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March 2025 readings

title slide with book covers

For those of you who wonder why I didn’t post a sermon on Sunday, it’s because I didn’t preach. I was recovering from a stomach bug and was still in the “infectious stage.” I doubt anyone wanted to risk seeing me. It all started late Wednesday night when I became violently sick and between episodes, was unable to maintain my blood sugar levels. I ended up in the ER, receiving IV fluids and shots to control nausea. After 4 hours, I came home but as late as Friday was experiencing diarrhea. As I was to have 48 hours after the last symptom, I was blessed to have someone else preach for me. The next sermon, God willing, will be posted on April 11th. This week, I had planned to be off in order to attend the HopeWords Writer’s Conference in Bluefield. Hopefully, you’ll find an interesting book or two from those books I finished reading during March.

Jon Meacham, His Truth is Marching On: John Lewis and the Power of Hope with Afterword by John Lewis 

cover of Jon Meachan's "His Truth is Marching On: John Lewis and the Power of Hope"

(New York: Penguin Random House, 2020), 354 pages including note, bibliography, and an index. 

In a way, Meacham’s biography on John Lewis reads like a spiritual memoir. Meacham provides the details of Lewis’ early life. However, his real focus is on Lewis’ faith and how it helped him as a young leader of the Civil Rights Movement.

Lewis wanted to preach from an early age. The family’s  chicken coop became his church. He preached to the birds and took offense when his mother cooked one of his “parishioners.” Throughout this book, Meacham captures the theological themes of Lewis’ life. These include love in the face of hate, non-violence, and with Martin Luther King, a vision of a beloved community. 

This book mostly focuses on Lewis’ first 28 years, until the death of Martin Luther King in 1968. A long epilogue brings the reader up to date on Lewis later work. This includes his 17 terms in the United States Congress. Following this is an afterword, written by Lewis himself, before his death on July 17, 2020. The book was published later that year.

Jon Meacham, as a young reporter for The Chattanooga Times, met Lewis on election night, 1992. He had just won his fourth term in Congress and Clinton had beaten George H. W. Bush for the Presidency. They would meet many more times over the years. Meacham began working on this book toward the end of Lewis’ life. Even thought Meacham focuses on Lewis’ work before they met, the closeness of the preacher/politician with the author is sensed throughout this book. 

Lewis’ grandfather was born a slave. But after Civil War, he worked hard and brought land. Lewis’ own father was a tenant farmer, but the family seldom saw the white owner of the land they worked. Lewis himself saw few white people in his early life, living in a segregated world. In 1951, at age 11, this changed one summer when an uncle took him to Buffalo, New York. It was an eye-opening event for Lewis. 

The 1950s were a time of change and uncertainty in the South. For African Americans, there was a bright light when the Supreme Court ruling against school segregation in 1954. Of course, nothing changed fast. But it was also a time of lynchings and the torture death of Emmett Till, a boy from Chicago close to Lewis’ age. 

For young Lewis, another change came when he started listening to the Martin Luther King, Jr. preaching on the radio. In 1957, Lewis left his hometown for American Baptist Theological Seminary in Nashville, Tennessee. The small school trained African American men for the ministry. While a student, Lewis learned about non-violent protests and participated in sit-ins at local cafes. He even volunteer to attempt to integrate a local white university. He was invited to meet with Martin Luther King, Jr. and Ralph Abernathy, who suggested he needed his parents’ approval since he was not yet 18 years of age. They refused and Lewis returned to the seminary. He continued his involved in non-violence as he participated as a Freedom Bus Rider. In all these experiences, Lewis saw the brutality of the Southern Whites as they resisted the demands of Black Southerners. 

As a young man, Lewis quickly became a leader within the Civil Rights movement. Even before his brutal beating on the Emmett Pettit bridge in Selma, Alabama in 1965, he had be with other leaders meeting President Johnson in the White House. It’s amazing that Lewis could continue to advocate non-violence and envison a beloved community with the violence he experienced. But he did. He even had to resist others within the movement, especially after Selma and later the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. These events led many to call for violence and Black Power as a way to confront the White backlash. Lewis stood firm for nonviolence. 

The reader of this book will take away an appreciation of what Lewis and other Civil Rights leaders endured. At a time when many of our rights as Americans feel threatened, the examples of those like Lewis, who Meacham likens to the Founding Fathers, provides an example of what courage looks like. He kept his eye on justice, avoiding violence but willing to get into “good trouble.”

I have read four other books by Jon Meacham and reviewed Let There Be Light.  Like His Truth is Marching On, Let There be Light is also a spiritual biography, but of Abraham Lincoln. I have also read his biographies of George H. W. Bush and Andrew Jackson. All have been exceptional. 

Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays 

Book cover of Upstream

(2016, Audible,  Pushkin Industries, 2023, 4 hours and 3 minutes)

A number of years ago read some of Mary Oliver’s poetry and her book on writing poetry. This is my first foray into her essays. This collection has been finely crafted, showing Oliver’s love for nature, life, and her home in Provincetown at the eastern tip of Cape Cod. As with her poetry, Oliver provides the reader with close views of the world. Owls, foxes, herons, spiders, turtles, fish, and her beloved dogs are all captured with her words. The reader learns the poet’s blessings upon those in the past. She drew strength from writers like Ralph Waldo Emerson, Edgar Allen Poe, William James, Walt Whiteman, William Wordsworth. She takes us on predawn walks. We’re introduced to a carpenter who wants to be a poet. Then we learn of her desire to master woodworking. I recommend this series of essays as a reminder to take our time to enjoy what’s around us. 

Amanda Held Opelt, Holy Unhappiness: God, Goodness, and the Myth of the Blessed Life

Book cover for "Holy Unhappiness"

 (New York: Worthy Publishing, 2023), 239 pages including notes. 

The title of this book, “Holy Unhappiness,” caught my attention. After all, doesn’t God want us to be happy? Doesn’t God want us to be blessed? Drawing on the account of the fall from Genesis 3, Opelt counters the idea we’re made to be happy. The curse of humanity includes our suffering in this life.  Of course, the pursuit of happiness, which Americans hold dear, isn’t found in Scripture but the Declaration of Independence. Yet such ideas have found their way into American Christianity through the various forms of the prosperity gospel. Opelt’s book directly attacks the heresy of the prosperity gospel. 

The author grew up in a loving Christian middle-class family in the Bible Belt. She felt she did all the things required of her to achieve blessedness. But as she grew older, she realized many of her expectations were hollow. The idea she just had to find the right job, the right spouse and they’d have the perfect children, and life would be easy was an allusion. 

The book is divided into three parts. Each looks at four places where we seek blessings followed by a chapter on the real source of blessings. The first part of the book looks at us as individuals in our work, marriage and parenthood. While there are wonderful aspects to each of these, they can also fluster our attempts to obtain a blessing. The real blessing comes in our delight of accepting what God has given us. 

Part two focuses on our life in a community. While much of American Christianity is focused on individuals, Opelt points out that the gospel is to be lived out with others. In this section, she discusses calling and community along with our bodies (through which we serve and work together). The blessing we discover is humility. The third part examines our gathering as believers, along with our suffering and sanctification. The resulting blessing is hope.  

Opelt encourages American Christians to avoid “one-verse-theologies” and to delve into the Scriptures. I applaud this suggestion. However, I wonder why Opelt didn’t link suffering and “holy unhappiness” with the cross. Perhaps this is because I am writing this review during Lent, or because yesterday I read nearly 100 pages of Fleming Rutledge’s, The Crucifixion. Nonetheless, there is a lot to commend in Opelt’s book. I was especially moved by what she has to say about the community, the church, and humility. 

Oplet will be one of the presenters at this year’s HopeWords Writer’s Conference in Bluefield, West Virginia.

Nathaniel Philbrick, Travels with George: In Search of Washington and His Legacy 

Book cover for "Travels with George"

(Penguin Random House, 2021), 375 pages include notes, bibliography and index. Penguin Audio, 2021, narrated by Nathaniel Philbrick, 9 hours and 34 minutes. 

This is the third book I read by Philbrick. The first two were In the Heart of the Sea: the Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex and Valiant Ambition: George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and the Fate of the American Revolution. I have enjoyed all three and have his book on the Mayflower sitting on my to-be-read pile.

I began listening to on audio, but ended up picking up a copy from the library. This allowed me to follow along and to see the illustrations. Most notably is John Trumbull’s painting of George standing in front of the hind end of Prescott, his horse. Prescott’s tail is raised. In the background sits the city of Charleston, for whom the painting was made. The artist’s joke is that the horse is relieving himself on Charleston even though I first thought Washington was lifting up the horse’s tail (as to say, go here?). 

Unlike the other two books of Philbrick’s I read, this one is more personal. Philbrick and his wife Melissa along with their dog, Dora, retraces the steps of Washington in their Honda Pilot. The one time they left their car behind was to sail, like Washington, to Rhode Island. This created an exciting adventure as they were caught in a dangerous storm. Thankfully, they’d left Dora behind.

Both Philbricks are avid sailors. Early in their married life, Philbrick stayed at home and cared for the kids while working as a freelance writer. Melissa worked as an attorney. I also discovered that he grew up in Pittsburgh. However, he spent lots of time in the summer on the coast where he could sail. Sadly, Phil did not reveal if he remained loyal to Pittsburgh’s sports or if he became a traitor for the Red Sox’s and Patriots. 

Blending into their personal experiences along the road, we learn much about Washington and the challenges he faced as the first President of the United States. At the time, the nation’s future was far from certain. Washington, a “Federalist,” was from the anti-federal South. Like all great men, he had his faults, especially when it came to his inconsistent views on slavery. Yet Washington was the man who brought the nation together. He strove to unite a collective group of former colonies into the United States. Philbrick notes that Washington didn’t desire the Presidency. Furthermore, Martha really didn’t relish the possibility of being the First Lady). During the time Washington made these journeys, he also worked on establishing the nation’s capital along the banks of the Potomac. This effort remained on his mind while on his last and longest of the journeys through the South. 

Washington’s journeys begins as he leaves his home at Mt. Vernon for New York. There, he took the oath of office. His desire to learn more about the nation and show national unity, Washington, led to these trips.

His first journey left New York for New England, with stops in Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and a brief foray into Maine. Notably, he skipped Rhode Island as it had yet to ratify the constitution. However, Maine wasn’t even being considered as a state and it didn’t become one until 1820. 

Washington’s second journey was a tour of Long Island. The Island had mostly remained under British Control during the Revolution. However, a series of spy rings on the island, kept Washington informed as to the British plans. Even during this trip, Washington kept the identity of almost all the spies quiet. At this time, his concern continued to be their safety. What would happen if the nation failed and Britain regained control? 

Then, in August 1790, Washington sails from New York to Rhode Island. While he shunned the colony on his New England trip, he wanted to welcome them into the union after they ratified the constitution. Washington stayed with John Brown, a Quaker who helped establish Brown University. Philbeck had attended Brown, and his family had long ties to the university. We learn Brown’s chariot provide Washington with ideas of the type of coach needed for his southern journeys. More importantly, however, to the story was the Quakers mixed relationship with slavery. While the religion shunned the practice, many of the ships bringing slaves to the Americas came from Rhode Island. 

