Davison's Doodle

Snack-Size Good News

Last Sunday, I was gifted the trust of the pulpit at First Christian Church in El Reno. This is a jubilee year for the congregation as they celebrate 135 years of ministry in September. On May 4th (be with you) they celebrated the 25th anniversary of their Associate Pastor’s service with the congregation. The text for the day was John 21:1-19. Here is a lightly edited version of my words.

Good morning, disciples.

It is a great day to gather for worship as we continue to meet Jesus in unexpected places along a journey in faith.  Generations of seekers, skeptics, and believers have benefited from this congregation’s proclamation and practice of the good news of God. If you live in or around El Reno and are visiting today in-person or in the digital sanctuary come back and get involved in this congregation witness of faith.

Disciples, you continue to show people that the Lord’s mercies never cease, that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning, that the Lord’s faithfulness extends beyond our ability to see in a mirror dimly, and that followers of Jesus do Jesus-like things.

Thank you for being a voice of gospel from this corner of El Reno for your community and beyond your doorsteps into our fragmented world.  Your siblings in faith around the Region and throughout the denomination are grateful for your example of servant leadership and faithfulness as we claim the covenant: Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Oklahoma.

Colton, Tara, and elders, thank you for gifting me the trust of the pulpit today as we recognize a ministry milestone in this year of jubilee.

Disciples, as your spirit is able, please join me in a moment of prayer.  Open our ears and hearts, O God, so that our meditations, words, and living reflect our faith in You, who creates, redeems, and sustains all creation and our lives.  Amen.

Buckle up.  Here we go.

When I think of Tara’s twenty-five years of ministry here in El Reno, I remember some words by the 20th-century theologian Henri Nouwen. He wrote, “the compassionate life is mostly hidden in the ordinariness of everyday living.”¹

Tara, you and this congregation have have cast a large net in El Reno and beyond in the ordinariness of everyday living:
Blessing Baskets.
Lunch Bunch.
Snack Bags.
Logos.
Youth Group.
Bereavement meals.
Mission Camp.
International Affairs Seminar.
Summer Camp.
VBS.
Intersections.
Mission Trips.

Tara, you’ve offered teaching, pastoral care, and preaching.
You are also a proud parent, a spouse, and a caregiver to your family.

And, you usually have that backpack full of all kinds of things and snacks.²  You’ve watched and taken seriously the science that children and youth, anyone, can’t do their best work or be the best version of themselves when they are hungry or thirsty. 
Physically or spiritually hungry. 
Physically or spiritually thirsty.

Along with the power bars and peanut butter crackers, you carry around snack-size good news: supportive prayers and hugs, a problem-solving eye, a “let’s get on with it” approach with some patience, sometimes, and a servant’s heart that knows it needs boundaries, but there is still so much more to do.  

Twenty-five years.  It is a rare thing these days for a commissioned pastor or ordained minister to walk alongside, argue with, thumb wrestle with, pray for, grieve, and celebrate with a congregation for that long.  You, your family, and this congregation have grown up together, and there is still so much waiting to see and do in front of you.³

Disciples, there is still so much gospel to be and do waiting in front of you.  I think that is what this fireside breakfast chat with Jesus is all about.  He has shown Peter and the others another way.  They’ve walked it with him.  Lived it.  It’s their turn to lead.  Their turn to be an example, but you have to choose it.  You have to choose it every day.  Feed, Tend.  Feed.

There is an old story.  An itinerant preacher arrives at church on Sunday to find only one person attending worship.  He says to the man, “Good Morning.  We’ll wait a bit longer, but if there are just the two of us, why don’t we sing a hymn, have prayer, share communion, and skip the sermon.  What do you say?”  

The man said, “Well, preacher, if I go down to feed my cattle and just one shows up, I feed him.  I don’t turn him away hungry.”

