The Life We Keep Meaning to Live

There’s a particular kind of optimism involved in moving something from this week’s “to do” list to next week’s.  Apparently, I believe that the person I’ll be next Tuesday will have more time, more energy, and a much better attitude about making phone calls.

I have known that person for a long time.  The evidence is mixed.

Some things on the list can wait.  But I wonder how often we put off the very things we want our lives to be about.  We mean to call the friend we’ve lost touch with.  We mean to make time for someone who’s lonely.  We mean to be more generous when things settle down a bit.  Then another week comes along, and it turns out to be remarkably like the last one.

In Sunday’s Gospel, ten bridesmaids are waiting for the wedding to begin.  All ten intend to welcome the bridegroom.  All ten fall asleep when he’s delayed.  The difference becomes clear when he finally arrives and they reach for their lamps:  some have brought oil enough for a longer wait.  They made a choice earlier in the evening that mattered when the moment came.
 
I’ve been thinking about that as we approach Commitment Sunday.  So much of what we value about Lawrenceville Presbyterian Church is possible because somebody made a choice before the need arose.  Before a family knew they would need help keeping the lights on, someone had already given.  Before a child walked into children’s church, someone had already set aside time to prepare a lesson.  Before any of us knew who would walk through the doors on a Sunday morning, people had already made sure there would be a place to welcome them.

That’s one of the joys of making a pledge.  We get to take some of what God has given us and set it aside for people and possibilities we can’t yet see.  Together, our pledges help the church plan its ministry for 2027.  For each of us, a pledge is also a chance to ask what we want our giving to say about what matters to us.
 
On Sunday, November 15, we’ll bring our pledges and make our commitments for the coming year.  Sometime this week, I invite you to sit down with your pledge card and give yourself a few quiet minutes.  Think of one way this church has blessed you or someone you love.  Think of one thing you hope we can do for our neighbors in the coming year.  Then ask, with gratitude and honesty, what you can give to help make that possible.
 
There will always be something to move to next Tuesday.  Here’s one good thing we can make time for this week.
 
Blessings,
Pastor Greg

All Saints Day

“Oh, fiddlesticks.”

My grandmother used to say that whenever she heard something she just didn’t believe or something that sounded a bit ridiculous.  I can still hear her saying it – the words, the tone, the unmistakable sound of her voice.
 
There are people I cannot think about without hearing their voices.  A familiar expression.  A particular laugh.  The way they said my name.  They have been gone for years, perhaps, but something brings them close again – a song, a story, a moment when I catch myself saying something they used to say.

This Sunday, as we observe All Saints Day, we will remember those who have died during the past year.  We will speak their names with gratitude and sorrow, trusting them to the God whose love holds us in life and in death.  Although I will be away, my heart will be with you in that remembrance.

In the church, “saints” includes ordinary people whose lives have helped us recognize God’s grace.  People who sometimes lost their patience, worried about the future, and wondered whether they were getting things right.  People much like us, who nevertheless found ways to love faithfully.

Some taught Sunday School.  Some sang in the choir.  Some quietly noticed who needed a ride, a meal, or someone to sit beside them.  Some lived their faith around a kitchen table, making sure there was always room for one more.  We may struggle to remember the exact words they said, but we remember how it felt to be loved by them.

The book of Hebrews describes the faithful who have gone before us as a “great cloud of witnesses.”  Their stories encourage us to keep going.  When our faith feels thin, we can remember someone who trusted God through hardship.  When we wonder whether small acts of kindness matter, we can recall one that changed our own lives.

And gradually, we realize that we are becoming part of that story, too.

Our legacy is taking shape in the ordinary choices of our days: the attention we give, the promises we keep, the forgiveness we offer, the people we make room for.  We rarely know which moments someone else will carry with them.  A conversation we barely remember may become a source of courage for another person.  A kindness that seemed small to us may arrive when it is needed most.

Someday, we hope our names will be spoken with the same tenderness with which we speak the names of those we remember now.  We hope someone will be able to say, “I learned something about love from them.  They helped me keep going.  Because of them, I found it a little easier to trust God.”
 
For now, we have time to offer that love.  We have people beside us who need encouragement, neighbors who need care, and a faith to share through the way we live.
As we give thanks for the saints who have blessed our lives, may God help us carry their gifts forward – and add something faithful and loving of our own.

I’ll see you next Sunday.

Early voting has begun in Georgia, and with it comes an opportunity to do something both ordinary and consequential: cast a ballot.  We study the candidates, consider the issues, and make the best decisions we can.  Voting is one way we accept responsibility for the communities we share and the neighbors whose lives our decisions affect.

I hope you will vote.  I hope you will give it careful thought and prayer.  And I hope we will remember that our civic responsibility belongs within a larger calling.

For Christians, our highest allegiance is to Jesus Christ.  The command to love God and love our neighbors reaches into every part of life, including our politics.  It asks us to consider whose burdens might be eased, whose dignity needs defending, and whose voice we have failed to hear.  It also calls us to examine our own assumptions with enough humility to admit that we may have something to learn.

No political party can carry the full weight of our faith.  No candidate deserves the trust that belongs to God.  Every platform and promise remains subject to the searching questions of the gospel.

And every person remains more than a political affiliation.
 
The neighbor with the yard sign you dislike may also be the person caring for an aging parent, worrying about a child, or quietly bringing meals to someone who is sick.  That does not settle your disagreements.  It does remind you that there is a whole human life behind that sign.