Throughout the book, Philbrick explores Washington’s own troubled relationship with slavery. It has long been noted that Washington freed his slaves upon his death, but they were only part of Mt. Vernon’s slaves. Many of the slaves belonged to his wife’s first husband and were property Washington didn’t control. Furthermore, while troubled by slavery, Washington still chased down runaway slaves and kept them in bondage. And while he was on these journeys, he traveled with enslaved menservants. 

Ironically, Washington’s final tour took him through a land of which he was unfamiliar, the South. During the Revolution, Washington time was mostly spent in the northern part of the colonies. Other generals lead the fight in the South. This was area was also the least developed part of the nation. Overland travel was difficult. It was also a place that was most hostile to Washington’s ideas, especially the tax on whiskey. 

For me, the Eastern leg of Washington’s Southern journey was the most familiar. Having spent my childhood in Wilmington, NC, and six years as an adult just outside of Savanah, I’ve traveled the roads which parallel Washington’s journey numerous times. Like Philbrick, I’ve read much of Archibald Rutledge’s writings. I have even published a piece on Hampton Plantation, where Washington stayed. I knew all of stories Philbrick told of Rutledge’s ancestors. 

The part of the Southern journey that I was less familiar with was Washington’s westward swing which took him from Augusta, Georgia through the Piedmont of South and North Carolina. While I have been to most of the sites mentioned, I never associated them with Washington. 

Washington’s travels seemed to help create the myth and numerous stories seemed to be repeated along the way. Many towns have their own version of “He’s just a man,” often exclaimed by some youngest when they met Washington. Another popular and frequent story are about the coins he gave out as gifts. Interestingly, these were British coins as America had yet to mint its own money. And then there was the stories of Washington’s beloved dog, “Greyhound.” Sadly, Philbrick discovered the story had been made up in the 19th Century. 

While this book wasn’t as detailed in historical research as the other Philbrick books, I enjoyed it. Philbrick. portrait of Washington gives insight into the type of leadership our nation needs at present. Furthermore, reading this book makes me think it’s time for a road trip.

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Getting to the Trailhead. The Southern Crescent, 1985

Title slide with photos of a wildflower and the Appalachian trail in Georgia, 1985

As I work on Part 3 of my first transcontinental rail trip which I took in 1989, I brushed off this old piece I wrote about a short trip I took in 1985. The plan was to meet up with friends and head out for a two week hike along the Appalachian Trail. At this time, my only experience of trains had been in kindergarten, on Tweetsie (in the NC mountains which featured an attack by hostile natives and a hold-up by Butch Cassidy wannabes ), at 6 Flags, and in Japan.

I wait, my backpack resting against my thigh, and look up the tracks for the lights of Southern Crescent. The night air is heavy, warm and moist. The clock on the platform reads 1:30. We’re told the train is 30 minutes late. I tell Paula, a friend who drove me down to Gastonia, that she can go home if she wants. But she, like many of the others who have brought friends and family to the tracks, waits. We make small talk, mostly about my plans to hike for the next two weeks.

Finally, a light is seen in the distance, growing brighter. The locomotives blow by. It feels as if train will skip us. Then the metal wheels squeal and the train comes to a stop. An attendant steps off, sits out a step. Those of us waiting make a line and begin to climb aboard. I give Paula a quick hug and thank her again for the ride, shoulder my back and board. A minute later, the whistle blows, the attendant picks up the step. As he boards the train as the cars jerk and continue their southbound run through the night. Next stop, Spartanburg, but I’ll be asleep by then.

author somewhere between Springer Mt, GA, and Fontana Dam, NC
That’s me, somewhere between Springer Mt and Fontana Dam



I stow my pack overhead and take a seat next to a man who’s already fast asleep. A few minutes later the conductor comes by and collects the $30 for my ticket. Back then, before internet and computers, you could still board and pay. I lean back my seat and close my eyes, attempting to sleep to the swaying of the car and the clicking of the wheels. Although tired, I’m also excited. I haven’t been on a train in the United States since I was a kindergartener. Then, my class rode the Seaboard Coastline from Southern Pines to Vass. Or Cameron? All I remember is that it was a mail train. We were treated to a tour the mail car where postal workers sorted the mail as it came aboard at each stop. 

Tonight, I’ll ride a couple hundred miles through the Piedmont, from Gastonia to just north of Atlanta. I watch as we race through small towns, the lights of the crossbars and the stoplights blinking on deserted main streets. Finally, I finally fall asleep. 

A few minutes later I wake up shivering. The AC is running full blast. The car feels like an ice box. I grab my sleeping bag from my pack, unzip it and wrap it around me for warmth and fall back asleep. A couple hours later, the attendant shakes me, informing me that my stop is next. 

The guy next to me is awake and he asks if the lounge car is serving coffee yet. Not until 6 AM, he’s told. I stuff my sleeping bag into its bag and secure it back to my pack. Then I sit back down to wait.

I chat a bit with the guy beside me. He boarded the train in New York and is going home to Mississippi. He’s curious as to what I’m doing on the train with a backpack. I tell him that I’ll be meeting friends in Gainesville. And we’re heading up into the mountains to the beginning of the Appalachian Trail. He, too, grew up in the South. Like many African Americans of his age, he had to leave if he wanted decent work. 

As he tells his story, I recall a photograph a friend of mine from the early-60s. Phil worked for the Charlotte Observer then. He caught on film the faces of three black boys looking out of the window of a northbound train. He titled it, “Chicken Bone Special,” based on the nickname the Southern Crescent at the time. The name came from how hardworking families from the Deep South, with little money in their pockets, headed north for work with a basket of fried chicken to tide them over.

The sky is pink when I step off the train at Gainesville. A sense of loneliness and abandonment washes over me as the train resumes its journey toward Atlanta, then Birmingham, Tuscaloosa, Hattiesburg and on to New Orleans. 

I can tell right away that this isn’t the best part of town. The rails run between industrial buildings, many abandoned, with their dark windows reflecting the morning light. Those who got off the train with me are all met by friends and family. Soon, I’m the only one left. A cab driver asks if I want a ride. I tell him that I’d be meeting friends later in the morning. I ask if he knows where I can get some breakfast. He points to a diner down the street. I head off in that direction. 

Entering, I’m aware of the stares, as drop my pack on one side of a booth and sit in the other. Most of those eating appears to have just gotten off their shift in one of the industrial plants by the tracks. 

I order a big breakfast: poached eggs, corn beef hash, toast and coffee. As I eat, I pull out A Breakfast of Champions, by Kurt Vonnegut and begin to read. I stay, long after finishing my breakfast, drinking coffee and reading. It’ll be noon before Reuben, and his brother Bill, will arrive and pick me up at the train station. There’s plenty of time to kill.

I sit in the diner for a good 90 minutes, wanting the sun to get up above the horizon. Then I leave to see the town, walking away from the tracks. When I find a small neighborhood park, I place my pack against a tree, using it as a backrest, and sit, continuing to read. Later, as the stores open, I check out a couple of antique shops. It’s a safe hobby. I’m surely don’t plan to buy anything to add to my pack that already weighs 50 pounds. 

I head back to the train station an hour early, thinking I can find a bench there to sit and read. But before I get to the station, I hear Rueben call my name from the passenger seat of a station wagon. He’d hired the janitor at his law office to drive him and his brother in his wife’s station wagon. I dump my pack in the back and crawl in the backseat next to Bill.  

We make a short stop for burgers and then drive toward Amicalola Falls. The Appalachian Trail begins at the top of Springer Mountain, but it requires a hike to get to Springer. We skip the falls, as we take a Forest Service Road which drops us off a couple miles from the peak of Springer Mountain. We unload and say goodbye to our chauffeur, shoulder our packs and head off into the woods. I don’t stop till we get to the bronze plaque bolted on rock, identifying the summit. There, we stop long enough to take a few photos, and then head north, following the white blazes toward Maine. 

The three of us at the start of the Appalachian Trail
Reuben, me, Bill, at the beginning of the Appalachian Trail, July 1985



Reuben and I are out for two weeks. We’re heading to Fontana Dam at the beginning of the Smoky Mountains. Bill, his brother, will hike with us the first week. He’ll get off the trail just south of the North Carolina border, where his wife will pick him up. She’ll also bring our resupply. This was Bill’s first trip, and it would be a tough one. For years afterwards, Reuben relished telling how, after he got off the trail, Bill called their mother and told her how Reuben, her other son, tried to kill him. 

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An Act of Devotion and a Conspiracy to Do Evil

Title slide with photo of the two churches where the sermon is to be preached

Jeff Garrison
Mayberry and Bluemont Churches
Mark 14:1-11
March 23, 2024

Sermon recorded at Bluemont Church on Friday, May 21, 2025.

At the beginning of the service: 
I recently read Holy Unhappiness: God, Goodness, and the Myth of the Blessed Life by Amanda Held Opelt. She will be one of the presenters at HopeWords Writers’ Conference in a few weeks. In the chapter where she explored the meaning of the church (or the assembly as she points out the correct meaning of the word in Greek), she tells of how her experiences as a child was different from that as an adult. Her experience probably mirrors most of ours. As a child, most experienced “the assembly” as loving, caring, and grace filled. As an adult, we see the other side, especially the tendency to divide people into a “us versus them” mentality. Then she confesses, “No one ever told me the enemy might be on the inside.”[1]

Part of the problem with our idealized view of the church and the Christian life is our selective use of scripture. If we were really steeped into the Bible, we’d see how even the heroes of scripture, except for Jesus, have feet of clay. It’s not about being perfect, but about how God uses imperfect people to carry out his mission. Today, we’ll see that even Jesus had to deal with enemies on the inside. Perhaps we can learn something. 

Before reading the scripture:
Today, we begin looking at Jesus’ last two days before his crucifixion. From last week, we’re jumping over the 13th chapter of Mark, which we covered during Advent. The 13th chapter was where Jesus instructed his disciples concerning his return. At the beginning of the 14th chapter, we learn the plan to do away with Jesus has come to a head. Ever since the 3rd Chapter, some leaders among the Jews thought Jesus needed to go.[2] Now they ready. 

Let me give you a heads up on next week’s text. We’ll look at Jesus’ last supper with the disciples. We’ve moved the date for communion, from the first Sunday of the month, to the last, this one time. That’s so we can celebrate communion as we recall Jesus’ last meal.

Our reading today consists of Mark’s classic “sandwich” construction.[3] We’ve seen this structure numerous times as we worked our way through Mark.[4] The first two and the last two verses here deal with the conspiracy against Jesus. In the middle, an anointing of Jesus takes place which creates discord within the disciples while reminding them of what’s ahead. 

Read Mark 14:1-11
We should note as we come toward the end of Mark’s gospel, women take a more prominent role.[5] Men, or at least the disciples, are seen as cowards. Of course, Judas is the exception. But he betrays Jesus. And the religious leaders are devious and filled with evil intent. But women, starting with the woman with the alabaster jar of perfume, are seen as faithful and devoted. They remain with Jesus even during his execution and are there to care of his body afterwards.

