I’m preparing to preach on the great commission from Matthew 28:19 in which Jesus says to his disciples, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” This commission too is the basis of the mission statement for the United Methodist Church which is “To make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.”

Often, I hear the verb “go” as the operative word in this passage. I have preached many sermons and attended my share of mission conferences based on the word “go.” And it makes sense. We need to get outside the church and go into the world to tell people the good news!

What about the verb “make”? I haven’t preached a sermon on ‘make.’ What does it mean to make? I think about the common ways to make something. My daughters and I bake cakes on occasions. There are steps to making a cake. You have to make choices about what kind of cake you’d like, purchase the ingredients, mix and bake. To make something requires intentionality and thought.

Like baking a cake there are steps to making a disciple. To make disciples means to help people follow a method, a set of steps, that will form them into becoming more like Jesus.  In our local churches, this means we must help people take these steps. It requires us to offer classes that help inquirers to the faith understand some of the basic teachings of Jesus. I have found “Alpha Courses” to be a helpful entry point. It means helping people learn the full story of God revealed in the Old and New Testament. I have found offering “Disciple Bible Studies” as an important means helping people take this important step in learning about Jesus’ way of life.  It means nudging people to join a life group to help them have friends to fight back against the loneliness that besets so many people today. To make means helping people engage in spiritual practices like prayer, worship and service to the poor.

To be a disciple doesn’t come natural. (It’s not natural to love your enemies like Jesus taught us. That takes formation!) We need people like pastors and lay members to guide people in this way of life. I’m passionate in my own setting about making young disciples of Jesus Christ. In the baptismal liturgy of the United Methodist Church, we make a promise to surround children and youth with steadfast love so that they may be established in the faith. It’s a vow I’m taking more and more seriously as I see a generation moving further away from the faith.

Adults play a crucial role in forming the lives of children and youth. I remember the many people in my home church who led a “Disciple Bible Study,” took me on my first mission trip and taught me how to pray. In fact, I remember the acronym my youth leaders taught me for prayer:

P-praise God.

R-repent of your sins.

A-All others. Pray for all the people in your life who need it.

Y-Yourself. Pray for what you need.

These people volunteered their time to cook suppers and braved riding in a van with 12 high schoolers all the way to Miami. They were not just volunteers. They were makers.

The church now needs not only people who will go. The church need people who will make. Be makers!

Blair and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary in a tree house. Her surprise. Apparently, tree houses with a bed, breakfast nook and porch are a thing. We ventured up to the metropolis of Suches, GA only to find we weren’t the only ones with camping on our mind. There were fifty grown men and women chatting around their tents at the bottom of the hill below us.

On an evening walk, Blair and I noticed this group was eating dinner under the camp pavilion. We thought we’d say hello. Blair pointed out to me that each of their cars had a sticker with a Bigfoot emblem. I said, “Blair, we have to ask them about this. If nothing else, I’ll get a sermon illustration out of this.”

As I approached, the chatter hushed around their tables. They looked nervous and suspicious of us. I introduced myself to one of the men. “What group are you guys?” I asked.

“We’re part of a family reunion,” he said.

Blair whispered to me. “This is the first family reunion where I have never seen any children.”

“Oh, wonderful. Well, what’s with all the Bigfoot stickers?”

You could hear a pin drop.

“What you do mean?” He volleyed back.

“I noticed that every single car has a sticker of Bigfoot.”

“That is kind of weird. Huh?” he responded.

Finally, Tina stepped forward. “Ok, look. We signed a NDA.”

“A what?” Blair asked.

“A non-disclosure agreement. We’re Bigfoot hunters. There have been a few sightings in the area. We are from all over the U.S.. My husband thinks I’m crazy. But I’m not. Also, before I forget, I’ve told this crew to leave you all alone and give you some privacy.”

I asked her point blank: “Have you ever seen one?”

“Two in fact. They were sixty feet from me. But I couldn’t get my camera. My husband keeps telling me it must have been a bear. He doesn’t believe me. He’s wrong. We’re going out tonight. And here’s the deal. Even if you don’t believe, it’s still fun.”

At this point, another gentleman offers for us to stay for dinner. I took him up on an evening cup of coffee. He said, “If you want the good, cold creamer, we have it in the fridge. I can get it for you.” And at this point, the group had embraced us and the chatter had started back up.

