If you have ever experienced doubts or been skeptical about matters of faith and religion, you are not alone. Frederick Buechner said, “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it awake and moving.”
In some religious circles, however, faith and doubt are often treated as opposites, as though one cancels out the other. In such settings, doubt is viewed with suspicion, as though it is sinful, something to be hidden, hurried past, or quietly resolved before it becomes disruptive. Yet the Christian story tells a different truth. Faith is not fragile. It is resilient, examined, and durable. It can withstand questions, doubts, and honest inquiry.
One of the most ancient and instructive examples of this kind of faith is found in John 20:24-29 in the confession of Thomas. Often labeled “Doubting Thomas,” he may be better understood as “Truth-Seeking Thomas.” When the other disciples announce that they have seen the risen Christ, Thomas responds with remarkable honesty: unless he can see and touch the wounds himself, he cannot believe. Rather than rebuking him, Jesus invites Thomas to examine the evidence. The result is one of the strongest confessions of faith in all of Scripture: “My Lord and my God.”
Thomas reminds us that faith does not always arrive fully formed. For many, belief is born through the labor pains of honest inquiry. And, somewhat ironically, once faith takes root, it often generates more curiosity, not less. Authentic faith refuses to settle for slogan-like answers to deep and uncomfortable questions.
In the twentieth century, physicist and theologian Ian Barbour challenged the popular notion that science and faith must exist in conflict. Barbour insisted that his Christian faith made him a better scientist, not a lesser one—more curious, more rigorous, and more attentive to mystery. His work opened space for thoughtful dialogue rather than shallow debate. Like Thomas, Barbour understood that truth does not fear examination.
Consider how we make important decisions today—medical diagnoses, financial investments, or even choosing a school for our children. We do our due diligence. We ask questions. We examine evidence. We seek trusted sources. Rarely do we accept life-altering claims without investigation. Yet when it comes to matters of faith, some are told to suspend curiosity and simply “believe.” Thomas pushes back against that false choice. He models a faith that engages both heart and mind.
The New Testament consistently affirms this kind of integrated faith. Hebrews describes faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Substance and evidence belong together. The gospel should never be proclaimed through emotional manipulation or social intimidation, but with truthfulness and grace, trusting the Spirit to do the deeper work of conversion.
Buechner captures this balance well when he suggests, “Faith is not being sure where you’re going, but going anyway.” Thomas did not begin with certainty; he began with courage, the courage to ask, to seek, and to stay in community even when belief felt incomplete.
Importantly, the story does not end in the locked room. Early Christian tradition holds that Thomas carried the gospel far beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire, eventually reaching India. According to ancient sources, communities of believers there trace their origins to his witness. The disciple who once demanded evidence became a missionary whose faith changed lives across continents. Doubt did not disqualify him; it refined him.
Faith stories are life stories. The chapters already written matter, but the chapters still unfolding may prove the most significant. Like Thomas, we are invited not to silence our questions, but to bring them into the presence of Christ. There, doubt can become confession, and inquiry can give way to trust.
Navigating faith and doubts is a challenge in every generation. Yet Jesus still meets seekers where they are, with all their doubts, wounds, and questions.
If you have trouble believing in God, maybe it’s not God you have trouble believing, but the various misrepresentations of God. If you have problems believing in Jesus, perhaps it’s not Jesus you have a problem with, but the many counterfeit faces of Jesus that appear in the church and in the world. Examine the biblical account. Consider the life and teachings of Jesus. Probe the evidence, and you may just discover what you are seeking.
(This column is based on a sermon titled “The Thomas Confession” that I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola on January 5, 2014.)
In Luke’s telling of the Christmas story, there is a quiet line that is easy to overlook amid angels, shepherds, and songs of praise. Twice, Luke pauses the action to tell us something about Mary: “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19; see also Luke 2:51). While others hurried home or returned to their fields, Mary lingered. She pondered.
That single word—pondered—feels almost foreign in our hurried world. We are far more practiced at reacting, scrolling, multitasking, and moving on. We skim headlines, rush conversations, and measure productivity by speed. Pondering, by contrast, requires stillness. It asks us to slow down, to contemplate the significance of an experience rather than rush to explain or resolve it.
Mary’s pondering was not passive or sentimental. It was intentional. She had just given birth under uncertain circumstances, welcomed unexpected visitors, and heard astonishing claims about her child. None of it neatly fit together. Rather than forcing quick conclusions, Mary gathered these moments and carried them within her, trusting that meaning would unfold over time.
In this sense, pondering is an act of faith. It resists the pressure to have immediate answers. It allows mystery to remain mystery. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke once advised, “Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” Mary lived the questions.
Scripture suggests this practice. The psalmist urges, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). The prophet Isaiah writes, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). Pondering is not withdrawal from life but a deeper engagement with it—one rooted in attentiveness and trust.
Historically, this kind of reflection was once considered a spiritual discipline. Early monastics spoke of ruminatio, the slow, prayerful chewing on scripture, much like a cow chewing cud. Lectio divina, still practiced today, invites readers not to rush through sacred words but to linger over them until they sink from the mind into the heart. Wisdom, they believed, comes not from volume of information but from depth of attention.
Our fast-paced culture rarely encourages such depth. We are trained to move on quickly, to optimize time, to fill every quiet moment with noise. Even joy is rushed. We snap pictures instead of absorbing the moment, post updates instead of savoring experiences. In the process, we risk missing the meaning woven into our days.
Recovering the lost art of pondering does not require retreating to a monastery. It begins with small, intentional pauses. It might mean sitting with a scripture instead of rushing to the next task, reflecting on a conversation long after it ends, or resisting the urge to explain away an experience that feels unresolved. It means permitting ourselves to say, “I don’t fully understand this yet, and that’s okay.”
