In a recent opinion column appearing in the New York Times, David French quotes Barry Corey, president of Biola University, a conservative Christian institution in La Mirada, California.  Mr. Corey’s words appear in the interview he conducted with Mr. French regarding Mr. French’s recent book Divided We Fall: America’s Secession Threat and How to Restore Our Nation.

I was struck by Mr. Corey’s pithy formulation of how Christians should approach life in these challenging times.  He said: 

“A firm center and soft edges” – I like that.  It captures what I like to think is my own approach to living out the Christian faith in this world of competing ideologies, deepening partisanship, and hardening boundaries.  It echoes what a church member, a professor of Religion at FSU, once said about his own approach to life as a Christian academic.  “My faith is Christian,” he told me, “But my mind is open.”  

Despite the impression one might get from listening to Christians who bask in the bright light of their own certainty, essential to the Christian faith is a kind of modesty – a recognition that although we put our trust in the Triune God, the source of all truth, we can neither possess nor control that truth.  The most we can do is seek the truth, aware that our best efforts to know are always flawed and inadequate.  

As a Christian in the Reformed tradition, I am aware that the church – including Christians within the church – is in constant need of re-formation according to the Word of God revealed in scripture and in the person of Jesus Christ. That re-formation is itself the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit.  

In other words, all of us Christians are works in progress.  

Christians on both the right and the left could use a healthy dose of the modesty that comes from knowing that we are, as the Book of Church Order used to put it, “sinners in the sight of God justly deserving God’s displeasure and without hope save in God’s sovereign mercy.” 

Modesty that springs from the awareness of God’s mercy – a firm center with soft edges.  These seem to me worthy elements of the Christian life.

Adoration of the Magi by Albrecht Dürer (1504)

I’ve been reading about the promise and danger of artificial intelligence, so I decided to ask ChatGPT to write a sermon. I opened a free account and gave this prompt: “Write a Christmas sermon emphasizing the incarnation.” That’s it. I didn’t suggest scripture passages or give any other suggestions. Here’s what the program produced:

Title: “Embracing the Miracle of the Incarnation: The Gift of God Among Us”

Introduction: Dear friends, as we gather together on this joyous occasion of Christmas, we are reminded of the profound mystery and beauty of the incarnation—the divine taking on human form. This event, this miracle, is the cornerstone of our faith, a testament to God’s immeasurable love for us.

Scripture Reading: John 1:14 – “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

Reflection: In the Gospel of John, we find these powerful words that encapsulate the very essence of Christmas—the Word becoming flesh. The Almighty, the Creator of the universe, chose to enter into our world as a vulnerable baby, born in a humble manger.

The incarnation is a profound revelation of God’s love and grace. It signifies God’s desire to intimately connect with humanity—to walk among us, to experience our joys and sorrows, and ultimately, to redeem us.

The birth of Jesus Christ heralds a new chapter in human history—a divine interruption into our ordinary lives, offering extraordinary hope and salvation. In this act of incarnation, God demonstrated His unrelenting commitment to us, revealing His character as loving, merciful, and compassionate.

The incarnation speaks volumes about the lengths to which God was willing to go to bridge the gap between divinity and humanity. It’s a story of God stooping down to our level, not in grandeur but in humility, to bring forth the greatest gift of all—salvation and reconciliation with Him.

Application: As we celebrate Christmas, let us not merely be spectators of this beautiful story, but active participants in its message. Let us embrace the spirit of the incarnation by:

1. Imitating Christ’s Humility: Just as Jesus humbly entered the world, let us embody humility in our interactions with others.
2. Extending Love and Compassion: Just as God showed His love by coming to us, let us extend love and compassion to those around us, especially to the marginalized and those in need.
3. Reflecting on the Depth of God’s Love: Take time to reflect on the profound love demonstrated in the incarnation, allowing it to deepen your relationship with God.

Closing: As we gaze upon the manger, let us remember that the incarnation is not just a historical event but a present reality—a reminder that God is with us, walking alongside us in our daily lives. May the miracle of the incarnation fill us with awe and gratitude, and may it inspire us to live out the love and grace exemplified by Christ. Merry Christmas!

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Just to be extra helpful, the genie in the software added this note:

The incarnation is such a powerful and awe-inspiring event to reflect upon, especially during the Christmas season. If you have any specific themes or verses you’d like to emphasize, feel free to let me know.

I must admit, I’ve read worse sermons than this one. It’s better organized than a many of the submissions I encounter as a reader for the Presbyterian Church (USA) ordination exams, and it’s orthodox so far as doctrine goes (at least it contains no outright heresies.) If I were to ask the genie to give me some concrete examples of how to “embrace the spirit of the incarnation,” I’ll bet it could have come up with some.

