. We baptize children, then wait decades for them to return. We marry off lovers who have no clue what they are getting into. We bury people who should have taken better care of themselves. And those are the big moments. Meanwhile, there are thousands of little moments, too, every single one of them important.

Why would anybody do this? Because they were recruited. Because God said, in a Voice from beyond time, “I have work for you to do.”

That's my story. I didn't go looking for this. I was found. The Voice said clearly, “I have work for you to do.” I heard it at a Halloween party, of all things, when I was nineteen years old. Nobody else heard that Voice. I looked around, saw no one, but I knew. That initial summons released a temporary euphoria, something I’ve never been able to explain. I laughed out loud. I was filled with joy.

And then, a few days later the terror sneaked in. Why me? What would this mean? What would be required? Whom do I tell? The college girlfriend who had just dumped me thought I would be a terrible minister and said as much. The college chaplain believed I was too arrogant. The jazz cats looked at me funny, as if to say, “How will that work out?” All that, in addition to my own doubts and fears, faults and issues.

Yet here I am. Because if you've been recruited, you need to see it through. I could say a lot more about all of that, but I'm here to talk about Jesus and not about me.

Why would Christ recruit any of us? Because there is work to be done. The world is a broken place, so broken that we broke Jesus. Yet he keeps coming back, wounds still visible, and he says, “Blessed are those who are broken.” Say that, he says. Let them know they are precious even if their hearts are fractured. Tell them there is redemptive joy even if they are weeping. Be the Beatitudes, as strange as they are. Keep this good news alive, in you, in them, even when the broken world denies it.

In our text, Paul says to young Timothy, “Guard the gospel.” He's not telling him to defend it, because Jesus never defended himself. The Lord came among us vulnerable, defenseless, trusting in God alone. Yet Jesus kept the faith. He hung onto the faith. He kept it burning within. That’s how he guarded it as treasure.

And that is the second part of the call of God. First, there is the summons. Then there’s the keeping of the flame, the stoking of the fire, the guarding of the hope that God implants within us. We keep, stoke, and guard in diverse ways. I know what has been most beneficial to me.

For me, there has been a constant return to the Bible. It’s a big, delightful stew of stories and songs, collected by people who came to love God after discovering how much God loved them. About four weeks after my ordination, I ran out of sermons. I said everything I knew. Then I started reading the Bible, really digging in, and there has been no shortage of things to teach and preach. We live within the pages of this book.

There have been the God moments too, occasions that happen off the page. I can cite youth camps, wilderness trips, hospital visits, service trips, and occasional trips to the monastery to get the spiritual fleas out of my hair. My mother taught me to appreciate the visual arts and good music. My father taught me to sit in the woods, be still, and watch the world come alive at dawn through no effort of our own. These holy moments can train us to back off from our aggressions and let God rule the world.

A third gift has been laughter, what Anne Lamott calls, “carbonated holiness.” Counter to all the grim saints we’ve had to endure, God loves a good joke. That’s why he keeps us around. Laughter names the inconsistencies and absurdities. Joy levels the hypocrisies and pretensions, reminding us we will never make it without a lot of help. Grace comes as a guffaw. As the Psalmist says, “The Lord delights in his people.” (Psalm 149:4). That means you and me.

And then there is friendship, which lies close to the core of the Christian life. We can’t do Gospel work alone. We need one another. One of the sustaining gifts of my ministry was spending a week with a dozen or more preachers. Some of them are here today. For thirty years, we met for a week in January to work on scripture, to walk through joy and heartbreak, and to build connections that still give grit and grace.

One more sustaining gift has been the work of integration. When the invitation came, I couldn't figure out how the church could ever use a jazz musician. But God did. The Holy Spirit punctured my lack of imagination, and said, “Try this.” Keep at it. That miracle is still in the making.

And if I’m honest, my work has been made infinitely easier by living with a congregation like this one. Over the years, as outsiders would learn about my work, some would ask, "How long are you going to stay in that little town?" I have always smirked, then replied, "I have a secret." The secret is all of you. We have forged something special. It is a treasure – the Gospel enfleshed in our relationships. And I love you all so very much.