Pondering also changes how we listen to others. When we slow down enough to treasure their stories rather than rush to respond, relationships deepen. When we hold moments with care instead of judgment, gratitude grows. Life becomes less about accumulation and more about attentiveness.
Mary’s example reminds us that some truths cannot be grasped in haste. They must be held, revisited, and trusted. The child she pondered would grow, teach, heal, and redeem. But for now, Mary simply treasured what she had been given.
Perhaps this season, and every season, invites us to do the same. To recover the lost art of pondering is to reclaim space for wonder, wisdom, and faith to take root. In a world that urges us to hurry, pondering becomes a quiet act of resistance, and a sacred practice for the living of these days.
(This column is a revision of a Wednesday night devotional I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola in December 2008.)
The Christmas story is so familiar that we sometimes forget it comes to us through more than one gospel writer’s perspective. Nativity scenes blend shepherds and angels, wise men and a star, Mary and Joseph and a manger into a single display. Yet when we turn to the Gospels, we discover that each writer tells the story from a distinct perspective, or, in one case, chooses not to tell it at all. These different viewpoints do not compete with one another; they enrich our understanding of the mystery of the birth of Jesus.
Matthew: Christmas Through the Lens of Lineage
Matthew’s Gospel tells the Christmas story with one eye firmly fixed on Israel’s scriptures. Written for a largely Jewish audience, Matthew frames Jesus’ birth as the fulfillment of ancient promises. The genealogy of Jesus traces his lineage back through Abraham and David, anchoring the story in God’s covenant history.
Matthew highlights Joseph’s experience, including the angelic dream, the struggle to do what is right, and the costly obedience that follows. The visit of the Magi, the guiding star, and the flight into Egypt all echo Israel’s past, reminding readers that God is continuing a long and faithful story. Matthew invites us to see Christmas as God keeping promises, even when fulfillment of those promises arrives in unexpected ways.
Luke: Christmas as Music for Those on the Margins
Luke’s Gospel is steeped in joy and wonder. Angels sing, the lowly are lifted up, and good news is announced to those on the margins. By focusing on women, the poor, and the powerless, Luke reminds us that the birth of Jesus is good news for all people. His perspective teaches us that Christmas is not just about God entering history, but about God drawing near to those who feel forgotten.
If Matthew emphasizes heritage, Luke emphasizes inclusion of those on the fringes. Luke’s account is the most detailed and the most tender. He gives voice to Mary’s song, Zechariah’s prophecy, and the angels’ proclamation to shepherds, who were ordinary laborers often overlooked by society.
John: Christmas as Cosmic Mystery
Just as Matthew’s gospel comes from a more Jewish perspective and Luke’s narrative is more melodic, John’s version is more philosophical. The writer offers no manger, no shepherds, and no Bethlehem journey. Instead, he begins his Gospel with a soaring theological hymn: “In the beginning was the Word…” For John, Christmas is not primarily a story about where Jesus was born, but about who Jesus is.
By proclaiming that “the Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14), John invites readers to contemplate the cosmic significance of the incarnation. Christmas, in this telling, is the moment when eternal light enters human darkness.
John’s use of the ”Word,” which is translated from “Logos,” meaning “reason” or “being,” or perhaps “the reason for being.” helps us see the nativity not only as a historical event, but as a divine mystery that reshapes all of reality.
Mark: Christmas Silence That Speaks
Mark, the earliest Gospel, says nothing about Jesus’ birth at all. He begins with Jesus’ public ministry, moving swiftly and urgently toward the cross. This absence is not an oversight; it is a theological choice.
The silence of Mark on the birth narrative invites us to focus not on sentiment, but on essence. Mark’s focus is on the earthly ministry of Jesus and the teachings of Jesus. Christmas, from this angle, calls us not just to wonder, but to follow those teachings and to align our lives with Jesus’ initiatives.
Taken together, the four Gospels offer a fuller, richer portrait of Christ’s coming than any single account could provide. Much like four sportswriters covering an athletic event from four different seats in the stadium, these biblical writers present the story from the view they’ve been given.
Matthew grounds us in God’s faithfulness, Luke draws us into God’s compassion, John lifts our eyes to God’s mystery, and Mark keeps us focused on God’s mission.
In a world shaped by differing viewpoints, the Gospels remind us that truth is often best seen through multiple lenses. The Christmas story is not diminished by its varied tellings; it is deepened. Each voice adds texture, meaning, and insight to the good news that God is with us.
As we revisit the story year after year, perhaps we are invited to listen again with fresh ears. By contemplating each Gospel’s perspective, we discover that the light of Christmas shines more brilliantly when seen from the whole prism.
(This column is a revision of a Wednesday night message I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola in 2009.)
Christmas Eve Services are sacred and joyful occasions. Churches and chapels fill with familiar carols and flickering candles, but they also fill with people carrying complex stories—joy and grief, gratitude and loss, faith and questions. On this holy night, words matter. What people hear can steady a weary heart or open a door to hope.
Over the years, I’ve been a part of dozens of Christmas Eve services, most of which have been inspiring and encouraging. I’ve also been to a few that were…Well, let’s just say they were lacking.
Here are twelve things people need to hear on Christmas Eve—truths that echo from the original Christmas story and still speak powerfully today.
1. You are welcome here. Christmas Eve is not a private gathering for insiders. It is a wide-open invitation. Whether someone comes weekly or once a year, confident or uncertain, hopeful or hurting, the message is the same: You belong.
2. “Unto us a child is born.” Most importantly, we need to hear the scripture story. The Christ who was born in Bethlehem is God’s gift for you, for me, and for all of us. The good news is not for a select group of people, but for all people from all nations, all races, and all walks of life.
3. “Fear not!” The first words spoken by the angel on the first Christmas were not instructions or expectations—they were reassurance. Fear not. Those words still matter in a world anxious about health, relationships, finances, violence, and the future. Christmas begins with comfort.
