Good evening, Toccoa First family. It’s Tuesday, March 31. Welcome back to my series of devotional videos.
I’ve told you before about some crazy, recurring dreams I have. They’re often related to my experience in high school and college. In one, for example, I’m in college—again. I’m back at Georgia Tech. There’s a class that I’ve blown off the entire semester. I haven’t even bothered to go to the class since the beginning of the term. Now it’s final exam time time, and not only am I completely unprepared; I don’t even remember where the class meets. I have to ask someone where to go.
Good evening, Toccoa First family. It’s Monday, March 30. Welcome back to this series of devotional podcasts.
I was reminiscing recently, as I often do, about my experience in elementary school. And I thought of my experience in first grade with our school librarian… Of course I couldn’t say “library” back then; I said “li-berry”… Anyway, I wasn’t exactly the best-behaved student in first grade, and the librarian was often correcting my behavior. But before she said any words of criticism or correction, she would always say, “I love you, but…” And she would say it in this sing-songy tone of voice. “I love you, but…” And she said that to all my classmates in the exact same tone…
My family and I are big fans of the TV sitcom The Office. We have watched the series many times. If you’re like me, you may remember the episode in which Dwight Schrute’s great aunt Shirley died. There was a funeral. And to say the least, Dwight’s very traditional Pennsylvania Dutch family had some unique funeral customs. Dwight says to the camera:
We Schrutes don’t need some Harvard doctor to tell us who’s alive and who’s dead. But there was an unlucky streak of burying some heavy sleepers. And when grave robbers discovered some scratch marks on the inside of some of the coffins, we decided to make sure our dead are completely dead—out of kindness.
Good news! A couple of days ago, Tom Hanks tweeted the following: “One week after testing positive, in self-isolation,” Hanks said, “the symptoms are much the same. No fever but the blahs. Folding the laundry and doing the dishes leads to a nap on the couch. Bad news: My wife @ritawilson has won six straight hands of gin rummy and leads by 201 points.”
I’m relieved that Hanks and Rita Wilson are on the mend.
I’m not proud to say this, but when I heard about Tom Hanks getting the coronavirus, I judged him. “What did he do wrong? He must have done something wrong!” And then when I found out, I was like, “A-ha! That explains it! He was surrounded by a large cast and crew while filming a movie. He wasn’t limiting himself to ten people or fewer. He was bound get the virus that way… you know, unlike me who’s being so careful!”
If you’ve heard me preach over the past year, you probably know about this beautiful, perfect creature named Ringo. Ringo is an English Springer Spaniel—he celebrates his first birthday in a couple of weeks—and he has absolutely melted my heart. I couldn’t love him more.
Well, I shared the following anecdote in a sermon recently, but it bears repeating: When I talk on the phone, I like to go outside and walk around, if possible. And I was doing just that about a month ago. I was out in our backyard, and I walked to the other side of the street, where the sidewalk is. I was talking on the phone; I wasn’t paying attention to anything else—including the fact that Ringo had followed me outside.
Good evening, Toccoa First family! It’s Tuesday, March 17. This is the second episode of our series, “Toccoa First Family Devotionals.” Thanks for tuning in. As I said last night, we may be under a quarantine, but that doesn’t mean that you’re quarantined from your church family or your pastors. And that’s why we’re doing this.
Good evening, Toccoa First family! It’s Monday, March 16. This is the first of a series of “family devotionals.” God willing, I plan on creating and broadcasting one of these each weeknight during this strange, challenging time in which we find ourselves. When we’re “quarantined.” I don’t want you to feel “quarantined” from church, or from your pastors… So that’s why I’m doing this.
You’ve probably heard that next month, Prince Harry and his wife, Meghan Markle, are resigning from the Royal Family. Their resignation becomes official next month, in April. Prince Harry will no longer be called “prince.” He will no longer be referred to as “his royal highness.” When asked last week what he’d like to be called now, he said, “Just call me Harry.” Officially he will be “Harry, Duke of Sussex.” But he doesn’t want to be called duke of anything… so speculation is that he’ll take a last name, like the rest of us. What will his last name be? When he was in the army, he was called “Harry Wales,” since his father is the Prince of Wales. Now he might go by “Harry Sussex.” But as far as he’s concerned, he’s “just Harry.”
I got baptized in April of 1984, two months after my conversion. I was 14. As you can imagine, my baptism was deeply significant. I felt as if I were on a spiritual high; I felt very close to God. And then… the next day the lawnmower incident happened.
An important event happened on May 30, 1984. (I only remember the date because of Google.) But it was significant: A near-total eclipse of the sun happened on that day—the first time in 84 years in Atlanta. And back then—as hard as it is to believe now—we didn’t get out of school until the middle of June. So I was finishing up eighth grade. But it was great because we were barely in class that day: We were outside, on the track and practice field, with our “shoebox projectors.” As I recall, you put a little pinhole on one side of a shoebox; hold the pinhole side of the box facing the sky; and watch this tiny dot of light projected onto the other side of the shoebox slowly go black as the moon eclipses the sun.
Granted, it would have been much more spectacular if only we could only have watched the sky and seen the sun go black. But we couldn’t. Why? For the same reason you can’t just stare at the sun for very long: you’ll go blind. When there’s an eclipse, however, the darkness tricks your eyes into forgetting that fact. And you watch the sun for a while… and suddenly you’re blind. So all of our teachers warned us: “Don’t look up at the sky! Don’t look at the sun! It’s too dangerous! You’ll go blind!” I remember my smart-aleck friend Paul Heslep glancing up at the sky. “See… No big deal! Watch me! No big deal!” And I’m like, “Paul, are you crazy!” I wasn’t about to do that! Those teachers had me psyched out! I was afraid!
Likewise, in today’s scripture, the “inner circle” of the twelve disciples—Peter, James, and John—were afraid of a light that, according to Matthew, was bright as the sun—and they didn’t dare look at it very long. Only this bright light wasn’t coming from the sun; it was coming directly from Jesus’ face and clothes!
