Together We Remember | 8/16/26
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When you think about the people who laid the spiritual foundations in your own life — the Sunday school teachers, the mentors, the quiet prayer warriors who poured into you without fanfare — who comes to mind first, and have you ever told them what they meant to you?
The sermon draws a sharp distinction between remembrance and nostalgia, saying that nostalgia is not faith. Is there a way that you or a community you're part of has been tempted to camp on the riverbank, holding tightly to the way things used to be instead of stepping forward into what's next?
Generosity is described as an act of faith — a way of saying to the world that you deeply believe in what God is doing, enough to invest your time, talents, and treasure in a future you may not live to see. How does that definition of generosity challenge or expand the way you normally think about giving?
The image of living in the shade of trees you didn't plant and drinking from wells you didn't bore is a powerful one. How does sitting with that reality — that so much of what you have was built by people who sacrificed for a generation they'd never meet — shape the way you think about what you're building for the people who come after you?
At the very end, the hope expressed is that a future generation will look back and say, "They didn't play it safe. They got their feet wet and showed us the way." If the generation that comes after you looked back at your life right now, what do you think they would see — and is that the story you want to be telling with the choices you're making today?
Transcript:
Last week, you're going to remember that we were recalling the story from Joshua chapter three, where Joshua instructs some Levitical priests who are shouldering the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord. He says, "You're to walk to the river's edge and you have to get your feet wet, because when you do, the waters will stop and we will pass through on dry land." Put your hand up if you can remember that from last week. Excellent. You've got great memories — give yourself a pat on the back. Yes.
So today, I want us to imagine the scene after the entire nation of Israel has crossed the River Jordan on dry ground. I want you to imagine for a moment the wonder and the awe that must have been present among them as they chatted about what had just happened, what had been going on there. Imagine for a second their amazement at the power of God at work in that moment, that allowed them to cross the River Jordan on dry ground. I mean, that would be something that you would never, ever forget, right? That would be something that you would definitely tell your children about — that time when the river stopped flowing so that an entire nation of people could walk across it on dry ground.
Now, our reading today follows directly on from the reading we shared last week, and it comes from Joshua chapter four, verses one through nine.
When the entire nation had finished crossing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, "Select twelve men from the people, one from each tribe, and command them to take twelve stones from here out of the middle of the Jordan, from the place where the priests' feet stood. Carry them over with you and lay them down in the place where you camp tonight." Then Joshua summoned the twelve men whom he had appointed from the Israelites, one from each tribe. And Joshua said to them, "Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan, and each of you take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, so that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do these stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off in front of the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the Israelites a memorial forever." The Israelites did as Joshua commanded. They took up twelve stones out of the middle of the Jordan, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, as the Lord had told Joshua, carried them over with them to the place where they camped, and laid them down there. And Joshua set up twelve stones in the middle of the Jordan, in the place where the feet of the priests bearing the ark of the covenant had stood. And they are there to this day.
This is the Word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God.
You know, those twelve stones that were carried out of the riverbed weren't meant to be decorative. They were set up so that when future generations looked at them, the nation of Israel would stop and remember some essential truths. First of all, they would remember God's faithfulness — that God delivered on his promise, that God stopped the river at flood stage and brought the people safely across to the land God had prepared for them. Second, they remembered the faith and the courage of God's people, because yes, God performed the miracle that dried up the river, but the priests actually had to walk into the water before all that happened, right? The people had to step out of their comfortable tents and cross over the river in that moment. And the third thing was to remember and celebrate what had happened in that moment, and the people who had been involved in that moment.
Now, when I look back at the pathway that has brought me to where I am today, I am profoundly grateful for a sense of understanding that I didn't get to where I am on my own strength or in any kind of self-reliance alone. I actually stand on the shoulders of giants. I mean, not literal giants, because that would make me look even taller than I am today, right. But the people — the entire village of people — that raised me.
We're still just getting to know each other, so let me tell you about my home. I'm from a small provincial market town in Northern Ireland called Ballynahinch. Can you say that with me? Ballynahinch. Come on, that's better than that. Ballynahinch. You've got it. You're going to get it over the years, I promise you.
My hometown dates all the way back to the seventeenth century. Now there are only a couple of notable moments in the history of our town, one of which is actually when a certain Mr. John Wesley himself visited there and preached in June 1785, doing so before a large crowd in the local linen hall. Now he clearly had an impact, because then a community of the people called Methodists ultimately established themselves there, with records for that church family dating as far back as 1827. By the time 1856 came along, they had outgrown their local meeting place, and the congregation there took the courageous decision to erect their own church building. That's an image of it right there.
Now, fast forward from there to the time when I was becoming a part of this church family in the late 1970s, and the leaders of the church were taking another courageous decision, a courageous leap of faith — deciding that the 1856 building needed to be completely renovated to be fit for purpose as they moved into the 1980s. They got their feet wet, so to speak.
