This coming Sunday, October 4th, is the first of 3 consecutive Sundays of new members classes at Marble. If you are not a member, I invite you to become a member of our congregation. To those of you who are members already, this occasion gives us a chance to remember what our membership at Marble really means.

To be a member means that you are part of a single body. The Apostle Paul, in 1 Corinthians 12, talks about something called "The Body of Christ," which is the entity made up of all individuals who make a profession of faith in Christ and are part of a local church. If you are a member of a church, you are part of the Body of Christ.

What's the goal of your life?

What lies at the end of this journey for you? The answer matters a lot. Your answer shapes how you approach the process of living--the depth of your answer determines the fervor and excitement and patience and humility that you bring to the task. Ask yourself: what's at stake in your life path?

The Christian tradition has said that our great hope in life is to end up in heaven when we die. The goal of life = salvation, or going to heaven.

That's not a bad answer. It's an essential part of the core Christian promise. Believing in Jesus makes true the promise of an eternal life surrounded by the love of God. Death is not the end of you. You need not fear it—your life, eye wiped of every tear, freed from every injustice, will go on. That's pretty good news... especially for those of you who have walked with a loved one up to and through death, or come face-to-face with your own. One thing that's at stake in a life on the Christian path is what happens to you when you die.

I hate to pray.

OK, hate's too strong a word. But I wanted to get your attention. Got it? Good. I struggle with prayer.

There are lots of reasons. I didn't grow up praying. I've never had a prayer role model. I often find myself, while praying, asking God "do You care that I'm doing this?" I'm busy and it's inconvenient.

I've got all the excuses, all the reasons not to pray.

But I keep at it. I got over the hump back in seminary and figured out that I can't live without it. Like eating my vegetables or something. I know that's not a great way of trying to convince you to pray, but I'm just bein' honest here.

A new "church year" begins this first week after Labor Day.

Early fall is a time of beginnings, woven into our lives during school-going years, and it never really goes away. We begin anew every September: new habits, new rhythms, new commitments. I hope that new growth in your faith life is part of your dream for yourself this fall. Marble is a church family dedicated to helping you achieve such growth.

Spiritual growth is a lifelong process, and much of it, as with any worthwhile endeavor, has to be self-directed. But God invites us all to do certain specific things that will help us grow. I want to share five practices with you that, should you do them, you can be assured that God will work through them to grow you toward spiritual maturity.

I know: Jesus says I shouldn't worry about what I wear (Matthew 5:28). But Jesus of Nazareth didn't exactly live in the style capital of the world, you know?

I confess that I worry a lot about what I wear. My wife claims that it has taken seven years of our relationship to finally get me dressing like a "New Yorker." When I arrived here for seminary, I thought I had a decent wardrobe. It turns out that I was a wreck: my pants were a waist size (or two) too big, my shirts were balloons, I didn't have the right shoes and belts to match, my ties were a disaster. I don't like to buy new clothes (I'm too cheap), so slowly, over seven years and many many trips to the thrift store, TJ Maxx, Macy's, and the outlet mall, I've put together a "respectable" wardrobe.

Still, in the morning each day it's an adventure. I will sometimes try on 3 ties before choosing one. After I leave the house, I can't help but sneak a peak in the big window of the fish restaurant at the end of my block—and inevitably it's the same: I'm just not as well dressed as I thought I was. I walk around with a very low grade anxiety about my lack of fashion sense, wishing I were more fashionable, but too thrifty to do anything about it.

I think about morality. And it's not necessarily because I'm being immoral, but because I believe that whether I choose to do "right" or choose to to "wrong" really matters. Definitely matters in this life—probably matters in an eternal way, too. So I'm curious about what shapes moral sensibilities.

Jonathan Haidt, a professor at the University of Virginia, is doing some really powerful work on morality. He's got a site where you can test your own moral compass. His talk at the TED Conference lays out the premises of his newest work. According to Haidt, morality is a complex of several different values, all of which at work simultaneously. These values have to do with whom we respect, how we deal with purity, and how we see loyalty and fairness. No surprise there, right? The lasting importance of Haidt's theory comes at the end of his talk: he asserts that none of us has "the right" morality. Effective moral reasoning emerges from the interplay of different moral perspectives.

Basically, people with different moral orientations—say, liberals and conservatives—see the world through different moral frames; both frames have essential strengths, and a healthy society needs both frames to be morally balanced.

It is very rare in the newspaper that there is meaningful coverage of religion. And when I say "the newspaper," I mean the New York Times (I find it's more accurate to classify the Post and Daily News under "entertainment"). I don't know whether the Times' liberal editorial board has decided, of late, that religion's not worth covering, or what--but overall, their coverage of religion and its importance is utterly lame.

But, as my grandfather used to say, even a blind squirrel occasionally finds a nut.

A few weeks ago, one of the Times' contributing editorialists, philosopher Stanley Fish, wrote an article titled "God Talk." If you read anything related to religion this year, read this essay. Fish, reviewing a recent book by the philosopher Terry Eagleton, addresses a basic question that concerns every one of us: why does religion still matter in today's society, even after science has "proven" that many traditional religious doctrines are implausible?

Some of you know that I was on ABC on Sunday morning to talk with the host (and several million others) about Easter.

I was happy with the interview. I told the story of the women arriving at an empty tomb. I said that Easter illustrates that God's love is the most powerful force in all of the world—and that God's love is our ground for hope in hard times. I invited people to church to sing the hymns of the faith and to hug someone. All good.

But in looking back, I wonder: what should I have said? If you would have had my opportunity, what would you have said?

Christianity is a story. Your life is story. Everything is a story.

Pay attention today to your slice of this world—see and hear what stories are being told around you. Will you watch a TV show or see a movie? Stories. Most songs we listen to—whether Kanye West or Johann Bach—are stories set with a tune. Advertisements are all stories—stories about what you could do or be if you only had that product. If you're working right now, your company has a story of its life—where it envisions itself in its industry and how it plans to get there. Our economic crisis is an unfolding story, the ending of which is not yet clear. 

Your life is an unfinished story, too. If someone asks you how your day went, chances are you'll answer by telling a story, capturing the events and emotions. You will set the scene, relay dramatic events, and bring it to some sort of conclusion. If someone asks you how your life will turn out, you might offer them your dreams and hopes... or fears.