4. Christmas brings good news…tidings of great joy. This joy of Christmas is not shallow cheer or forced happiness. It is good news that God has not abandoned the world. Joy is possible even when circumstances are difficult because God has “become flesh and moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14 MSG)
5. It’s okay to feel joy and sorrow at the same time. For many, Christmas is layered with grace and grief. Christmas Eve gives permission to hold both realities at once. You don’t have to choose between honesty and hope. The manger holds space for both.
6. God meets us exactly where we are. The Christmas story unfolds not in a palace, but in borrowed space. God did not wait for ideal conditions. In the same way, God meets us not where we wish we were, but right where we are.
7. You are not alone. Emmanuel means “God with us.” Christmas is the announcement that God has chosen presence over distance. Emmanuel is not an abstract idea; it is a promise that we are accompanied through all of life, including uncertainty, grief, joy, and change.
8. God comes near to us, even in messy and uncertain circumstances. The birth of Jesus happened amid disruption, displacement, and danger. That should comfort us. God is not deterred by our chaos. Divine love enters the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.
9. You can experience the peace of Christ, even if every conflict isn’t resolved. Peace does not require that everything be fixed. The peace Christ brings is deeper than resolution—it is the steady assurance of God’s nearness in the midst of unresolved tensions.
10. The darkness will not have the final word. The Christmas star that guided those seeking the Christ child reminds us that night may surround the nativity, but it does not overcome it. Christmas declares that light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot extinguish it. This is not denial of hardship; it is defiance of despair.
11. The birth narrative is just the beginning. The story does not end at the manger. It continues through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and it continues still. God is at work in the world and in our lives, shaping a story not yet finished.
12. Like Mary, we can ponder and treasure these things in our hearts. Christmas Eve does not demand immediate understanding or action. It invites reflection. Wonder. Quiet trust. Sometimes the holiest response is simply to hold the mystery close and let it work on us over time.
Christmas Eve is not about having all the answers. It is about receiving a gift. A child born in humility. A love that embraces us unconditionally. A light that shines gently but persistently into the darkest places.
These are the things people need to hear, not just on Christmas Eve, but in the days that follow as the Light of Christmas helps to navigate the daily grind of life.
Christmas is one of the most beloved and most familiar celebrations in the world. However, some wonder about the cultural and spiritual reasons behind the various traditions we embrace during this season.
Throughout my years of serving as a pastor, I’ve been asked quite a few questions about Christmas. Some were mentioned out of mere curiosity, and others were asked with a profound sense of theological inquiry. I readily knew the answer to a few of the questions, and others I had to investigate.
Here are ten of the more common Christmas questions, with answers that may surprise you.
1. What is the most popular Christmas carol? Across cultures and denominations, “Silent Night” is widely regarded as the most beloved Christmas carol in the world. First sung in 1818 in a small Austrian church, it has been translated into hundreds of languages and is cherished for its simplicity, reverence, and peaceful theology. Its enduring appeal lies in how poetically it tells the Christmas story.
2. When did the celebration of Christmas first begin in the United States? The first Christmas celebration in the US occurred in 1539 in Tallahassee, Florida at Mission San Luis. Christmas was not widely celebrated in early America. In fact, Puritans in New England actively opposed it, viewing it as unbiblical and overly indulgent. Christmas gradually gained acceptance in the 1800s and became a federal holiday in 1870, thanks in part to changing cultural attitudes and waves of European immigrants.
3. When did our current representation of Santa Claus begin? The modern image of Santa Claus emerged in the 19th century. Clement Clarke Moore’s 1823 poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (better known as “’Twas the Night Before Christmas”) shaped Santa as a jolly, gift-giving figure. Later, illustrator Thomas Nast and 20th-century advertising (especially Coca-Cola campaigns) cemented the red-suited Santa we recognize today.
4. Are Christmas trees evil? How did the Christmas tree become a part of the celebration? No. Christmas trees are not evil or satanic. The tradition of decorating evergreen trees began in Germany during the 16th century. German immigrants brought the custom to America in the 1800s. Evergreens symbolized life in the midst of winter, which celebrates hope and light entering a dark world.
5. What is the highest-grossing Christmas movie of all time? The highest grossing Christmas movie of all time: When the Grinch Stole Christmas at $260 million. (Jim Carrey version). 2nd is Polar Express at $183 million.
6. When was Jesus born? It is highly unlikely that Jesus was born on December 25. The Bible does not give an exact date for Jesus’ birth. Most scholars agree that Jesus was likely born between 6 and 4 B.C. Jesus was more likely born in the spring. The December 25 celebration developed later, which was a way to emphasize Christ as the “Light of the World” rather than pinpointing a historical date.
7. How many wise men were there? Many assume that there were 3 Wise Men since there were 3 gifts, but the Bible doesn’t provide the number of Wise Men who made the journey. The Wise Men did not see the “babe in a manger” because they arrived after he was presented in the temple…anywhere from 13 days to about 2 years following the birth of Jesus.
8. Why was Jesus born in Bethlehem? Bethlehem was the city of King David, giving the story messianic significance. The prophet Micah foretold that a ruler would come from Bethlehem (Micah 5:2). Jesus’ birth there highlights God’s tendency to work through humble places to accomplish divine purposes.
9. Why do some people use “Xmas” instead of “Christmas”? “Xmas” is not a modern attempt to remove Christ from Christmas. The “X” comes from the Greek letter Chi, the first letter in Christos (Christ). Early Christians used it as a sacred abbreviation long before it appeared on greeting cards.
10. What does the word “holiday” actually mean? The word “holiday” is a good and positive word that comes from holy day. It originally referred to days set apart for religious observance. While the meaning has broadened, Christmas remains a true holy day, a festive occasion marked by carols and candles, worship and wonder, generosity and joy.
Christmas is more than a season of tradition. Our celebration of Christmas originates from a story of good news layered with history, meaning, and mystery. Asking questions doesn’t diminish the celebration. Rather, questions deepen our appreciation and understanding.
