Between a Rock and a Hard Place

St. Patrick Presbyterian

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

April 23, 2023 • Rev. James M. Holland • Acts 22:30—23:35

It is an old saying and has passed into cliché perhaps, but we use it often to describe the feeling of finding ourselves in a situation in which there appears to be no escape. In The Odyssey, Homer captures this for our imaginations when Odysseus, in order to get home, has to navigate his ship through the narrow Strait of Messina. The problem is that on one side of the strait is Scylla, a monster with six heads mounted on long necks, each mouth filled with razor sharp teeth…and she is always hungry! On the other side of the strait, just a bow shot away, is Charybdis, a deadly whirlpool which will swallow a ship whole. To be caught “between Scylla and Charybdis" is to find yourself in an impossible situation with a bad outcome any way you turn.

In our narrative this week, Paul finds himself is such a situation. On the one hand, his own people want to assassinate him; and, on the other hand, he is at the mercy of the oppressors of his people—Rome. Is God in this? Are there words of comfort for Paul? Or perhaps what we really want to know is, are there words of comfort for us, who—because we live in a fallen world and because we ourselves are fallen—often find ourselves in such places. I hope you are interested because, if you read the Bible with any degree of attention, it seems the lot of God’s people is to find themselves in places like this often.

This Sunday, we will talk about it and consider what God is up to when we find ourselves between a rock and a hard place. Hope to see you then! Also, remember Sunday School for all ages starts at 9:15!

Blessings,

Jim

Hope Unhindered

May 28, 2023 • Rev. Joshua Smith • Acts 28:16–30

Eleven years ago this weekend, Pentecost Sunday fell on May 27. I know this because Allie and I were expecting our second daughter and she decided to come before her due date. This is why I had to surprise my intern at 6 am with the news that he would be leading music in multiple massive services with no advance warning on his first day. He muttered utterances under his breath which I assume were “tongues” in the Spirit of the Holiday. Then I got in my car and headed to the hospital. Our church was on the cutting edge of livestreaming for those days, so we were able to watch the service unfold from our labor and delivery room. Andrew did a stunning job, providing sufficient evidence to support a theory I’m still musing on to this day: as far as my work goes, I am very replaceable. I cannot help but think of the reported final words of the late Dr. Timothy J. Keller, a personal hero of mine and legend in modern pastoral work. As my ministry friends and I watched our Twitter feeds last week for updates, we despaired at the thought that anyone could fill the void this man leaves behind. Maybe he wasn’t the same gift for everyone, but for us, Tim’s winsome, humble, incisive, gospel-centered-and-saturated approach to preaching and cultural engagement will remain unmatched. Yet his parting words of comfort to his family ring out to haunt the eavesdroppers: “There is no downside for me leaving, not in the slightest.” As we wrap up this Heaven Is Local series in the Book of Acts, we find the indomitable Paul in chains at the Ends of the Earth, and probably at the end of his life as well. He certainly writes like he’s running out of time – by no means anxious; just focused. He tells the Philippians, (among them his former jailer and forever child in the gospel), these chains are somehow a source of joy. That for him, to die would be gain. Those final sentiments were no doubt the inspiration for Dr. Keller’s words as well. And what unsettles us about these kinds of statements? Is it that they reveal a level of hope that is often foreign to us? What would it take to be able to say such things at the end of our lives? In the middle of them? I hope you’ll join us in hearing this weekend. - js

Shipwrecked!

May 21, 2023 • Rev. James M. Holland • Acts 27

Seafaring stories have long captured the imagination, and the Bible is no different. People might appear like gods walking on the firmness of Earth, but put them in even the largest ship on the vastness of the ocean and suddenly they seem small. Even the hubris that surrounded the Titanic, the “unsinkable” ship, was found wanting against the uncontrollable forces of wind and wave. So, of course, we find Paul caught up in a seafaring tale that includes a harrowing dance with death and a dramatic shipwreck. From a literary perspective, Acts 27 is gripping—you can feel the hurricane-like wind that rips them from the safety of the lee side of the island and sets them adrift in the wine-darkened sea, heading helplessly into only God knows where. You can see panicked sailors scrambling up the mast to reef the mainsail, lash cables around the beam, and drop sea anchors into the water to keep the ship from running too fast with the waves. You can feel a ship that is doomed. It feels like something I have read in Patrick O’Brian’s classic sea novels about Captain Jack Aubrey. (He was made famous in the movie Master and Commander starring Russell Crowe.) Sailing didn’t change much from the time of Paul’s adventure through the seventeen hundreds. What is the point of all of this great writing? The gospel, finding itself in the most unlikely community—Paul, as a living and breathing representative of his savior, in the midst of the saltiest community yet—sailors. It is as astounding as it is unlikely but, then again, God seems to delight in this sort of thing. Join me Sunday as we sail with Paul on a doomed ship and see the mystery of God’s providence and kindness in the strangest of places. Also, Sunday is a big day! We have lots of people joining, baptisms inside and outside—lashing people to the mast of this local expression of God’s kingdom, made real in Collierville. Blessings, Jim

Speak For Yourself

May 14, 2023 • Rev. Joshua Smith • Acts 25

I’m sure you can imagine that church staffers have a general idea of what kind of crowd to anticipate on any given Sunday. Factors like civic holidays and weather have a way of establishing predictable patterns in large groups of people. But those arrangements have experienced a bit of a shakeup, especially over the past five or so years. Historically Mothers’ Day would see a bump in worship attendance, as diligent children and husbands honor the wishes of their pious matriarchs. This year? I really don’t know if that’s a thing we can count on anymore. And I don’t think COVID is to blame – it only accelerated something that’s been going on for about 30 years now. Yesterday I listened to a podcast entitled “Who Are the De-churched in America and Why Did They Leave?” The sociologists leading the discussion begin with a startling piece of data: thirty to fifty million Americans used to go to church but no longer do. Meaning, we are in the middle of the greatest religious affiliation shift in US history. The largest subgroups of those leaving the church over the past 25 or so years are: 1.) Nominal Evangelicals (attendance was cultural, not devotional) 2.) Dislocated Evangelicals (COVID/politics) 3.) Exvangelicals (harmed by institutions) 4.) BIPOC Evangelicals (successful minorities) 5.) Mainliners (found it didn’t make a difference) 6.) Catholic (similar to Mainline, + clergy scandals). And now, a shift that began in the 90’s in urban centers has finally overwhelmed our own bastion of cultural Christianity, the suburbs. If you know your neighbors, keep up with former classmates or extended family, you know folks who fit into some of the above categories. Maybe you’re even friendly, but the moment anything spiritual or church-related comes up, you have to tiptoe around the awkwardness. As people who grew up in a world where some kind of Christianity was the default worldview, it’s disorienting to suddenly find ourselves becoming a minority. Conversations take on a different tone. Our children ask very different questions than we did. O, brave new world with such creatures in it! How do we prepare to give an answer for the hope that is within us? Do we even experience that hope? As we start to wrap up this Heaven Is Local series, we’re going to see Paul giving his last great defense in the book of Acts. It’s addressed to a man who is the symbolic figurehead of a defunct people of God: someone who should know but doesn’t. The way Paul postures himself is a masterclass in sharing the truth in love to a post-religious person. I hope you’ll join us! - js