As I’ve discussed since the 11th Chapter when Jesus entered Jerusalem for the first time, he and the disciples have been staying in Bethany, a small town about two miles away.[6] In John’s gospel, we have a similar story as this, also set in Bethany, but at the home of Lazarus. There, Lazarus’ sister Martha serves while Mary, another sister, anoints Jesus with an expensive nard.[7]

Here, in Mark along with Matthew’s gospel,[8] we’re told they’re at the house of Simon the leper. This could be explained if Simon was Lazarus’ father, but we don’t know. By being called “the leper” most likely means he once had the disease. If the disease was active, he would not be able to host the Jesus and the disciples in his home. From staying outside of Jerusalem in Bethany to eating with a leper, Jesus shows how he is outside the mainstream.[9]

Mark doesn’t name the woman who anoints Jesus. The nard she pours over Jesus’ head was very expensive. At 300 denarii, it would be equivalent to a year’s wage for a laborer. Nor do we know her motives for anointing Jesus. The case has often been suggested she prepared Jesus for his role as King, but if that’s the case, oil and not nard would have been used. 

Our text suggests she wanted to prepare Jesus body for the grave. Perhaps this was because the bodies of executed criminals were not often afforded such honor.[10] However, it’s doubtful she knew what was about to happen to Jesus. After all, the disciples themselves seem clueless, despite having been repeatedly told by Jesus that he would be killed and then rise on the third day. It’s only after she has performed her act of devotion that Jesus interprets it as preparation for his death. 

Perhaps its best for us to understand this act as one of great devotion. In a world where women had few rights and privileges, Jesus offered dignity and respect. Maybe this woman wanted to express her thanks, love, and devotion. 

Whatever her reason, the woman’s act raises the ire of those present. Again, in John’s gospel, we’re told it was Judas who suggested the perfume could be used to care for the poor.[11]Mark doesn’t put the words into an individual’s mouth, just saying that some (in other words, more than one person) felt the expensive gift could have found a better use. 

Nor was the idea of taking care of the poor a bad suggestion. After all, Passover was a time for doing such deeds of mercy.[12]Think of how how we contribute food and toys around Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was the same at Passover. While the disciples judge based on appearance, Jesus judges on motives.[13] He knows what’s in both the woman’s and the disciples’ heart.

Jesus defends this obviously well-off woman. Think about it. I doubt few if any of us have a jar of perfume or cologne equivalent to a year’s salary. In a way, this woman stands in sharp contrast to the woman we saw last week giving her two small copper coins to the temple’s treasury.[14] Jesus values both women. Again, Jesus judges by the condition of our hearts. Today, we recall both women’s devotion.

Now let me say a bit about Jesus’ comment on always having the poor with us. I wish Jesus wouldn’t have said this. Too often someone quotes it as an excuse not to help the poor. But that’s not Jesus’ intention. Jesus never said, don’t take care of the poor. “Feed those hungry people,” Jesus tells the disciples.[15] And by the example of his life, we see that he is very concerned for those in need. 

Maybe, instead of sighing and feeling overwhelmed about always having the poor with us, we should see them as a test. Our response to them shows the condition of our own hearts. If we despise the poor, if we have no empathy, we’re not living the gospel. Perhaps we should do some serious soul-searching. 

This sentimental story finds itself injected into one of Mark’s sandwiches. Before it, we learn of the plans of the chief priests and scribes to stealthy abduct and kill Jesus. Of course, they want to avoid angering the crowds, so they hope to do this after the crowds leave Jerusalem following the Passover. 

Jerusalem, during the Passover, swelled upwards of five times its normal size.[16] Jerusalem would be like living at a tourist destination. If at the beach, winter is the dead season. In the summer you can’t find a parking place or a seat in the restaurant. Jerusalem, during Passover, flooded with people and was like a tourist town. Many of these people came from Galilee, with favorable views of Jesus. Killing him during the Passover might lead to a riot.

However, the Jewish leaders don’t have a plan. They can’t believe their luck when Judas comes knocking on their door, offering to betray Jesus. Again, Mark doesn’t tell us why Judas decides to betray Jesus. It must not have been for money, as our text treats the offer to pay him as an afterthought. In Luke and John’s gospel, we’re told of Satan’s influence. Others have suggested that Judas, being a zealot, wanted to force Jesus to bring in his kingdom, but again that doesn’t appear to be a reason here. Mark isn’t interested in Judas’ motive. Judas is just a player in the ongoing drama. Mark shows us that the trap for Jesus’ arrest is set. 

Judas reminds us that proximity to Jesus doesn’t guarantee faithfulness. In the 13th chapter, Jesus emphasized watchfulness[17]. Even those of us in the church need to be watchful that we’re not tempted to betray Christ. Like the woman in our morning story, our first love must be Jesus. If we love anything else more, we may find ourselves “asleep” when he returns. 

This passage reminds us to remain focused on our Savior, the lover of our souls. Don’t let yourselves to stray away from Christ and his teachings. Amen. 

[1] Amanda Held Opelt, Holy Unhappiness: God, Goodness, and the Myth of the Blessed Life (New York: Worthy Publishing, 2023), 148. 

[2] Mark 3:6. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/03/10/the-plot-against-jesus/

[3] James R. Edwards, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 410. In a way, this passage could also be one slice of bread of a longer sandwich, with the story of the widow’s mite in Mark 12 serving as the other piece of bread. We have the two women as examples of faithfulness with a longer passage showing the disciples need to be watchful in-between. See Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to Saint Mark (1991, Hendrickson Publishing, 1997), 329. 

[4] examples

[5] Douglas R. A. Hare, Mark: Westminster Bible Companion (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996), 181. 

[6] Mark 11:1-11. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/11/17/7549/

[7] John 12:1-8. 

[8] Matthew 26:1-13. 

[9] Edwards, 414.

[10] William L. Lane, The Gospel of Mark: NICNT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974),, 494.

[11] John 12:1-8.

[12] Lane, 493. 

[13] Edwards, 415.

[14] Mark 12:40-44. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2025/03/16/the-widow-and-the-arrogant/

[15] Mark 6:37. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/06/30/a-grand-picnic-and-a-call-to-feed-the-hungry/

[16] Lane, 490. Jerusalem went from 50,000 to 250,000 during Passover. 

[17] Edwards, 412; Mark 13:33-36. 

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Pittsburgh to North Carolina, Leg 2 of my Transcontinental Trip

title slide with photo of the author boarding a train

Click here for Part 1 of this trip (Reno to Pittsburgh).

I’d arrived early in Pittsburgh on Friday, March 31. I dropped my stuff off at Bill and Mike’s apartment. Bill and I had shared the apartment the year before I took a year off for my western adventures. I spent much of the day around campus. I checked in with teachers, especially Ron Stone as I was doing an independent study with him on Reinhold Niebuhr. That afternoon, I met Linda, whom I had met the previous spring when I preached at First Presbyterian in Cumberland, Maryland. We had written back and forth a few times. She had invited me to her family’s cabin in the Laurel Highlands. It was a nice place, and she brought dinner that evening. We enjoyed a fire and spent Saturday hiking. 

On Sunday, she drove me to Butler, where I preached at Covenant Presbyterian Church. I had worked as a student assistant at Covenant for my first two years at seminary. It was good to see Steve Hamilton, the pastor who’d been my mentor for two years, and many of the people who had become close during my time there.

Photo of the steeple on Covenant Presbyterian in Butler, PA and Steve Hamilton
Covenant’s steeple and Steve

Linda dropped me off at the seminary that afternoon. While there wasn’t any romance in our time together, I had a nice weekend. But the pleasant weekend became tainted when I realized Carolyn had tried to call me at Bill’s apartment several times. While I was honest and we had discussed our relationship evening when I left Nevada in August, I recognized she was hurt, and we were more serious than I realized. 

I had come to the seminary for Jane Dempsey Douglas’ lecture series on the changing views of the imago deo (image of God). She drew heavily on her book, Women, Calvin, and Freedom, which I purchased and would read on my way back to Nevada. During my time there, I had lunch with Sue Nelson, my advisor at school. She’d just published Beyond Servanthood: Christianity and the Liberation of Women. I purchased her book and had her sign it. It’d also read it on the return trip, a trip in which my reading was every bit as deep as it was on my first leg.

As I was enjoying lunch with Sue and other classmates, Barry Jackson, another professor, hunted me down with an urgent message to call Ken Hall at Hill Presbyterian Church in Butler. Somehow, Ken heard I was in town and wanted to meet. As this was in the days before cell phones, Ken knew Barry and thought he might be able to find me. Ken was the moderator of the Presbyterian Church USA. In the two years I worked in Butler, I had only meet him one time, but I had worked with his youth minister on a few activities between our two churches. 

Ken was elected as moderator at the 200th General Assembly held the previous June in St. Louis. As a seminary student, I was there working for the Office of the General Assembly. The moderator was elected on Saturday. On Sunday, everyone attended different churches in the area. Then we came back together Sunday night for the moderator’s reception. There, with a group of seminary students from around the country, I waited in line to meet him.  When I approached, I stuck out my hand to shake his as I started to introduce myself again. But before I could, he yelled, “Jeff, I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Then he pulled me close for a hug. I was shocked that he remembered me with the 1000s of people who were present. The other seminary students were impressed. 

I excused myself and went back with Barry to his office where we called Ken. He wanted to know if I could come up and visit, but he was only free that afternoon. I borrowed Bill’s car and drove to Butler for the second time in two days. We spent an hour and a half talking. He asked me to get him a resume. His associate had left, and they were interviewing for another. But he suggested if they didn’t hire one, he would be interested in hiring me during my senior year to fill in the gap. While they would hire someone that summer, it was good to contact Ken again.

Ken and my path would cross several times at General Assemblies over the years. Afew years later, he went to work for the Presbyterian Foundation. Nine years after our meeting, I was a pastor in Cedar City, Utah. Having just built a church, I looked for someone to preach a dedication sermon. I invited Ken. He did a wonderful job. 

On Tuesday night, I played basketball with a group from seminary whom I’d played with for the previous two years. Afterwards, I went out with a group of friends to one of our favorite watering holes in Shadyside, “The Elbow Room.” 

As that party broke up, three of us who were visiting Pittsburgh decided we should visit a real Steel City place. John White, who had moved to Princeton, had been the director of admission who recruited me, and Karen, another former student, whom I barely knew, but who’d come back from the lectures, and I headed out to the “O” for hot dogs and more beer!. 

The “O” stood for “The Original Hot Dog Shop” or “The Dirty O”. The was a long-established hot dog place in Oakland section of Pittsburgh, on Forbes Avenue. When they started, they were across the street from Forbes Field. They witnessed the Pirates World Series win in 1960. By the time we arrived, the Pirates had long moved to Three River Stadium. Across the street from “the O” stood the University of Pittsburgh’s massive library was across the street. 

 John dropped me off at Bill and Mike’s apartment at 1 AM. I had just long enough to shower and catch a few hours of sleep. Bill took me to the train station at 5 AM the next morning. 

It was dark when I boarded the train for Washington. I took my seat at the back of partly filled car. Soon, I fell asleep as we pulled out of Pittsburgh in the dark and ran up the Monongahela River. An hour and a half later, I woke as the train worked its way over the Allegheny Mountains. 

The author boarding the train

The morning was gray. I headed to the lounge car for coffee. When I came back, others were stirring in the car. I grabbed some food from my bag. Then, two blonde hair and blue eye kids popped up from the seat ahead of me. Aaron, the boy was seven and Ashely, the girl, four. Sleeping in the seat across from them was their mother, Karen. As I drank my coffee and ate fruit and a cinnamon bun for breakfast, they played peak-a-boo from behind the seats. Soon, they were drawing pictures for me. When their mother woke, she told them not to bother me. I assured her it was no bother. We spent much of trip to Washington, playing and talking to the three of them. 

