The church rehearses the final days of Jesus’ life during Holy Week. We begin the journey Palm/Passion Sunday on April 13. The dual title recognizes the twin realities of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and Christ’s agonizing death at Golgotha.

Christians experience the extremes of the human condition during this holiest of weeks:

• Palm Sunday               Passion Sunday
• A parade                     A death march
• Palms                          Nails
• Cries of Hosanna!       Cries of Crucify him!
• Laughter                     Tears
• Celebration                 Grief
• Life                             Death 

Many believers skip from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, from palms to lilies, from celebration to celebration, skipping the days that separate the two Sundays. They fail to witness the unimaginable height, width, and depth of divine love.

Christians are called to follow in the footsteps of Jesus during Holy Week. We walk the Via Dolorosa—The Way of Suffering—that leads to Golgotha.

Let us go to the foot of the cross . . . and beyond.

We perform morning rituals on autopilot, starting the day in a half-comatose way. Feet hit the floor and the routine begins: ablutions, caffeine, breakfast, and clothes in personalized order. We hopefully reach full-consciousness before leaving the house.

I added two spiritual habits to my morning schedule over the past year. I first recite the Lord’s Prayer rather than a traditional blessing before breakfast. I linger on various words, phrases, and concepts, reflecting on their meaning.

Then I list five personal blessings in my mental Gratitude Journal. I count my many blessings, name them one by one, and see what God has done.

The two spiritual disciplines help me claim and proclaim, This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it! (Psalm 118:24)

Habits are value neutral—they can be good or bad. Spiritual practices harness routine’s power. Regular repetition becomes habitual practice.

Each day dawns with fresh promise. Well begun is half done. What morning rituals help you start the day with the Lord?  

A friend recently shared a thought-provoking adage with me: In every relationship, someone is being trained. Like all maxims, the pithy statement contains a limited truth. In the best of relationships, we submit to one another, both training and being trained.

Consider the concept on a broader scope.

• In our relationship with our smart phones, are we training or being trained?
• In our relationship with the internet, are we training or being trained?
• In our relationship with social media, are we training or being trained?
• In our relationship with unchurched people, are we training or being trained?
• In our relationship with children about attending Sunday School and church, are we training or being trained?
• In our relationship with the world, are we training or being trained?

In every relationship, someone is being trained.

Are we formed by the world or transformed by the Lord?

The North Georgia Conference of the United Methodist Church recently published its 2024 Handbook. Exciting news, I know. Order a copy today.

The reference includes a Chronological Roll of ordained elders based on their dates of ordination. Each year surviving pastors ascend in order as their predecessors move to that Great Parsonage in the Sky.

I currently rank #222 on the roll BUT #1 among active clergy. Everyone ordained before me on the list has retired. I continue to evaluate my feelings about the dubious honor.

Bishop Joel McDavid ordained twenty-seven elders in The Class of 1984. A group photo on the front steps of Glenn Memorial UMC captured our faces. A few colleagues died along the way. Some left the ministry for various reasons. Others retired.

I take pride in forty-three years of full-time ministry; but I possess the humility to recognize God’s sustaining grace throughout my vocation. The Lord has worked in, thru, and despite me to accomplish the divine will.  

My bucket list excludes ascending to #1 on the Chronological Roll, but no one knows when its time to leave the party. One day every believer will go onward and upward from the church militant to the church triumphant. We join the Psalmist in praying for the wisdom to number our days.

Until that glorious day, I am #222 with a bullet.

Soli Deo Gloria.

Friday, March 13, 2020. Governor Kemp declared a public health emergency in Georgia. Citizens sheltered-in-place as the COVID pandemic raged.

Consumers hoarded disinfectants, paper towels, toilet paper, plastic gloves, and face masks. We learned new vocabulary like flatten the curve, personal protective equipment, essential workers, contact tracing, and Zoom meetings.

Non-essential businesses closed overnight. Churches cancelled activities for days that extended into weeks and months. We incorrectly assumed normalcy would return by Easter. Northside Church eventually resumed onsite worship the following fall.

The World Health Organization declared the pandemic’s end in May 2023. Approximately 1.2 million people died in the United States. Most of us lost family members or friends.

