Our Lenten Journey Begins
(Sermon notes from February 22, 2015)
HE LEFT THE WEST COAST for the drive back to SC. He started out dog tired. Near the end of his second day, driving through Cheyenne, the lonliness of I-80 and all the wide, western spaces conspired to make him feel small. Bone tired, he had began to think how good a drink might taste. Approaching Kimball, Nebraska, formerly known as Antelopville, he took the exit, eyes peeled for a watering hole. At a white, otherwise nondescript, church, he noticed on the sign a chili cookoff on the coming Sunday and an AA meeting every Tuesday at five o’clock. Having found much comfort over the years in the community of saints called Alcoholics Anonymous, he pulled into the gravel parking lot, turned off the car, and listened to the cooling motor pop and tick. He’d logged 20-some hours; he had another 25 to go. He took a deep breath. It was getting cold. It was Tuesday. The meeting started in three minutes.
What do these folk have in common?
I was born and raised in the sight of water in Hampton, Virginia. I was baptized and nurtured in the Presbyterian church. There was never a time when weekly worship attendance, the giving of ...