Karen, a single mother, was taking her kids to see the capitol. I learned she’d been divorced for a few years and worked in the layout department for the Grand Rapids, Michigan newspaper. 

At this time, the Capitol Limited which ran from Chicago to Washington, DC, was a single deck train. Today, it’s a double decked train, like the trains in the American West. With everything on one level, the lounge car had a dome section where you could have a better view of the mountains. The four of us experienced that for a while that morning, before giving up our seats for others to enjoy.  When we arrived in Washington, we went our separate ways. 

Early that afternoon, April 5, 1989, I left D.C. on the Silver Star, heading south. That night, my parents picked me up in Fayetteville, North Carolina. We spent the night at my grandmother in Pinehurst, before driving to Wilmington the next day. It was a short trip.  I spent time with my parents and saw my grandmother, my brother and his two kids, as well as a few friends. I even went for out to Wrightsville Beach Friday night.  Then, late Saturday night, April 8th, we drove back to Fayetteville. The agent looked at my tickets and commented, “you’re going the long way home.” At 12:50 AM on Sunday, I boarded the train for Philadelphia, the first stop on a long roundabout trip back to Reno. 

###

Other train trips

Danville to Atlanta, 2020

Coming home to Pittsburgh, 1987

Doubly late to West Palm Beach, 1986

Riding on the City of New Orleans, 2005

Edinburgh to Iona, 2017

Riding in the Cab of the V&T, 2013

Bangkok to Seim Reap, 2011

Riding the International: Georgetown to Bangkok, 2011

Malaysia’s NE Line: The Jungle Train, 2011

Coming Home on the Southwest Chef, 2012

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The Widow and the Arrogant

Title slide with winter photo of the churches where the sermon will be delivered.

Jeff Garrison
Mayberry and Bluemont Churches
March 16, 2025
Mark 12:38-44

Sermon recorded at Mayberry on Friday, March 14, 2025

At the beginning of worship:

The Reverend Dawna Bridgewater, an associate pastor for a large church, found herself with the task of raising money for a new roof on their sanctuary. Her first day with the assignment proved quite successful. An attorney called and told her the church had received a $65,000 bequest. A couple dropped by and confirmed their plans on giving $35,000. Another member dropped by and handed her a $100 check. What a day, $91,100 raised. 

Just as she packed her bags in preparation for going home, she heard a commotion in the office lobby. A woman yelled, “Is that lady preacher in?” She stepped out into the reception and recognized immediately a woman she’d helped a few weeks earlier. She remembered giving her ten dollars for gas from the church discretionary fund. A single mother, the woman was overweight and wore dirty clothes.  Her three children, ranging from age one to five, were in tow. They could all use a bath and new shoes.

Dawna assumed the woman needed more help and asked how she was doing. She was surprised by her answer. “I’m fine. I was able to sign up for food stamps and with the gas you brought me, I found a job.” 

Then she shocked the pastor. “I want to thank the church for helping.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a handful of crumbled bills and laid $12 on Dawna’ s desk. 

“The church doesn’t expect you to repay the gift,” Dawna said. “And we’re certainly not charging interest.”  

The woman said the ten was to pay the church and the two dollars was for God, who had helped her out when she was in need. “You may have another need,” she said. “Use it.”

The next day, Reverend Bridgewater reported to the finance chairperson they now have $91,112. The chair was impressed, but not nearly as impressed as Dawna, who knew who had given the $12.[1]

Introduction to the Scriptures

As we work through the gospel of Mark, we’re coming to the end of Jesus’ public ministry. After today’s passage, Jesus spends the 13th chapter teaching the disciples about his return, which we explored back in Advent. Then, the 14th Chapter, which we’ll begin to explore next week, deals with the Passover and leads up to Jesus’ arrest. 

Interestingly, Jesus began his public ministry by calling the fishermen who left everything behind.[2] He ends condemning the religious leaders of the day and contrasts them to a woman who gives everything, something Jesus will also do on the cross.

Read Mark 12:38-44. 

The way Mark tells this story, it’s been a long day which we’ve explored over the last three Sundays. Earlier in the day, Jesus and the disciples hike back into Jerusalem from Bethany, where they’ve been staying. They enter the temple. We can imagine the bustling activity. Three days before the Passover, the most holy of the religious holidays, pilgrims flock to the temple. 

In verses 38 and 39, Jesus speaks to the crowd for the last time. The rest of the Mark’s gospel consists of Jesus teaching the disciples, followed by his arrest, trial, crucifixion, and resurrection.[3] Here, Jesus addresses the scribes (and I’m glad I’m not wearing a robe this morning). This seems a bit odd, since Jesus just praised a scribe for being near to the kingdom of God. At least there was a good one among the bunch. The scribes taught the law, and there would be many of them around the temple during the holiday looking for patrons. 

Think about how their flowing robes separated the scribes from the common people. This is always a danger those of us in the clergy face. In the Protestant tradition, we believe in the priesthood of all believers. In other words, while I have the education and have jumped through the hoops required for ordination, I’m not any different than anyone else. We all have equal access to God. Your prayers are just as good as mine. 

Jesus, watching the religious authorities of his day, was taken back by some of their behavior. I’m sure Jesus would have similar feelings today. Back in the 1990s, we had a wave of Catholic priests in Boston caught preying on children. But we Protestants have also had similar problems. Just this past week there was an arrest of an evangelical megachurch pastor in Texas who served as a spiritual advisor to leading politicians.[4]

With their fancy robes, long prayers, and the likelihood they were ripping off those who could least afford it, Jesus had to say something in the first century. It’d be no different if Jesus came back today.  

By the time Jesus enters the Court of the Women, he’s wearied and tired. Repeatedly, he dealt with attempts of entrapment: from the chief priests, the elders, the Sadducees, the scribes, and even the Herodians. Plumb worn out, I imagine Jesus reclining on a bench across from the treasury, with it’s 13 trumpet-like receptacles lining the opposite wall of the Court.[5]

Many who are rich enter wearing fancy clothes and drop lots of coins which ring out as they fall into the treasury. Some of the gifts are announced publicly, encouraging others to give, kind of like a how shot machine jingle when someone hits the jackpot.[6] Others are dressed modestly and drop in smaller amounts. Since this was before the advent of paper money (folding money as it used to be called), the clanging of the coins falling into the receptacles make a racket. The disciples sit beside Jesus, mystified. To them, the temple and the grounds and all that’s going on is amazing. 

None of this, however, phases Jesus. That is, until a certain unnamed woman enters the court and makes her offering. Why does she grab Jesus’ attention? What makes her stand out? Could it be her clothes? But then, beggars and the poor are commonly seen in Palestine. What makes this woman stand out in a sea of humanity?

Perhaps her faith catches Jesus’ attention. Her determination as she marches up to one the 13 receptacles and drops in her offering. Instead of the constant clanging of coins made by the rich making their offerings, her gift causes just a ping or two as the lightweight coins roll into the treasury. 

These are copper coins, the smallest coins in circulation, worth less than our pennies. About 7/10s of 1% of a denarii, the coin Jesus and the Pharisees and Herodians quibbled over earlier.[7]We’re told this is all she has in the world, and she gives it to the temple. She was not expected to give it all. She could have kept one of the coins. But she didn’t. What happens to her now? Mark doesn’t’ say, leaving us to ponder. 

Jesus points the woman out to the disciples. I’m sure they’re not overly impressed. After all, it takes a lot of money to fund the operations of the temple. What will a mere two cent do?  But Jesus points her out because of he is more concerned with the condition of our hearts than in the amount given.[8] This woman can do what the rich man, who we met in chapter 10, wasn’t able to do.[9]

The widow who appears to pass under the radar of all the religious leaders milling around in the courtyard catches Jesus’ eye. The disciples must have missed her, too, until Jesus points her out. While she remains anonymous, like all the rest who gave to the temple this day, we recall her generosity. In a way, her story reminds us that our giving is between us and God who sees and knows all. And while she gave perhaps the smallest amount this day, her gift has inspired people for 2000 years. 

Furthermore, by giving all she had, she foreshadows what Jesus will do at the end of the week, when he offers up his life for us. And while Jesus never says we must follow her example of giving all; she serves an example of trust in the Lord and a reminder that all we have belongs to God. 

Another thing we should grasp from this passage is that Jesus doesn’t criticize the giving of the rich. Obviously the two small coins wouldn’t do much for operating the temple. There was a need for larger gifts, and they were appreciated. But Jesus didn’t come to support the status quo of the temple, for he himself would build a new temple in the hearts of his followers, one that was not bound to a particular place on earth.[10]

Finally, in this passage, we see the importance of humility. Whatever we do for the kingdom should not be done with arrogance or pride. Throughout Mark, Jesus continually attacks false piety.[11] Such deeds, cloaked in religious trappings, upset Jesus.[12]  

As our giving is between us and God, so is our faith. We shouldn’t make a big deal out of it, because our faith is ground in God’s grace, not in our doings. So, keep your faith close to your hearts, for we’re not to brag or to show off. And while Jesus didn’t say so directly, stay away from those who brag about what they’re doing for the kingdom for they may be like the scribes at the temple in the first century, full of hot air. 

Instead, as you walk through life following Jesus, trust God and, like the woman at the treasury, quietly doing what you can to further God’s kingdom. As we saw last week, this involves loving God and loving our neighbors. Amen 

[1] William J. Carl, Jr., “The Single Mother’s Mite,” The Living Pulpit (July-September 1997), 39. I used this story in another sermon on this passage in 1997.

[2] Mark 1:16-20. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/01/14/you-catch-em-hell-clean-em-jesus-begins-his-ministry/

[3] Scholars are split over Jesus ending his ministry after the rebuke of the scribes or with the woman at the treasury.  For the two sides see William L. Lane, The Gospel of Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), 441. And James R. Edwards The Gospel According to Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002), 382. 

[4] https://www.texastribune.org/2025/03/12/robert-morris-texas-megachurch-indicted-sexual-abuse/

[5] For the setting of the treasury, see Lane, 442-443. 

[6] Edwards, 381. For the link to slot machines, see Chelsey Harmon, Commentary on Mark 12:38-44. https://cepreaching.org/commentary/2024-11-04/mark-1238-44-4/

[7] Douglas R. A. Hare, Mark: Westminster Bible Companion, (Louisville, KY: WJKP, 1996), 165. The conflict over the denarius: Mark 12:13-15. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2025/03/02/opposition-to-jesus-grows/

[8] Edwards, 381. 

[9] Mark 10:17-22.  See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/10/20/with-god-all-things-are-possible/

[10] See John 4:21. 

[11] Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to Saint Mark (1991, Hendrickson Publishing, 1997), 294. 

[12] Hare, 164.

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Randsburg and a 94 year old redhead

Photo of old cabins in the Mojave

This is a second post on a trip I took with Ralph to the northern Mojave in California. Click here to read about the morning at Goler Gulch.

Olga’s the first 94-year-old redhead I’ve met. I’m sure she has some artificial help; even so, her hair shows spunk. She gets around well and lives by herself. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she confesses. She still runs “The Joint,” pulling a regular shift, tending bar. When things are not busy, she steps out front and pull weeds from the flower bed. That’s where we first saw her. Ralph and I along with Bill and his friend had stopped in Randsburg for a late lunch after our tour of Goler Gulch. As we headed to a restaurant, Ralph mumbled something about it can’t Olga pulling flowers. He recognized the woman who none of us had seen. 

