​I have mixed feelings about Christmas carols.  Not the church hymns, but the great variety of the seasonal music we begin to hear everywhere sometime in October or November.  Some years, walking into a retail store and hearing them or listening over the radio to the stations that play Christmas music 24 hours a day is something I really look forward to. 
And, some years, the incessant holiday enthusiasm is just more than I can take. 
​I don’t know why. 

I suspect, however, that one reason for both my affection for them, as well as my apathy, is my relationship with the past.  Some years, I look forward to the old songs and to rekindling my memories of growing up in a home where angels were heralding and the bells were jingling, and the house smelled of a freshly cut Frasier fir.  And some years, all those old carols just seem to fall flat. Most of us have a complicated relationship with our past.  It is a mixed blessing.  Some memories are good and spirit-lifting.  Others are not so good. 

By the time you read this, your live Christmas tree may be on the curb, your artificial tree may be back in the attic.  Advent and Christmas seem to come and go like a blur.  At this point you also may have ushered the old year out and toasted the New Year in and, you may have already gotten the hang of writing 2026 for the year instead of 2025. 
 
The song we traditionally sing at the chime of the New Year is one that invites us to consider the relationship between the past, present, and future.  With the very first line, it raises the question of whether we should forget about the past.  Then, over the course of several more verses, it does not fully answer the question, but it provides an entrancing invitation for us to consider the richness of life and living. 
 
Our memories of the past are complicated.  But all of them offer themselves up to us like suffering servants, inviting us to take from them the experience, wisdom, and insight we need for the days ahead.  I hope that is what this New Year is bringing to you.
 
Grace and peace and auld lang syne,
Morgan

A few years ago, a friend of ours gave Kathy and me a Thanksgiving cactus. It was a very young, very small plant. We loved what it was and what it could be, so we took care of it and it grew a few sizes and got repotted into another and then another container. It was an impressive Schlumbergera truncata specimen. However, though it had grown to a mature size and was a healthy plant, I could not get it to bloom very much. For a couple of years, it would put forth less than a dozen blooms and then quit.
 
So, I went down to Raleigh Road Nursery with my problem. I talked to Tim who told me first, and with a smile, that I needed to remember that “the Good Lord didn’t make any indoor plants.” He encouraged me to take my plant outside in the spring when temperatures were above 50 degrees and leave it there all summer. It could take full sun, but not too much. And, feed it. Then, in the fall, when temperatures begin to drop, bring it inside, he said, and it will bloom its heart out for you sometime in October or November. I did what he said, and he was exactly right. The first November, it bloomed prolifically, and again, the next year. However, though I did everything I was supposed to do again the third year, it bloomed rather half-heartedly. Again, this year, not so many blooms.
 
I have not yet been back to get more information and instruction from Tim. And, I don’t have a degree in agricultural or biological engineering from NC State. So, I’m left to figure this out with what I do have, which is a theological degree in one hand, and in the other hand a fist-full of dirt. So, I’ve concluded on my own that the lesson here is this: you can’t control everything. Weather and humidity, and soil quality, and air quality, and plant physiology, and photosynthesis, and the “Good Lord” all have a hand in what happens to even the finest plants during the blooming season. I’m learning to be good with that this Thanksgiving, whether there are five blooms or fifty.
 
It dawned on me this week that this is also a good lesson for Advent. Advent is a season of preparation when we do the hard work of tending to the soil of our faith life. We dig into the scripture. We consider what our ancestors went through. We reflect on the words of the prophets. We read again the accounts of the lives of Elizabeth and Mary, Zachariah and Joseph. And, after all that, we are better prepared to testify to – bloom, if you will – this Jesus who was born into our world and who brings to us – and to all – new life.
But there are no guarantees. We can’t control everything. We do the work of preparation. We fortify ourselves. We hope. We long for the coming of the Kin-dom. But it is not we who bring it to fruition. Once again, it is the Good Lord.
 
We have some long nights ahead of us still. The Winter Solstice is on December 21. Until then, the days will get shorter and the nights will continue to lengthen. For a while, more than half of each day will be drenched in darkness. And, during that time, we prepare. We wait, we hope, we long for something more.
 