Because ChatGPT produces “original” content regurgitated from gobbling up mountains of data, this sermon is not plagiarism in the strictest sense, but it certainly gives me the willies. Will real-life ministers of the gospel employ this technology in the future? Are they already using it?

The Reformed tradition maintains that “the preaching of the word of God is the word of God.” I understand that to mean that in the human effort by the preacher to proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ to the gathered assembly, the voice that is heard by God’s people is not merely that of the preacher, but in an inexplicable way, the very voice of God. This doctrine has always given me pause, but it also gives me hope that the Holy Spirit will make up for the many inadequacies inherent in my own preaching.

But if a machine produces the sermon manuscript (an ironic word to use in this context), is it really a sermon? No human hand has written the words. No human heart has pondered their deeper meaning. No human body, Jacob-like, has wrestled with the scriptural text.

The genie is right about one thing: the incarnation is the heart of the gospel. Call me old school, but I’d say it still takes a fleshy sinner to proclaim the “word made flesh.”

It has been more than a year since I posted on this site. I wish I had good reasons for this lapse. Laziness is most to blame, but there is also the embarrassment factor. I still live in Tallahasee, Florida, the capital of what Governor Ron DeSantis likes to call “The Free State of Florida.”

It’s one thing to admit that you live in the home of “Florida Man,” the butt of jokes who garners headlines by doing outlandishly stupid things. It’s another to admit that you live a couple of miles from the Governor’s Mansion, where resides a different Florida man who should be a joke, but isn’t.

Make no mistake. Ron DeSantis is no joke. He and his colleagues in the Florida Legislature are a clear and present danger to academic freedom, the freedom of the press, public education, and democracy itself. Backed by a super majority in the Florida House and Senate, Mr. DeSantis is doing his best to turn back the clock — and he is succeeding.

In the “Free State of Florida” public school librarians live in fear that they will lose their jobs should a child take home a book a parent finds offensive. Teachers are forbidden to teach a full range of ideas about American history. Words which used to connote noble aspirations — diversity, equity, inclusion — have suddenly become anathema.

In Governor DeSantis’ lexicon words take on new meaning. Education means compliance, freedom means submission, and to teach history means to maintain a meta-narrative that keeps white folks comfortable.

As for dissent, that is to be kept far away from the ears of lawmakers. I have lived in Florida’s capital for almost 38 years. In that time I have participated in many marches and demonstrations on the grounds of the capitol and in the building itself. I joined farmworkers lobbying for better labor laws, Dream Defenders insisting that black lives matter, and students reeling from the slaughter of their classmates at Majory Stoneman Douglas High School. On February 24 I took part in a memorial service at the “Great Seal of Florida” in the entrance to the capitol. Opponents of the death penalty gathered there to mark the execution of Donald Dillbeck. As we prayed and sang, our voices echoed through the corridors of power. New rules which went into effect on March 1 now prohibit almost all expressions of dissent within and in proximity to the capitol.

Mr. DeSantis says Florida is the place where “woke goes to die.” In emerging practice, it’s where dissent goes to die.

People of faith can’t let that happen. We can’t let the purveyors of toxic resentment, historical denialism and educational imperialism prevail. For the moment, they have the votes, but they cannot claim the moral high ground. There is “a still more excellent way,” a light to shine in the darkness.

The biggest challenge to life in Florida these days is not embarrassment. It’s despair.

The surest way to make God laugh is to tell God your plans. After seminary, I served a wonderful small church in Virginia.  After five and half happy years in Altavista, Andra and I decided it might be time for a move.  In Presbyterian-speak, we were “open to a call.”  We duly informed the Almighty that we would go anywhere the Spirit should call – anywhere but Florida.  

That was thirty-six years ago.  We’ve lived in Tallahassee ever since.  

When you live in Florida you get used to those “Florida man” headlines in the newspaper.  You know the ones I mean:

• FLORIDA MAN CHARGED WITH ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON AFTER THROWING ALLIGATOR THROUGH WENDY’S DRIVE-THROUGH WINDOW. 
• FLORIDA MAN GETS TIRED OF WAITING, STEALS AMBULANCE, DRIVES HOME.
• FLORIDA MAN TRIES TO ROB GAMESTOP WHILE WEARING TRANSPARENT BAG ON HIS HEAD

Or my favorite:

• THOUSANDS OF GUN OWNERS IN FLORIDA PLANNING TO ‘SHOOT DOWN’ HURRICANE IRMA

Bizarre, right?  Well, as I learned in seminary, you must consider the Sitz im Leben.  When you live in Florida, you learn to recalibrate your bizarre-o-meter.  