This week marks the fifth anniversary of Governor Kemp’s emergency declaration. A new normal governs post-pandemic culture. The medical profession treats COVID like the flu, inconvenient for most but life-threatening for some.   

The pandemic taught costly lessons about prioritizing family, friends, and faith. Major on the majors, and minor on the minors. Life’s fragility and brevity inspire a focus on the eternal and everlasting.  

 But . . . humans and societies soon forget. The world entices the five senses. The urgent demands attention and diminishes perspective. YOLO and FOMO inspire a focus on the temporal and passing.

March 13, 2025. Pause this week to give thanks for life’s many blessings. Pray for the wisdom to number our days.

Remember you are dust and to dust you will return.

Repent and believe in the Gospel.

Amen.

Call it a vocational hazard, but I attend more than my share of funerals. I’ve heard countless eulogies by family and friends over the years. I realize that speakers sometimes remember big at funerals, emphasizing the good and minimizing the bad; but I often have walked away wondering what superlatives might be noted at my funeral.

I HOPE the eulogy begins with something along the lines of, Bill Burch died at 110 years of age in perfect health surrounded by his adoring family after winning the Nobel Peace and the Pulitzer Prizes.

But . . .

I want to be remembered first and foremost as:

• A Christian disciple
• A devoted husband
• A loving parent
• A grand grandfather
• A trusted friend
• A faithful church member
• A dedicated pastor
• OK, and maybe add, Great, but humble, preacher!

What else really matters? What else really lasts?

We write our epitaph every day. How do you want to be remembered?

I’m preaching a four-part sermon series at Northside Church on Micah 6:8. The prophet declares:

God has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy

and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah notes that there is no mystery here. The Lord shows us how to live a good and righteous life. Holiness is not a confusing riddle but a clear revelation.

Can you sense the prophet’s frustration as he reteaches this remedial lesson to his distracted students? Pay attention. This is important. Write it down. This will be on the test.

Micah describes three requirements of the good/holy life. Note each attribute contains a dynamic action verb:

• Act Justly
• Love Mercy
• Walk Humbly

The verse does not provide an exhaustive list. Holiness encompasses life’s entirety that includes and surpasses these three directives. But. They are not a bad place to start.

God’s people are called to live good lives that include acting justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly. Lord, may it be so.

I spent months sorting through my father’s paperwork following his death in November 2020. I discovered a cache of greeting cards spanning the 56 years of my parents’ marriage. I enjoyed perusing the sentimental notes they exchanged until . . .

I found some Valentine’s Day cards from their newlywed years. Some things just cannot be unseen, and I am entering my fourth year of psychotherapeutic treatment. My wife and children found the entire affair hilarious.

It is challenging to think of your mother and father as a young couple passionately in love. My parents did have two children, and I am aware of the biology behind the facts. I just always assumed that IT occurred only twice for procreation purposes.

Therefore, I am soliciting angel investors to fund a startup business with the working title, Valentine’s Card Disposal Service. Our hazardous waste experts will visit childhood homes and remove mawkish mementos. The savings in counseling sessions alone will more than pay for the service.

I hope all of my married readers enjoy a lovely Valentine’s Day. Ensure your beloved knows how you feel. Express heartfelt feelings through inspired word or lavish verse.

Then . . . THROW THE CARDS AWAY.

Trust me on this one.

I preached my first sermon at Little River United Methodist Church as a seventeen-year-old. My home-church pastor knew that I had experienced a call to the ordained ministry. He decided to give me an opportunity to preach . . . while he was out of town.

It did not go well.

I began the sermon with a weak introduction, and the message went downhill from there. I got the handwritten pages mixed up halfway through the homily and never quite recovered. The sermon lasted 14 minutes, which included 3 minutes of uhs, ahs, and you knows. I may—or may not—have added a 4^th person to the Trinity and cited Paul’s letter to the Philippines.

The congregation graciously greeted me after the service with words of appreciation and affirmation. Then again, I was related to half of them.

My mother recorded the service on a cassette player, but I never felt a need to revisit the humiliating experience. The tape vanished at some point over the years by an act of divine grace.

Fifty years separate yesterday and today; but I still get anxious before each sermon. The queasy emotion recognizes preaching’s audacious task. I pray for the grace to never leave that nervous teenager behind.