Ralph and Olga in "The Joint" in Randsburg, CA

After lunch, Ralph and I walked down to “The Joint,” a bar in Randsburg. Olga’s washing glasses as we enter. She stops and turns to take our order. Olga doesn’t recognize Ralph, so he introduces himself. She looks at him for a minute, then smiles and comments about how much she misses his brother. He lived in the area and died a couple of years earlier. The two chat for a minute about Olga’s son, who was Ralph’s age. The two of them went off to war together in 1944. Ralph asked how long she’s been tending bar at “The Joint.” We learn she and her late-husband brought the establishment in 1955. “I’ve had honest work ever since,” she tells us. I was curious about what kind of work she’d done before but decide not to interrupt their reunion. 

Selling booze in a mining town was lucrative business. Selling anything liquid use to be lucrative business as water in these parts was expensive, even as late as the ‘40s. Today, there is little mining and its mostly tourists who stop in want something alcoholic. The establishment is open from Wednesday through Sunday and they close in the evening when they are no longer busy. “The Joint” is in the heart of Randsburg’s business district and one of the original structures in town. The building was first a bakery. In the 30s, it was converted to a bar and a pool hall.

Ralph and I both order a couple of Mojave Greens, a local beer made in Inyokern and named for the famous rattlesnake of the Mojave. Ralph, who grew up in this area, said he’d only seen two of these snakes in his life. She pulls us two bottles out of the cooler, opens them, and ask if we want a glass. Ralph, always the civilized one, takes a glass and slowly pours his beer into it. I shake my head, grab the bottle and tip it up to drink. Ralph and Olga continue talking until Olga pauses to fix another drink for the woman sitting at the other end of the bar.

Its then I notice Faye, who’s sitting a few stools away and looking for a refill. I’m not sure why I hadn’t noticed her earlier as she wears a barely ample halter displaying more than ample breasts. She’s attractive or certainly could be. With her tight mini-skirt and heels which must be five inches high, I wonder what kind of business she’s in. We chat for a few minutes and learn she’s the proprietor of the Silver Dollar Saloon in Red Mountain. This is her day off. 

The day before, when we drove through Red Mountain, Ralph had told me earlier about the red-light district there. It was a hoping place when he was a schoolboy before the war. The saloons in Red Mountain lined the west side of the street and featured backroom gambling. Gambling was illegal in California, but this wasn’t exactly on the main highway and most people looked the other way. On the east side of the street were “cribs,” where prostitutes who free-lanced in the bars and around the gambling dens, led their clients. It was a cozy arrangement, and local authorities did little to discourage business. 

But then World War 2 came along. The Navy built a base on China Lake. Since there’s not enough water in China Lake to float a canoe most years, they used the base to train pilots. Naval authorities found that after a night of drinking, gambling and whoring, the drive over the mountain was too difficult to negotiate. They lost many pilots before they had a chance to sight in on a Japanese Zero. The Navy called in the FBI, who shut down the gaming establishments and ran the women off.

A few minutes later, Faye’s partner at the Silver Dollar joined us at the bar. While I’d enjoyed glancing over at Faye as we talked, I now divert my eyes. This guy is scary. His bare skinny legs end within fancy black leather cowboy boots, with pointed toes, and scroll threading. Personally, I think wearing cowboy boots without long pants should be a misdemeanor. Wearing cowboy boots with super tight short shorts, the kind which hadn’t been seen since the 80s, should be a felony! This guy’s pants are shorter than his partner’s mini skirt.

I’m glad I’m not alone in the bar with him. Had it just been me drinking and he came in, I think I’d wallowed over to the Methodist Church and take the temperance pledge. But he joins the conversation and seems to be an okay. However, he and Faye, to say the least, are one unique couple.

Ralph and I finish our beers and head out. The darkness in the bar forces our eyes to squint as we adjust to the bright desert sky. We take the long way back to Ridgecrest, through Inyokern. I tell Ralph about my one other trip to Inyokern. It was approaching midnight. I was with Eric, another friend of mine who Ralph knows. We’d been looking for a place to stop for the night. We were on our way to do a week hike from New Army Pass, to the Pacific Crest Trail and then up the backside of Mt. Whitney, and then north along the John Muir Trail to Onion Valley. And we wanted to get an early start the next morning so we kept driving late into the night. 

Eric sighted a spotlight for an airport. As a pilot, he suggested we head there and camp, telling me about camping under his plane at such places. There was no one to stop us. I slept on one side of the car and Eric on the other. The night was warm. I laid out my pad and sleeping bag and slept on top. I must have been exhausted for I don’t remember anything else until 5:00 AM, when a loudspeaker rudely awaken me as it called out for those boarding the 5:30 AM flight to LAX. Shortly afterwards, we were on the road.

Ralph, who always had a way with words, quipped something about how Eric and I must not of been living right. Ralph and I had camped out when in the wilderness. But he felt if we’re going to stay in civilization, we should, at least, find a motel. 

We drive back into Ridgecrest as the light softens. The shadows of the barren peaks provide definition to the distant hills in the low warm light. It’s nearly dark when we arrive. Unlike Randsburg, Ridgecrest is a new town, built during World War II. The purpose of the town is to serve the China Lake Naval base. We drive around, looking for a place for dinner. In our search, as we navigate ubiquitous four-way stop signs, But what amazed me of the town was to see not only had a dollar store, but also a 99-cent store and, for those who that’s even too much, a 98-cent store. Every place needs to be known for something. 

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The Greatest Law

title slide with photo of two churches during winter

Jeff Garrison
Mayberry and Bluemont Churches
March 8, 2025
Mark 12:28-37

Sermon recorded at Bluemont on Friday, March 7, 2024.

Comments at the beginning of worship:

A bird cage would be one way to look at boundaries. It’s clear. You are either in or out. Inside might be seen as a prison, or a place of safety and nourishment. Outside can be free, or wild and dangerous. It’s a matter of perspective.

A bird bath also has boundaries. Otherwise, all the water would trickle away. But when we look at a bird bath, we don’t pay attention to the boundaries holding the water in the same way we do with a bird cage. Instead, we look at the center, at the ripples of the nourishing water within the bowl.

Our task in the church is to invite people to the center, where we find nourishment in Jesus Christ.[1]

Comments before reading the Scripture:

Over the past two weeks, we’ve seen several groups of challengers’ question to Jesus. Two weeks ago, it was the Sanhedrin asking for Jesus credentials. Then, last week, it was the Pharisees and Herodians asking about taxes and the Sadducees asking about the resurrection. Now Mark tells us of a question from a Scribe concerning God’s most important commandment. With the big ten and six hundred plus additional commandments, it’s a legitimate question. Listen:

Read Mark 12:28-37:

Supposedly Mark Twain once endured a talk by a long-winded Bostonian who went on and on about his plans to travel to the Holy Lands. He wanted to climb Mt. Sinai and stand on the very spot Moses received the Ten Commandments. Hearing enough of his plans, Twain suggested a better idea. “Why don’t you stay in Boston and keep the Ten Commandments?”

As followers of Jesus, we sometimes get carried away and believe what’s required of us is to do and not do certain things. Now, don’t get me wrong. Certain things are expected of us. The prophet Micah has a good summary: 


He has told you, O mortal, what is good,
    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice and to love kindness
    and to walk humbly with your God?[2]

But we tend to ignore such wide-sweeping claims on our lives and pick and choose from a long list of the laws. First century Jews were good at this. Not only did they have the 10 Commandments, but the Torah contained another 613 laws. Of them, you had 365 negative commands: things we’re not to do. And there were 268 positive commands, things we’re supposed to do.[3] And there were many more, for the rabbis and scribes, to clarify, sometimes created additional ideas of what to do and not do. 

The law became overwhelming. Everyone had their favorites. We’re no different. Often, we pick and choose. Sadly, we often see the most serious laws as those we are less likely to break. 

This past week, the Presbytery of the Peaks met. Preaching for the Presbytery was Dr. Rodney Sadler, a Black Baptist who teaches at Union Seminary.[4] Since February is Black History Month, it had been arranged for him to preach. However, we had a snow and ice that day in February, so they postponed the presbytery meeting to March. Thankfully, he was able to rearrange his schedule. 

Sadler made an interesting point about two sins so many churches get upset over: abortion and homosexuality. He pointed out that Jesus never addressed either one, which is true. Other places in scripture mentions them, but not Jesus during his ministry. Sadler even admitted his own concerns over such issues, especially abortion. And then he made this point. Those churches who primarily focuses on these two sins as the most egregious, focus on sins of which white heterosexual males don’t struggle. He hit home. 

Again, as I have reiterated over and over, God’s law serves as a boundary. Within the law, we can have abundant life. Outside of it, we’re going to find ourselves struggling. So, while the law is important, we must be careful. Danger arises when we pick and chose from God’s commandments and then use our favorite laws (often ones we don’t struggle with) as a measuring stick to judge others. It’s important to understand that the law wasn’t given for us to oppress or judge our neighbors. The person in the mirror is the only ones we should judge. 

I wonder if Jesus had enough of the “law?” After all, he was often challenged for breaking it. Remember back early in Mark, Jesus had to defend his disciples for snacking on grain while they walked on the Sabbath. That was followed up by him healing a man on the Sabbath.[5] In our passage this morning, Jesus simplifies things a bit, by reducing the list from 613 to 2: the love of God and the love of neighbor. 

It appears the previous debate between the Sadducees and Jesus may have caught this scribe’s attention. Mark tells us the scribe overheard them talking. He wasn’t sent to trap Jesus. Unlike the last three questions, his question appears to be out of a genuine curiosity. And it’s legitimate, for people are concerned over the meaning of the law. 

Jesus then quotes a familiar phrase, known as the “Shema” or “Hear!”, which is a reciting of Deuteronomy 6:4-5. “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” While there are parallel passages to this in Matthew and Luke, only Mark quotes the entire verse.[6]

This commandment focuses on attitude. Jesus didn’t quote from moral law. There’s no “thou shalt not do this or that. Nor is there even a prohibition against idolatry,[7] of which the first several commandments focus on.[8]

Then Jesus adds a second command, “love your neighbor as yourself.”

There is nothing new in what Jesus says. In the synagogue of Jesus’ day as well as in the morning and evening prayers of the faithful, the Shema or the first half of Jesus’ commandment was recited.[9]

Some contemporary teachers had even reduced all the commandments to “love your neighbor as yourself.”[10] However, their view of a “neighbor” could be limited. We see this in the parallel passage found in Luke’s gospel. There, Jesus is asked a follow up question, “Who is my neighbor.” Jesus then tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, which emphasizes that our neighbors aren’t just those whom we share a fence line.[11]

Jesus grounds the love of God and the love of neighbor-as-self for a reason. Love depends on our belief and faith in God. God loves us first, as seen through the act of creation and further demonstrated at the cross. At the cross, we see God’s willingness to do what it takes to reach us, to be in a relationship with his fallen creation. And because God loves us and accepts us for who we are, we’re freed to accept ourselves for who we are. If we love ourselves for any other reason, we risk idolatry. Yet, we need a healthy sense of self to reach out to others. 