Our cactus has finished blooming for the year. Now, it is just sitting there on the plant stand by the window, just being a cactus. In the spring, it’s going back outside.
And, we will see.
 
Grace and peace and Miracle Grow,
Morgan
 

I was pleased recently to learn the history of the shepherd’s staff in the Minister’s office. I have it on good authority that a skilled craftsperson made it in Ohio.  Specifically, it is an Amish, handcrafted, red oak, steam bent, shepherd’s staff. I love that an Amish artisan hand-crafted the staff that will remind me every day of the essence of my role at First Christian Church. I have long revered the Amish community – since I visited the community in Pennsylvania when I was in high school – as a group that has enviable core values, works hard, keeps the faith, and creates things that last.

The shepherd’s staff in our office was first procured by Gary Walling.  Gary doesn’t remember exactly what for, but it was probably for a children’s event, perhaps Vacation Bible School, a Christmas play, or something similar. Gary gave it to Jamie when Jamie came as Interim Minister the first time.

So, I was delighted last week when a serendipitous turn of events brought Jamie and me and a few others together in the office on Jamie’s last official day as minister here.  Theresa Mathis suggested the moment needed a photo, and perhaps one that would depict a “passing of the torch.”  Jamie immediately stepped into the office, brought out the shepherd’s staff, and held it out towards me.  It could not have been a more fitting gesture, handing me this iconic implement created to accompany travelers, and to be a useful tool for those on a journey.

It is a real joy for me to step into this role.  First, I am so very grateful for the work Jamie and Renae invested here to shepherd this congregation in the recent months of “in between time.”  We have been friends for many years, and to have Jamie be the one to hand over the “keys” to the office is deeply meaningful. 

Second, Kathy and I have a long relationship with First Christian Church of Wilson.  Kathy grew up here, and I have memories that go back to my college days of spaghetti suppers that were provided for the Disciples students at Atlantic Christian College.  And, I remember sitting in this office, seeking advice from Gene Wake on how to provide pastoral care in a challenging situation to members of the first church I served out in Black Creek.  So, becoming the Minister here is a bit surreal, as well as a little bit like coming home. 

Over the course of the last couple of months, many of you have convinced me that you are genuinely excited about having me join the congregation as Senior Minister.  Please allow me to assure you that I am also excited!  I look forward to meeting folks I do not yet know and to growing relationships with many of you whom I have known for a good long while, to learning more about the work that goes on here and finding my place in it.  I look forward to being one among many in this congregation that helps to carry our ministry into the Wilson community, and to sharing with interested people about what a treasure this congregation is and why they should come join this faith community.  I look forward to sitting with you in worship and in study and discussion groups and wrestling with questions about how we can be Christian people in this time and this place. 

And, one more thing about the shepherd’s staff.  As I understand it, historically the shepherd’s staff had several uses.  Shepherds used it as a support to help them navigate the terrain, as a weapon to ward off predators that would threaten the flock they were tending, and as a tool for hooking around members of their flock that had strayed or gotten lost and redirecting them on the right path.  (So, any of you who might be thinking that you can take a break now that the new minister has arrived, have been forewarned!)

All that is to say simply this.  Thank you so very much for this opportunity. 
​I’m in.  Let’s go!

Grace and peace and walking sticks,
Morgan

Eve grabbed a souvenir.

While there is no direct biblical significance for the four-leaf clover, Christian folklore suggests Eve took a four-leaf clover from the Garden of Eden as a memento of paradise.

Smart girl.

Her token was quite a rare trophy. The chance of finding a four-leafer in the paradise of your front lawn is about one in ten thousand, botanists say. Way to go, Eve! No wonder tradition has assigned to those four leaves the gifts of Faith, Hope, Love and Luck.

By the time Our Season of Faith wraps up its fourth and final episode this Sunday, will you have grabbed a priceless souvenir?
Have you been able to pluck a divine four-leaf clover from the music and the preaching and the fellowship to save in the scrapbook of your soul?

Think it’s too hard a search?
Maybe not!

Wondrously, a four-leaf clover grows in front of each of us, for the finding and the harvesting.
Just as it was there for Eve, it is available now for us all. Not as a reward. But as a gift. A token of grace. Paradise on a tiny stem.

