II Timothy 1:3-7, May 9, 2004 (Mother’s Day)
When I served in Lake Forest I did not always preach a mother’s day sermon. There was one woman in the parish who always let me have it when I didn’t do a mother’s day sermon. I told her once, “You know, this isn’t a liturgical event, mother’s day…it was concocted by the flower people and the Hallmark card people and the candy people to make a lot of money from guilty children who never treat their mothers like they should during the year and then try to make it up with some flowers or a card on this Sunday.” As you can imagine, my little speech didn’t help matters with her, and I could always see her sitting on the fifth row, eyeing me suspiciously, waiting on the second Sunday in May to see if I would mention the word “mother” somewhere in my sermon.
So I have weakened today, and am unabashedly going to preach a mother’s day sermon. It’s not that the woman in Lake Forest finally convinced me or beat me in submission. It’s just that my own mother, who read all my sermons, told me that she would remove me from her will if I didn’t, at least in passing, mention something about mothers. And even though she is dead, I know she is bending over the balcony of heaven, with her hand to her ear wondering if I’m going to preach on motherhood.
Actually I’ve been thinking quite a bit about this matter of being a mother, not that I qualify as an expert, but I have been married for over 50 years to a darned good mother, and I was born some 70 plus years ago to another good mother. So I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the influence of mothers–and fathers–on the matter of character and faith development.
It grieves me that two out of every five children in this country do not live with their fathers. They live with single mothers. In fact, a missing father is a better predictor of criminal activity than race or poverty. Young women who grow up in disrupted families are twice as likely to become teenage mothers. Today only 51% of kids still live with both biological parents. And the growing child abuse demonstrates a strange inability to nurture, let alone tolerate, the presence of the next generation.
So my intention today is to honor our mothers, honor our families, and try to make a case for Christian family values. It is more important than we think.
I found a little piece about motherhood the other day. It brought a big smile to my face, because it talks about the big role mothers play, and what a hard job it is.
“Children, children,” says mother. “Hurry and put on your clothes. Hurry, hurry, soon the school bus will come.
“See Laurie. Laurie is combing her hair. See Bobby. Bobby is reading about Michael Jordan. See Chris. Chris is tattooing his stomach with a ball point pen. See mother’s hair stand up. What is mother saying? Those words are not in our book, are they? Run children, run.
“Mother, mother,” says Laurie, “I have lost a shoe.”
“Mother, mother,” says Bobby, “I think I am sick.
“Mother, mother,” says Chris. ‘My zipper is stuck and I have a jelly bean in my ear.
Oh, see mother run.
“I am going mad,” says mother.
“Here is Laurie’s’s shoe in the stove. Here are other pants for Chris. Here is a thermometer for Bobby, who does not look sick to me.
Now what are the children doing? Laurie is combing her hair. Bobby is playing the guitar. Chris is under the bed feeding jelly beans to the cat.
“Oh, says mother, “Hurry, hurry. It is time for the yellow school bus.” Mother is right
“See the children on the bus jump up and down, jump, jump, jump. See the pencils fly out the window. Listen to the driver of the school bus. He cannot yell as loud as the children, can he? Run, Laurie. Run Bobby. Run, Chris. See mother throw kisses. Why do Laurie, Bobby and Chris pretend they do not know mother? Goodby, goodby,” calls mother.
“How quiet it is. Here is Chris’s sweater in the boot box. Here are Bobby’s glasses under the cat. Here is Laurie’s comb in the fruit bowl. Here is crunchy, crunchy, crunch cereal all over the kitchen floor. Mother is pouring a big cup of coffee. Mother is sitting down.” Mother does not do anything. Mother just sits and smiles. Why is mother smiling?
The reality is bringing children into this world and rearing them to maturing is no easy game. I marvel at the ingenuity and tirelessness with which so many do it. Especially young mothers. Between changing, feeding burping; between cleaning, and chauffeuring and shopping, between refereeing, encouraging, and teaching, it is one of the most strenuous jobs around
But it must be done. Whether the next generation grows up to be productive and responsible will very much determine what kind of country we will inherit, what sort of politics we practice, what kind of churches we will worship in.