Notice also that Jesus doesn’t just say, “Love God.” He qualifies it. We love with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.” In other words, we love in all we do whether feeling, praying, thinking, or working. In all we do, we’re to bring glory to God.

Jesus may have simplified the law by reducing them from 613 to 2, but this great commandment may be more difficult to obey than all the laws. It involves a reorientation of our lives. Instead of putting ourselves first, we put God first in all we do. And we elevate others, for we’re to love them as well as we love ourselves.  

The Scribe who asked the question appears pleased with Jesus’ answer and praises our Savior. Jesus tells him he’s not far from the kingdom of God. This is the one positive encounter with a scribe in Mark’s gospel.[12] Those who witness this conversation must have also been impressed, for no one else asked Jesus a question.

Our passage ends with one last question, this one asked by Jesus. This question has to do with the scribes, the teacher of the law, claiming that the Messiah would be the son of David. Jesus asks how this can be since David in the Psalms claimed the Messiah to be Lord and over even him.[13] Like the other questions, this was also a trick question, and no one answers. But Jesus impresses the crowd who watches and listens. 

Loving God and our neighbors keeps us in line. In Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis points out that the essential Christian vice and utmost evil is pride. While Jesus doesn’t say the avoidance of pride is the greatest law, I think Lewis and Jesus are not far apart. Lewis writes, “Unchastity, anger, greed, drunkenness, and all that, are mere fleabites in comparison: it was through pride that the devil became the devil; pride leads to every other vice; it is the complete anti-God state of mind.”[14]

But if we love God and our neighbor, we check our pride. Our lives are not about bringing us glory but giving God glory through our love for the divine and our care for those whom God created. In this manner, we join with God in his redemptive work. We seek God’s vision, not our own.  And we’re not far from what God said through the prophet Micah: 

What does the Lord require of you
but to do justice and to love kindness
    and to walk humbly with your God? Amen.

[1] This illustration adapted from Jack Rogers, Claiming the Center: Churches and Conflicting World Views (Louisville, KY: WJKP, 1995). 

[2] Micah 6:8.

[3] James R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002), 370. n

[4] Dr. Rodney Sadler, “That Ain’t Jesus,” a sermon o Matthew 12:33-35, 15:31-40. The sermon was preached on March 6, 2025 at the Presbytery of the Peaks meeting at Quaker Memorial Presbyterian Church in Lynchburg. 

[5] Mark 2:23-3:6.  See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/03/10/the-plot-against-jesus/ and https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/03/03/jesus-and-the-law-concerning-fasting-and-the-sabbath/

[6] Matthew 22:34ff and Luke 10:25ff leave off “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.”

[7] Douglas R. A. Hare, Mark: Westminster Bible Companion (Louisville, WJKP, 1996), 158. 

[8] The first three of the 10 commandments say: no other gods, no graven images, and no misuse of God’s name. All of these are to prohibit idolatry. 

[9] Edwards, 371. 

[10] This was Hillel the Elder (40 BC-10 AD).  William L. Lane, The Gospel of Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), 432.

[11] Luke 10:25-37. 

[12] Edwards, 369. 

[13] Psalm 110:1. 

[14] The Lewis quote from Norman Shawchuck, A Guide to Prayer (Nashville, TN: Upper Room Books,  ), 125-127. 

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From Reno to Pittsburgh, 1989, the first leg of a transcontinental journey

title slide with Amtrak post card of the California Zephyr in Colorado

This piece is from my journals, memory, and the train guide for the California Zephyr. Sadly, I must not have taken as many photos as I do now, but then this was long before digital photography. 

A three week break from Nevada

I left my car at Carolyn’s house in the Washoe Valley on the southside of Reno. We had an early dinner, then she drove me to the Reno Amtrak Station where we waited for the eastbound California Zephyr. It was the Tuesday after Easter, March 28, 1988. I checked my suitcases through to Pittsburgh, keeping with me only a small duffle bag which contained a pillow, blanket, toiletries, a few clothes, books, and snacks. The train pulled up to the station. It’s a short stop, just long enough for passengers to debark or step aboard. Carolyn and I hugged; I threw my duffle over my shoulders, grabbed the handrail and stepped up. 

As I was finding my way up to the second floor of the double decked train, we pulled away. A few minutes later, we stopped in Sparks, for a longer stop so they could service the train. I looked out the window and saw Carolyn by the tracks waving. Knowing there was going to be this stop, she followed the train over. I waved back but couldn’t leave the train as I was waiting on the conductor to process my ticket. By the time he reached me, the train was running east alongside the Truckee River and passing the infamous Mustang Ranch. The train guide described the gaudy brothel only as “one of Nevada’s unique institutions.”  

At this time, Amtrak had a promotional which allowed you to name your destination. You were allowed one additional stop each direction. The nation was divided into three zones. For 150 dollars, you could travel in one zone. For 300, you could cross all three zones. Looking to make the best of the offer, my destination was Fayetteville, North Carolina, three zones away. Going out, I would make a stop in Pittsburgh, where I would attend a lecture series and catch up with old friends. In North Carolina, I’d have a short visit with my parents, grandmother, and siblings. Coming back, I planned to stop in Seattle, cause I had never been there. I was a little scared but also excited about riding over 7,000 miles on the train over a three-week period. 

I tried to do a little reading as I got use to my seat. While I brought several books with me, the reading was all heavy, mostly on theology and Biblical Studies. I had a commentary on the book of Revelation, a collection of Reinhold Niebuhr’s shorter writings, and Doris Lessings, The Summer before Dark.  With daylight fading fast, I found myself unable to concentrate. I went to the restroom to brush my teeth and long before we stopped in Winnemucca, the rocking of the car and the occasional sound of the whistle blowing in the night had me asleep.

The previous week had been brutal

The past week had been brutal. The Wednesday before, I had officiated at my first funeral. It was for Lois Bowen, a longtime member of the church whom I had not met. Shortly after learning she had cancer, she left Virginia City and moved to Las Vegas to be near to family. They brought her back to the funeral, which I was to conduct. I don’t know how it all came together, but those who knew her shared with me pieces of her life and I somehow managed to work it into a homily.

The small sanctuary was packed for the funeral. Rudi, a former opera singer and a church member, sang a solo while Red, a local banjo picker in his 90s, played a wonderful rendition of “Amazing Grace.” When it was over, Pat Hardy, who served as my supervisor as I was only a student pastor, complimented me on having given one of the best funeral homilies he’d heard. 

Then Holy Week kicked in. Thankfully, Pat came up to Virginia City again on Thursday to lead the Maundy Thursday service since I was not yet ordained and not allowed to officiate at the Lord’s Table. On Friday, I preached the ecumenical Good Friday service at St. Mary’s in the Mountains on John 19:17-20. The service went well except for the confusion which came in leading the Lord’s Prayer the “Presbyterian way” in a Catholic Church. (Presbyterians say debts instead of trespasses and the Catholics don’t have the doxological ending to the prayer). Also, on this day, I learned I had passed all four of the ordination exams I taken in February.  A major hurdle toward ordination had been completed, but with two Easter Services, I had little time to reflect. 

Then on Easter Sunday, two days before I stepped on the train, I held my first Sunrise Service at the cemetery on the north end of town. It was a cold morning. The temperature was in the 20s and a cold wind blew off Mount Davidson. We hurried through the service with me giving a short homily on Luke 24:1-12. Afterwards, we rushed back to the church on South C Street where Norm had coffee and pastries waiting for us. A few hours later, I conducted my first Easter Service, preaching on 1 Corinthians 15:19-26. 

On the train

By the time I boarded the train two days later, I was exhausted. I don’t remember much after the Mustang Ranch and slept soundly to the rocking of the train.

In the dark, we passed Lovelock, Winnemucca, and Elko, towns I recalled from my drive the past Septemberfrom the Sawtooth Mountains to Virginia City.  I woke at 4:30 AM. The train no longer rocked as we had stopped in Salt Lake City. I got off and walked around the platform in the cold. As we waited for another train, the Desert Wind from Los Angeles, I headed into the station and out onto the streets seeing if I could find a diner. It’d been a long time since dinner at Carolyn’s the evening before.

The streets were dark. Having only been to Salt Lake City once before, the previous summer as I drove west, I didn’t know where we were in relations to anything.  When I came back to the station, I was ready to board the train and snooze again but was held on the platform as they hooked up the cars from Los Angeles. Once the cars clanged together, it was safe to board. Soon we pulled out from the station, heading south toward Provo. As we passed Geneva Steel, dawn was just breaking. The steel plant, with its furnaces glowing, made me feel as if I was already in Pittsburgh. I quickly fell back asleep. 

I slept through the stop in Provo. When I woke, the engines up front rumbled and the wheels squeaked as the train labored over the steep and tight curves heading up to up to Soldier’s Summit. I head to the laboratory to brush my teeth and wash my face, then back to the lounge car, where I picked up a cup of coffee.  I would spend much of the day alternating between the lounge car and my seat in coach, and between looking at the scenery across the Utah desert and reading. Late morning, after the stop in Green River, and just before leaving Utah, the tracks began to parallel the Colorado River. We followed the river for the next 282 miles of stunning scenery, with stops at cute ski towns. 

Somewhere in Utah

Leaving the Colorado River, we made a steep climb over the Rockies. Shortly after a stop at Winter Park, the train entered into darkness as we ran through the 6.2 mile long Moffat Tunnel. Coming back into daylight on the other side, we began our slow descend toward Denver as we ran through many tunnels. 

inside the lounge car

Denver was another long stop on the train. I got to talking to an African American passenger on the platform, who was heading from his home in California to Cleveland, where he had family. We decided to see if we could find a place to get dinner and a drink. Not far from the station was a brew pub. This was still a new concept in 1989, with the only other one I knew of being back in Virginia City. We each ordered a sandwich and one of their brews. We consumed our food and drink quickly, making sure we didn’t miss the train when it headed out across the plains. 

Day 2: Leaving Denver

Darkness was falling as the train left the station. I went to the lounge car where they were showing a movie, but it was crowded and I wasn’t interested, so I went back to my seat, got out my blanket and pillow, and quickly fell asleep. 

Early to bed meant that I also woke early as we were rolling through eastern Nebraska. Knowing the lounge car didn’t open until 6 AM, I headed to the lavatory to clean up and brush my teeth. I got off the car for a few minutes when we stopped in Omaha and walked around in the platform. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and I could make out a few of the buildings. When the conductor called “All Aboard,” I went back to my seat and waited. 

It wasn’t long before I saw the lounge car attendant heading from the crew quarters for the lounge, I followed him with my book, with the hope of getting some early coffee. When he entered the car, with me on his heels, he had a fit. 

The lounge car attendant was an older African American gentleman who had spent his adult life working on the railroad. He was friendly, took pride in his work, and saw the lounge car as his kingdom. What he saw once he opened the door was a dozen or so dozen college students passed out on the floor and in the seats. Empty beer cans rolled from one side of the car to the other whenever the train went around a curve. He cussed and began nudging them with his shoe, telling them to get out of his lounge car. They slowly got up, rubbing their heads, and heading back to their seats. I helped him pick up the empty beer cans and clean up the tables as he gave me a lecture about what’s wrong with today’s youth. 

The college students had been skiing over spring break and had boarded the train the day before in Steamboat Springs. He had been willing to sell them one beer each when he closed the car the night before, but it obvious they had a supply of their own as many of the cans were of brands not sold on the train. 

