Rev. Zach

2 Samuel 7:1-14a      Ephesians 2:11-22      Mark 6:30-34, 53-56 You are not alone. Those are the words on the hands on the front of your bulletin. I don’t know whose hands they are, but I know who knows. Of course, God knows, but there is another. A friend and mentor of mine, Michelle Thomas Bush, is the Associate Pastor for Youth and Families at Myers Park Presbyterian in Charlotte, NC. Some time back she was the keynote presenter at a Montreal Youth Conference. Before the conference, she had gotten her youth to put together some videos. One of them featured high school students with “You Are…” on one arm and different labels that we give each other on the other arm. Some were not so bad. Others were downright mean. Finally, one student grabbed the hand of another, and on the other side of that outstretched arm it said, “not alone.” Slowly, more and more students connected until everyone shared the same message of connectedness and relationship. It wasn’t just their ar

– The Rev. Zach Sasser 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19      Ephesians 1:3-14      Mark 6:14-29 “There are only two types of people. Those who dance, and those who do not.” At least that is according to Drax, a character in the illustrious movie, Guardians of the Galaxy, vol 1 . This does not stop Peter Quill – a man abducted from earth at age 10 whose only cultural references are from the 1980’s – from attempting to get his beloved to dance with him by telling her about one of Earth’s greatest heroes, Kevin Bacon. He was, of course referring to the movie Footloose , in which Bacon’s character challenged a town council to repeal a local ordinance prohibiting dancing with the following argument: “From the oldest of times, people danced for a number of reasons. They danced in prayer or so that their crops would be plentiful or so their hunt would be good. And they danced to stay physically fit and show their community spirit. And they danced to celebrate. And that, that is the da

           “I’ve always survived on the kindness of strangers.” These are the famous last words of Blanche Dubois in Tennessee William’s play, A Streetcar Named Desire. They are the words of a woman driven mad by loss and abuse, a woman whose self-constructed, the ideal world has finally caught up to her. They are the words of a woman whom we want to blame for her choices, and yet at the same time we cannot help but see her as a victim. For her, the kindness of strangers is not about relationships and well-being. It is about escapism from the constant ache of a love that she lost through her own cruelty. Yet that idea, the kindness of strangers, seems to be the hope that Jesus sends his disciples toward in our passage today. He sends them out with the clothes on their backs to neighboring towns to tell people about him and his love for them. I have to say, that sounds like the worst gig ever. Can you imagine it? Of course, there are those that still hold to this model toda

    2 Corinthians 8:7-15      Mark 5:21-43 There are two memories of my first Sunday from eight years ago that I want to share with you today. The first is from the line that forms after worship. A stately gentleman named Joe Clark shook my hand and said, “I can see you standing in that pulpit 10 years from now.” The second is from the reception after church, in which I was surprised to be greeted by a framed picture of my children at the Louisiana welcome center on I-10. The first memory is bittersweet, as many of you know that Joe died a little over a year ago. It was a greater compliment than I realized at the time, and I lament that he will not be here to see that in person. The memory also stands to remind me that we must always have a vision that is beyond our own capacity, and it reminds me of the fear I experienced in hearing his vision for me. I was afraid because the thought of standing in this pulpit for ten years sounded like an expectation that I would keep thin