The question today: how do we keep the flame alive? How do we keep the fire burning? There is no single answer, although most of us have some pretty good hunches. We anchor ourselves in the things that matter. Then we give ourselves to the work of God in our world: living, loving, learning, serving, speaking out, forgiving, creating, collaborating, contributing, always making a positive difference. 

It begins there. It continues there. And the God who began this good work in each of us will see it through to the end. Thanks be to God, who entrusts us with this priceless treasure.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

The Grand Distortion

Luke 16:19-31
September 28, 2025

William G. Carter

"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.

 

The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.'

 

But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things and Lazarus in like manner evil things, but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.'

 

He said, 'Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father's house -- for I have five brothers--that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.' Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.'

 

He said, 'No, Father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.'"

It is a safe bet that we have heard this story before. Maybe you read it in the Bible. Maybe you heard it from me. Every time this text shows up in the schedule, I have a hard time passing it by. It’s vivid and poignant. The story has a bite. 

There’s a preacher I know who was stunned to discover it is a recurring story. In a Bible class, he learned that many diverse cultures tell a story like this one. “There were a rich man and a poor man.” There’s always a rich man, always a poor man. It does not depend on where the story is told. In every place on earth, we have affluence and poverty. In every one of those situations, there is a great gulf between them. This story is not restricted to the Bible.

Yet it belongs here, too, for it is a Bible story. Specifically, and uniquely, it belongs in the Gospel of Luke. As we have heard since the summer, Luke tells us how Jesus warned about the trappings and temptations of having a lot of money. He has also kept our eyes upon the poor and called us to compassion.

What’s more, since page one of his book, Luke tells us that God will reverse fortunes. What did mother Mary say before her baby Jesus was born? “God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.”[1] What did the grownup Jesus announce to his followers? “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God… Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.”[2] That’s either good news or bad news, depending on whether you feast sumptuously or wait for the crumbs to fall from the table.

As Jesus tells the story today, his characters enflesh those teachings. There’s the anonymous rich man. It could be any of us. The poor man is named. He is Lazarus, named after a friend whom Jesus loved. Their situations have been reversed. In the life to come, Lazarus leans on Father Abraham, now comforted and consoled. And where is the rich man? You might say he’s cooking in the basement.

What’s remarkable is how Jesus takes this well-known story and expands upon it. First, the two are eternally separated. There is a great gulf between them. It cannot be passed. The decision is final. One is up; one is down. There is no middle ground – except for the ground that you and I currently inhabit. So, he’s trying to teach his disciples in every time and place: give freely of yourself, share what you have, do not separate yourself from those in need. There may still be time, Ebenezer Scrooge, so wake up from that bad dream and show some compassion.

There’s a second way Jesus expands on the story. He says everything we need to know was written down in the Bible. There’s nothing new about feeding one another. It’s in “Moses,” that is, the wisdom of the Jewish Torah. And it’s in “the Prophets” – that’s the section that a lot of people don’t read. Not just because it’s poetry, and poetry can be difficult, but because the prophets of Israel regularly punctured the illusions of those who ignored their neighbors.

We could look at this in chapter and verse, but we would be here most of the day. And today is the day to get out into the neighborhood. The point is, everything is in the Book, the Good Book. Read the Book. Live the Book.

What captures my attention this time through the story is something the rich man says while the flames are burning him up. Did you hear what he said? “Send Lazarus to cool me off!” Isn’t that something? He’s burning up in hell and he still thinks he is in charge.

In fact, he tries to pull those eternal strings three times. “Send Lazarus to douse me in water.” “Send him to my five brothers to warn them not to end up like me.” That is, neglecting neighbors is a family habit; at least he cares enough about his brothers to warn them. And then he says, “Send Lazarus back from the dead. That will wake them up.” Then Jesus says, with a pre-Easter wink, “If they won’t listen to Moses and the Prophets, a resurrection will not wake them up.”

