There Comes a Time in Every Preacher's Life

I had a kick ass sermon for this past Sunday.  I don't meat to gloat, but I was pretty proud of it, aaaand I had it done on Thursday.  Which, of course, meant that I had to throw all of it out and start over on Friday afternoon (if you're curious, here it is)

There comes a time, and unfortunately it happens rather often, when preachers have to throw out their sermons in light of tragedy.  So, that sermon I wrote will get tucked away in my file of sermons, but won't be preached.  And that's okay.  And instead I preached about the irony of Joy Sunday, and how there really were no words to explain what happened.  And we prayed.  We called on God to bring us the peace that only God promises to give, peace that passes all understanding.

And during the prayers of the people, we prayed for each victim.  And in obedience to the command of Christ to love our enemies, we prayed for Adam Lanza, who slaughtered innocent lives.  And we cried, knowing that the resentment we harbored wouldn't help the world heal, but prayer would.  Things like this should never happen...and yet they do.  So, we pray.  We beg for peace.  Kyrie Eleison.