Morning Prayer: Tom Lyda Hymn of Quest *Our of Need and Out of Custom* Witness of Scripture: Colossians 2: 1-7 Solo *Arioso* J.S. Bach Sermon *Like A Bridge Over Troubled Water* Steve Graham
Recorded on July 27, 2025
Like A Bridge over Troubled Water
Celebrating the Good News with the Beloved Community, First Christian Church, Norman, Oklahoma Rev. Dr. Stephen D. Graham July 27, 2025 Colossians 2:1-7, Luke 11:1-13
There’s a story about a man at the Indianapolis airport who asked about a flight to Chicago. Unaware of the time zone difference—Indianapolis in Eastern Standard Time and Chicago in Central—the gate attendant told him, “It leaves here at 1:00 p.m. and arrives in Chicago at 1:01 p.m.” Puzzled, the man replied, “No thanks. I think I’ll just hang around and watch that thing take off!”
It’s a funny story, but it reveals something deeper: we’re often captivated by impressive takeoffs—speed, spectacle, instant gratification. But Paul reminds us in Colossians that faith is not about impressive beginnings. It’s about what lasts. It’s about what’s rooted.
“You have accepted Christ Jesus as Lord,” Paul writes. “Now live in union with him. Keep your roots deep in him. Build your lives on him.” The foundation we build our lives on matters. Christ isn’t a fleeting spark—he is the grounding presence who holds us fast.
We may have gifts and opportunities. We may soar high and experience dazzling moments of success. But unless we are rooted in Christ, we’ll struggle to endure when the winds blow. And they will blow.
Faith doesn’t promise a smooth path. It doesn’t exempt us from suffering or hardship. Even our joys—if not rooted—can become distractions. It is only in Christ that we find the strength to hold fast in darkness and rejoice without becoming arrogant in the light.
Paul, though imprisoned and far from the believers in Colossae, expresses such love that it’s as though he is right there with them. He writes, “Though I’m far away, I’m with you in spirit. I care for you deeply.” He walks beside them in spirit, encouraging them to live in Christ, to be firmly established in the faith.
The Good News is not that we climb up to God. The Good News is that God comes to us. “For God so loved the world…” One Native American paraphrased that verse, “For God so hurt in God’s heart.” Compassion means coming close. That’s what God has done—and that’s what we’re called to do.
Henri Nouwen reminds us: Compassion means becoming vulnerable. “I am your brother. I am your sister. I, too, have felt pain.” We can be with others in suffering only when we acknowledge our own. We must be in touch with our wounds, our loneliness, our fears.
We pray that God gives us the compassion to stand beside those who suffer. Your church may reside ot the corner of Eufaula and Webster—but you are the church wherever you are. You are Christ’s body best when you are beside others. When we are with those who suffer, we are most like God.
We begin this by praying. Paul prays for the Colossians even before meeting them. He writes, “From the day we heard of you, we have not stopped praying for you.” Prayer connects us. Prayer shapes us.
Anne Lamott wrote, “When I was at the end of my rope, the people at St. Andrew tied a knot in it for me.” They held her. That’s what the Church does—we hold each other. We don’t always fix the problem, but we promise presence. We say, “I’m not leaving you.”
For many years, I have known of First Christian because I knew your pastor. You have been a consistent presence. You were there for him and through him. I appreciation you because you had great respect for one another. His brilliance and exuberance found a home with you, and
your mutual love brought you life. Together you were at home with being yourselves.
I remember one afternoon when our daughter, Whitney, was a young teenager, and we were on our way to the airport to pick up my brother coming in from Atlanta. On our way, we were going to make a pastoral visit. As we entered the hospital, I was thinking about how very different my brother and I were. I decided to pretend to be Chris and help her prepare for him to be with us. I was not sure exactly how I would do that, when a lady doctor, wearing a surgical mask, recognized me as we entered the elevator. “Hello. Dr. Graham.” To respond, I turned on some Chris, “Who is that under that mask?” I joked, “You can’t always tell.” I joked, “You can’t always tell!” She lowered her mask, and we visited for just a moment until we reached our floor, and as we exited the elevator, Whitney expressed her horror. “Dad, what are you doing?” I confessed I was trying to be Chris. “How’d I do?” She reminded me: “Don’t try to be someone else. Be yourself.” Churches lose their way trying to be someone else. Be who you are. Be grounded. Stand beside one another.
The strength of the Church is in its rootedness and resolve. Not flashy performance. But enduring presence. We stick it out through thick and thin. We are sustained by joy—not a joy of circumstance, but a joy born of prayer.
Prayer that is less about asking and more about shaping. Less about changing God, more about bending our lives toward God. Like blackberry vines trained along a garden trellis, we shape ourselves through prayer. Persistent prayer. The kind Jesus illustrated when he told of the neighbor who knocked at midnight—annoying and unrelenting—not because he was holy, but because he was desperate. If even an earthly neighbor gives in, how much more will God respond? God is not reluctant. God is ready. Prayer changes us.
In the play “Shadowlands,” C.S. Lewis marries Joy Gresham, who is in a hospital room being treated for cancer. A dear friend comes by asking
about her, not knowing that she and C.S. Lewis have secretly gotten married. Lewis answers him, thinking about the marriage and not about the cancer,
“Ah, it’s good news. It’s great news!” And the man replies, “Well, that’s wonderful. I know you’ve been working very hard at praying. I’m glad that God is finally beginning to hear you and answer your prayers
But C.S. Lewis cuts him off and says, “No. No. No. I don’t pray to change God. I pray because I can’t help myself. Prayer doesn’t change God—it changes me.”
That is the heart of it. Prayer roots us in God. Prayer places us in Christ, who is by our side. In prayer, we receive not merely answers—but God. And when we are rooted in God, we can live beside one another in compassion, in joy, in perseverance.
May your lives be rooted in Christ. May your love overflow, and may you be the bridge over troubled water for one another, for our community, and for our world.