Now, when I think about my home church, I remember the building as it was in my childhood. It was shiny and new. We had all these rooms that we could play in as we learned about Jesus, and we had great times there. But even more than the building and the rooms, I remember the faithful people of that church family — Bob McNeice, Cecil and Wesley Unsworth, their children Julie and John Unsworth, Robert Weir, Bertie Weir, Valerie Crawford, Norman Paton, the Andersons, the Cartwrights, the Fergusons, and so many more. And not one of them was even the clergy, but we had clergy that I remember too as well, passing through.
Now, those names will have meant nothing to you, but to me — well, they are the very first people in the story of my spiritual formation. They are people who intentionally chose to pour into my life. They were Sunday school teachers who taught me scriptures when I was just a boy. They were mentors. They were prayer warriors who prayed for me and the other kids just like me and encouraged us all the time. They laid a foundation in our lives, and they gave us stepping stones that shaped our journeys and ultimately led a kid like me to where I am today.
So why do I list all these names for you this morning? Well, it's because those men and women — that whole church family — well, they are my own Gilgal. They are my own stack of stones. And when I look back at my Gilgal and when I remember those people, I ask the exact same question that Joshua said future generations would ask: what do those stones mean to you?
This church family back home — they didn't renovate that building in the late 1970s because it was easy or comfortable to do, or because they really loved construction projects and church debt. No church likes that. They didn't teach Sunday school for all of those years because, well, they had nothing better to do on a Sunday morning. No, they did it because they love Jesus. They did it out of a deep devotion to being his disciples in their own day. And they did it because they cared more about the faith of the generations coming after them than they cared about their own immediate comfort. And in doing so, they left a pioneering legacy and example. They left stories of God's guidance, God's provision, God's power — stories of how they gave themselves to the bigger story of God's work in the world. Friends, what an example they are in my life. What an example they are in the lives of my peers.
You see, those stones weren't pulled out of the river so that Israel could sit around and admire them and talk about how good they looked. They weren't a monument marking a place where God used to move. No, they were a mile marker on the whole journey — a mile marker that declared, this is who our God is, and this is what our God does, and this is the kind of faith and courage that our forebears had as they trusted in God's power. So when future generations passed by or stood before that stack of stones, the point wasn't just for them to look back and remember the miracle of the river stopping its flow. It was also to remember the courageous, faith-filled, passionate spirit of the people who first stepped into the flowing water. It was to remind them that in every season of promise and hope, if it is ever to move forward to realization, it is going to require a willingness for people to get their feet wet.
Which brings me back to us — you and me, right here, right now in Gainesville. Because just as I have my own Gilgal in my home church, you all here at Trinity United Methodist Church have your own Gilgal memorial stones too. You know how I know that? I've been hearing about them for the last couple of weeks. They are testimonies of God's work through faith, courage, generosity, vision, and creativity — the creativity of those who have gone before us.
We are Trinity United Methodist Church today because generations before us chose to get their feet wet. We're worshiping on this campus today because a generation of people, some of whom still sit and wander and move among us, did the work and led the way. They sacrificed their time. They gave generously of their finances. They prayed. They built classrooms, launched ministries, and adapted to changing times so that you and I — so that we — could gather here today for worship.
My friends, the reality is this: for most of us here, we are living in the shade of trees that we did not plant. We are drinking water from wells that we did not bore. We are standing on the shoulders of giants. Amen. But hear this also. We must remain mindful that the spirit of this kind of remembrance is not that we would become stuck looking back, pining for the things that seemed to work back in the day. Having our own Gilgal stones — whatever they are — and remembering them does not mean looking back at our history and longing for it to happen again in the same ways that it happened before. Because nostalgia is not faith. Let me say that again in case you missed it — nostalgia is not faith. Pining for the past can easily become an excuse for refusing to engage in the needed work of the present.
Now, Israel were not commanded to stack twelve stones at Gilgal so that they could build a wall around them and stay camped on the riverbank forever. They were commanded to do it so that every time they looked back at them, they would find the courage to continue stepping forward towards the land which had been promised to them. Having our Gilgal is about remembering our past so that we can find our way forward.
So how do we honor the giants whose shoulders we stand on today? What is the highest respect that we can show the ones who laid the very foundations under our feet? Let me tell you — it is not by standing still and guarding what they established as if it's some kind of fragile museum artifact. The best way we honor those who paved the paths that we now walk on is by letting our remembrance of them, and what God did through them, inspire us again in five vital ways.
