All Scriptures quoted are from The New Revised Standard Version unless otherwise quoted.

So, here we are, at the end of this leg of the journey. Not the end of the journey; just the end of this leg of it. It sure didn’t take long to get here. What’s ten years anymore? I remember the first day like it was last Sunday. Just out of curiosity this past week, I checked. I have always numbered my sermons as a way of cataloging them. My first sermon to you as your pastor was preached here on Sunday, June 28, 1998. It was entitled, “When Grace Comes Calling,” which I’m sure you all remember, and it was sermon number 1800. The opening illustration in the sermon was about Monica Lewinsky, if that doesn’t take you back a little ways!

This morning’s message, with a title taken straight from the scripture, is entitled, “What You Heard From Me.” This sermon is number 2500. Started and ended on an even number. Seven hundred sermons in ten years. Nearly all of this from this pulpit, or this platform.

So, let me ask you a question. In these ten years, what have you heard from me? That question seems to be paramount for me this morning. When you’re trying to decide what to preach as the very last sermon you’ll ever preach as the pastor of a church, you cannot imagine where your mind races. It seems that you have been given the task of washing an elephant. About the time you get finished, you have to start all over again, because the thing is so big.

As the Apostle was nearing the end of his life’s journey, he had a point of reference to which he pointed his son in the faith, Timothy. The fundamentals of the faith that he had instilled, or attempted to instill, in this young man over the years he had known him.

If you listen to a person talk long enough, you begin to get a sense of what means the most to them. A pastor’s preaching always has a theme that goes through the years. If you listen long enough, you can tell what is most important to that pastor, even to that church, the people who listen to him.

So, again, what have you heard from me all these years? From my vantage point, I’ve had to work hard, struggle hard, to find three things I could say to you that seem to encapsulate what I hope I’ve been saying.

So, Kristen asked me, “Does Jesus take care of babies when they die?” Knowing that children’s questions are their way of reporting on the world as they literally see it, Kristen was trying to reconcile what she had heard about Jesus at church and the fact that someone she knew at her tender young age had already died. Does Jesus take care of little babies when they die?

Kneeling down to her level, and trying to find a way of climbing over the knot that had come up in my throat, I asked Kristen, “What baby are you talking about?” Kristen went on to tell me about her baby cousin, Courtney, who had died several weeks before of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Kristen was still grieving the loss of her little cousin. “How old was your cousin?” I asked Kristen, as though it really mattered. Kristen stood there for just a minute and thought quietly. Then, she said one of the most interesting things I have ever heard. “Courtney wasn’t a number yet,” she said. Courtney hadn’t even needed one birthday candle before her life was snuffed out in the quiet of the night. Does Jesus take care of babies when they die?

I went on as best I knew how to explain to her that Jesus loves all the children. All the children of the world. I didn’t venture out into the very confusing world of the age of accountability, about which, as a matter of fact, the scripture gives us very little information. I just stayed with what we hope about how Jesus feels about all of his children, including you and me: that our eternities are not left to chance in the hands of God. “Of course Jesus takes care of little babies when they die,” I told Kristen. “In God’s kingdom,” I said, “everyone is a number. Everyone counts.”

I have never in my life been in a church that taught me more about doing the Kingdom math over than Cliff Temple Baptist Church. The Kingdom math. In all my years of growing up and being taught about how to do church, we knew how to count pew heads, but we didn’t know how to count many other heads. Jesus said that inasmuch as we care for the least of these, we care for him. To the extent we ignore them, or neglect them, or, worse, abuse them, it is as if we abused Jesus. You cannot touch any child of God on this planet with the hand of injustice without also touching Jesus with injustice.

In the kingdom of God, those who don’t count with anyone else count first, every time, always and forever. The first indeed shall be last, and the last indeed will be first. Count on it. Every orphan, every widow, every homeless man or woman or child, every high school dropout, every prisoner in jail! This dear confused man who just left a moment ago and was pursued by two or three of our very caring folks -- he counts, just like you and I do.

When we start doing the Kingdom math and measuring out space for who gets a seat in God’s house, those folks come first, or we can stop calling this place a church. If The Well Community has not taught us anything, has The Well Community not taught us that?

Call it anything you want, but if those who count least in this world don’t get the best seat, the most recently reupholstered, refurbished, restuffed pew, if they don’t get the best seat in the house, then Jesus would say that what we’re doing here is of no interest to him, because in God’s kingdom, everyone counts.

In God’s kingdom, everyone counts. That means you, too! I say that because I know there are a lot of you in this room who don’t think you count. You’ve been trying to prove to your mom or your dad, or your brother or your sister, or some long-dead professor in college -- someone, somewhere -- that you really are better than they thought you were. Forget about it. In the kingdom of God, you already count most. What else matters?