This experience, as foreign as it was, did Blair and me some good. It made us think about the Christian faith in a new way. Here was a group of people who gathered together for a common belief. Many people had told them they were absurd. Despite the skepticism of others, they pressed forward. I think about the early Christians. They claimed that a man from Nazareth is God’s son who was raised from the dead. It was a new message, a radical belief. They had no physical evidence for their claim. They experienced ridicule and scoffing. They pressed forward with their unwavering belief.

This experience also made me more sensitive to what outsiders experience when they approach the Christian faith. When I learned about these Bigfoot hunters, I had all sorts of questions and curiosities. What brought them to this conclusion? Was there any sort of  weird ritual? What is a Bigfoot? In fact, I told Blair after we left that night. “I got to be honest. I don’t know what a Bigfoot actually is. I wanted to ask, but I was afraid I would insult them.”  Imagine what it’s like for a non-believer to approach the Christian faith. They likely have questions about Jesus but are afraid it might be insulting to ask.

Non-believers have questions. What do Christians believe? What do your rituals mean? Who is Jesus?

Imagine attending church on a communion Sunday and hearing the minister describe communion as drinking the blood of Jesus. Can you imagine how foreign that might sound to someone new to the community?

This coming Sunday, we’re reading a passage from Hebrews 4:15 in which the writer describes Jesus this way: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize.” Our savior, Jesus, is able to sympathize with our fear, hurt, skepticism. It makes me think we Christians ought to be more willing to sympathize with the non-believer. It’s a radical claim we believe. We believe a Savior who died over 2000 years ago is alive through a spirit we cannot see. What an awesome claim! To believe indeed takes faith.

The next morning, we shared breakfast at the cafe at the bottom of the hill with the squatch watchers.

Blair asked Tina, “Did you guys hear anything last night?”

“No, there wasn’t much activity,” she said.

Another member of their crew piped up, “I stayed behind in camp and I’m pretty sure I heard a squatch near the camp. I heard the classic ‘Ohio howl.”’ (YouTube it).

Tina continued with agitation in her voice, “And I got back to camp about 3:30am. I was so mad. There was another group of Bigfoot hunters making fun of us online.”

“There are different groups?” I asked.

“There are all sorts of Bigfoot groups. They said our group doesn’t do good research and called us a bunch of idiots. And I got so mad I typed in the Facebook group, ‘Well, I’m the chief of these idiots so why don’t you say it to me?'”

Blair said to me later, “This is more like the church than we thought.”

I don’t think Blair and I will be hunting Bigfoots anytime soon or believing in them for that matter. There is no compelling evidence of Bigfoot and there’s plenty of evidence for a savior who is alive. Look around and see all the people who have made a change in their life because of an experience of Jesus Christ and his teachings.

But Blair and I both came away appreciating the generosity and vulnerability of this group and for their willingness to invite non-believers like us into their circle with food and drink. They accepted our questions and trusted us enough to answer them honestly.  They were willing to absorb the ridicule of the world around them. Maybe there’s a thing or two we Christians could learn.

When we get so angry it’s hard to function, I have a solution. It comes down to one word: awe!

When was the last time you were struck with awe? This past Sunday, I took our two daughters to the Atlanta Greek Festival. I had been to Greek Festivals before while in Athens…Georgia, as a Sigma Chi. This one was held at the Cathedral of the Annunciation. I tried to introduce the girls to cuts of lamb and the sweet tastes of baklava. They opted for chicken and a $6 ice-cream cone.

I was happy that I did have the opportunity to take them inside the Cathedral. Just outside the sanctuary, we noticed a sacred space where people had lit candles and placed them in a container of sand. My daughters must have thought it was a big birthday cake because I had to hopscotch around two people to keep them from blowing them out. I was reluctant to head inside the sanctuary. They were displaying an original Greek Icon of the Virgin Mary. There were lines of people on both sides waiting to bow in reverence. I could only imagine what my daughters might do when it was their turn.

I chanced it. As we walked inside, I couldn’t help but look heavenward. There it was: a majestic rendering of Jesus pieced together with mosaic tiles. It covered the entire ceiling. I looked over at my daughters. For the first time all night, they were speechless. As they gazed upward, they were wrapped in the majesty of this image unable to be distracted by anything else. I could see awe in their eyes. Where we do find the space in our lives to experience awe?