So, the preacher led the service and gave a long sermon on God’s salvation.  He preached all over the bible, raised his voice, and cursed the devil for 90 minutes. After worship, he asked the man what he thought of the sermon.  The man said, “Preacher, it was good, but like I said, if only one cow shows up, I don’t turn the one away unfed.  But, I don’t dump the whole bucket.”⁴

Feed.  Tend.  Feed.

There is something unique about the Gospel of John and the Gospel of Mark.  The author of Mark creates the original prequel about Jesus.  It is an outline of the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth.  The author of John is overtly weaving a theological parable about Jesus’s story, his identity, and a person’s life after meeting Jesus in a novel about God’s redemption.  The gospel writers have different motivations, but they have something in common.  Mark and John just end without any hint as to what happens to the characters.  Go back and look.  

Mark ends with the women fleeing in fear from the tomb, telling no one, and then briefly telling Peter and everyone around him what Jesus had commanded (Mark 16:8).  Most New Testaments add the heading “the longer ending of Mark,” and it includes more appearances, commissioning disciples, and Jesus’ ascension.

The writer of John gives us a nice summation: “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.  But, these are written so that you may come to believe or may continue to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and through that believing you may have life in his name.” (John 20:30-31)  And then, our reading for today.

So, like some sermons you’ve heard during life, Mark and John have two endings.  Scholars refer to this as the epilogue.  It’s the clean-up of storylines to make for a better ending or sending.  I know a minister who likes to say at the end of a sermon, “And one more thing,” as the congregation reaches for their hymnal.

In the synoptic gospels, Peter denies knowing Jesus. This fireside chat with Jesus and the Disciples includes callbacks to intimate community, the abundance of fish and wine, and the feeding of 5000 with some snack-size bites. In John’s parable, Peter denies being a disciple of Jesus. That’s more than semantics—more than denying a belief or knowing someone. 

Being a disciple, a follower includes living a particular way.  Doing specific kinds of things.  “You are not also one of his disciples, are you?”  Peter responds, “I am not.”  Even though Jesus has yet to be sentenced, being associated with him could get Peter, the disciple whom Jesus loved, or any of the disciples into trouble with the powers that be.  None of them were willing to take that risk, even if it was “good trouble.”⁵  After all they had been through, the rock crumbles, and Peter denies his identity as a disciple of Jesus.

All of us, no matter our age, station in life, or maturity in faith, struggle with being a disciple of Jesus every day because we know deep down in the depths of our hearts that disciples of Jesus do Jesus-like things, and they believe.

As this decade unfolds into the next, I think that may be a way we distinguish between the essentials of unity, the non-essentials of liberty, and the charity followers of Jesus practice and proclaim. 

In three little snack-size “Do you love me” moments, Jesus invites Peter to reclaim his discipleship, his identity, and a responsibility to feed, tend, and feed young ones and mature ones – and that includes himself.

Dr. Seuss says it like this.

On and on you will hike.
And I now you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You’ll get mixed up of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
A Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.⁶

One biblical commentator describes this fish story in John like this: “And so, Jesus shows up on that shore, hosts a meal one more time, and tells Peter, tells us, ‘I believe in you. I know who you are and I love you. And yes, you are exactly the disciple I need, the disciple the world needs, for God to the world.’”⁷

Disciples, remember that God’s grace and peace are not simply abstract concepts. You have experienced God’s grace and peace in your discipleship and in your experience of the risen Christ.  God’s compassion and the way of Jesus are present in this world through your faith and actions. Your individual and collective efforts as a congregation have the power to transform the world around you, even if it is just for a moment.  I still want to believe that a moment might be, can be, enough.

Even when you are not sure who is my neighbor, it’s the way you feed, tend, and feed your neighbors. 
It’s the way you deal with ones that call you an enemy.
It’s the way you feed, tend, and feed one another.
Sometimes, you can sense it.
Sometimes, you can see it.

Usually, you don’t know how kindness, a supportive word, a question, or an action, small or large, can alter the trajectory of a person’s day, week, or life.  And it may take a while to know how that moment affected you.