And at the heart of every answer is the same enduring truth: “The Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood.” (John 1:14 MSG)
(This column is a revision of a Wednesday night devotional I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola in December 2015.)
Of all the spiritual disciplines, I think that contentment may be the toughest to learn. The challenge is ongoing.
It isn’t that I don’t want to be content—I do. It’s that we live in a world wired to keep us restless. A consumerist economy whispers that the next upgrade, the newest version, or the latest device will finally deliver satisfaction. At the same time, my own temperament nudges me toward constant evaluation: fix what is broken, mend what is fractured, restore what has fallen apart. Those instincts aren’t wrong, but they can easily pull my soul out of rhythm.
That’s why the apostle Paul’s words feel both comforting and challenging: “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances” (Philippians 4:11). Contentment, Paul reminds us, is something learned—not instantly acquired, not naturally absorbed, but gradually shaped through trust and practice.
G. K. Chesterton observed, “True contentment is a real, active virtue—not a passive or timid acceptance of things as they are.” His words help me remember that contentment isn’t complacency. It is the courageous decision to embrace this moment with gratitude rather than wait for the perfect one.
Many people now take pictures with their phones using filters—adjusting brightness, warmth, and contrast to create a more polished version of reality. Contentment works in the opposite direction. Instead of filtering our lives to hide imperfections, contentment allows us to see clearly, without distortion. It shifts the focus from what is missing to what is meaningful, helping us recognize beauty in what we already have.
At its core, contentment is a commitment to simplicity. It rearranges my priorities so that my mission becomes primary, and the tangible resources in my portfolio become tools rather than trophies—means rather than measurements. When I practice contentment, life no longer feels like an expanding inventory but an emerging story.
Something transformative happens in that shift. Relationships rise to the forefront, while possessions return to their rightful place. People become essential; stuff becomes expendable. My life becomes more like a conduit than a reservoir—a channel through which blessings flow freely into the lives of others, not a storage unit where blessings are archived, counted, and guarded.
To live with contentment, I must return again and again to one foundational truth: my self-worth is neither inflated nor deflated by my net worth. My value does not hinge on what I own, what I accomplish, or what others think of me. My identity is rooted in something deeper and more enduring—worth that was instilled and endowed by my Creator.
Contentment, then, is not resignation. It is not passive acceptance. It is the steady confidence that God’s grace is sufficient in this moment, this season, this chapter—whatever it may hold. It is the quiet courage to trust that I already have what I need to live gratefully and faithfully today.
I’m still learning this discipline. Perhaps you are, too. But each day offers a new lesson, a fresh reminder, and a renewed opportunity to loosen our grip on accumulation and tighten our embrace of gratitude.
Every year, families, churches, and communities across the country set up nativity scenes in homes, along roadsides, in front of churches, and in town squares. These displays serve as seasonal reminders of the Christmas story, which includes the journey to Bethlehem, the birth of baby Jesus, and the presence of the angels and shepherds.
During my first Christmas serving as pastor of First Baptist Church in Pensacola, I learned that Eliot and Frances Dobelstein, long-time members of the congregation, had faithfully displayed a nativity scene on the southwest corner of the church lawn every Advent since 1972.
One afternoon, Eliot and Frances stopped by my office to share the story behind the display and the challenges they faced in maintaining it. Because the manger scene sat along a busy street, it often became an easy target for mischief. Over the years, various characters were defaced, rearranged, or occasionally went missing. Shepherds and wise men would disappear, only to be discovered days later in odd places. But the most frequent victim was the baby Jesus. More than once, someone had plucked the baby from the manger, leaving only an empty trough between Mary and Joseph.
Despite these frustrations, Eliot never gave up. Whenever a piece went missing, he replaced it. He secured the figures as best he could and made extra trips past the display to discourage would-be pranksters.
But in 2007, to prevent the baby Jesus from being taken yet again, Eliot decided enough was enough. Determined to prevent another “messianic kidnapping,” he wrapped a sturdy chain around the baby Jesus and fastened it with a padlock. To conceal the chain, he draped a worn blanket over the figure, giving the appearance of swaddling clothes.
“No one’s taking Jesus this year,” he thought confidently.
But he was wrong.
A few days before Christmas, Eliot walked into the church office looking more discouraged than I had ever seen him. The baby Jesus was gone—again.
Sam Solomon, our maintenance supervisor, and I followed Eliot to the scene. There, in the empty manger, lay the broken remains of the chain. Someone had come with bolt cutters, snipped through the links, and made off with Jesus once more.
For the first time, Eliot looked genuinely defeated. He sighed heavily and shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said.
Still unwilling to leave the manger completely empty, he placed a small bundle of hay in the trough and covered it with the same blanket—creating the impression that the baby Jesus was still there. But Eliot, Sam, and a few staff members knew the truth: this year, the manger held no Christ child.
Yet the story wasn’t over.
When Sam arrived at church early on January 2—the first day the office reopened after the New Year’s holiday—he noticed something propped against the glass doors of the atrium. He left it there for me to see when I arrived a short time later.
At first glance, it looked like a forgotten doll. Perhaps a child had dropped it or a neighborhood dog had dragged it there. Maybe one of our homeless friends had slept by the door and left it behind.
But as I approached, I recognized it immediately. It was the missing baby Jesus, with a folded note was taped to its chest.
Scrawled in uneven handwriting were these words:
“I took this before Christmas, and I have not been able to sleep much since then. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. So I am bringing it back home.”
I stood there for a moment, letting the words sink in. I hadn’t expected that.
I hated that Jesus had been stolen, especially after all of Eliot’s efforts to secure the display. Yet somehow, I found comfort in the return of that simple plastic figure—the one meant to represent the Savior of the world.
After sharing the news with our staff, I called Eliot.
“I thought you’d want to know,” I said. “The stolen baby Jesus has been returned.”