I find that people today are angrier than we’ve ever been. We are angry at differing opinions. We are angry at the insults people lob at us.

In all candidness I have found myself angry the last couple of years over the issues of race in our country. I’m the first to admit I haven’t done enough in my own areas of influence to advocate for the fair and just treatment of African Americans in our society. I don’t understand how Caucasian/White people like me can’t empathize more with how hard it’s been and continues to be for African Americans in our country. I’m getting angry typing about it.

Last year, when there was a white supremacy march in Charlottesville, Virginia, I made a comment that Christians can never support this type of behavior. It’s our Christian witness to speak out against these forms of racism. I was surprised by how much resistance I received.

If I’m being true to myself, I got to tell you I have a hard time still going to Stone Mountain. I love that place. I have cherished memories there. But each time I walk up the side of that mountain, I can’t understand how our great state still lets Confederate Flags fly. I grew up in Jackson, GA. I witnessed the pain and hardships that my African American friends experienced that I will never know. Not ever! Ever!

I’m trying to be more empathetic with people who might be angered by such comments. I  admit it. I have had a pretty easy life growing up as an upper-middle class kid. My parents paid my way to college, my fraternity dues, my housing. I have had it pretty good. And I’m grateful. But that means I don’t know the bumps and bruises of blue-collar life and some of the feelings of displacement in a rapidly changing world. God knows I need more empathy and understanding. I confess how judgmental I can be.

I don’t want to be consumed by anger. It’s deadly and has put me squarely at odds with people I love. It makes enemies out of us! And I want peace and lots of it to spread around. In this coming Sunday’s scripture, we are looking at a passage from Psalm 8. The Psalmist took time to marvel in the majesty and awe of creation. The Psalmist sings,

You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet all sheep and oxen,and also the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, whatever passes along the paths of the seas. O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

The Psalmist looks upon creation and nurtures adoration. Maybe in this season we need to nurture more time in the beauty of creation for God to repair our own brokenness. Awe can bring us out of the suffocating places of anger and into the realm of something more holy, more beautiful. And it’s only through this repair work that we can see the world rightly again.

I remember one of my previous neighbors. I would look outside my window into his yard. I would see him and his son peering through a telescope at the stars. I thought to myself, “I wish I had time for this.” I still have that wish.

We need some time to nurture awe into our lives. Watch a sunset. Gaze at stars. Get lost in a work of art. My hope is we can see that each of us has a part, broken as we are, in God’s mosaic.

This Sunday, we’re going to celebrate World Communion Sunday. We are celebrating the unity we find in Jesus Christ as we partake of the holy food of communion. Yes, there are differences in the Christian tradition. We are Catholic, Protestant, Greek Orthodox just to name a few. My hope is that as we lift the bread, we might more fully realize the unity we share as God’s beloved children. My hope is we might be able for a day, even for a second to see beyond the difference and stand in awe of our unique kinship as brothers and sisters in Christ.

“Why can’t men help out with children’s church?” one mother lamented. Our church was down a children’s ministry intern for a season. We were needing more volunteers than usual to fill in the gaps. Many of our new mothers were picking up the volunteer load.  After a few weeks, it became evident that to keep this pace would mean that several of these moms would be missing church twice a month. They didn’t mind helping. They enjoyed serving the children. But as one of the volunteers said, “I feel like volunteering every other week! I’d like to hear the sermon too.”

Men! It’s time to man up! Churches need more men to serve in children’s ministry. We need to share the load with our women volunteers. Here’s the good news. You’ll love it!

I find it interesting that in the passage from Matthew 19:13-15, the disciples prevent the children from approaching Jesus. Maybe these male disciples were worried about working their first children’s church. Is it too much to assume that if the disciples in this scene had been women, the outcome would have been different? Either way, Jesus embraced the children and called his disciples to do the same. Long before children’s church was a thing, Jesus instructed men, “Help out with children’s church.”