Our promise cards that will mark the conclusion of Our Season of Faith are our responses to the magnificence of the four-leaf clover, not our bid to earn one.
Eve gathered a four-leaf clover because she could. Because it was always nearby.

We can, too.

Planet Earth will face its end when the Sun dies in about 7.5 billion years. Our church faces an end far sooner.
Our Season of Faith reaches the finish line this Sunday. Please join us for the final curtain and the Final Temptation Covered-Dish Lunch that follows.
​
At First Christian Church, may 2026 be filled with Faith, Hope, Love and Luck.

Two Eggs and a Cup Of Flour Short: OH NO!
Tish was tired of anxiety dictating her life. The church finance committee chair flew into deep distress every fall when the stewardship campaign was over.

​Year after year, panicked thoughts choked her mind.

What if receipts were not enough to pay the minister?
What if utilities soared again?
What if loose offering tanks? 
What if unexpected expenses crush reserves?
What if!

It’s fall again.

So, this year, before she started the anxious tally of stewardship results, Tish decided to give meditation a try.

She downloaded a guided meditation app, lit some calming lavender candles, settled on her mat at home and hoped for an ample serving of peace before she began.

A soothing voice from the app guided, “Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Imagine you’re on a serene beach. The waves are washing ashore; the sun is warming your skin.”

Tish’s anxiety piped up, “What if I get sunburned? Or what if a crab pinches me?”

Trying to push those thoughts aside, Tish continued her deep breaths.

The voice continued, “Now, you’re floating on a gentle river. The current is carrying you, and you’re completely relaxed.”

Her anxiety interrupted again, “What if there are piranhas? Or I get caught in a whirlpool?”

Tish sighed, “Really?!” She blew out the candle and rolled up her mat. “Let the budget bedlam begin,” she lamented.

What a story! Except it’s not fantasy. Tish is a real person. A really nice person. Maybe the lavender candle and the soothing voice are make-believe.

Maybe they’re not. Tish won’t say. But the anxiety is authentic and undeniable.

When Our Season of Faith ends in a few weeks, her bedlam will begin. For the past few years, the church has presented her with its financial recipe for the upcoming year without providing nearly enough ingredients. When commitments from the congregation were counted, resources were always two eggs and a cup of flour short. It is tough for Tish to build a budget when she must divvy up ingredients with a teaspoon rather than a full cup.

Roots of the dilemma are many. Primary among them is the trepidation that the word pledge conjures. For some of us, it drips with penalties and collections and intimidations. A business deal.
OSOF doesn’t use the word pledge anymore. Committing and sharing and promising are less frightening alternatives. And our commitments and shares and promises this year don’t require a signature. Just a printed name. That seems more comfortable, too.

A pledge by whatever name you call it is simply an estimate of ingredients … how many eggs, how much flour you think you might be able to spare. If you come up an egg short at the end of the year, no worries. It happens sometimes. However, if you have more flour to share than you thought, all the better. That happens sometimes, too.
Another fundamental part of the dilemma is urgency. Or lack of it. Tish’s most nerve-wracking, exasperating budget ordeal is trying to track down folks who always give but are not always prompt about making their commitments, shares or promises. Each year, she spends a month searching for missing ingredients before she can begin building a budget line by line. It’s sadly predictable.

In the final accounting, mystery remains. An egg here. Some flour there. And Tish must simply make a responsible estimate about undisclosed ingredients for the year to come. In recent years, even with the estimate, the budget ends up underfunded. And there’s no more guessing to do. The good budget chef she is, Tish borrows ingredients from church reserves to bring the budget into balance. For 2025, that loan was $45,000.

Our Season of Faith is not a campaign; it is an experience. A spiritual experience. For 14 years, it’s helped us measure the ingredients of our faith. On October 12, when OSOF comes to its conclusion, from your abundance, commit, share or promise the ingredients we’ll need for a life of creation at First Christian Church next year.

Be reassured. 
Be generous without fear.
 And be prompt.

Then maybe, after all this time, Tish can leave her anxiety behind. The sun won’t burn. The crabs won’t pinch. And she’ll never again have to say, “Two eggs and a cup of flour short! Oh no!