Like I said, three times the rich man thinks he’s in charge. He had his “good things” during his lifetime. That seems to have shaped his thinking. He believes he is superior. He thinks he can still order people around. He’s fond of telling Abraham, or God, or Jesus what he wants them to do. And this is the Grand Distortion. It is the presumption of some to think they are better than others. “Send Lazarus to cool me off…” Ouch!

It’s this presumption - that I am better than you - that seems to be the root of it all.

Now, it must be said that the present world is full of inequities. People get paid different amounts, sometimes when they do the same work. Some folks pay others to do what they don’t want to do. Or pay them for what they are not able to do. Some are born into abundance, while for others, all the “good things” are withheld. Is it fair? Of course it isn’t fair. Neither is it fair that some “game the system” to their advantage, while others languish in their poverty. Life as we know it is not smoothed out and the same for everybody.

And yet the root of a lot of evil is in that assumption – that presumption – that some of us are better than others. Ask the historian Heather Cox Richardson at Boston College. She concludes this was the original basis for enslaving African people. Hundreds of years later, it continues when the voter rolls of their descendants are purged with absolutely no evidence of fraud. Some want to move ahead by keeping others behind.

So, this is a good story to keep in mind when we do a lot of good things today for the neighborhood. Do we serve others because we are better than them? Or is it because we are participating in a common humanity? Do we lean down or step over? Or do we stand beside?

I think of that poor rich man in Jesus’ story. He had an impoverished heart which led to an impoverished imagination. All he had to do was look out the window, see Lazarus (who he knew by name), and say, “Lazarus, let’s eat together at our table.” But he couldn’t do it. Or wouldn’t do it. And that sad little soul has given clues as to why. He thought he was superior.

In the mission literature, there is the phrase “toxic charity.” That’s the kind of charity you do that makes things worse. Like that church group we saw in the Port-au-Prince airport years ago. On their way home, singing Jesus songs, and saying, “Isn’t it too bad how these people live?” In a moment, they negated everything they thought they were doing. I wonder if any of those kids in matching t-shirts had their hearts cracked open wide enough to see they lived on the same planet as everybody else.

It’s one thing to do good deeds for others. It’s another to do good deeds with others. That’s the genius of a model like Habitat for Humanity. You don’t merely build a house for the needy. You build a house with them, as partners, standing on the same level ground. And whatever pre-existing inequities melt away when you serve side by side.

That’s one of the subtle but significant changes that I’ve seen in our congregation. Thirty-five years ago, First Presbyterian Church wrote checks to those in need. Now, we write checks - and we show up, too. We come alongside. We learn names. We listen to the stories. We bridge the gaps. We build relationships. We discover once again that we are in this life together.

The simple fact is this: none of us are any better than anybody else. None of us. Well, OK. Jesus is better than us. But give him a good look. He’s down on his knees, washing our feet.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Luke 1:53.

[2] Luke 6:20, 24.

On Hating Your Life

Luke 14:25-33
September 7, 2025
William G. Carter

Now large crowds were traveling with him, and he turned and said to them, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.

 

Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.'

 

Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace.

 

So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

Looking out at the congregation today, I have only one question. Where did everybody go? Last Sunday, the room was full. We printed over two hundred worship bulletins, even though it was a holiday weekend. There was only one bulletin left. We had a big crowd. It was wonderful.

But where is everybody today?

Oh, I know. Every Sunday is not a revival. Last week was a special event with its own magnetism. We don’t always beef up the choir with Roman Catholics. Nor do we normally welcome guests from California, Massachusetts, Brooklyn, Binghamton, or Allentown. All viable reasons. 

But I must wonder: do you think all the people who were here last week found out about our scripture lesson?

According to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus was on the move. He was followed by “large crowds.” Enormous crowds! And he spins around and shouts to them all, “You can’t follow me unless you hate your family, carry the cross, and give up all your possessions.” Sounds like he wanted to thin out the herd. Trim away the dead wood. Pare down the inflated membership roll. Travel only with the True Believers, not with the Hangers On.

But what a way to do it!