A couple of years ago, the principal of Brookwood High School, Bo Ford, spoke to a group of men at their annual steak dinner (that’s a men’s gathering if I ever heard one). He talked about the ins and outs of being an administrator and the challenges of parents and staff. At the end of his talk, he opened the floor for conversation. Someone asked him, “What do you do to get away from it all?” He said, “Every Sunday morning at 9 a.m., I volunteer for the children’s ministry at my church. I work with the 3 year old class. Do you know the great thing about 3 year olds? They are glad to see you. They just want to know you care about them. I hear the complaints Monday through Friday from everyone else. There’s a parent wanting to contest their children unexcused absences. There’s a teacher who’s upset about a decision I’ve made. But on Sunday, the worse thing I might have to deal with is a child’s runny nose. I can’t wait for Sundays. ”

After he finished, I did an altar call for children’s ministry volunteer sign-ups. Men. It’s time to man up! God’s children need us!

At a recent summer festival my 3 year old Bethany and 5 year old Katie each received a wooden duck whistle.  The organizers called it a “festival favor.” Isn’t there a law against this? Part of me thought, “Well, at least they gave us the whistle on the way in the festival instead of out. They’ll be on the ground in no time.” But they didn’t lose them. Why?  My children handed them to me while they watched the juggler on stilts. By the time they were riding the “Little Engine that Could,” they had forgotten about them. I had a little fun on social media. I took a picture of the whistles and commented, “The festival gave us whistles. They thought it was a good idea. The children have forgotten about them. I spot a trash can. What is the ethical thing to do?”

People responded with some funny lines:

“Set them free.”

And another, “I always look to my minister to help me decide on the big ethical choices of our day.”

But then came one comment from an empty-nester that hit me upside the head: “Enjoy the noise while it last. One day it won’t be there.”

How might we all learn to enjoy the noise of children?

If you’re like me, there are moments where the noise can seem like too much. There are the complaints about shoes not fitting right, tears over dad pouring a glass of water instead of milk and the screaming throughout the house as cousins give chase.

There are many mornings that I get up early for some quiet time before our children wake. It’s not terribly early, but it’s early enough. On most mornings, I get 27 minutes alone with my coffee and a devotion book (I have learned never to turn on the television. No matter how soft you keep it, they have the ears of an owl). But on some mornings, before the street lamps have turned off,  I hear the thump upstairs and I know it’s one of my daughters on a hunt for me.

Can I confess something to you? I sometimes keep it dark downstairs in those quiet minutes and refrain from taking sips of coffee. It never works.

The reality is that I know how indeed blessed I am to have the noise of children in my life. I love the sounds of laughter, running and chasing. On those days when it’s hard, I can’t get the thought out of my head: “Enjoy the noise. One day it won’t be there.”

This Sunday, I’m preaching on Matthew 19:13-15. There are children trying to approach Jesus. The disciples try to stop them. Children, in this day and time, were on the bottom wrung of society. They were hardly noticed.  Jesus says, “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” 

Jesus’ attitude towards children was one of embrace. He welcomed them and made them feel like they had a special place in God’s kingdom. He lifted them up as the example for how kingdom-minded people should live.

Welcoming the sounds of children (and youth) isn’t just about the laughter and cuteness. Although most children have a loving environment, many do not. They come from homes where parents fight. They have anxiety about bullying in schools. Teen-age cutting and self-harm is on the rise. The US department of education reports that 85 percent of all juveniles who interface with the juvenile court system are functionally illiterate. Many children are not loved to wholeness. They never received the type of care and concern God intended for them.

As we think about the role of the local church, we are reminded that we are part of God’s family. God does not define family by biology. God defines family by baptism. In the United Methodist Church we make a commitment to children at baptism. We promise that through our example the children will be “surrounded by steadfast love.” God has called the church to follow through on this commitment. The temptation for churches is to be concerned about the noise of children and the rambunctiousness of youth. Children will be loud. They’ll talk during worship. They’ll run in halls even though we tell them to slow down. They’ll hide under the table at Wednesday night dinners.

More importantly, children bring life. Their innocence questions remind us to sit and wonder at the stars. Their dependence on adults helping them eat their meals remind us how dependent we are on God’s providence. My wife and I were reading a children’s story to our oldest child about Rosa Parks recently. She asked us “Why were people so mean because of the color of her skin? I don’t understand.” I had a hard explaining it and how it still persists today. Children provoke us to think more critically.

Ultimately, they need us to surround them with steadfast love. God needs the church to live out what it’s great teacher taught. Let the children come. Let’s embrace their wiggles and volunteer our time for those youth gatherings. The kingdom of God is at hand when it comes to welcoming the children. My friend on Facebook was right. I say let the whistles blow.