So, when I got older, like in my adolescence, my grandparents got a whole lot dumber. Now, let me clarify. I'm pretty sure they didn't REALLY get dumber. I'm pretty sure they stayed more or less the same gentle, wonderful, brilliant people that they always were. I think what happened is that I got a whole lot more uppity and snooty.

So, I think it is safe to say that the crowds that were following Jesus were fans. They had seen enough of Jesus to know that whatever he had, they wanted more of it. The Sea of Galilee is not a large body of water, but it is large enough. Yet the crowds follow Jesus across. Free bread may not be enough to do that. But Jesus had given them more than free bread. The bread that Jesus gave them wasn’t just free, it came out of nowhere. Like the Israelites and Moses, they had been in the wilderness. And like of old, they had received bread out of nowhere in the middle on nowhere.

So, I tend to like leftovers. There’s something special about the way a dish sorta matures after a day or two in the fridge. All the flavors get to know each other and the end result is, in some ways, an improvement over the original. Soups and stews and slaws are especially good about this. But even I come to a point where leftovers get tiresome. After Thanksgiving, say, when you cooked a bird that could serve 50 but only 5 showed up, just how many different ways can you come up with to serve turkey before the idea of turkey makes you bored?

So, I once overheard a conversation while sitting in a hospital waiting room. The television was tuned to CNN and they had just been discussing these pictures from Pluto. And the person sitting next to me was was one of those 'aginers,' the kind of person who is always against whatever it is that people are for. She was going on about what a colossal waste of money the whole thing was, when those funds could have gone to programs for people here on Earth. People were in need all over the world, and here we were sending some little machine at the cost of zillions of dollars to some place nobody is ever going to go to and probably couldn't live there if they did. But this younger dude kept interrupting this tirade by simply stating, “Yeah, but it's so cool.”

So, in 1964, Kitty Genovese was returning home from work around 2:30 a.m in Queens when she was set upon and brutally killed. What propelled this murder into the nation's imagination was not the crime itself or the investigation, but the reporting around it.

So, one day I was doing a hospital visit. Most of the time I go early before doctors get to work, because there's not as much activity going on. But this time I couldn't get there until about 11.

So with three words, "Peace, be still," Jesus puts whatever is raging around his followers to rest. When oceans rise and the thunder roars, they turn to him to see them through the squall and ensure smooth sailing. That's the point of the story, right? That's why there are songs and paintings and sermons around three simple words: "Peace, be still." Right?

She was, perhaps, one of the most UNremarkable people I'd ever met. I was living in Knoxville at the time, doing my thing as curate at a downtown parish. And she was a member.

So, in seminary, every semester we would begin with a day-long retreat over to St. Mary's Convent for what was called “Quiet Day.” Now, this place is right outside of Sewanee on top of a mountain, overlooking a cliff that looks down onto the farms and villages of Franklin County. It is one of the most breath-taking spots around, so beautiful. It's easy in that spot to feel God's presence in creation up close and personal.

“Indeed these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o'clock in the morning.”

So, many years ago now...over two decades ago, I guess...before my coffeshop days...I was the President and CEO of Chattanooga CARES AIDS Resource Center and Clinic. My job was pretty tough. I had to maintain proper funding for this multi-million dollar organization – writing grants, doing fundraisers, constantly hitting up the wealthy and politically connected for donations.

So years ago, back in Chattanooga, a jazz bar opened up on Main Street right across from the best Guatemalan restaurant I've ever eaten at. And on Tuesday nights, a bunch of us would pile into the Taqueria Antigua Guatemala for some burritos and a beer then high-tail it over to Durty Nelly's where some of the best regional jazz could be heard for almost free.

So, you have often heard me preach of the time that Fr. Brooks and I spent traveling around Israel. That time in the Holy Land will always inform my life and preaching. But today I want to talk about another Holy Land – Memphis.

In seminary I had this one professor who was a stickler for her own rules. One of those rules was that if she gave you a length for your paper, you had better never, ever go over that length. If you did, she would simply throw the extra pages away and write at the bottom of what was left, “Paper ends abruptly.”

So, we are nearing the end of Lent, the end of this penitential season. And as always, it's been rough. Lent always is a little rough. We dwell in passages of suffering and cleansing and dying. And maybe we try to take them a little easy, thinking that these passages are reminding us that we maybe need to look to our own lives and cut back on our carbs, lose a little weight, maybe go to the gym, cleanse ourselves of caffeine or alcohol or red meat or chocolate. Maybe we need to get rid of all those things that are dragging us down, maybe get the Spring cleaning started early.

So, the Children of God have been wandering in the Wilderness for quite some time. Led by Moses, they have escaped slavery in Egypt, crossed through the middle of the Red Sea, been led to Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments, seen miracle after miracle. They have been in the very presence of God.

Now, I know growing up near the buckle of the Bible Belt, I know my experience of churchy stuff is a little different. That’s the part of the world where, when you meet someone new, they ask you three questions: “what’s your name? who are your people? and what church do you go to?”

So, when I was a kid, growing up in Chattanooga, I couldn't help but be aware of the Civil War. So many battles were fought there because Chattanooga was one of the central rail hubs in the south, opening up the west to the Mississippi and the south to Atlanta, South Carolina, and the ports of Florida and the Caribbean.

So, here we are, five weeks into Epiphany, and we are still on the first chapter of Mark's gospel. And if you sit down and read the whole chapter at once, you can figure out why Jesus was sneaking out before dawn in order to have time and space to pray. You know the story, if you've been paying attention.

So, Jesus is fresh off his wilderness experience. His baptism by John is still fresh. He's managed to pick himself up a few disciples, and here they are strolling through the still, Saturday streets of Capernaum as they head off to synagogue where Jesus is going to try his hand at teaching.