Six and a half years ago, we were still living in Spartanburg, SC and I had no idea what I was supposed to do with my life. I had just graduated seminary. I had worked for about 10 years in a ministry where I thought I would serve my entire life, but had come to the slow and difficult realization that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Trouble is, I had no clue where I was supposed to be. I left for an ellipses; the dot dot dot of something to be determined. To help feed a young family, I substitute taught and served as an assistant teacher at our school district’s early childhood center. I gained a huge respect for people who hold down those vocations and I was not happy. I felt lost and adrift.

One evening I went for a walk by myself in our neighborhood and I found myself standing by a pond talking out loud to a God who I wasn’t sure was even there. “Where in the heck are You?,” I remember saying, “I don’t know if I can do this much longer.” I didn’t get an answer that night and went home with nothing more than the catharsis that comes with admitting that something sucks. An answer did eventually come that kept and still keeps me holding on. We’ll get there but to make that journey we need to talk about the stories that Jesus told and still tells.

Throughout the last couple of months, we have been doing this series on the parables of Jesus found in the gospel of Luke. These are legitimately some of my favorite stories in scripture because they are so sneaky brilliant. Jesus tells these of profound religious truth yet the stories themselves are hardly ever in a religious context. These parables are not stories of priests and rabbis and worship services and synagogue meetings. Instead Jesus tells stories of seeds and crops, crooked accountants and weeping tax collectors, runaway sons and stubborn widows. In fact, when Jesus does include the religious in his stories it is often to subvert his listeners’ expectations like when a priest and Levite sidestep a victim of violence to setup a despised Samaritan being the hero. What I love about this way of telling stories is that by taking the things of God and hiding them within these stories of earth and the everyday, Jesus is demonstrating how the holy is all around us.

Last week, I was at Bethany Hills with our high schoolers and students from other Disciples congregations in Tennessee. It was a wonderful seven days; honestly the best I have had over there. However, It did not give me ample time to write a sermon. It’s hard to do that when everything is damp all the time from the humidity, everything smells like Cheetos and bug spray, there are ridiculous songs about fish being played from Bluetooth speakers, and you keep catching the most random snippets of conversations. Plus given the choice, it’s just better to be with people.

I told this to Christi Williams when she was picking up her two children from camp on Friday and she said with matter-of-a-fact confidence, “Just tell four stories from camp and say, ‘Amen.’” So this sermon is how my sleep-deprived mind takes some experiences from this past week, run it through the filter of today’s scripture passage and a recent song from one of my favorite bands, and see what it can say to us about faith and leadership.

Let me set the stage with that verse and that song. In 1 Timothy 4:4-12, the writer, which could be Paul or it could be someone writing in Paul’s name, is encouraging a young minister. There is a reminder that everything created by God is good and a reminder about how utterly important it is to train oneself in godliness; one should not neglect taking care of themselves spiritually just like they shouldn’t neglect their physical or mental health. The writer reminds the reader that this training can be difficult. It can be a toil and a struggle, yet we set our hope on Jesus.

For the last two weeks, the Winter Olympics have been on our TV constantly. It does not matter what event it is or whether the United States has any shot at a medal, we’re watching it. I love it. I love all the countries of the world coming together. I love the underdog stories. I was really pumped to see the Jamaican bobsled team back in the Games this year. It’s a lot of fun to watch. But something occurred to me this year as I watched and I don’t know why because tons of people on the internet have said the same thing: these are the most bizarre and stupid dangerous sports in existence.

In the Summer Olympics, the events are pretty straight forward. Who can run the fastest, swim the fastest, jump the highest, throw the farthest? In the Winter Olympics it’s “We have this ice roller coaster and we have a variety of ways to send you down it at 80 miles per hour. You can go in a bullet sled with your buddies or lay on your back in a regular sled, or you can go face first, or we can stack another person on top of you.” Or “Ski down this mountain, go off the ramp, do flips and twists 200 feet in the air, and then don’t shatter when you hit the ground.” In biathlon, they took cross country skiing—which seems like it might be the most grueling sport in existence—and someone said, “But what if we gave them guns?” Even sports in which I have participated in like skiing or skating are down with such daredevil degrees of difficulty that if I were to try even half of what they do, my best case scenario is a concussion.

Twenty-nine years ago, the Atlanta Braves were playing the Pittsburgh Pirates in the National League Championship Series. You have to understand that at the time—at least from my childhood perspective—it seemed like the entire southeastern region of the United States lived and died with the fortunes of the ball club from Atlanta. They were a garbage team for much of the 1980s, but suddenly with the rise of an incredible pitching staff they began to catch fire. And the South plus anyone who had the channel TBS on cable began to get swept up in the excitement. Braves hats were everywhere. P.A. systems at high school football games would break in with updates of playoff scores.

Once a year, our church would take buses on the three hour trek to Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium and it felt like a trip to Disney World. By all metrics, baseball has been passed in popularity by football and maybe even basketball. So those first few years of the 1990s are in my memory, baseball’s last true run at being the National Pastime. My brother Taylor and I were locked into all of it.

All of which brings us back to 29 years ago this past Thursday: Atlanta and Pittsburgh were playing a winner-take-all Game 7. The Braves were seeking their second consecutive trip to the World Series, while the Pirates were seeking to avenge falling short against Atlanta the year before. Pittsburgh pitcher Doug Drabek pitched a masterful game and the Pirates were winning 2-0 going into Atlanta’s final at-bat in the Bottom of the 9th; three outs from celebrating on the field of their nemesis. Then October magic began to stir. Terry Pendleton led off with a double then advanced to third when David Justice reached base on an error. Next, Sid Bream walked to load the bases. Ron Gant hit a long fly ball for the first out that allowed Pendleton to score and make it a one run ballgame. Catcher Damon Berryhill walked to load the bases again and then Brian Hunter popped up to the second baseman.