Of all the things we pass on to our children, the most important thing of all is moral character. And moral character comes from a vital and living faith.
I was at a dinner party in Atlanta a couple of years ago. It was hosted by one of Atlanta’s most successful developers, George Johnson. George is an active elder at Trinity Presbyterian Church, Atlanta, a tither, and a millionaire many times over. He told our group: “I don’t plan to leave my kids a lot of money. I’m going to give my money to the church and the Atlanta Community Foundation. I have seen very few people who have done well by inheriting a lot of money. My wife and I started out dead broke. I think we worry far too much about our children’s inheritance, and we hurt them more than help them by giving them a lot.”
Having lived in several communities where where people inherited inordinate wealth, and seeing how poorly most people handle it, I tend to agree with George Johnson. You won’t do your kids any favors by leaving them a lot of money. If you want to do something for them, leave them the legacy of integrity and faith. This kind of legacy may not be giving your children what they think want; but it is giving them what they need.
In our New Testament reading Paul is writing to Timothy, his young protégée. Paul knows Timothy, knows his background, knows his family. He says, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois, and your mother Eunice, and now, I am sure, lives in you.” Why was Timothy a Christian? Why did he become a leader in the church? Because of a mother who believed in Jesus and told her daughter, who then passed it off to her son.
The old hymn is wrong. It isn’t:
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the bible tells me so.
Jesus loves me
This I know
For my mother told me so.
There are many studies around which reveal the characteristics of good mothering and fathering, which reveal what contributes to healthy families. Dr. Nick Stinnet says that strong families have six characteristics.
1. Family members express a good deal of appreciation for each other and build each other up psychologically.
2. They spend a lot of time together, and genuinely enjoy being with one another.
3. They do a lot of direct talking with one another, and are not thrown off by rumor.
4. They are deeply committed to promoting each other’s happiness and welfare.
5. They tend to be committed to a spiritual life-style. This seems to help them have a sense of purpose and helps them be more patient and forgiving with one another.
6. They draw upon the trust they have in each other to unite in coping with a crisis rather than being fragmented by it.
We need to be working and praying to make that happen in each of our homes. But, the good news is that we do not struggle alone. There is the church.
The church, the faith community where we are cared for, where we acknowledge our need for each other, and join our hands and hearts in our journey together. The church is a place where children can feels safe, where families can be strengthened and reinforced, where value are taught, and pray God, modeled by the adults who are members of the church. The most obvious moment when we model the reality of church is when a baby is baptized. I take the child from the parents, and as a minister of the church universal, I say this child belongs to us, not just the parents–but all of us, the body of Christ.
In the frontispiece of my favorite Bible there is an old, yellow, dog-eared consecration prayer. It means a lot to me. I read it several times a week, for it embodies all I aspire to as a Christian. It’s language is a little archaic as you will see, but I will explain why after I read it.
“Dear Jesus, I give myself to Thee. I giver Thee my mind to think through; I give Thee my eyes to see through; I give Thee my mouth and tongue to speak with. I give thee my hands to turn the pages of thy book and to work for thee. I give thee my feet to run errands with, and I promise thee that they shall never carry me into a place where I have to leave thee at the door. I give thee my body to be the temple of the Holy Ghost. I give thee all of my family and relatives. I give thee all my possessions. I give thee my time and talent. I give thee my reputation. I give thee all I think of, and all I do not think of…”
It is signed: “A.L. Turner, 116 East Court Street, Greenville, S.C.
A.L. Turner, Alexander Lee Turner, was my great grandfather, and this prayer was on the frontispiece of his bible. When it was given to me by my grandmother, I tore it out and put it into my own bible.
Here was a man I only knew in pictures. I never met him. But he passed his faith onto to my grandmother, Pauline Turner Wilson, who passed it on to my mother, Mildred Wilson Swicegood, who passed it on to me. And I hope, only God knows how much I hope, that this faith which means so much to me will live in my two children.
“I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and now, I am sure lives in you.” Three generations and going strong.