We can disagree strongly.  We can challenge harmful ideas and hold leaders accountable.  We can speak plainly about what we believe is right.  Our obligation to love still holds.  So does our obligation to tell the truth, including about people we would rather prove wrong.

Perhaps one faithful practice this election season would be to ask, before sharing a post or entering an argument: Will these words help someone understand, or will they simply give my frustration somewhere to go?  Am I listening for what this person fears or hopes for?  Can I make my case without diminishing their humanity?

Cast your ballot.  Take your responsibility seriously.  Then keep showing up for the people around you, including those who voted differently.
 
We will still be neighbors when the election is over.  And Jesus will still be calling us to love one another.

I’ll see you Sunday.
Blessings,
Pastor Greg

I would appreciate it if life offered a detour around its harder moments.  A clearly marked road, preferable paved, with somewhere to stop for coffee.

Instead, we sometimes find that the only way forward takes us through the very thing we hoped to avoid.

“The best way out is always through.”  Those words have been on my mind lately.  There are conversations we would rather postpone, decisions we wish someone else could make, and changes we know are needed even while we dread them.  We can spend considerable energy looking for a way around the discomfort.

I know I can.

Of course, difficulty itself is no guarantee that we are doing the right thing.  We still need prayer, careful thought, and the wisdom of people we trust.  But sometimes, after all that discernment, the hard thing remains ours to do.

We tell the truth.  We ask for help.  We make a change.  We take a step toward a future that will require something of us before we can see its good.
 
Scripture is honest about such journeys.  The people of Israel passed through the wilderness on their way to a new life.  Along the way, they were frightened, impatient, and often uncertain.  God’s presence accompanied them through all of it.

That gives me hope.  Faith does not require us to feel brave before we begin.  We can move forward with a shaky voice, a heavy heart, and a prayer that is little more than, “Please help me.”

Even when a difficult step is necessary, we can take it with compassion. A necessary decision may still hurt someone.  An honest conversation still calls for gentleness.  Our hope for the future asks us to attend to the people beside us today.

If you are facing something difficult this week, I hope you will give yourself time to pray and someone to talk with.  Then, when the next faithful step becomes clear, may you find the courage to take it.

You do not have to see the whole road to walk it.  And you do not have to walk it alone.

Before We Put the Tree Away...
 
The Halloween candy is on the store shelves, and I have the uneasy feeling that someone has already pressed the fast-forward button on the rest of the year.

I haven’t bought the candy yet, but somehow I already feel behind on taking down the Christmas tree.

You know how it goes.  October gets rolling, and suddenly we’re making Thanksgiving plans.  Then come the Christmas gatherings, the shopping, the services, and the question of where we put that box of decorations.  Before we know it, we’re packing everything away and trying to remember to write a different year on our checks.  For those of us still writing checks, that adjustment can take until March.

There is much to enjoy in these months.  But sometimes we spend so much time getting ready for the next thing that we barely notice the thing we’re living right now.
A cool morning.  A conversation over coffee.  Someone laughing so hard at the dinner table that the story never quite gets finished.  An ordinary evening with someone whose presence we have come to take for granted.

These moments rarely announce themselves as important.  They simply arrive, offering us a little of the goodness of being alive.

I wonder how many we hurry past.
 
The psalmist asks God to “teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart” (Psalm 90:12).  Perhaps part of that wisdom is learning to give this day our attention, even while tomorrow’s plans are waiting.

We cannot make October last longer.  But we can linger for a few minutes in a conversation.  We can put down the phone and listen.  We can step outside, notice the air, and offer a quiet thank-you.  We can tell someone we’re glad they are here.

And for those who find the coming holidays difficult, paying attention to today may offer its own kindness.  We don’t have to carry the whole season at once.  Today’s company, today’s strength, today’s small comfort can be enough for now.

Soon enough, we will be putting the Christmas decorations away and writing 2027.  Between now and then, there is a life to be lived – and God is already here in it.

One of the things I have come to appreciate about Lawrenceville Presbyterian Church is that when someone is hurting, this congregation quietly steps forward to help.

Many of those acts of kindness happen behind the scenes. A family facing an unexpected financial crisis receives help with a utility bill. Someone who has fallen behind on rent is able to remain in their home or apartment. A church member facing an unforeseen hardship finds encouragement and practical assistance at just the right moment. Most of us never hear these stories, and that is exactly as it should be. Jesus reminded us that acts of compassion are not done for recognition but out of love for our neighbors.

LPC’s Support Fund makes that ministry possible.

The Support Fund exists to assist members of our church family and people in our surrounding community who encounter unexpected financial difficulties. It allows us to respond with compassion and dignity when someone needs a helping hand. While we cannot solve every problem, we can often provide enough assistance to help someone weather a difficult season and regain their footing.

On Sunday, August 23, as we celebrate 135 years of ministry at Lawrenceville Presbyterian Church, we will also receive a special offering for the Support Fund.

I can’t think of a more fitting way to celebrate our anniversary. As we give thanks for God’s faithfulness through the generations, we also have the opportunity to continue the ministry that has defined this congregation for so many years – caring for our neighbors in Christ’s name.

If you are able, I invite you to prayerfully consider making a gift to the Support Fund as part of our anniversary celebration. Every gift, whether large or small, becomes a tangible expression of God’s love and a reminder to someone in need that they are not alone.

Thank you for your generosity, your compassion, and your commitment to being the hands and feet of Christ in our community.

I’ll see you Sunday.

Pastor Greg
pastorgreg@lawrencevillepresbyterian.org