I suspect Timothy was suffering from a disease we all know too well. And I call is “comparative-itis.” He was spending too much time talking to others about what he couldn’t do instead of focusing on what he could do. So, Paul jumped his case. And he did it beautifully. May I read some of the words that Paul read to Timothy, just in case there’s a chance that someone here this morning would find that they apply as well to them?

From 1 Timothy 4, these words: Let no one despise your youth, but set the believers an example in speech and conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. 13Until I arrive, give attention to the public reading of scripture, to exhorting, to teaching. 14Do not neglect the gift that is in you, which was given to you through prophecy with the laying on of hands by the council of elders. 15Put these things into practice, devote yourself to them, so that all may see your progress. 16Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching; continue in these things, for in doing this you will save both yourself and your hearers. Then again, the double whammy, from 2 Timothy 1:6-7: For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

When we preachers are young, we tend to think that the best thing that could ever happen to us would be to become the next Billy Graham. I remember little old ladies coming through the receiving line after I had preached one of my very first sermons and, very sincerely, taking my hand and gripping it and saying, “You’re going to be the next Billy Graham.” The only problem was, I believed them. For about fifteen years, in fact. I don’t know where it finally happened, but somewhere along the road, it finally registered with me that I was never going to have the privilege of asking the buses to wait while everyone responded to the invitation. But, along with that tasty bit of humility came this giant slice of courage and hope. This is what I have learned, and Cliff Temple Baptist Church, you, more than any church I have ever served, have played the most significant role in teaching me this. The best thing you can do with your life is be the best you God created you to be, and encourage at least one other person to do the same. If you do that, you’re doing the work of the Kingdom. Don’t neglect the gift that is within you!

The late Kurt Vonnegut was a renowned novelist of Slaughterhouse Five, among other books. He died some time back at the age 84. Some years ago, he was asked if he had any advice for young writers. He said, “What I would tell them is that you should never write what you think people want to read. You should write the novel you were born to write, whether anyone reads it or not.”

I think of the Burger King boy. The little boy that was in 5th or 6th grade when we first discovered him staying at the Burger King until his parents could get off from work and pick him up. He became part of our ASC3ND After-School Ministry in partnership with Buckner. We rescued the Burger King boy from being a latch-key Burger King boy. That little boy grew up and became one who volunteered in the very same after-school ministry that rescued him. Someone around here gave that kid the crazy notion that he had a gift within him, and this was the place he could let loose of it.

I think about the young lady who called Kenny one day three or four years ago and left him a Father’s Day voice mail. She said, “Kenny, I wanted to wish you a happy Father’s Day. I know you’re not my daddy. But, you’re the closest thing to a daddy I have, and I had to wish someone happy Father’s Day.” Somebody around here gave that young lady the idea that she had dignity and worth and that somebody would be her daddy. Find those who don’t think they count, show them the new math that Jesus has taught you and help them get busy becoming the best God created them to be.

Secondly, the kingdom of God is a living organism, not an institution. I’ve always believed that if you want to know what a person truly valued, you could look at their checkbook, their datebook, and their closest friendships. In other words, there are really no greater measurements of a person’s true values than how they spend their money, how they spend their time, and how they treat people. I’ve since added one more to that list. If you want to know what a person truly values, listen to what they pray for most of all. When Jesus’ disciples asked him to teach them how to pray, among other things, he taught them to pray this: “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10, KJV). Cliff Temple, since I came here, since about five years ago, those words have been ringing in my ears every single day. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” I don’t believe God created all of this just to someday throw it in the trash. I believe God created all that is this for the explicit purpose of redeeming it and recreating it.

I’ve never been a part of a church that taught me more about living in the eternally present than has Cliff Temple. When I was growing up -- and you’ve heard me say this before, but it’s the last time I get to get to tell you, so I will tell you again -- the primary emphasis of virtually every sermon I heard growing up (and we were one of those families that went Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night) was on making certain that I stayed out of hell and got into heaven. They would call evangelists into town every now and then to work us over with a little extra guilt, just in case some of us had missed the point of the preacher. Some of us would get re-baptized about every three to four years.

Somewhere along the line, I began to realize that very few were answering the question, “What’s next?” Heaven’s settled. I’m not going to hell, as best I know. By the time my faith journey rounded the corner at 10th and Zang ten years ago, I realized something new: that Jesus spent far more time talking about the present hell people lived in than the eternal hell they might someday live in. He also taught us that, not only should we live simple lives in which we trust him for his daily provisions, but that we also extend to others the very same forgiveness -- please hear this very carefully -- that we extend to others the very same forgiveness we hope to get back, because we will. There is no place where the kingdom of God is not and the rule of Kingdom forgiveness does not reign supreme. The greatest witness to our character will not be how many people knew us and loved us. It will be how many people we loved and forgave.