Today we think God for all the Lois’s and Eunice’s in our own life. And we pray that all our mothers here today might serve as the same winsome example to Jesus Christ to their own children
A man was blissfully driving along the highway, when he saw the Easter Bunny hopping across the middle of the road. He swerved to avoid hitting the Bunny, but unfortunately the rabbit jumped in front of his car and was hit. The basket of eggs went flying all over the place. Candy, too. The driver, being a sensitive man as well as an animal lover, pulled over to the side of the road, and got out to see what had become of the Bunny carrying the basket. Much to his dismay, the colorful Bunny was dead.
The driver felt guilty and began to cry.
A woman driving down the same highway saw the man crying on the side of the road and pulled over. She stepped out of her car and asked the man what was wrong. ”I feel terrible,” he explained, ”I accidentally hit the Easter Bunny and killed it. There may not be an Easter because me. What should I do? ”The woman told the man not to worry. She knew exactly what to do.
She went to her car trunk, and pulled out a spray can. She walked over to the limp, dead Bunny, and sprayed the entire contents of the can onto the little furry animal. Miraculously, the Easter Bunny came to back life, jumped up, picked up the spilled eggs and candy, waved its paw at the two humans and hopped on down the road.
50 yards away the Easter Bunny stopped, turned around, waved and hopped on down the road another 50 yards, turned, waved hopped another 50 yards and waved again!! The man was astonished. He couldn’t figure out what could possibly be in that woman’s spray can. He said to the woman, ”What in heaven’s name is in your spray can?”
The woman turned the can around so that the man could read the label. It said: ”Hair spray. Restores life to your dead hair. Adds permanent wave.”
The Christian faith has nothing to do with Easter bunnies, flowers, and candy. It begins with emptiness, an empty tomb, with no body there. The empty tomb is the central story in the four gospels.
Let’s look at each of them.
From Matthew 28– Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, who is not precisely identified, come to the burial site of Jesus at dawn after the Sabbath. There’s a violent earthquake and an angel appears. There are guards at the tomb. We don’t know how many. We infer that the guards have been placed there by the Jewish authorities. The guard (s) shake with fear. The angel says to the women: “I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, “He is risen from the dead and is going before you in Galilee. There you will see him.” And the women leave the site with a mixture of fear and joy.
From Mark 16– When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome brought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. (Note here there are three women, not two as in Matthew.) On the way to the tomb they are asking each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?” But when they get there the stone which is very large has already been rolled away. Upon entering the tomb they find a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side. They are alarmed. The young man counsels them: “Don’t be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you’.”
Luke’s account in Luke24– On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women take the spices they have prepared and go to the tomb. They find that the stone has been rolled aside. When they enter they don’t find the body of Jesus. While they are wondering about this, two men in clothes that gleam like lightning appear before them. Frightened, they fall to the ground. The two men chide them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” Then they remembered his words.
The women return to give this account to the eleven disciples. Only eleven now. Judas has met an untimely end. They tell the story to the eleven and “others.” And now Luke identifies the first visitors to the tomb. It is Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the others with them who told this to the apostles. How many women are we talking about here…we don’t know but perhaps 5 or 10?
And our story in Luke concludes with these words: But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense. They didn’t believe this story primarily because these were women telling it. Women, not credible witnesses. How odd of God to choose women to witness and report the most important event in human history. And remember this: women were last at the cross and first at the tomb.
And now John 20 Again it’s early on the first day of the week.
While it is still dark Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb and finds it empty. Just Mary Magdalene. Nobody else. The stone has been rolled away. There are no guards or angels there. She hurries to Simon Peter and a second disciple — the one Jesus loved, (he’s not identified by name so we have to guess that perhaps this is John), and she tells them “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!”
So Peter and the other disciple dash for the tomb. The other disciple outruns Peter and reaches the tomb first. He bends over only to find strips of cloth scattered about . Then Peter arrives, goes into the tomb, He sees the strips of linen lying there as well as the cloth that had been wrapped around Jesus’ head. The cloth was still lying in its place, separate from the linen strips. The other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, goes inside. We are told that he sees and believes. And to help us understand what he believes, John editorializes here that they still did not understand Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead. So what exactly he believed is open to speculation.