That morning speed by. We stopped for a few minutes in Ottumwa, Iowa. It was a smoking stop, and all the smokers got off, lighting cigarettes as soon as they were on the platform. I got off to look around at Radar’s hometown. Radar, if you remember, was the loveable corporal on the TV series, “Mash.”  At Burlington, Iowa, we crossed the Mississippi. The California Zephyr pulled into Chicago early in the afternoon. 

Crossing the Mississippi

A stop in Chicago, then onward to Pittsburgh

I had over five hours before catching the train to Pittsburgh, so I checked my duffle and walked across the Chicago River, down West Adams Street a few blocks, to the Chicago Institute of Art. There, I spent a couple of hours looking at paintings. To this day, I remember turning down a hall within the museum and looking at Grant Wood’s “American Gothic.” This was the first time I had seen the frequently parodied painting of a farmer with a pitchfork and his stern looking daughter standing in front of a gothic style house Wood’s had seen in Iowa. I was shocked by the small and unassuming size of the original. I’d always expected a much larger painting.

I left the museum around 5 PM, stopping at a bar and grill for dinner, before heading back to Union Station. Around 7, I boarded the Capital Limited for Pittsburgh. As we made our way around the south shore of Lake Michigan, through the steel mills of Gary, Indiana, it felt as if Pittsburgh was getting closer. Soon, I was asleep in my seat as we rushed through the upper Midwest. At 6 AM, we arrived in Pittsburgh. I gathered up my stuff and stepped off the train. Bill, a friend from the seminary, was there to meet me. 

Ticket jacket, route guide, and post card of the California Zephyr

Other train trips of mine: 

Danville to Atlanta, 2020

Coming home to Pittsburgh, 1987

Doubly late to West Palm Beach, 1986

Edinburgh to Iona, 2017

Riding in the Cab of the V&T, 2013

Bangkok to Seim Reap, 2011

Riding the International: Georgetown to Bangkok, 2011

Malaysia’s NE Line: The Jungle Train, 2011

Coming Home on the Southwest Chef, 2012

Other Virginia City Stories

Driving West in ’88

Matt, Virginia City 1988

Doug and Elvira: A Pastoral Tale

Christmas Eve 1988

Easter Sunrise Services (a part of this article recalls Easter Sunrise Service in Virginia City in 1989)

The Revivals of A. B. Earle (an academic paper published inAmerican Baptist Historical Society Quarterly, part of these revivals were in Virginia City in 1867) 

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Opposition to Jesus Grows

Title slide with photo of churches in winter

Jeff Garrison
Mayberry and Bluemont Churches
March 2, 2025
Mark 12:13-27

Sermon recorded at Mayberry on Friday, February 28, 2025

At the beginning of the service[1]:
Two weeks ago, those of us who live and own property in Carroll County received a real estate reassessment. I’m not sure about Patrick County, but Virginia law requires all counties to reevaluate real estate property values every five years. So, if you’re in another county and didn’t get such a statement, don’t worry, your time will come. 

There has been a lot of gashing of teeth and complaining about the reassessments. County wide, property values are up 40-some percent and many of us have seen valuations up by 50 or 60 percent. If you think it’s too high, you can appeal. I doubt anyone will say anything if they think theirs is too low.

We’re going to talk about paying taxes and God’s control today. I am sad to inform you that I can’t give a theological reason not to pay taxes. But if you feel your evaluation is high, you have the right appeal. Hopefully, what we pay in taxes will be used to enhance our communities and support things which makes our common life more productive and pleasant. 

Before reading the Scripture:
We’re continuing through Mark’s gospel. As I mentioned last week, opposition to Jesus increases as we move toward his arrest. Today, we’ll see Jesus challenged with the second and third of four questions. The first question, which we heard about last week, had to do with his authority. He now gets bombarded by different groups of Jews, who attempt to trick Jesus into incriminating himself. The second and third questions have to do with paying taxes and the resurrection.  

We see an odd group of folks come at Jesus. The question as to taxes involves the Pharisees and the Herodians. The latter group supported Roman control over Palestine. Normally, we’d see these groups on opposite side of issues. Of course, nobody likes paying taxes. But the Pharisees disliked it for theological reasons while the Herodians saw it as a necessary evil which allows them to enjoy the things Rome supports.[2] Earlier in Mark’s gospel, we see the two dissimilar groups joining together against Jesus.[3]

The next question which relates to the resurrection is brought about by the Sadducees, a group who denied the resurrection. The Pharisees believed in it, but they’re not the one who asked this question. The questions and those who ask them are ironic. It’s almost like someone set up several groups of people to ask Jesus questions. But our Savior answers them in a way that sends the questioners off shaking their heads. 

Read Mark 12:13-27
Have you had a salesperson play on your emotions to get you to buy their product? The life insurance salesperson who speaks about how desperate your family will be when you die. Or maybe a car salesperson trying to get you to move up to a nicer vehicle than your budget allows, telling you how impressive you’d be riding in the fancier car. I’m sure we’ve all been there. 

Not long after moving here, we had our HVAC system checked. The technician suggested the thing was rusting away and leaking, and I should replace it before winter. A few days later the company’s owner came to give me a quote. I had already called around, so I knew about how much a system should cost. So, when he handed me his quote, I was shocked. It was well over twice what I expected. 

He tried to tell me all the reasons they were the best company and pressure me into signing a contact with offerings such as a yearly maintenance check, but only if I signed that day.

When he realized I was not buying his line, he changed tactics. He told me how all the other HVAC companies hire guys trained in prison. He also implied that many of these workers were people of color. Then he asked what I’d think if one of them came into my house and attacked my family. I’d had enough. I told him to leave. 

The next person who came to give me a quote for a new HVAC system asked why I thought I needed a new system. I told him I’d been told it needed some expensive freon and was rusting out. He looked at the system, said the rust was to be expected, and wasn’t bad. He then asked if he could test it. After hooking up gauges, he shook his head. “Your system is fine,” he said, “And if you put anymore freon in it, you’ll blow it up.” We’re still using the same system and have yet to add freon. It has lasted the past five winters. 

When a wire shorted out, I called the guy who said I didn’t need a new system. He isolated the problem and quickly fix it.  

Honesty and good service are traits which serve us well. When someone tries to butter you up or use dishonest techniques, hold on to your wallet and run. 

Jesus must have known when the Pharisees and Herodians showed up together, something was up. And then they butter him up with praise. I’m sure Jesus just listened, waiting for the hook. Sure enough, they then asked: “Should we pay taxes to the emperor?” 

This put Jesus in a bind. If he says yes, the people who despise taxes will think Jesus sold them out. Furthermore, the Roman taxes had to be paid with Roman coins, the denarius,[4] which the Pharisees and strict Jews considered idolatrous. The coins went against a strict interpretation of the commandment prohibiting graven images.[5] Furthermore, the inscription around the emperor’s head read “Tiberius Caesar Augustus, Son of the Divine Augustus.”[6]  In other words, it indicated the divinity of the Caesars, which flew in the face of monotheistic Jews. 

On the other hand, if Jesus said, “no, you shouldn’t pay taxes,” the authorities would have a reason to arrest Jesus. “Inciting the crowds against Rome,” would be the charge. It’s a no-win situation. 

But Jesus is clever. “Let me see a coin,” he said. And they produced one, which is telling since they considered the coin idolatrous. When Jesus said, “give to the emperor the things that are his, and to God the things that are God’s,” the questioners are left speechless.  

Jesus acknowledges the legitimacy of human government.[7] We shouldn’t forget that all governments, like all human institutions, are sinful. Yet, scripture understands they’re necessary and, as Paul reminds us, deserve our respect.[8] Jesus does not encourage an artificial separation of life into the secular and sacred, as some have suggested.[9] Instead, if we’re to acknowledge that all belongs to God, that includes even what’s the emperors. The earth and those who live in it are the Lord’s.[10]

We don’t know if the Sadducees who next approach Jesus were waiting to see what happened to the Pharisees and Herodians, or if it was later in the same day or another day. But Mark presents these events as if they happened in rapid succession. 

 Mark first informs us the Sadducees don’t believe in the resurrection, then tells the scenario which they present to Jesus. We also know that the Sadducees didn’t believe in angels and demons in addition to no afterlife.[11] They base their question on the laws of Moses, which said that if a woman dies without children, her brother-in-law should marry her.[12] In this case, the woman is terribly unlucky with husbands, because every brother she marries dies without her having children. 

Their question for Jesus, “who’s the woman’s husband in the life to come since she’s had seven husbands on earth?”

The Sadducees story drips with irony. They don’t even believe in the resurrection, yet they are trying to trap Jesus concerning his beliefs. Jesus responds harshly, telling them they don’t know scripture, nor do they understand the power of God. He suggests that in the life to come, we’ll be more like angels, of which the Sadducees also didn’t believe in. 

Paul, in his great chapter on the resurrection in 1st Corinthians, speaks of our earthly bodies as perishable seeds, but the resurrected body as imperishable. Just as we don’t know for sure what a seed will produce until it planted in the ground and sprouts, it’s not for us to fully understand what our resurrection life will be like.[13]  

Jesus concludes his response by drawing on the name God gave Moses to use when he addressed the Hebrews in slavery. “I am the God of Abraham, of Issac, and of Jacob.” God didn’t say, “I was.” The use of the present tense is important for it implies that the patriarchs of the Jewish people are not dead and forgotten. 

In this second story, Jesus refuses to let the people pin God into a vision from their own minds. God’s freedom and ability are beyond our minds to comprehend. We tend to think of the afterlife in terms which we know from this life. We expect our bodies and families continuing as we have experienced them. But Jesus’ response reminds us there is a lot we don’t know. We are called to walk by faith, and that includes into the life to come. 

Furthermore, we shouldn’t be surprised when others rise up against us. Jesus faced enemies in his ministry, and it won’t be any different for us. Hold on to the faith and keep your eyes on Jesus.

Today’s stories remind us of God’s sovereignty over our earthly lives. Yes, we’re to live on earth and abide by laws, if they don’t contradict God’s law. And we are to live by faith, trusting the future to the one who created and redeemed us. Amen. 

[1] I plan to omit the opening section at Mayberry to shorten the service because the congregation celebrates communion on the first Sunday of the month.

[2] William L. Lane, The Gospel of Mark (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1974), 423.

[3] Mark 3:6. See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2024/03/10/the-plot-against-jesus/

[4] Lane, 424.

[5] Exodus 20:4. 

[6] James R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Mark (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 363. 

[7] Edwards, 363.

[8] Romans 13:1. 

[9] Douglas R. A. Hare, Mark: Westminster Bible Companion (Louisville, KY: WJK Press, 1997), 154. 

[10] Psalms 24:1. 

[11] Edwards, 365. 

[12] Deuteronomy 25:5-10. 

[13] 1 Corinthians 15:35-42. 

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Reviews of my reading during February

cover photos of books reviewed

The weather has often been cold and unpleasant, so I have been doing a lot of reading. These five books are all different, so maybe you’ll find something that is of interest. I often read something in February in honor of Black history. I have been reading His Truth is Marching ON: John Lewis and the Power of Hope by Jon Meacham. But, I won’t finish this book before the end of the month. Look for the review next month.

Stanley Hauerwas, Hannah’s Child: A Theologian’s Memoir

 (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2010), 288 pages, no illustrations. 