Florida’s governor and legislature are a case in point.  The lawmakers down the street at the Capitol have declared all-out war not on Covid 19, the virus that has sickened over 5 million and killed more than 63,000 Floridians, but on health officials, business owners, and school board members who are trying to keep the folks in their circle safe.  They began by outlawing mask and vaccination mandates, and when our local School Board and Superintendent pushed back, they cancelled their salaries.  Even after the Supreme Court ruled that the Feds can require the vaccinations of most healthcare workers, Ron DeSantis, Florida Man in the Governor’s mansion, announced that Florida won’t be enforcing the federal requirement.  

This week the high hied yins in the State Health Department suspended Dr. Raul Pino, the health officer in Orange County, for the unspeakable crime of suggesting to his colleagues in Orange County that they have a moral and professional obligation to be vaccinated.  

Dr. Pino wrote an e-mail to health department staff that read, in part, “I have a hard time understanding how we can be in public health and not practice it . . . I am sorry but in the absence of reasonable and real reasons it is irresponsible not to be vaccinated.”

You probably think Dr. Pino makes perfect sense.  

Clearly, you don’t live in Florida.  

The last time I checked, Christians, no matter where they live, are called to love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength, and their neighbors as themselves.  

But this is Florida.

The rules are different here.

On All Saints’ Day, 2020, I retired as the pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Tallahassee, Florida. Polity, protocol and common sense require a former pastor to say well clear of the congregation he or she used to serve. Apart from bumping into folks from my former flock in the grocery store, that’s what I have endeavored to do.

However, I’m not quite out to pasture. I’m still a minister of Word and Sacrament and (so far, at least) a member in good standing of the Presbytery of Florida. I’m not ready to hang up my dog collar and sit out the remainder of my days awaiting entry into the Church Triumphant.

It turns out that I still have something to offer the church and community. In addition to serving on several boards of directors, I am getting the hang of driving the tractor at Dogwood Acres, our presbytery’s outdoor ministry, where Christina, the cook, allows me to chop veggies and wash dishes for retreats and conferences. (I leave the actual cooking to her, of course.) I’ve also been leading worship from time to time at churches that find themselves without benefit of clergy due to vacations, pastoral vacancies, and of course, Covid.

With some trepidation I have decided to re-boot this blog, which used to be titled “First Drafts.” As was the case with the previous blog, nothing I write here is intended to represent the views of any congregation. Those familiar with Presbyterian polity know that no pastor or council of the church — not even a session — can speak for a congregation. Presbyterians speak for themselves, and when they elect fellow Presbyterians to serve on councils, those councils speak for themselves.

Accordingly, I write as a Christian in the Reformed Tradition, a member of the Tallahassee community, and a citizen of the Republic. That should be more than enough to get me into trouble.

Presbyterians have a quaint term for old dogs like me: “Honorably Retired.” This honorably retired parson can’t promise frequent contributions to this blog, but every now and then he will have a bone to pick.

Like many of my clerical colleagues, I do not enjoy conflict.  Whether it’s an argument over the color of the carpet in the church parlor or a parking-lot debate about same-sex marriage, my instinct is to remain “pastoral,” keeping myself above the fray.

That was the approach taken by white clergy in Birmingham when Martin Luther King, Jr. was leading the struggle for racial justice.  They told Dr. King that, while they agreed with his noble aspirations, he should be patient so as not to provoke conflict.  Dr. King’s reply: “Justice delayed is justice denied.”

I am particularly wary of conflict with my fellow Christians.  The way I see it, we Christians already convey a mixed message to folks outside our churches.  We disagree about a number of important issues and airing our dirty laundry in public just adds to the perception that the Christian faith has nothing to offer but intolerance, judgment, and condemnation.  We American Christians have an embarrassingly poor record of communicating God’s love for this hurting world – as our Lord would have us do.

So, as much as I hate to bring it up, I feel compelled to ask my brothers and sisters in Christ – and especially those who are proud to call themselves “evangelicals” — how, in God’s name, they can continue to sanction the words and actions of President Donald Trump.

In recent days the President has called for four congresswomen of color to “go back” to their countries.  He has demeaned a black congressman from Baltimore and, with vitriol unbecoming an ordinary citizen, much less the President of the United States, has insulted the entire population of an American city.  According to our President, anyone who chooses to live in Baltimore is less than human, for “no human being would want to live there.”

The President’s ad hominem attacks on those who disagree with him, laced with racist memes and demeaning nicknames, contradict a bedrock principle of Christianity – that all human beings are created in the image of God.  The President’s insults go beyond political hyperbole.  They are a stunning contradiction of the faith all Christians share.

There comes a point where silence becomes complicity.  Christians of all stripes should condemn with vigor the President’s racist, dehumanizing rhetoric.

We should also remember our divine calling to be “leaven in the lump.”  We can be agents of reconciliation, helping to pull the national conversation out of the cesspit and into a respectful public square.