I could hear the relief in his voice.
Later that day, as I reflected on what had happened, I found myself wrestling with an unexpected question: What do you do with a stolen Jesus?
And then it struck me. The only thing you can do with a misplaced Jesus is bring him back to his rightful place in your life story.
Perhaps you have mis-taken Jesus, and you need to bring Jesus home to where he belongs.
Or maybe, you are the one who has wandered away, and this year, you are the one who needs to come home.
(This past Sunday, I was privileged to share the homecoming sermon at the First Baptist Church of Williams on the occasion of their 175th anniversary, a church I was blessed to serve from 1987-1995, and a church that is like family to us. Today’s column is the message I shared.)
Good morning, friends! What a blessing and an honor it is to be here with you as we celebrate the 175th anniversary of First Baptist Church, Williams.
Think about that for a moment — 175 years! Generations have been baptized here, taught here, married here, and sent out from here. Families have rejoiced together, grieved together, prayed together, and walked with Christ together in this place.
Today we stand on holy ground — not because of bricks or mortar, but because of the faith that has grounded us here for nearly two centuries. Yet, this anniversary is not simply a moment for nostalgia. It’s a moment to remember why this church exists and to recommit ourselves to the mission of God’s church for the future.
On this occasion, and in the days ahead, I encourage you to treasure the past, embrace the present, and prepare for the future.
Let us begin with the scripture reading from Matthew 16:13-18:
13 When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” 14 They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” 15 “But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?” 16 Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” 17 Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven. 18 And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.”
In this exchange between Jesus and his disciples, Jesus not only promises to build his church on a solid foundation, but he goes further and declares that the Gates of Hades will not prevail against his church.
Let me share a little background on that last phrase: In the first century, Caesarea Philippi, where Jesus spoke these words, was known for its pagan temples and shrines, including a notable cave dedicated to the false god Pan. Ancient sources referred to the cave’s chasm as the “Gates of Hades,” symbolizing a doorway to the netherworld. For Jesus’ disciples, his declaration carried distinct imagery that conveyed the message that even in the face of what many viewed as a literal entrance to the underworld, God’s kingdom would stand strong.
For us today, it means that realities such as principalities and powers, evil motives, conspiracy theories, and deceitful or manipulative political systems are no match for the Church as long as the Church stays focused on Jesus and does not co-opt with them.
By the way, you may have heard that since we retired across the mountain in Hokes Bluff, Mike Duncan, Bruce Boozer, Alan Boozer, and I play golf together at the Twin Bridges Golf Course in Gadsden. What a great group of guys!
At Twin Bridges, there is a senior golf group notoriously known as the “Saints and Sinners.” The group is so well known that when Mike went for his doctor’s visit in Birmingham, his doctor asked him where he plays golf in Gadsden. When Mike told him he plays at Twin Bridges, the doctor asked, “Are you a part of the Saints and Sinners?”
A few weeks later, one of the Saints and Sinners invited us to join their group. We were honored to be asked, but we politely declined. Afterward, as we were preparing to tee off, I asked Mike, “If we had joined the group, which would you be… a saint or a sinner?” I’ve known Mike for over 50 years, and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him speechless. Just kidding! As the conversation continued, we discussed how there is a little bit of saint and sinner in all of us.
Retired pastor and social worker, Bob Lockhart, was a member at the First Baptist Church of Corbin where I served following my tenure here. Bob was sort of the Will Campbell of Kentucky. Will Campbell, who wrote Brother to a Dragonfly was a minister, civil rights activist, and outspoken advocate for the “least of these.”
During one of Bob’s sermons at First Baptist Church of Corbin, Kentucky, where I served after my tenure at Williams, as he was talking about Paul’s description of the “spiritual man” versus “the carnal man,” Bob offered this poignant illustration: I think that inside of me there are at least 10 voices that are voting members on everything I do. I became a Christian when at least 6 of those voting members formed a majority, leading me to commit my life to Jesus. But I’ve never known a person whose inner constituents voted unanimously to follow Jesus at the same time. In the beginning, it’s almost always a simple majority. However, after our baptism, we spend the remainder of our days convincing the other internal voices and motives to align with Jesus. And we backslide and get in trouble when the prodigal voices within compel one or more of the committed voices to vote with them, which is why even Christians are capable of choosing the wrong path again.
I’ve never forgotten that illustration. If Bob is right, then discipleship is all about getting inner voices and motives in line and in tune with what Jesus teaches. And the work of the church is about inviting people to follow Jesus, and loving them through all the seasons of life as they continue to be transformed into the Jesus way of life..
As we think about the work of First Baptist Church of Williams, let us treasure the memories of the past.
For me and Amanda, some of our best memories are from this church and this community. When I think about the Williams community, I can’t help but smile at the memories that have shaped me, encouraged me, and that continue to inspire me.
I remember Aunt Johnnie’s homemade rolls and her communion bread made from homemade pie crust.
I remember early morning coffee at E.L.’s store with a few grounds still in the bottom of every cup.
I remember Candlelight Christmas Eve services where you could almost hear the baby cry and the angels sing.
I remember a familiar rugged two-tone 1972 Dodge Ram driven by Ralph Green.
I remember Reuben Boozer’s articulate and heartfelt prayers.
I remember Phoebe Birkhimer’s handwritten notes of encouragement, and her sending me a thank-you note for sending her a thank-you note.
I remember outdoor baptisms at Hammonds Farm.
I remember youth mission trips to New Orleans and youth retreats to Gatlinburg.
I remember the Williams Travel Group going to Niagara Falls and the Grand Canyon.
I remember Harold Wallace tickling the keys of the piano with an old gospel classic.
I remember Bob McLeod strumming his guitar as he shared one of his homespun tunes about Green’s Store, missing dentures, or a simple man called Jesus.
I remember Pascal Hamby and Lamar Denkins verbally sparring as they walked around the new track.