Now a couple things about these four stories. They are all different in some respects, different in who comes to the tomb first, how many there are, and what they find when they get there. If you were trying to convince the world of something, the first thing you would do is to make sure you had your story straight. That’s not here. So the story tellers in the gospel aren’t aiming for consistency in detail. They are telling to story as it has been passed on to them by those first witnesses.
Here’s an example. Four of you are standing on the corner of a busy intersection. A car runs a red light and there is a collision. The police arrive and take your statements. How fast was the car going? How many people were in the cars that collided? Your stories would have similarities, but also have differences. You saw the same accident but with different eyes.
So the story of the empty tomb is reported to us by four different sets of eyes. This is what the witnesses saw. This is what they remembered. The resurrection stories aren’t written to convince the world what happened. Some say because they lack consistency they lack believability To my way of thinking, because they lack consistency they are more believable.
In all the anti Christian polemic of the first century no one ever claimed the body was there. To be sure, some charged that the disciples had stolen the body and reburied it someplace else. Some claimed that Jesus was drugged, woke up, and walked away. Some claimed that the Romans stole the body to keep the tomb from becoming a martyr’s site. But no one seemed to doubt that the tomb was empty.
This empty place is the first site and symbol of Christian faith, an absence rather than a presence, and with that space and absence comes a sense that the world is not exactly as we imagine it. For all its laws and patterns, the world still has its surprises.
Who could have guessed that a community of bold and daring followers would emerge from this ragtag group of confused and vascillating disciples. Who would have guessed that a man who was staked up to die would beome the center of a world-wide religion. Who would have guessed that the power of this message lives on today.
I was asked about a month ago by our presbytery to become the liason between our presbytery and a new start-up Presbyterian church called the Evangelical Arabic Church. It’s pastor is a man named Estawri Hajeek. When I was first asked, I thought, “I don’t need one more thing. My plate is full.” But because I was asked by our Presbytery Pastor, Brad Munroe, whom I greatly admire, I said “OK.” As you will see as this story unwinds, it is often what we don’t want to do that God reveals himself to us.
In 2006 Estwari was pastor of the largest Presbyterian Church in Bagdad with 800 in worship each Sunday.
One day he was set upon by a band of terrorists. He was dragged out of his car, beaten, left to bleed and die in the street. For a long time no one would come to his aid for the fear of snipers. Finally two courageous men who did not know who he was picked him up and took him to the hospital. He recovered and because his life was in danger, he fled to Beruit. The United Nations offered him political asylum so he could live in Lebanon. There he met his wife Silva, and continued his ministry.
After 5 years of living in Lebanon he received a phone call telling him they would be moving to Phoenix. He didn’t have a choice. This is where the UN was placing him. He and his wife came here without friends, family or a job.
Where do you go when you are in dire need? The church! He found Bethany Presbyterian Church which is located at 35th and Northern. He began a relationship with the pastor and congregation.
He got a job in a factory as a machine operator, $8 an hour, 14-16 hour a day shifts. This a man with a civil engineering degree and seminary degree. In their free time he and his wife gradually began recruiting others for a new church, the Evangelical Arabic Church in Phoenix.
Silva, his wife, has a seminary degree and hopes to be ordained someday. It’s a rarity for an Arab woman in the middle east, even the Presbyterian church, to be ordained.
They both are involved in the ministry, worship, classes, Bible study, pastoral care. He supports his wife and little daughter by being a teacher’s aide at Sweetwater Elementary School. They drive their personal van each Sunday to pick up members who have no other way of getting to church. They get no salary, no mileage. Now, don’t those of you on our personal committee get any ideas from this story!
Barbara and I had the great honor last Sunday of attending their worship service. It was very much like our Palm Sunday service, children and adults parading around the sanctuary, waving olive branches, not palm branches, olive! And singinging “Hosanna Loud Hosanna.” Except in Arabic.