It sounds like Jesus was not interested in church growth. You can’t build a congregation, much less a movement, by making the admission more restrictive. Imagine the congregation, service organization, or country club that extends its arms to say, “You all come! Everybody is welcome!” And when the masses come through the door, a second announcement is made, “You can’t stay unless you meet our stringent requirements.” That’s no way to enlarge an organization, but it is a way to clarify who is worthy of being there.

Jesus turns toward the large crowd following him and says, “Hate your family, carry the cross, and give up what you have.” After hearing him say this, I’m not surprised anybody sneaks out. So, let’s explore each of those requirements.

First: “Father, mother, spouse, children, brothers, sisters – you must hate them.” And yes, it does say “hate.” These are people bound to us. We don’t choose most of them, which means from time to time they are going to drive us crazy. Does anybody here have a completely peaceful family? No, I didn’t think so. But hate them?

Household irritations are a common occurrence, whether we air that dirty laundry in public or not. Two sisters may borrow one another’s clothing without permission. The brother might be an annoying know-it-all. Mom may hover while Dad ignores, all common situations. And then if you are blessed to have a spouse, well, there could be differences in opinion on everything from tidiness around the home, to the importance of changing the oil in the car, to how you discipline the kids.

God has created each of us with our own particularities and peculiarities. That’s a gentle way of saying none of us are identical, not even sets of twins – and certainly not the triplets. But to hate them? That seems over the top – which is exactly the point.

See, Jesus spoke as a first-century Jew. In that Semitic culture, choices were very clear. It’s either this or that. There were no gradations in between. Which is to say, if you want to follow Jesus, you can’t let your following be affected by what your family thinks. Either you’re in or you’re out.

Some of you are here today, while members of your family are sleeping in or going to brunch. You chose to make the commitment, and God bless you for it. And that’s not to say your family members are not following Christ, too. Maybe they are tired, or going through a slump, or they have mixed feelings about sitting for an hour in a room like this surrounded by people like us. Whatever.

Four decades of pastoral ministry has taught me to lean into graciousness. As for ourselves, we don’t live our spiritual lives for other people. As for others, God is not finished with anybody yet. The point is you have to be clear. That clarity increases the closer we get to Christ. It is possible to keep loving our families, working for their benefit, saving for their futures – and to still distinguish between who they are and who Jesus is.

That’s what he means when he says “hate.” He wants to shock us into deciding if it’s him or them. That’s the distinction he imposes on each of us. And it’s direct.

Second, he says, “You have to carry the cross.” What cross – his cross or the cross? Curious, isn’t it, that Luke and the other gospels put a phrase like this before the story of the crucifixion. It almost sounds like the Gospel writers are reading the cross of Christ back into our story of discipleship. That it’s a symbol that defines how we are called to live out our faith here and now.

Obviously, he’s not saying all of us will be nailed to wood by Roman soldiers. That old practice is long-gone, thankfully. But what is the cross? There are several interlocking answers.

·       The cross is a call to self-sacrifice. We set aside our will to do the will of God.

·       The cross comes when we do the right thing in a world that doesn’t want us to do the right thing.

·       The cross is given to us when we speak truth to people who are living by lies.

·       The cross comes as punishment when we expose evil and name it for what it is.

Just think of the stories of Jesus. He was punished for being a good person.

Yet he remained good in spite of his punishment. The cross means all of this.

And there’s more.

·       The cross exposes the meanest intentions of people – and then it cancels those mean intentions.

Those who put Jesus on the cross heard him pray, “Father, forgive them.”

That’s the answered prayer on which every human life depends.

·       Therefore, the cross is the deepest expression of grace. We killed the Son of God, and God didn’t retaliate.

This means forgiveness is always possible. Unless we’re still nursing the grudge.

·       And the cross means there is a new world, a new way of doing things, a new dominion which we call the kingdom of God. What that means is this is God’s world, not the devil’s world. There’s a lot of evil, meanness, and corruption still lingering about. But we don’t belong to that. We belong to God.