I remember the trucks and buses that pulled up to the church cemetery to film an episode of the TV show “Unsolved Mysteries.”
I remember Hubert and Herman telling me for the umpteenth time how they installed these durable ceiling tiles here in the sanctuary.
I remember convincing George McKerley to fill in for us on the organ for a couple of Sundays, and he never departed until his health prohibited him from continuing.
I remember Roy Barker, who Pat still says was the best bass singer to come from the Barker family, defeating almost all the youth and college students in ping pong.
I remember Dean Norton teaching a well-prepared and grammatically correct Sunday School lesson to her professional women’s class.
I remember Ralph Langley’s passionate and personal revival sermons.
I remember Perry Green taking my rough drawings of the proposed new fellowship hall and educational wing, and enlisting one of his students to make a complete architectural design on Auto-Cad.
And I remember Butch Welch, John English, Kevon Green, Ty Green, and so many of you working day in and day out to make that dream a reality.
And the list goes on.
Each memory tells a story — of faith, friendship, laughter, and love. This church has been a place where saints and sinners have gathered side-by-side, learning to follow Jesus and practice his teachings.
We give thanks for those who have gone before us — the faithful men and women who built this church, taught its children, prayed through its challenges, and dreamed of its future. Their faithfulness is the foundation on which we now stand.
As Hebrews 12 reminds us, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race set before us.”
On this momentous anniversary, let us embrace the challenges and opportunities of the present. A church is not just an institution but a community of people sharing life as they better learn to follow Jesus. Jesus didn’t say, “Come, join an organization.” He said, “Follow me.”
The Book of Acts gives us a model of this in the early church: “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and to prayer.” They weren’t perfect, but they were learning together what it meant to love God and neighbor.
That’s what this congregation has been for 175 years — a group of disciples who are learning, growing, stumbling, forgiving, and pressing on together. Jesus teaches us to love the Lord with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength. Here at Williams, we have been taught through the years that intellectual integrity, emotional maturity, physical energy, and biblical fidelity are co-laborers and not adversaries in building God’s kingdom.
Bishop Michael Curry, author of Crazy Christians: A Call to Follow Jesus, wrote, “Let us build a house where love can dwell and all can safely live… built of hopes and dreams and visions, rock of faith and vault of grace. Here the love of Christ shall end divisions: all are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.”
Our community needs a church that loves deeply, welcomes broadly, and stands firmly on the teachings of Christ. Our nation needs a church that embodies the grace, truth, and love of Jesus. And our world needs a church that is authentic, compassionate, and proactive.
As we look ahead, let us prepare for a future where God is doing a new thing. Our God does not tend to give repeat performances. Isaiah 43 says, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
I don’t know what the future of the church looks like — but I know it doesn’t look exactly like the past. God is always doing something new. Our loyalty is not to structures or systems, but to the living Lord.
My friend Reggie McNeal, author of Missional Renaissance, persuasively contends, “The Spirit of God is at work doing a new thing in the world, and it’s the job of the church to get on the same page with the Spirit — not the job of the Spirit to get on the same page with the church.”
For 175 years, this church has been the hands and feet of Jesus in this community. As St. Teresa of Ávila observed, “Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours.”
That means the mission continues — but with new tools, new creativity, and new courage.
Here is the good news: God has sent you a minister with a pastor’s heart and a scholar’s mind named Ryan Linkous, who is just the right person for a time such as this.
Ryan, I want you to know that all of us who have served this community (Floyd, Tad, Lamar, me, Mike, and Chris) have all planted and cultivated this pastoral soil to the best of our ability. Now you have inherited the same fertile soil we have tilled. You not only have our support. You have our respect, our admiration, and our prayers. May you and this congregation continue to enjoy a fruitful partnership. You are already nurturing a healthier family of faith in this great community.
I am passionate about helping churches become healthier. A healthy church in the next century will reflect traits like these:
A healthy church embraces and utilizes the full giftedness of both men and women.
A healthy church leverages diversity as a kingdom asset.
A healthy church teaches all ages to love God with heart, mind, and strength.
A healthy church prays, “Not my will, but yours be done.”
A healthy church employs multiple ways to invite people to follow Jesus, and then teaches them how by example.
A healthy church is faithful to the gospel message while being flexible in method.
And yes — a healthy church treasures the past, embraces the present, and prepares for the future.
God is not nearly finished with this church yet. Your reach goes wider and farther than you’ve ever imagined.
Here is just one example: Many of you remember Mike and K.T. Jack. They moved here in the early 1990s and lived on New Liberty Road. K.T. was a drill sergeant at Fort McClellan, and Mike was a contractor. They had one daughter when they arrived here and soon had another on the way. They joined First Baptist Williams soon after moving, and K.T. was baptized at Hammonds Farm. K.T. ran on the track here at the church regularly. In fact, she was seen running just a few days before the birth of their second daughter, and back on the track just a few days after. She was tough. None of us were surprised when she was selected to be the first woman to lead the 4th Regiment of Cadets at West Point.
Near the end of her first year, tragedy struck. Mike called me early on the Saturday after Labor Day in 1996 to report that K.T. had been involved in a motorcycle accident on the base, and she was killed instantly. We were in shock. Later that morning. Chaplain Sonny Moore from West Point called to ask me if I could speak at K.T.’s memorial service in the Chapel at West Point. He further explained that 3 cadets had died earlier in the year, and the West Point community was experiencing compounded grief. Then he added that most of K.T.’s friends and those in her office had seen the photo of me baptizing K.T., a photo which hung proudly above her desk. It was a story she told frequently and a story about First Baptist Williams that I shared at her service.
And there are more stories of grace, influence, and witness to come as we move forward into the future. But we must move forward.