Estwari and his wife Silva are people whose witness could make even a preacher believe. Countless people have suffered and struggled and died for Jesus, absolutely certain that the resurrection of Christ is a historical fact. Tradition says ten of the original apostles died as martyrs for Christ, as did the Apostle Paul. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of early Christians died in the Roman arena and in prisons for their faith. Down through the centuries, thousands more have died for Jesus because they believed the resurrection is true. Even today, people suffer persecution because they have faith that Christ rose from the dead. An isolated group may give up their lives for a cult leader, but Christian martyrs have died in many lands, for nearly 2,000 years, believing Jesus conquered death to give them eternal life.
Listen, I tell you great good news. The tomb is empty. The Lord is risen! The Lord is risen, indeed.
Palm Sunday 2017
At the time of Jesus, Jerusalem had a population of 100,000. At Passover time, more than 3 million Jewish pilgrims swarmed into the holy city. They packed the narrow passageways. It was good for business, but the natives looked at each other at Passover time with a kind of ambivalent resignation. The tourists in town for the holidays turned their usually quiet and orderly days into bedlam, but they brought the shekels in their leather pouches that would spell prosperity for months to come.
Bearded men in high hats moved through the throng, hands folded over the ample fronts, phylacteries strapped to their wrists, the blue fringe from their robes trailing in the dust, their faces bearing a faint smile of superiority.
Little children ran hither and yon, playing their game of hide and seek. Their faces dark and dirty and delighted at the excitement and noise and revelry. Off in the distance they began to hear a rhythmic, staccato chant, carried on the morning breeze from the southern gate. The crowd became quiet as they strained their ears to hear the chant that grew ever louder, “Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna.”
A young man comes running with the word that a procession was coming their way. Entry processions were a familiar ceremony in the first century. Many anointed kings and conquering generals had entered Rome, Athens, and Jerusalem over the years, but no one had ever seen a king like this one. A triumphal entry on a donkey. What does this mean?.
Clearly a different king than one the crowds had been used to. This king rode a humble beast of burden as a prophetic sign. Jesus is an extraordinary king, a different king. He is the king of fishermen, tax collectors, Samaritans, harlots, blind men, demoniacs, and cripples. Those who were following him this day were a ragtag bunch–pathetically unfit for the grand hopes that danced in their imaginations. Those are the people who are cheering Jesus this day, this man from the north country riding on a little grey donkey, but taking the same route as King Solomon took long ago when at his coronation he rode from the Gihon spring up through the city gates to the Temple.
And now they are in this royal parade, marching with him into the holy city. God’s city. Hosanna. That means, God saves. That means now we are going to get some action. At least someone is going to bring us a New Deal, a New Frontier, Make Israel Great Again…..in short a revolt against everything disgusting and disillusioning about this life of ours.
At last someone is going to give the Romans their comeuppance, with their stifling bureaucracy and cruel laws. At last some is going to deal with the high taxes. At last someone is going to rid us of poverty and disease. At last someone is going to end the jealous rivalries among our own people which are tearing us apart and making us suspicious of each other. At last, at last.
But sadly, it wasn’t so. One who marched into the city with him on Palm Sunday said one week later on the road to Emmaus. “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”
But he didn’t do it. He rode in like a hero, like a ruler of old. Yet five days later he gets himself strung up by the Romans, a pathetic, helpless figure who could only hang there and murmur something about forgiving the people who did this to him because they weren’t aware of what they were doing. Who would ever think that getting killed on the cross would change anything?
They shouted on Palm Sunday: “Behold your king is coming to you.” What kind of king was he? The usual interpretation we hear on Palm Sunday is that the crowd was sadly mistaken, that they were earthly and materialistic in their expectations of the kingdom.
If the crowd was wrong, what kind of king was he? What then is his domain? The individual heart? The world to come? The realm of the Spirit? What do we make of the Triumphal entry? King only for a day?. Or was this somehow a preview of coming attractions?
Let these questions churn in your mind while I share with you an experience that was a shaping influence of my ministry. In 1964 I was a college student and preached every Sunday at a rural Methodist Church in North Carolina. I was warmly received and each Sunday after church a different family would take me in for a sumptuous dinner. Yes, it was dinner, not lunch, and it was always a big spread. I basked in the glow of people’s affections.