The Kingdom of God is here; it’s now. Listen! Read the gospels again this afternoon. It couldn’t possibly take you more than an hour to read all four of them. Read them through and listen to how many times the Bible says that Jesus came preaching the good news that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Which means you’re sitting on it right now. You’re standing in it, breathing its air and swimming in the sea of its grace. Sometimes it’s hard to see that. But that’s why, at the end of every winter, we need the tulips to blossom sooner than later.

I will never forget, the Sunday after 9/11 was the day that we dedicated Catherine Leftwich. We walked her down the aisle, and we stood up here. As I was standing here, I reminded the congregation of the story I had heard about a woman who was a prisoner in a concentration camp during World War II. In the frozen dead of winter, she was made to march day in and day out, back and forth to the labor site. One day she looked over at this house beside the road and noticed a tulip beginning to blossom in the otherwise-empty flower box. So, every day she walked by, she made certain that she paid attention to that tulip, because just seeing that one tulip blossom in that flower box gave her enough hope to get through that day. I looked at Catherine Leftwich as I held her in my arms and I said, “Catherine, on this sad Sunday after 9/11, you are our tulip blooming in the flower box.” To this day, she prefers me to call her Tulip. In fact, she sent me a note before church. “Love, your baby tulip.” That’s what makes it worth it. If your world is dark and dead and dying today, if it seems totally dead, look around. I guarantee you there’s a tulip blossoming somewhere. The church is emerging in every flower box God allows to exist.

Third and last, our broken places are where God’s light shines through. This may well be the most misunderstood part of my preaching, so I tread lightly here. But I want to share it with you, because it’s so important.

There are a lot of things I’m going to miss about Cliff Temple. I’m going to miss Jim Boyd’s cell phone going off in worship on a regular basis. Bud used to say that, after 25 years, you’d miss the itch, too! I’ll miss Jim’s cell phone. In fact, I’m wondering how I will even know it’s Maundy Thursday if Jim’s cell phone doesn’t ring at least twice during the 20-minute service.

I’m going to miss Richie’s preaching. A little bit. I’m going to miss the preach-offs, where I won, by the way!

I’m going to miss Wreatham Coons. I always have missed Wreatham since he died several years ago. If you didn’t know Wreatham, you missed a treat. As Wreatham got older, his hearing got worse. When he talked to you, he kind of whisper-shouted. He had a raspy voice. I was standing right over here at the opening hymn one Sunday morning when Wreatham came up to me and whisper-shouted in my ear, “Pastor! Will you please speak to the custodians? Those pigeons are making a mess out there on the front banisters, and it needs to be cleaned up.” What’s been cleaned up is the version of that story I just told you. I looked at Wreatham, and I said, “We’ll take care of it.”

I’ll miss Christmas Day lunches. The smell of turkey and dressing, trying to get in a sample of all of it before I got caught.

I’m going to miss hundreds of neighborhood children running through these halls, making a noise that I know God finds joyful.

I’m going to miss Nancy coming home on Wednesday nights, telling me how much fun she had teaching Mission Friends with Kristi Coleman and Ashton Clay.

I’m going to miss Pearl Price. I already do. Pearl was all but blind when she finally stopped coming to church at about 102 years of age. She sat right over here. One day, as I was working the crowd before church started, she pulled me down, and she said, “Pastor, did I ever tell you why I thank God for your bald head?” I said, “No, Pearl, you haven’t. I can’t remember anyone else who has, either.” She said, “Well, I thank God for your bald head because, as you know, I’m going blind. I can’t see you all the way up there. But, when you stand in the pulpit, and that big old light shines down on your scalp, it reflects off of your head, and I can find you.”

What Pearl was saying is the same thing the gospel tells us. That the light of God reflects off of the defective parts of us, not the perfect parts of us. If I had a big, old, bushy head of hair, as drop-dead Joe-Miles handsome as I would be, think of how many people would never see me. She was saying that, because of a defect in me, God’s light is more easily able to reflect off of me. If you need some scripture for that, listen carefully to these words from 2 Corinthians 12:9. Paul was talking about the thorn in his flesh that he asked to be removed three times. The response from heaven was, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” Quit trying to hide the cracks, and you’ll be amazed at how much of the gospel light flows through you to others.

I came here believing, and I leave here believing, that God is more able to show himself to this world through our broken places, through our cracks and our defects in our character, than he is through those places where we are already strong, or we are trying to fool people into thinking we are. Go walking down any sidewalk this afternoon and see if it is not true that it is where the concrete is cracked, and the light has gotten through, that a flower is coming up to new life.

Thank you for teaching me the new Kingdom math. Thank you for teaching me that the Kingdom of God is a living organism. Thank you for teaching me that God’s light shines best through the broken places in our souls.

Amen.