Back in the 1980s and 90s, Ralph Green served as church custodian. Ralph was loyal, good-hearted, and always on time. One morning, as I arrived and was parking, I noticed Ralph pulling up to the stop sign at the store — backward. He came through the intersection and pulled into the church parking lot going in a forward position with the tailgate first, and he had done so all the way from home. When I said, “What’s going on with the truck, Ralph?” he explained that his transmission had locked up, and reverse was the only gear that worked! Then he added, “And I wasn’t about to miss work.”
To this day, Ralph is the only man I’ve ever seen move forward by going backward. But in over thirty years of ministry, I’ve seen a lot of churches try to do the same thing — trying to move forward while looking backward. It just doesn’t work. And when we try, it ends in calamity.
As a church, your transmission still works, and you have multiple gears, so press on toward the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
So, as we celebrate this 175th anniversary, the call is clear: Let the church be the church.
When storms arise and fears dismay — let the church be the church. When the fields are white unto harvest and the laborers are few — let the church be the church. When politics divides, and friends deride — let the church be the church. When others ridicule you and say unkind things about you — let the church be the church. When tragedy strikes or death invades — let the church be the church. When life throws you a curveball and the unexpected happens — let the church be the church. When times are tough, let the church be tougher — let the church be the church.
The church is not a building, or a program, or an institution. Always remember, the church is the resilient, determined, courageous people of God, redeemed by Christ, empowered by the Spirit, and sent into the world to share the light and love of the Creator of the universe.
This is my word of blessing for you: “As you move forward in faith, may your resolve be clear and your mission sure: Let the church be the church — for the glory of God, for the good of this community, and for the hope of the world. Amen!
Baseball legend Yogi Berra once said, “Baseball is ninety percent mental and the other half is physical.” His humorous math aside, Yogi was right about one thing—life, like baseball, tests not just your skill but your mindset.
If you’ve ever stood at the plate waiting for a pitch that suddenly veered in a direction you didn’t expect, you know what it’s like to face a curveball. There are fastballs, knuckleballs, curveballs, and sliders. However, a curveball is challenging because it looks like it’s going one way at first, then it breaks, leaving you off balance, uncertain, and struggling to adjust.
Life does that too. One day everything feels steady; the next, something changes—a diagnosis, a loss, a financial setback, or a relationship that takes a painful turn. The pitch looked straight, but it curved.
Psalm 46:1 teachers, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
Romans 8:37 also reminds us, “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”
So, what do you do when life throws you a curveball? Here are five timeless lessons that can help you stay grounded and faithful when the unexpected comes your way.
Be still! Take time to get your bearings.
When life takes a sudden turn, our instinct is to panic or overreact. But the psalmist offers better advice: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
Stillness doesn’t mean inaction—it means spiritual calm. It’s the posture of trust that says, “God, even when I don’t understand what’s happening, I trust that You are still in control.”
During World War II, British citizens gathered daily in bomb shelters while air raids shook the city. On one of those shelters, someone scribbled a simple phrase: “I believe in the sun even when it isn’t shining. I believe in love even when I don’t feel it. I believe in God even when He is silent.”
That kind of faith is forged in stillness, not in noise.
When life throws you a curve, take a breath. Be still. Listen for God’s whisper. God may not change the situation immediately, but God can shape your mindset and guide your steps as you deal with it.
Be attentive! Adversity can be a wise teacher.
Curves aren’t just interruptions; they can also be instructions.
In baseball, a good hitter studies the pitcher’s habits—his arm angle, his release, his spin—learning how to anticipate the break. Likewise, wise people learn from life’s challenges rather than running from them.
When Thomas Edison was asked how he felt about failing thousands of times while inventing the lightbulb, he replied, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”
Adversity has a way of teaching us what comfort cannot. It humbles us, sharpens us, and clarifies what truly matters. There is an old African proverb that says, “Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.”
When facing one of life’s curveballs, ask, “What can I learn from this?” That question doesn’t erase the pain, but it transforms the experience.
Be flexible! God doesn’t work according to our timetable or expectations.
When the curve breaks differently than you expected, rigidity doesn’t help—you have to adjust.
Flexibility in life is a form of faith. It means trusting that even when plans change, God can still accomplish God’s purpose. Romans 8:28 reminds us, “In all things God works for the good of those who love Him.”
When the Apollo 13 mission was launched in 1970, no one expected it to become a near-tragedy. An onboard explosion crippled the spacecraft, forcing NASA engineers to improvise new life-support systems on the fly. Against all odds, the crew returned safely to Earth.
Their mission patch later bore the Latin words Ex Luna, Scientia—“From the Moon, Knowledge.” What could have been a disaster became one of NASA’s finest hours.
God can work that way, too. What begins as disappointment can become discovery. What feels like chaos can become creativity.
There’s a folk beatitude that says, “Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.”
Be thankful! Grit, grace, and gratitude equip us to deal with life’s challenges.
Gratitude doesn’t change your circumstances, but it changes how you see them.
Even in the darkest seasons, choosing to be thankful keeps you anchored in God’s goodness. It reminds you that the story isn’t over yet.
After losing both her husband and her sight in a tragic accident, Fanny Crosby could have given up. Instead, she wrote over 8,000 hymns, including “Blessed Assurance” and “To God Be the Glory.” When asked how she could write about joy while living in darkness, she replied, “The first face I’ll ever see will be the face of Jesus.”
That’s gratitude rooted in faith, not circumstance.
When life throws you a curve, thank God for guidance, comfort, courage, and for the people who stand beside you.
Be hopeful! This season will not last forever.
The best hitters don’t walk away after missing a curveball—they step back up to the plate.
In the same way, hope keeps us stepping forward, believing that God calls us to be overcomers even when we face what looks like defeat.
When Abraham Lincoln lost election after election before finally becoming President, a friend once told him, “You’ve failed at everything you’ve tried.” Lincoln replied, “My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side.”
Hope doesn’t deny pain; it declares that pain doesn’t have the final word. The cross was not the end of the Jesus story—resurrection was.