One of the first books I remember reading after my ordination was Resident Aliens: Life in the Christian Colony by Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon. The book came out during my last year in seminary, and I borrowed a copy for the presbytery office. I liked the book so much that I ordered a copy for myself and reread it. I often go back to that book, and it has informed my ministry over the past 35 years. Beside that one book, I have only read articles by Hauerwas. Learning that he had a memoir, I decided to read it. While this reads more like an autobiography than a memoir,[1] I’m still glad that I read it and recommend it to others. 

Hauerwas was the son of a bricklayer. His parents were modest lower middle-class Methodists from Texas. Both parents were older when he was born and his mother, like Hannah the mother of Samuel in the Old Testament, promised to dedicate her son to the Lord. Hauerwas sensed this and even committed his life into that direction, which led him to college and on to Yale Divinity School. But instead of becoming a pastor (he was never ordained and wasn’t even sure, at first, he was Christian), Hauerwas went on to earn a PhD focusing on ethics. He spent his career teaching and writing. 

Hauerwas began teaching at Augustana, a small Lutheran College. After two years, he moved to Notre Dame, where he taught for fourteen years, and then on to Duke Divinity School. Throughout this time, the nation dealt with Civil Rights and Vietnam. In his memoir, he is also honest about the political struggles in academia. This was especially true at Notre Dame, where he was a Protestant teaching in a Roman Catholic university.

Another intimate part of the book deals with his first wife, Anne, who had mental health issues that showed up early in their marriage and increased over time in severity. Bipolar by nature, Anne struggled with reality. She often thought she was in love with other men (who she fantasized as loving her) and much of this first marriage was without sexual intimacy. Along the way, they had one child, Adam, who was mostly raised by Hauerwas. After moving to Duke, Anne decided she wanted to go back to South Bend (where she was again in love). They divorced and her world unraveled. In her 50s, she died of a heart attack. 

Hauerwas then married Paula, a woman who was working at Duke and an ordained Methodist pastor. According to his story, their relationship has been much steadier, and both have been able to thrive in their relationship with each other and others in the academic community. They also both love baseball and at one time (before I moved to the Blue Ridge) owned a house on Groundhog Mountain, which I pass every Sunday morning between Mayberry and Bluemont. 

One of the things I appreciate about the book are details about who have influenced Hauerwas. Early on, it was Barth and the Niebuhr brothers. Later came Catholic theologians and a Mennonite, John Yoder, who helped Hauerwas move toward Christian pacifism. In addition to those Hauerwas personally knows, he also credits books which have helped shape his theology. There is much in this book for those who enjoy theology, philosophy, and how thought process is shaped.  

[1] I think of a memoir as focusing narrowly on one aspect of a life. This book tends to focus on many aspects of the author’s life, from his birth to his sixties.

Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons for the Twentieth Century 

(New York: Crown, 2017), 127 pages. 

This is a valuable little book that shouldn’t take most readers more than an hour or two to read. I’ve heard it mentioned often lately as an antidote (or resistant manual) to a more authoritarian society which seems to be preferred by many in the western world. As for the desire for authoritarian desires, see Anne Applebaum, The Twilight of Democracy: The Seductive Lure of Authoritarianism.

Snyder offers easy to understand lessons on how we might resist tyranny.  The first one has become a rallying cry since the election, “Don’t Obey in Advance.” The lessons themselves are just a few words, making them easy to understand. Then, following each lesson is a bolded paragraph highlighting the importance of such action. This is then followed by several pages of examples from European fascist movements early in the 20thCentury and the collapse of Eastern Europe into the communist domain following World War 2. Snyder also highlights the troubling trend of many of these same countries, after having a short bit of freedom with the collapse of the Soviet Union, have slipped back into authoritarian control. 

The Twenty Lessons:

  1. Do note obey in advance
  2. Defend institutions
  3. Beware of the one-party state
  4. Take responsibility for the face of the world
  5. Remember professional ethics
  6. Be wary of paramilitaries
  7. Be reflective if you must be armed
  8. Stand out
  9. Be kind to our language
  10. Believe in truth
  11. Investigate
  12. Make eye contact and small talk
  13. Practice corporeal politics
  14. Establish a private life
  15. Contribute to good causes
  16. Learn from peers in other countries
  17. Listen for dangerous words
  18. Be calm when the unthinkable arrives
  19. Be patriot
  20. Be as courageous as you can

I especially liked his lesson on being kind to our language. Here, he encourages us to read books (not just what’s on the internet). His reading list includes: 

*Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 45
*George Orwell,        *1984, *Animal Farm, and his wonderful essay, *“Politics and the English Language” 
*Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
*Sinclair Lewis, It Can’t Happen Here
Philip Roth, The Plot Against America
Victor Klemperer, The Language of the Third Reich
Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism
Albert Camus, The Rebel
Czeslaw Milosz, The Captive Mind
Vaclav Havel, The Power of the Powerless
Timothy Garton Ash, The Use of Adversity
Tony Judt, The Burden of Responsibility
*Christopher Browning, Ordinary Men
Peter Pomerantsev, Nothing is True and Everything is Possible 
J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The * indicates books I’ve read (8 out of 18, so I have some catching up to do). 

This is an important book. It might be a good one for a small group of people to read together and to discuss, over a period of time, each of the lessons. 

Leo Damrosch, The Club: Johnson, Boswell, and the Friends Who Shaped an Age, 

narrated by Simon Vance (2019, Audible, 15 hours and 1 minute.


In 1763, the English portrait painter Joshua Reynolds proposed to Samuel Johnson to start a club that would meet each Friday evening. Starting with nine members, the club voted on new members (and membership had to be approved by all members allowing one no vote to blackball a prospective member). While this book focuses only on the activity of club members in the 18thCentury, the club continues to this day as the London Literary Club. For most of the 18th Century, The Club met at the Turk’s Head Tavern, starting with dinner at 6 PM, and then drinks and conversation going on till midnight (or afterwards). 

The membership of the Club in the early years were men (the membership was all male), who made their mark on history. In addition to social critic Samuel Johnson and biographer James Boswell, The Club had an impressive list of members. Reynolds made a fortune with commissioned portraits. The great political philosopher Edmund Burke, who is best known for his quote, “All that is required for the triumphant of evil is for good men to do nothing,” was a member. He still influences true conservative thinkers today. Sadly, most who consider themselves conservative probably don’t know him, the exceptions being George Will and Arthur Brooks.  Another Scottish political philosopher, Adam Smith, gave us economics as a discipline. Edmund Gibbons wrote the multi-volume Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Other members included David Garrick, the great Shakespearean actor who changed the way actors performed, and playwright Oliver Goldsmith. 

While each of the above members receive a short biography within the book, Damrosch focuses most on James Boswell (who joined The Club after its establishment) and Samuel Johnson.  Johnson was English and Boswell was Scottish and would later become the Lord over a vast estate upon his father’s death. Boswell also wrote a major biography of Johnson. The two of them even took a Scottish holiday, traveling across the lowlands and to the Inner Hebrides. Both would published books on the journey. 

Johnson valued the control of one’s passions while Boswell often drank to excess and sought out prostitutes. In Boswell’s journals he used codes, which have been broken, to indicate sexual activity. Boswell had a rough relationship with his father. Johnson who was 20 years older than Boswell, became a surrogate father for him while he was in London. 

Damrosch dedicates some focus to what was going on in the larger world during this era, from the Seven Years War (known as the French and Indian War in America) to the American and French Revolutions. Club members discussed topics such as capital punishment, slavery, and religion. 

While I have listened to this book, I have also ordered a copy because I want to go back and collect quotes. Also, the text often refers to paintings of the era which was printed within the book. I recommend it. 

J. Murray, To Hunt a Sub 

(Laguna Hills, CA: Structured Learning LLC, 2016), 370 pages. 

I picked this book to read because it was about submarines. For some reason, my daughter has been fascinated with submarines and I partly to be able to keep up a conversation with her, I have read several books on submarines over the past several years. I also chose this book as I have followed Jacqui Murray’s blog for years and wanted to read one of her books. 

However, if you’re looking for a book on submarines, this isn’t your book. Only a few pages of this story deal up what happens in a submarine. In this case, the sub has lost control due to a computer virus. The story is engaging. It reminds me of some of the action books I read in high school. 

To Hunt a Sub centers on an Islamic terrorist group who figured out a way to incapacitate the American submarine fleet. To pull it off, they need the help of an Artificial Intelligence research of Kali Delamagente, a single parent PhD candidate at Columbia University. Her research blends AI, geography, and paleoethology. Her computer program named Otto allows her to go back in time to places where she follows “Lucy” around as she and her tribe made their way out of Africa tens of thousands of years ago. This story is very creative, blending life in the “pre-human world,” paleoethology, computer science, geo-positioning and terrorism. 

Center to the story is Kali, who is running of out of funds and time to finish her research and complete her degree. Two shady men attempt to help her, but for their own benefit. One is a male professor who secretly kill off lovers and stole their research, which he published as his own. The other is a Muslim on a secret jihad. Kali’s research will help him in his goal to kill large numbers of “infidels.” He promises money for her research. 

Helping Kali avoid the dangers she faces is Zeke Rowe, an ex-Navy Seal, whose last mission resulted in permanent disabilities. He is now a professor of paleoanthropology at Columbia but has been secretly recruited by the Navy to help them discover what’s going on with the submarine fleet. The two are romantically drawn to each other, but both put the importance of their work ahead of any relationship. In addition, Kali is not just concerned for her well-being but that of her son and her three-legged dog.  

The book was a fast read as I was drawn into the story. There’s lots of action and plenty of violence, but in the end the good guys win, and the American fleet is safe. The number of characters (and how some of them used various names in different settings), was confusing until I got further into the story. Some of the encounters seemed far-fetched. But this is an action book and it keeps your attention. 

Fred Chappell, River: A Poem 

(Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975), 51 pages. 

This is a delightful collection of poetry by the late Fred Chappell, who taught at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro for forty years and served four years as Poet Laurate for the state of North Carolina. Originally from Canton, North Carolina, these poems draw heavily on the image of the mountains.  River was Chappell’s second book of poetry. In addition to poetry, Chappell has also published novels and short stories. 

While the title suggests the book is “a poem,” it consists of 13 rather long poems. Some like “Susan Bathing,” are prose-like. This poem describes in detail but without slipping into pornography his wife’s body. Another, “Science Fiction Water Letter to Guy Lillian takes on the form of a poetic letter.  Others are more traditional, often drawing on stories of his grandparents. One moving poem, “Dead Soldiers,” is about the floods in 1944 and the empty liquor bottles in a man’s basement which are washed down the river as he shoots at the bobbing bottles with a 22 rifle. Reading it brought the floods in the mountains after Hurricane Helene last year to mind. The poems capture the rough life many in the mountains endured. 

Water, more than rivers, provides a unifying theme of the poems. While rivers often show up, but so does water such him as a child being lowered into a well to clean it. Other water themes include bathing and baptizing. The poems draw on Appalachian sayings and include clever phrases and metaphors. Humor is also inserted into the poems. 

I found similarities in these poems and Wayne Caldwell’s Woodsmoke, which I read last year and Ron Nash’s, Among the Believers, which I read several years ago but didn’t review. I recommend this book especially for someone wanting to capture the sense of the mountains in the early 20th century.