Good morning. My name is Doug Bergeson, and I'm a partner here at Grace. I'm asked to speak a couple of times a year on average, and I typically begin with an icebreaker or some attempt at humor. Not too long ago, I began by singing a children's Bible song about the wise man who built his house upon the rock. Another time, I began with a balloon trick. I do this all in the hope that even if just for a moment, you all might forget that intense feeling of disappointment when you saw me, rather than Nate, walk up on stage. And to add injury to insult, even though Nate paid me a compliment when he was up here, what you didn't see was that as he walked by me, he said, I lied, Doug. Is there any wonder I struggle with confidence and self-esteem issues? Today, however, perhaps because I've matured and become more confident, but more likely because I just see the futility of it all, I'm not doing that. No dog and pony show for you. Not today. We're going to dive right in. And I'll start by reading our passage for this morning. It's 1 Peter 2, verses 4-10 are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says, see, I lay a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you leave church on any given Sunday morning. If you ever took a sermon prep class at the local seminary or bought sermons for dummies at Amazon, I suspect both would implore the aspiring preacher to have an application in mind. Well, with today's passage, I don't have an application, and I'm not going to try to directly influence what you do when you leave here, but rather, perhaps, what you think. How we think about and understand things to a great extent determines what we do and how we behave. This dynamic is affirmed throughout all of Scripture. Yet when Jesus asks, who do you think I am? If an honest answer is that he is the resurrected Son of God and Lord and Savior, then your life is going to look very different from someone who doesn't share that view. Or, from a slightly different angle, if you'd like to be a more humble person, then unless you heed the Apostle Paul's warning not to think more highly of yourself than you ought, good luck, because it's going to be a struggle for you. Simply put, our actions flow from how we think and what we believe. Sometimes it's good not to do anything or take any action steps, but just to marinate in our thoughts. And what Peter wants us to think about in a word is identity. How should we think of ourselves? Who and what do we identify as and with? Who is our tribe? What is our truth? It's a very trendy and timely question in our present culture to ask how we identify. Who are we, really? Although it may be particularly trendy in today's culture, it's not a new question, but an ancient one. How we identify, who are we, and to whom do we ultimately belong, has always been the central question in Scripture ever since God first established his covenant with the Israelites and Moses at Sinai. And for the Christian believer today, there is still no more paramount a question. Now, for a long time, I found today's passage to be one of the many in the Bible that I kind of get, but I kind of don't. The importance, significance doesn't really fully sink in. Yeah, yeah, I'm a living stone. A royal priest? Sure. Part of a holy nation? You bet. Got it. But that's been changing over the last 20 years or so. My grasp of what Peter is asserting about my identity, who I truly am, has evolved and is still evolving, which is a good thing. And I owe this movement primarily to two very different but exceedingly impactful experiences in my life. Before sharing the first of those two key experiences, a few minutes of background are in order. I was the only boy with three sisters growing up outside of Chicago. My older sister Lynn fell in love and married Andrew one year out of high school. She was 18 and he 19. Now it turns out that Andrew's parents had been missionaries in Africa in a Portuguese colony called Angola. And that's where he was raised until the age of 12. As was the case with a number of African colonies at that time. violent insurgencies were spreading, and Angola was no exception. When independence finally came in 1975, Angola plunged for the next 27 years into civil war, the longest in all of Africa. The government became communist, aided by the Soviets and some 50,000 Cuban troops. Our CIA and South African defense forces supported the anti-communist rebels and, as is always the case, it was the people of Angola who suffered. Already a poor and underdeveloped country, Angola effectively went completely dark. No communication, no news, no way of knowing if any of the people Andrew and his family had ever lived with, worked with, played with, worshipped with, or even still alive. Then in the mid-1990s, after two decades of war, little snippets of news began to leak out of the country. During a temporary ceasefire, Andrew and his father were able to return in the hope of possibly reconnecting with old friends. What they found was that while many had somehow managed to survive, no family had escaped the carnage untouched by tragedy. What little infrastructure there had been was no more. Formal education for most of the nation's children had ceased. The mission station where Andrew had grown up was destroyed. Living for the average person, always difficult in Angola, had become a very tenuous affair. The next year, my sister, who had never been out of the United States, joined her husband in returning to Angola to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect there were some really, really, really good hotel deals. Shortly after that visit, violence erupted again, and the country fell back into darkness. Back home safely in the U.S., my sister and brother-in-law watched on CNN what was going on in the Balkans and guessed that the same type of refugee crisis, people and families fleeing the conflict zone to save themselves, just what's like happening now in the Ukraine, must surely be happening along Angola's borders as well. So with little fanfare, they flew to Windhoek, Namibia, to look for some refugees to help. Upon arriving, they were told that their plan was incredibly naive and