In 1964 North Carolina was still steeped in the laws and customs of segregation. The monumental civil rights bill was passed into law the year before, but change was coming slowly to the rural south.
One fine spring Sunday morning I preached a sermon on civil rights. If you were to read that sermon today, you would think it was remarkably tame. I talked about all people being God’s children, that every person, no matter whether he was red, yellow, black or white was precious in God’s sight. Remember that song? And then I concluded the sermon with a powerful quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. about how broken hearted he was when his little daughter asked him “Daddy, why can’t I go to Fun Land like the other children?” Fun Land, an amusement park in Atlanta, was off limits to black people until the civil rights law in 1963. It seemed particularly poignant to me that a little child couldn’t walk into an amusement park with her father, and ride the hobby horses just like I did as a child.
When I finished preaching that sermon, the balmy 80 degrees and sunny that I had known in that church dropped to something like 32 degrees below zero. There was a quick meeting of the church board and I was told that I would not be allowed to return and preach there. The door was slammed shut without even a good bye.
This was an important lesson for me. I learned that the Christian faith is threatening. It was my first experience with that saying you’ve all heard about the Gospel, that the Gospel comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.
In our New Testament reading this morning we find that chief priests were discussing putting Lazarus to death as well as Jesus. Lazarus, because he was raised from the dead by Jesus and thus a living witness to the power of Jesus and Jesus because he posed such a theat to the established order.
Jesus was not crucified because he mouthed some innocuous statements about loving one another and turning the other cheek. He appeared to the authorities as deadly dangerous. So much so that they preferred to take their chances with a proved insurrectionist. Barabbas was judged the safer of the two.
Jesus denounced them and challenged them openly, as in his cleansing of the temple, as in his maddening reticence and self-control before Pontius Pilate. He renounced their claims about him. There was nothing he wanted from them. Not even to save his life would he invoke their help. He destroyed their credibility. They appeared to be benevolent toward human kind, but when pressed, their violence was revealed. He laid bare their enmity toward God.
Well, what does this all mean for us? Back to my original question. What sort of King is Jesus?
I believe that we in the church have emasculated and dis-empowered Jesus. Grossly, and to our harm, we have restricted his rule and underestimated his achievement.
That Palm Sunday crowd can be forgiven for not catching on to his real significance. After all, they lived on the other side of the critical events. Christ’s achievement had not yet been consummated in his crucifixion or vindicated in his resurrection. But what is our excuse? That’s my question.
“What have we done?” you ask. Well for one thing we have privatized him We have transmuted the message of the Scriptures into a radical personalism as though Jesus were King of Hearts and nothing more. We have reduced him to a “key” for successful living. Or we have watered him down to the level of a mere principle, the mastery of which will assure a happy life for me and mine. The privatization of Jesus.
We have psychologized him. We have held him at most to be a teacher and we have plundered his teachings to explain why human beings behave the way they do. Why, we even clap our hands like gleeful children when some psychiatrist confirms the wisdom of Jesus’ teachings.
And we have devotionalized him. We have made him the object of some pretty sticky piety and sentimental intimacy.
Listen. Jesus Christ is our personal Lord. No question about it. But he is also Lord of history, and he stands in judgment of the sorry sweep of human history. Jesus Christ is our personal Savior. But he is also Savior of the world, and that means that he stands in highest authority above every government and every political institution.
May President Trump, may the Republicans and the Democrats in Washington DC know there is a higher authority than their own notions and convictions.
“Tell the daughter of Zion, behold your king is coming to you” Take him to your heart, my friends, but do not let it stop with that. Hear him as a prophet. Pray through him as a priest. And bear your witness to everyone that he is the King.
Charles Wesley had it right more than 200 years ago in those words we will shortly sing:
Rejoice, the Lord is king!
Your Lord and King adore
Rejoice, give thanks and sing,
and triumph every-more:
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice
Thanks to everyone who can out for breakfast to support the youth. It was a great turnout and a good time for everyone. Special thanks to the adults hat helped put on the breakfast.