I think of the apostle Paul, writing to a church in Turkey, and concluding his letter by saying, “May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world.”[1] Then he says, “The only thing that matters is a new creation. That’s everything.” It’s not a new creation far off in the future, but right now. We belong to God. We live out of the love he has for all of us.

Yesterday, my friend Jim and I attended a funeral for one of our clergy colleagues. Tom was a man with a big heart. Sadly, that big heart of his gave out on the day before he was going to marry off his son and new daughter-in-law. It was a shock for the family and all his friends. But there was a taste of New Creation in his obituary. It quoted what he said when he began his last pastorate. Listen to this:

As I look at humanity, I can only describe the human personality as designed for relationship with something from which it has been separated. Christian reconciliation, the realization that God in Christ has become human and in doing so unconditionally accepts us and helps us. That is my basic theological starting point.[2]

The cross reconciles us to God, and through God with one another. There it is. Carry that. Even if an evil world hates you. Just live like Jesus – connecting, forgiving, loving, giving yourself away for the sake of others. That’s what it means to carry the cross.

Third, he says, “You can’t become my disciple if you don’t give up all your possessions.” Wait – is that an echo I hear? Jesus has been saying something like this ever since he started out on the road. There’s something about having a lot of stuff that slows you down. And here, it’s even more stark. He calls us to give it all up. Everything. Every nickel in our pockets, every shirt in the closet, every book on the shelves. Every everything.

I dug into the text to see if I could soften it. Not a chance. It says what it says. Then I submitted to reason: if we give everything up, we are empty handed, defenseless, impoverished, and naked. Reminds me of a rich boy. You could call him Frank. He lived a few years ago and lived quite well. Then he had a series of spiritual visions that shook him up. He began to perceive the wastefulness of his opulent lifestyle, the way he tossed his father’s money around. Until one day, he stripped off his clothing in front of the local bishop, vowing a life of poverty.

I said his name was Frank, but you might know him as St. Francis of Assisi. For him to follow in the way of Jesus, he had to let goods and kindred go. All his stuff was bogging him down. So, he had to unload what he had as a sign of what he aspired for his soul.

Again, it sounds like an early Christian hymn about Jesus. “He had equality with God,” sang the church, “but figured that equality was not something to be clutched, so he emptied himself, becoming like a servant.”[3] It’s this movement of downward mobility that is held up as the model. Becoming like a servant by giving up all the stuff you’re carrying around.

Now, if that sounds difficult, it is. It’s the third time I’ve mentioned that in a sermon in the past six weeks because it comes up that frequently in the Gospel of Luke. Luke is the gospel of relinquishing, of letting go, of giving up power and prestige – and of course, unloading all our possessions. First time this came up in a sermon this summer, some of you reported how good it felt to clean out your closets. But we are called to keep at it, to keep letting go, in order that we can acquire more of Christ.

In fact, if you look in the back of my Subaru out in the parking lot, it’s loaded with stuff I’m dropping off at a friend’s garage sale. And the more I get rid of, the more I realize I still have. Relinquishing is long term work. Apparently, we are born with sticky fingers. We attach ourselves to everything.

But that’s precisely why Jesus is exaggerating – “Give up all our possessions”? Really, Lord? If we did that, we would have nothing left. And his response is, “No, if you gave it all up, all you’d have left is me.” And this is the Gospel truth, the day is coming when we will give it all up. And will he have him? Or better, will he have us?

Because that’s the bottom line. When all is said and done, it is only Christ that can save us. Only Christ who will keep us. Not our money, not our safety, not even our families as nice as they are. Only Christ is worthy of all our hearts, all our wills, all our hopes, all our hearts. And so, the church at its simplest will sing:

 

Jesus, priceless treasure,

source of purest pleasure,
friend most sure and true:
long my heart was burning,

fainting much and yearning,
thirsting, Lord, for you.
Yours I am, O spotless Lamb,

so will I let nothing hide you,
seek no joy beside you!

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Galatians 6:14-15

[2] Obituary for the Rev. Dr. Thomas William Blair. Online at https://www.wmhclarkfuneralhome.com/obituary/thomas-blair

[3] Philippians 2:6-7.