Jesus of Nazareth met people where they were in life’s journey: 
the poor and the rich, 
the powerful and the powerless,
the healthy and infected,
the in-group and the outcast.

His living demonstrated that old saying, “Preach the gospel.  When necessary, use words.”  
His living reminded people to: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”  

Sometimes, that involves simply sharing a snack, offering a listening ear, giving a dollar, or providing coins at the laundromat.  Other times, with larger systems, it may require more reflection, more risk, and more intentional action. That’s the object of that old confession, “Forgive me for the things I have done and left undone.” Within a community of believers, we hold one another accountable for the essentials and non-essentials in a spirit of charity.

And, one more thing.

Each morning, I receive a thought from a marketing guru that begins my day wondering.  Last week, this thought arrived.  “The stories we tell are a choice. Reciting facts lets us off the hook, but telling a true story that causes change is a powerful responsibility.”⁸

There are so many things Jesus is still doing through you, First Christian Church El Reno.  Disciples, the epilogue of Jesus’s story about the good news of God goes on, and you contribute a verse.  You don’t have to dump the whole bucket.  Let your living be snack-size good news.

1. Cf. Henri Nouwen, Here and Now: Living in the Spirit, p 103. ↩︎
2. Youth group members begin taking snacks to Tara. ↩︎
3. Hat tip Jimmy Buffett for this phrase loosely based on the lyric, “There’s too much to see waiting in front of me and I don’t think I can go wrong.” from “Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude” 1977. ↩︎
4. Loyal Jones and Billy Edd Wheeler, Laughing in Appalachia: Southern Mountain Humor. August House (Little Rock) 1987. p 36-7. ↩︎
5. A phrase used often by Rep. John Lewis (February 21, 1940 –  July 17, 2020).  He served Georgia’s 5th Congressional District and was part of the Civil Rights Movement. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Lewis ↩︎
6. Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go! Random House (New York) 1990. ↩︎
7. Karoline Lewis, “Do You Love Me?” Dear Working Preacher, April 28, 2019.
   https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/do-you-love-me ↩︎
8. Seth Godin, “A powerful story.” April 26, 2025. ↩︎

The Other Disciple

Easter is considered the most Holy day in the Christian calendar. I’ve had opportunity to offers words on Easter a few times during my time in Christian ministry. Below is the most recent rewrite of my one Easter sermon. This is the fifth rewrite. The text is John 20:1-18.

There is an old story.  An itinerant preacher arrives at church on Sunday to find only one person, a farmer, attending worship.  He says to the farmer, “Good Morning.  Since there are just the two of us, why don’t we sing a hymn, have prayer, share communion, and skip the sermon.”  The farmer said, “Well, preacher, if only one cow shows up at feeding time, I still feed that one.  If it’s ok with you, let’s have the sermon too.”

So, the preacher led the service and gave a long sermon on God’s salvation.  He raised his voice and cursed the devil.  At the end of worship, he asked the farmer what he thought of the sermon.  The farmer said, “Well, it was good, but you know if only one cow shows up at feeding time, I don’t dump the whole bucket.” 

Sometimes, that is what we do in worship on high holy Sundays. Who knows when we might see someone again or if those visitors may return?  We have to go all out. If you are part of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), it seems we try to do the same during General Assembly worship. I’ll do my best not to dump the whole bucket with the words.

From May to December 1831, Alexander Campbell, one of the founders of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), wrote a series of essays published in The Millennial Harbinger on the theme of cooperation among congregations.  He wrote, “A church can do what an individual disciple cannot, and so can a district of churches do what a single congregation cannot.”