First of all, we are inspired to creativity. Listen, the pioneers of faith didn't play it safe. When John Wesley stood in the linen hall of my hometown in 1785, he didn't wait for people to fill up a church building before he started preaching. No, he brought the good news to the marketplace and he preached among those who gathered there. When the founders of Trinity United Methodist Church planted and established our church community, they looked at the landscape of Gainesville at the time and creatively designed community and ministries to reach the people of their day. Creativity means refusing to believe that the ways we did things all those years ago are the only ways that God can work today. So to honor the pioneers of our story here at Trinity, we must inherit their creative courage — be willing to print outside of the lines, try new approaches, and communicate the unchanging gospel of Jesus Christ in fresh and creative ways.
We're inspired to creativity. We're also inspired to innovation. Now, my home church back in Ballynahinch didn't undertake a massive renovation project in the late 1970s because they liked building dust, or because they liked spending money. They did it because they realized that their old 1856 structure was no longer fit for purpose at the end of the twentieth century. They were willing to innovate so that the mission could continue and move forward. My friends, innovation is not a betrayal of our tradition. Innovation is actually the work of the Holy Spirit among us, and it's actually how we keep our tradition alive. It's how we keep it alive. When we innovate, we aren't throwing away our heritage — we are honoring it by ensuring that our facilities, our ministries, and our structures remain fit for purpose for the community around us. And innovation means having the courage to ask a question like this: what new doors is God asking us to push open in this season?
We're inspired to creativity and innovation. We're also inspired to a hunger for God. Now, those who went before us didn't carry stones out of the Jordan River because they were seeking ease. They didn't build pews and teach Sunday school classes for decades out of duty or routine alone. They did it out of a deep, radical, abiding love for Jesus Christ and an overwhelming hunger to see lives transformed by God's amazing grace. And friends, we need that same fire in our bellies today. We need that same fire in our bellies today, because we cannot run a church on the spiritual fumes of previous generations. We're called to sanctify ourselves, to cultivate a hunger for God's presence among us, a devotion to prayer, and a desire to see God at work transforming Gainesville and the world.
We're called to creativity. We're called to be inspired to innovation. We're called to a hunger for God. And then we're inspired to generosity that makes a difference. We are sitting in an air-conditioned worship center in August, in comfortable seats on this big old campus, because men and women before us embodied a culture of radical, sacrificial generosity. They gave out of their resources to build classrooms for children that they would never meet, and to fund ministries that would bless a generation that they would never live to see. Friends, generosity is an act of faith. It says to the world around us that we so deeply believe in what God is doing here that we are willing to invest our time, our talents, and our treasures into the future. I say to you that today God calls us to inherit and embody that exact same spirit of generosity that makes a tangible difference in people's lives and in the life of our wider community.
We are inspired to creativity and innovation, hunger for God, generosity that makes a difference. And we are inspired in a way that energizes the work ahead — we are energized for the work ahead. Standing on the shoulders of giants is not an invitation to take a nap. It does not mean we sit back, relax, and let the legacy coast us along. No, standing on the shoulders of giants elevates us and allows us to see further into the horizon than they could. It gives us a higher vantage point, a firmer foundation, and a much clearer vision. We remember our past so that we can be energized, revitalized, empowered, and mobilized for the work that God is calling us to next.
Friends, I said this exact same thing to you last week, and I'm going to say it again. I can't pretend to know the details of what the months and the years ahead are going to hold for us as a church family — we're just at the start of our journey together. But I do know this, and I say it with unshakable confidence again: the God who parted the waters for Israel, the God who sustained our Methodist movement through the work of the Wesleys in the eighteenth century, the God who empowered a small community in my hometown to build in 1856 and then again in the late 1970s, the God who led the founders of Trinity to plant and establish this community of faith and then led them to uproot and plant again where we sit today — that very same God is alive and at work right here, right now, in you, in me, within and among and through us all.
God is not done with Trinity United Methodist Church. God is still inviting us to join in on the work of sharing the gospel, transforming lives, healing brokenness, naming and challenging injustice in the world, serving our neighbors, and becoming the beloved community in which everyone, everyone, everyone gets to take their seat at the table made for them by Jesus.
And just as the generations before us had to step into the river, I am fairly sure that the places and things that God calls us to in our next chapter will require us to step in too. And then someday, years or decades from now, another generation at Trinity will be carrying things forward, and they will look back at our pile of stones — the choices we made in these days, the actions we took, the faith we exercised, the risks we took for the kingdom. They will look at how we loved, how we served, how we gave, and how we went about living into our calling with creativity and with an innovative spirit. They will look at how willing we were to get our feet wet and take risks for the kingdom of God.
And my prayer, when that time comes, is this — that they'll be able to stand and look at our stack of stones and say something like this: they were a people who loved Jesus Christ. They didn't play it safe or get stuck in the past. They went ahead and got their feet wet, and in doing so, they showed us the way.
Friends, may it be so in your life and in my life and in our life together. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.