So, a few years ago, I was visiting Fr. Brooks when he and Becca were living in Little Rock. I traveled from Chattanooga to Little Rock by taking back roads. I just love to see how people really live rather than an endless string of McDonald's and Exxons on an endless string of exit ramps. But it does make the trip significantly longer. So about nine hours after leaving home, I found myself sitting in Brooks's office in Christ Church. He had on his collar because he was at work, and I had on my collar because I wear it when I drive through rural Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas speed traps as a sort of insurance policy!

So, true fact – I wish John the Baptist were either more fleshed out in the Gospels, or absent all together. I mean, here we have Gospels all about Jesus, and just when we settle in to read about him, John pops up, yelling, waving his arms around, eating locusts, and generally being a wild man out in the wilderness. But the crux of the matter is, I don't really know what motivates John. What caused him to take this turn in his life? Did he and Jesus hang out as cousins? What's the backstory?

So, we are at the end of our liturgical year, with the enticing name of Year A. Next week we begin Advent, a new church year, and we will call it an equally enticing name – Year B. Much about our church years are nice and regular: we begin with Advent, enter Christmas, round the corner to Lent, then Easter, with a lot of other things sprinkled here and there, but for the most part, we can anticipate what's coming.

So, I probably have a weirder sleep pattern than most of you. Maybe not, but I bet I do. It is not uncommon for me to be in bed by seven o'clock at night. Sometimes, if I'm splurging, it's six-thirty. Now I don't go right to sleep. I check out a podcast or two, or maybe I'll watch a Brit-crime show. Or some old Doctor Who. More often than not, a cooking show. But I'm in bed early.

So, I have this memory. I'm not sure it really happened – it may have kinda sorta happened and then my imagination just made it better as time went by. My mom was there, and she's here now, so I guess she can let me know if it really happened. And I suppose that I can just respond that, if she says no, well, I can just accuse her of being forgetful. So there's that.

So, I've recently started reading The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz, by Erik Larson. It’s the story of Winston Churchill’s first days in office, beginning in May, 1940, when he formed a coalition government with Labour, to lead Britain.

So, we are entering into our season of images, like we do every year. Such a weird time in America and much of the world. Many across the nation are currently caught up in search of a particular type of squash. And when they find just the right one, they will take it home, eviscerate it, and then carve a face into it. Then plop a candle down in it and call that a job well done. Such a weird thing to do.

So, I have preached this parable before. I have preached it as it is written and as it is often most typically understood — as a kind of warning to accept the invitation to the ‘banquet’ and to be ready to attend at a moment's notice. That God is offering us a great opportunity, and we need to decide, and decide right...or else. In fact, even this week as I read it I was going down that path once more, trying to think of a nice story to go along with it.

So, as many of you know, Brooks and Becca have bought eleven acres of land up on Lake Moraine above Hamilton. I go up there a couple times a week just to sit and look at the water and deer, the family of bald eagles and the occasional fisher cat. It's a great place to just sit and will be a good place for the Catos to live in a few years once they build it out.

I've told y'all about Little Jimmy before. He was the homeless addict that would hang out at St. James, Knoxville. Conversations with him were difficult at times because he sort of took his on logic-path when he was talking. And I had trouble catching up when he's take a sharp turn in the story. But occasionally he would make pretty good sense, and learning about his life stories was actually a privilege.

So, I really dig the Book of Jonah...and not just because it's so short. I like it because it's essentially about a guy throwing a series of fits against God. God wants Jonah to preach judgement against the people in Nineveh, and Jonah throws a fit and runs the other way.

So, I grind my teeth. A lot, it seems. In fact, I grind them so much that the other day I had to go to the dentist because I ground my teeth so much, half of one broke off, and I had yet another hole in my head that needed filling.

So, for those of you who do not spend very much time in the Southeast, I need to tell you about a Southern treasure. I speak of none other than the Krystal hamburger. These depression-era burgers are the Southern cousin of the White Castle, small burgers, steamed in onions and covered with a pickle, mustard, and a soft, little bun. And sometimes cheese. Krystals are soul food for people in a hurry. The restaurants are generally open 24-hours a day, so they are the go-to food for those who would be better off going home after a long night. And they are often the bane of existence of those same people early the next morning. But man, oh, man, they are so good.

So, one night, when Brooks and I were in Jerusalem, we were traipsing through the Old City, we popped into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of the holiest sites in Christendom.

So what would you do if I told you that what you do this week could change the world?

During this summer of protests and yet another outbreak of protests and violence and racism and white supremacy in our country one thing that went unnoticed was the feast day on August 14 of Jonathan Myrick Daniels, an Episcopal saint and martyr. I remember it because ten years ago on his feast day marks the day that I began seminary.

So, I remember when I was a little kid, I got a red Schwinn bike with a banana seat and easy-rider handle bars. It was cool! And I remember my grandaddy helping me learn. You see, where he lived, the road started out with the steepest hill in the world and as you picked up speed, it flattened out to a cul-de-sac that was, I don't know, maybe ten miles long.

So, it's kind of odd, this Gospel passage. It seems so nice and subdued. It begins with Jesus taking a break, going away to relax.

In this coronatide, in what free time I have available to me, I’ve been learning to speak German. Well, not really. But Becca knows some German, and she says this phrase occasionally.

So, when I was a kid, my grandparents moved off their farm into the big city of Red Bank, Tennessee, outside Chattanooga. And my granddaddy had a huge garden. I mean, in my mind, at least it was big, but then again, I was little. Everything was big. It wasn't so big that he needed a tractor or other fancy equipment, just a tiller. But it was big enough that, because he didn't have that fancy equipment, planting time could be a big deal.