At our best, our little frontier movement connects, equips, and empowers disciples to love and serve like Jesus.  We are a blessing to the world and one another when we listen and act on the teaching that Jesus wrapped in a riddle: “to love God and love your neighbor as yourself.”  In the complexity of what has become of Christendom since the first Easter celebrations, I think we measure ourselves and others who claim Christian faith by the standard: followers of Jesus do Jesus-like things.  By our love.  That’s how they will know us.  It’s not a love that sounds like, “Eat your spinach because it is good for you.” or “I’m punishing you because I love you.”  It is a good news of love that the Apostle Paul tried to summarize in 1 Corinthian 13.

A love that is not envious or boastful.  Arrogant or rude.
A love that does not celebrate wrongdoing.  Rejoices in truth 
A love that doesn’t demand its own way.
A love that believes.  Hopes.  Endures.

This morning, people who claim Christian faith around the world gather to hear, to remember, to experience the words of Mary Magdalene, “Rabbi, teacher . . . I have seen the Lord.”  No matter how young or old your faith, your heart knows what those words feel like.  No matter how often you attend worship or how involved you are in a faith community, you know what the voice of God sounds like beyond belief, beyond baptism, and after the last echo of “Alleluia” fades today.  So, remember that the Lord’s mercies never cease.
Remember that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning.
Remember that the Lord’s faithfulness extends beyond our ability to see in a mirror dimly and recognize the image of God in others, and even our own face.

When Easter arrives, I remember visiting Israel in January of 1999.  It was a study trip with a group of students and friends of Lexington Theological Seminary.  My companion was one of the leaders.  I walked those places that many considered Holy.  Masada. Jericho. The Qumran community. The Temple Mount, the Dome of Rock, Galilee, and Bethsaida.  There are places where the Jordan River is so narrow anyone could hop across.  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is in Jerusalem.  It is built on a place where Christian tradition says that Jesus was crucified and buried.  It is a large structure with many rooms.  The halls circle the building, and at any time, monks or priests may come through the halls in a processional of chanted prayer.  The main chamber is crowded with icons, pilgrims, and tourists, awash in incense, waiting for a turn to walk into the shrine designated as “the tomb.”  The line is long.  Some pilgrims enter on their hands and knees.

Down a hall and down two flights of stairs is the Chapel of St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great.  It is dimly lit.  There are a few pews, and the chancel area has a rail and places to kneel for prayer and reflection.  Icons and ancient words adorn every wall.  To the left of the chancel is a gate with a chain and lock that looks to be from the Middle Ages.  There is one monk who has the key.  He must be encouraged, bribed, with several bottles of Johnny Walker scotch to unlock the gate.  Through the gate and down more narrow stairs is a quarry, an excavation area that has been converted into the Chapel of St. Vartan. Candles and small floor flood lamps provide light.  There is a small wooden cross and three small wooded benches for a few people to sit.  To the right of the cross is a stone with a drawing that dates to the second century of the Common Era.  It is a drawing of a boat, someone else might call it a ship.  It is believed that the drawing was created by early Christian pilgrims visiting this site said to be the place of Jesus crucifixion and burial.  Beneath the boat is a Latin inscription that translates, “Lord we went.”

These second-century pilgrims relied on the interpretation of Jesus’ teachings by those who claimed to know him or learned from one of the descendants of his disciples.  They relied on the life choices that followers of the Way made in living out the teachings of Jesus as they found their voice to proclaim him Christ.  When you remove our technological differences and social order, these second-century disciples are not so different from us.  One of them could have been a descendant of the other disciple who went with Mary and Peter that morning to the tomb.  Any one of us could be that disciple.

Many years ago, I attended a family reunion in Louisiana.  While there, I decided I could not leave until I visited my grandparents’ graves.  I know they are not there.  The spirit of Papaw and Mamaw Davison, along with Grandma and Grandpa Ferrier, are far from the manicured lawn of the cemetery, but being there helped me feel connected to a family story that I sometimes have run from or ignored as part of my own.  Neither side of the family was particularly religious.  The Scotch-Irish side were backslidden Southern Baptists, while the French Creole-Native American side were Christmas and Easter Catholics.  It is a long drive from Louisiana to Kentucky.  Somewhere between Little Rock and West Memphis, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I went.

