I couldn't have been more than six years old. My mom and dad and I had gone camping with some friends. We had just arrived at the campsite where we would be spending the next week, and the men were pitching the tent. And my mom and her girlfriend had started the fire going. It had been a long drive for me and my buddies and we were eager to get out of the car and go explore down at the lake.

So, this being the holiday season, I think it's incumbent on us to focus on the reason for the season...Santa Claus.

So, when I was little, I learned something amazing. My great-grandfather, Orem, was a wizard. He could do the most incredible magic out of thin air.

So, this being Halloween, I feel it incumbent to tell a Halloween story. Not a spooky one, however. I have plenty of haint stories, but they can wait for some other time. What I want to talk about is my neighborhood on Halloween in the late sixties.

Do y’all remember the movie “Back to the Future?” You know, that time travel film starring Michael J. Fox? Well, the other day, a friend of mine posted a Back to the Future themed question on Facebook: “If you could do your own time traveling and go back to 1985, what advice would you give yourself?”

So, a few weeks ago, I was up around Otselic, and I saw a rusted out old car covered with religious bumper stickers. One of them caught my eye out of them all: JESUS IS THE ANSWER TO ALL MY QUESTIONS.

So, there is a restaurant in Chattanooga called Bea's. It's been there since about forever, at least before I was born. It serves true Southern food. Barbecue pork, green beans, pinto beans, creamed potatoes, chow chow, yeast rolls, some kind of cobbler, pitchers of obscenely sweet tea, and the crown jewel – the most amazing fried chicken in the world.

Folks, I do not like this. See, Jesus has a hard truth for us in the Gospel this morning, and I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t like what he has to say. Not one bit. And I don’t like it because it hits way too close to home.

So, I have to admit that this has been a harder sermon to write than I had thought. This is the Sunday we dedicate the chapel and some other things to the honor and memory of Joan Axtell, and I thought I'd just stand up here and tell stories of Joan. But then that began to seem more like a funeral service, and I kept hearing her voice in my brain, saying, “You already did that once. Why keep doing it over and over?” I pushed back some on that, and I felt her give that exasperated look of hers, and I hear, “Well, whatever you do, keep it short. We have work to do.”

I normally don't openly steal sermons from myself, but given what's been going on in the church lately with clergy scandals and declining numbers and changing life patterns – and given what's going on it our civic life, with such intolerance, injustice, and wickedness, I wanted to take this opportunity to say to you here and now why I think we are so desperately needed. . . now more than ever. Some of you may have heard this sermon before, but I think it stands up to time. Fr. Brooks even named it. It's called, “The Ballad of Little Jimmy.” And it goes like this:

So, when I first started out as a seminarian, I did some time at St. Timothy's, on Signal Mountain, Tennessee, outside of Chattanooga. Now in Chattanooga, wealth and elevation tend to go hand in hand, and living on top of the mountain meant that, more likely or not, you got there through hard work, money, and success. St. Timothy's was a suburban church of well-to-do movers and shakers, and let's just say, that I had a fair share of skepticism as to what these people were all about. They were sure to be snobs, turning their noses up and all of the valley folk.

Way back in our first semester of seminary, Brooks and I were getting ready for our Old Testament class. We plopped down in our seats in the back row. He opened his Trapper Keeper and searched his bag for a pen when a friend of ours, Quinn, ambled up and started reading over his shoulder.

So, when I was a little kid, I remember taking trips to Florida with my mom and grandparents. We would load up in the Chevrolet, trunk packed to the brim, with a red and white chest cooler always packed for easy access. And off we'd go, down new fangled I-75, roaring down the shining highway, all the way to Treasure Island for a week of sun, sand, and shuffleboard.

So, what is enough? And I’m not talking about the 2002 motion picture thriller starring Jennifer Lopez.

So, when we hear stories like the one in John’s Gospel today, it is easy to believe miracles like this don’t happen any more. I mean, I watch folks working at the food pantry each week, and people are still coming. Emmanuel Church has remodeled some of its space to put in more cooler space to try to get folks the fresh produce that they so desperately need. And whenever I'm in Byrne Dairy or Tops, it's not all that unusual to see somebody shoplifting food. I'm sure some of it is just plain old thievery, but I'm willing to bet that some of it is desperate hunger. So it's hard to imagine a miracle like the feeding of the 5,000.

He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”

So, doesn't that sound good? I mean, who doesn't need some rest? Things are picking up again, and so much is happening.

So, y'all know how much I love my home town of Chattanooga. And there is a centerpiece of the city – the Walnut Street Bridge. It spans the Tennessee River and is now one of the longest pedestrian bridges in the world. It connects the restaurants and galleries of the Arts District to the restaurants and shops of the Northshore. On any given day scores of people can be found making their way across planning on a fun outing, putting the cares of the world away for an hour or two.

So, Jesus is sending his disciples out and he's ordering them to travel light. Just the clothes on their back and don't add layers. Trust in the journey he seems to be saying. Trust in me. Trust that I will take care of you as we move along.

So, many, many years ago, I was doing a road trip of the great upper western states. I saw myself as this clever young adult, headed off to discover the real America so that I could be even more clever (actually, irritating) when I got home. I was a new Jack Kerouac.

Sometimes it’s just a boat.

Today's gospel reading is one of those we all know by heart, and there is not end to the allegories that we preachers can come up with.