dangerous. However, they did learn of several large refugee camps established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in the remote bush on the border, Angolan border, near both Namibia and Zambia. And this is where they began taking their four kids and small teams of like-minded people for the next several years. In 2002, I joined them for the first time in visiting Nangweshi Refuge Camp in western Zambia. And just as an editorial note, regardless what you think of the United Nations, what they do in the most forlorn and dangerous places on earth, in the most desperate of times for tens and tens and tens of thousands of refugees who, through no fault of their own, are barely clinging to survival. It's magnificent. It's just magnificent. We spent quite a bit of time that trip in the new arrivals area, where, after days, weeks, months, and even years, Angolan refugees would emerge cold, sick, hungry, naked, and afraid. My brother-in-law used to say that if our Messiah walks anywhere in Nangweshi, he most certainly walks among the new arrivals. Later that same year, a lasting peace accord was signed. So instead of going back to the refugee camps, it was decided that a small team would go into Angola, Tukwitu, the provincial capital in the central highlands, and then proceed further up into the countryside to the old mission station where Andrew had been raised. Our hope was to build a schoolhouse. Flying into Kuitu, our pilot, out of habit and an abundance of caution, came in very high doing corkscrew turns to make a more difficult target for enemy fire. When we landed, I modestly and politely dashed off the runway into some tall grass to relieve myself. When I came back, I saw the pilot going to the bathroom right next to the plane. And I asked him, what's up with that? And he said the airport was mined and that one should never leave the runway. Little heads up would have been helpful. Having never been in a war zone, Quito was just like you see on the news. Collapsed buildings, bullet holes everywhere. It was thought at the time to have more landmines than any other city in the world. Some of you older folk and any Anglophiles might even remember Princess Diana doing a famous photo shoot in Kuitu in 1997 to bring attention to her anti-landmine campaign. Our final destination was the old destroyed mission station at Jolanda. And it was here, by far the most remote and primitive place I'd ever been in my life. No running water or plumbing of any kind, no electricity, no phones, that the first experience that so influenced my understanding of 1 Peter 2 took place. Now, Chelonda's not a town or village as we know them. No stores, no services, no nothing. Just some small mud and thatch huts spread over a wide area. There was, however, a tiny wooden chapel where several of the villagers would meet every morning at six to start their day. Several times, I got up and walked the three-quarter of a mile to that chapel, sitting down in the dim early morning light with about a half dozen villagers, both men and women. It was all very informal, a reading or two from scripture, a few hymns, a time of prayer. Everything sung, spoken, or read, either in Portuguese or Mbundu. Now, when our three kids were very young, Debbie and my three kids, we used to play a game in which they would try to pick out what was odd or out of place in a particular picture. They wouldn't have found this scene very challenging. Sitting among those villagers who had all just come through almost four decades of armed conflict and upheaval, I might as well have been from Mars. The contrast so stark. Subsistence farmers who, like all but the most privileged Angolans, had been born into suffering and struggle, had lived their entire lives in suffering and struggle, and would die in suffering and struggle. It was truly a where's Waldo on steroids. My looks, my entire life experience, my language, my priorities, my expectations, my dreams couldn't have been more different even if I literally had been from Mars. Yet, as strange as that may seem, those mornings were an unbelievable blessing to me, spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. How could that possibly be? Hold that question in your minds for just a few moments. The second key experience in my life that has so helped shape my grasp of today's passage is far removed from my time in Angola, but no less impactful. Years ago, I was asked if I could come up with a curriculum which would provide a framework a framework for understanding god's entire story is revealed in the bible all of redemptive history from genesis to revelation despite being uniquely unqualified to do so i said yes from that exercise and from the five times I subsequently facilitated that class, my eyes were open to all sorts of things about God and his word. One of the most enduring lessons I learned was that God chose to reveal his purposes and his plans slowly and incrementally over a long period of time. In other words, he just didn't blurt out what he intended to do and leave it at that. If he had, the Bible would be a lot shorter, perhaps just a pamphlet. But it would also be completely incomprehensible. Instead, in his wisdom, God first unveils his plans in ways both the original audience and subsequent readers might be able to understand and get their arms around a little bit. Then over time, the same themes and ideas are developed further, expanding in scope and complexity until they reach their ultimate fulfillment, which typically is something we never, ever could have envisioned at the outset. Thankfully, almost every aspect of God's redemptive plan is introduced and developed this way in Scripture, including a key element of the plan that Peter highlights, God's house, the place where he dwells with his people. We're first introduced to this concept of God's dwelling place shortly after he rescued his people out of slavery in Egypt. God established a covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai in which he promises to be their God and to dwell with them as long as they agree to place their faith and trust in him. The Israelites were to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation set apart simple tent set up outside the Israelite camp where the Lord would meet with Moses. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all of the Israelites would stand and watch. As Moses entered the tent, the presence of God would descend in a pillar of cloud and fill that little tent with his glory. While still camped at Sinai, the Lord commanded his people to build a larger and more elaborate tent, the tabernacle, to serve as a sanctuary. Throughout all their time in the desert, the Lord's presence was over that tabernacle in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Spectacular. Absolutely. It must have been amazing to witness. But nothing in comparison to what God ultimately had in store. Once in the promised land, Israel's greatest king, David, wanted to build a permanent house, a temple for the Lord. But he was told that such a house wasn't his to build. Rather, a son of his would be the one to build such a house. And that promise was literally fulfilled when David's son Solomon completed the first temple and then over the course of 14 days dedicated it to the Lord by sacrificing 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats. Quite the ceremony. But even at this relatively early stage in the biblical story, God is already encouraging us to lift up our gaze, our line of sight from the physical and the here and now to a time much farther into the future. This point is hammered home when Israel, because of its inability to keep the covenant, is conquered by the Babylonians, Solomon's great temple is destroyed, and the people exiled to foreign lands. Later efforts to rebuild the temple are never able to recapture its former glory. All during this time, though, a steady drumbeat of Old Testament prophecies tell of another king who is coming, an even greater son of David whose kingdom and throne will endure forever. And it is this king who will build God's true and everlasting house. The prophet Isaiah speaks of God laying a precious cornerstone and that whoever trusts in it, in that cornerstone, will never be ashamed. Although introduced and developed in a way the Israelites and the rest of us could understand, a tent, a tabernacle, a great temple made of stone, the place where God ultimately planned to dwell with his people could never be contained within a building built by man, no matter how extravagant. What God had in mind was always going to be far, far grander in scope and scale and significance. When Jesus came in the flesh to dwell, to tabernacle with us on earth, it became clear that he was God's precious cornerstone. He was the new and better temple of God, a magnificent, vibrant, growing spiritual house built with living stones, those of us who have placed their faith, hope, and trust in Jesus' name. Now that's something. That's a big deal. We as believers are nothing less than living, breathing stones who are together being built into a magnificent house, a holy temple in which God lives by His Spirit. Let's take a moment to look around. I'm serious. Take a moment to look at the people on either side of you. Do it! In front of you and behind you. Please don't frustrate me. You are looking at living stones. God's royal priests. Members of a holy nation. I know, I know, it's a little rough, a little ragged in spots. Depending on who you're sitting near, it might at first blush, be a bit hard to fathom. But Peter has no qualms about asserting our true identities as that is who believers truly are in Christ. And those are more than just a bunch of fancy words and spiritual-sounding titles. For the same resurrection life that Christ experienced animates us now. We are truly living stones. And we are royal priests not simply because we now have direct and privileged access to God, but also because we offer our lives, both in word and deed, as acceptable and pleasing sacrifices to him. And as God's people, it is our high calling to represent his kingdom on earth, to be a people who make known what God has done. Not only does this have great implications for how we view ourselves, but it also has great implications for how we view the church. For if we are living stones being built together into God's great spiritual house, then our significance, activity, and purpose as individual believers cannot be realized apart from other believers. After all, one needs a bunch of living stones to build a spiritual house. In a very real sense, we belong to one another. And not only do we belong to and depend upon believers today, as in this faith community we call grace, for example, but we are also being built together and united with the living stones of all previous generations. And just as future generations of believers will be united and built together with us. Circling back to those early mornings I spent in that dimly lit little chapel in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of rural Angola, I shared earlier that as strange as it may have seemed, those mornings were a great blessing. But it no longer seems so strange to me. What I now realize is there was a reason why those mornings were so spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. For they were among the few times in my life, maybe the only times, that all the things that I normally associate with who I am, all the things that I typically assume make up my identity, had been removed. Like varnish stripping away all the many layers of paint. All that remained was my true and eternal identity. And I was privileged to be sharing a few sacred moments with people who weren't different than me at all, but who at their core and their fundamental essence were just like me. Living stones, royal priests, people who once were not a people, but now are the people of God, redeemed out of darkness and into his wonderful light. And for a moment, at least, I knew what Peter was talking about. So before I dismiss this this morning, I'd like to close by reading a passage from Psalm 118, verses 22 through 23. The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone. The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes. Let's think about that as we leave this morning. Amen.