Easter is a confessional experience for those who claim Christian faith.  Confessional.  Not a “bless me, Father, for I have sinned” confessional experience that we might imagine when we hear this word.  Easter is a confessional aha moment.  It is an awareness.  An Emmaus road journey, an answered prayer, an experience of the Risen Christ.  Usually, it is followed by reflection, prayer, study, and conversation with the other disciple.  Like those second-century disciples who went, we don’t know what really happened the morning Mary Magdalene went to the tomb or in the days following the crucifixion.  Though we give authority to the Bible as a means of instruction and inspiration, it is not, nor is it meant to be, a detailed history of the events of our faith ancestors.  The New Testament is a glimpse into the faith struggles and stories of other disciples, and in that plot, as the other disciple, we have a chapter to write about our own lives, faith, and journey with Jesus.  

When I read the resurrection story in John, I think about being that other disciple. It is mornings like this one that the church often remembers a confession: “Jesus is the Christ, son of a living God.  I accept and proclaim him Lord and Savior of my life.”  Depending on where you grew up, attending church or not, you have heard a version of those words echo from the mouth of a friend, a family member, or even your own lips.  In that moment and through your living since that day, you are connected to Mary Magdalene proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord.”  In that moment and through your living since that day, you are connected to Peter, who is said to have denied knowing Jesus but was called a rock of faith.  Easter is a day when Christians recognize and confess a connection that is outside the confines of political, tribal, religious, theological, or economic boundaries.  And like the other disciple, that has not been easy in our culture for a long time. 

We have many tools to stay connected: text messages, emails, and voicemails.  Did you see my Facebook message? Or my Instagram post?  Meme culture has become the editorial cartoon, or what my father called, “the funny page” of the newspaper.  A few of us may still send handwritten letters.  And like those first disciples, our skills for nurturing and understanding connection struggle to match our experience of faith in God and a belief in a risen Christ.  At their best, our faith communities- our church- help us create and maintain healthy connections with believers and non-believers so followers of Jesus can do Jesus-like things. 

Confession is more than assenting to one Lord, one holy catholic and apostolic Church, one baptism for the forgiveness of sins, or the Trinitarian formula for knowing God.  Confession is an action.  It is willful, and faithful living is will-filled. You are, and I am, that other disciple who ran with Peter when we are a living confession of faith and practice our discipleship even when no one is looking.  If you are not sure what that looks like, many followers recall the stories about seeing, serving, and acting on behalf of the hungry, the thirsty, those who need to be visited, and the outcast. 

What connects us to Jesus of Nazareth, whom we call Christ?
What connects you to Jesus of Nazareth, whom you call Christ?
What connects me to Jesus of Nazareth, whom I call Christ?

The answer that confronts this disciple’s Easter confession comes from the film “Chocolat.” The village priest, Pere Henri, after a stressful week with the Mayor of his village and a near tragedy in the community involving perceived outsiders, steps to the pulpit on Easter Sunday and delivers these words:

I’m not sure what the theme of my homily today ought to be.
Do I want to speak of the miracle… of our Lord’s divine transformation? Not really, no.
I don’t want to talk about His divinity. I’d rather talk about His humanity.
I mean, you know, how he lived his life here on Earth.
His kindness.
His tolerance.
Listen, here’s what I think. I think we can’t go around… measuring our goodness by what we don’t do.
By what we deny ourselves…what we resist and who we exclude.
I think we’ve got to measure goodness… by what we embrace… what we create… and who we include.

That’s a gospel message that confronts my Easter confession.  “Rabbi . . . teacher . . . I have seen the Lord.”

You are the disciple whom Jesus loved.  Just as Mary Magdalene did centuries ago, we possess a knowledge and experience of the risen Christ that compels us to go and tell.  Disciples, let’s remember there is ministry to do and gospel to be.  That’s where resurrection happens every day.

A century from now, will other disciples know that we went?