Whatever curve life throws your way, keep your eyes on the One who never misses a pitch.
Curveballs come to everyone—no one gets through life without a few surprises. But as people of faith, we face them with confidence that God is still at work, even when the path bends in unexpected directions.
So when the next curve comes, and it will, remember: the God who guided you through yesterday’s storms will still be with you in tomorrow’s surprises.
When life throws you a curve, step up to the plate and give it your best swing.
(from the sermon “When Life Throws You a Curveball” preached at FBC Pensacola in 2010.)
The mornings are a bit cooler, the days are a little shorter, and the leaves are undergoing a slight change of color. All these indicate we are experiencing a change of seasons.
Arthur Rubenstein observed, “The seasons are what a symphony ought to be: four perfect movements in harmony with each other.”
The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us that life moves in rhythms and cycles, much like the seasons of the year. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” (3:1) There are times of planting and times of harvest, seasons of joy and seasons of grief, moments of building and moments of letting go.
The wisdom of this ancient passage isn’t just poetic; it’s profoundly practical. It reminds us that life is not static. Just when we think we’ve figured out the season we’re in, life shifts again. As the philosopher Heraclitus once said, “The only constant in life is change.”
Learning to navigate these changes with faith and perspective may be one of the most important spiritual disciplines of all.
1. Life has many seasons—and each one has value.
Just as winter, spring, summer, and fall each have their beauty, so do the seasons of life. The joys of youth, the responsibilities of adulthood, and the wisdom of later years all carry purpose.
In the early 20th century, author L.M. Montgomery wrote in Anne of Green Gables,“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” She wasn’t just talking about weather—she was celebrating change itself.
Each season of life, whether vibrant or quiet, gives us new ways to experience grace and growth.
2. Change is inevitable—growth is optional.
We can’t control when the seasons of life change, but we can control how we respond. Some resist every shift; others adapt and grow stronger through it.
When the Boll Weevil infestation devastated cotton crops in Alabama in the early 1900s, farmers could have given up. Instead, they adapted—planting peanuts and diversifying their farms. The town of Enterprise, Alabama even erected a monument to the boll weevil, calling it “the herald of prosperity.”
Change is often uncomfortable, but when we face it with courage and creativity, it becomes the soil for new growth. William Arthur Ward surmised, “The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.”
3. There’s a time to hold on and a time to let go.
Ecclesiastes 3:6 says there is “a time to keep and a time to throw away.” That may be one of life’s most challenging lessons.
Sometimes faith calls us to persevere. Other times, wisdom calls us to release. Letting go of resentment, of unrealistic expectations, of past hurts all create space for new beginnings.
Insightful counselors call this “decluttering the soul.” When we release what weighs us down, we find new freedom to move forward.
4. Every season has the potential to be a blessing or a burden, and sometimes both.
Even the most joyful seasons carry challenges, and even the most painful seasons can reveal hidden blessings.
When Helen Keller lost her sight and hearing at a young age, she faced unimaginable obstacles. Yet through her teacher Anne Sullivan’s perseverance, she learned to communicate and became a global voice for hope. Keller later reflected, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.”
Our seasons of struggle can shape us in ways comfort never could.
5. We are not defined by the season we are currently experiencing.
If you’re in a season of loss, don’t assume it will last forever. If you’re in a season of blessing, don’t take it for granted. Seasons pass, but identity rooted in God’s love endures.
The prophet Isaiah spoke of this divine constancy: “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8)
Whatever your current chapter, remember that your circumstances do not define your worth. Your worth is instilled in you by your Creator.
6. God Is present with us always and helps us navigated every season.
The writer of Ecclesiastes does not suggest that God only works in the pleasant seasons. God is present in the times of mourning and in the times of dancing, in the tearing down and in the building up.
Corrie ten Boom, who survived the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp, once said, “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.” Even in seasons of suffering, the presence of God remains our steadying force.
Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore reminds us, “Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.”
7. Seasons of waiting are not wasted time.
Waiting seasons can feel like winter—quiet, still, and unproductive. But just as winter prepares the soil for spring, God often uses our waiting to strengthen us for what’s next.
When Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years, he could have let bitterness consume him. Instead, he used that season of confinement to cultivate wisdom and patience. When he emerged, he led South Africa toward reconciliation rather than revenge.
Seasons of waiting may slow us down, but they also deepen our character.
8. The season you are in will not last forever.
Every chapter has its closing paragraph. If you’re in a difficult season, take heart—it won’t last forever.
Maya Angelou penned, “Every storm runs out of rain.” And when the storm does pass, you’ll often find that your roots grew deeper while the rain fell.
Likewise, when you’re in a joyful season, savor it. Celebrate it. Write it down. Because the seasons are continually changing.
9. Gratitude Is the key to navigating every season.
Gratitude is what turns survival into peace. Whether life feels easy or hard, gratitude grounds us in God’s goodness.
Psychologists have shown that people who practice daily gratitude experience greater joy and lower stress. Long before modern studies proved it, scripture taught us to “Give thanks in all circumstances.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)
10. Embrace the journey, not just the destination.
In every stage of life, God is shaping us through beginnings and endings, sunshine and rain.
When C.S. Lewis lost his wife, Joy, he wrote, “The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That’s the deal.” He had learned that love and loss are part of the same sacred story.
So be careful not to rush through the seasons. Don’t resent the winters or idolize the summers. Embrace the full journey, trusting that God is at work in every one of them.
Life, like nature, moves through cycles—birth and death, gain and loss, laughter and tears. You may not choose the season you’re in, but you can choose how to live in it.
As you navigate your current chapter, remember the message behind the poetry of Ecclesiastes: Every season can clarify meaning, cultivate faith, and convey beauty—if we’ll slow down long enough to notice.
You do not travel this journey alone. God, who governs the seasons of the earth, will guide you through the changing seasons of life.
Cove Creek Reflections 