Lectionary for July 19 (Track 2)

There is a problem with parables…those stories that we have become so familiar with…the stories Jesus tells to help highlight a point, to teach a lesson, to connect faith to everyday life. In fact, there are 22 parables in the book of Matthew alone and today we have the 2^nd (The parable of the weeds) out of 7 parables in chapter 13 alone. That’s a lot. And because we are so familiar with many of the parables, we may gloss over the deeper meaning that Jesus was trying to teach.

This week, I found that to be true for myself and then I read a text from Colossians chapter 1. I found myself connecting these two texts in some very rich ways. So I wanted to share that exploration with you in hopes that you may find some new connections with this parable for your own life.

In Colossians, Paul is writing to the early church…folks who are trying to understand the nature of Christ more fully especially in relation to how they are supposed to live their lives. And so Paul writes this prayer to them…

Here is why I wanted to use this text this morning…Paul is speaking to the people in Colossae about the very same things Jesus is teaching in his parable of the weeds from Matthew. It’s a beautiful look at common themes through two different lenses.

Paul names a few critical elements to a life of following Christ. Things like:

- The discernment of God’s wisdom and understanding through prayer

- The importance of leading a life worthy of God

- Bearing fruit through good works as you grow in God

- Gaining strength and preparation to endure difficult times

- Being patient, joyful, and grateful

Let’s see if we can notice those same themes in our parable.

Weeds come up with the grain. The master is told of the problem. It is recognized that an enemy has planted the weeds but the master instructs the slaves to not pull the weeds up because if they do so it will also uproot the wheat. Instead, he wants them to grow together until they can harvest the grain. At that time, they will separate the wheat from the weeds and they will burn the weeds and use the weeds for fuel.

That’s the story. Now, can we uncover the themes that Paul highlights in Colossians?

Here is the first thing I notice…The Master says to wait before pulling up the weeds. Don’t go for the quick fix. By pausing immediate action he is inviting the workers to discern. Discern what is truly good and what isn’t. To allow God to enter into the situation.

In the parable, the problem is evident, there are indeed weeds – there is no denying that fact, but the solution takes patience and prayer. The Master wants a good harvest and to get the fruitfulness he desires, the wheat and the weeds have to coexist for a while. They have to work together even though it may seem counterintuitive.

Jesus teaches that by our patience and openness to discern and to be with the difficulty will in time bear fruit and will create opportunities to use both the good and the bad for important purposes in the harvest. For Matthew, what seemed like a bleak situation was actually one full of grace.

The image of the field reminds us that our first reaction in a difficult situation is to often judge and determine who is right and who is wrong. We don’t like to sit with uncertainty and we don’t like to co-exist with things that we disagree with or that threaten us in any way. We want clarity and clean lines. We want to pull up the weeds.

This is the crux of the parable. We often act too quickly to pull up what we don’t like BEFORE we have ever discerned what God desires of us. Maybe you are wondering…well, why is that a problem? Bad is bad. Wrong is wrong. Doesn’t that matter?

Yes, it does but consider two things:

1. Don’t we all encompass both good and bad? Do any of us have the monopoly on righteousness?

2. Is it our place to judge or is it God’s? If we want God to love us through our own shortcomings, can we also allow God to do the same for our enemy?

So instead of pulling up the weeds in haste, stop and ask one simple question…God, what would you have me do? What good do you want to grow out of this situation?

Steve Garnaas-Holmes writes poetry every week based upon the lectionary and he wrote a beautiful poem that breaks down Jesus’ parable in applicable ways to our lives. Let me close with this excerpt…

The parable reminds us that in the midst of our own field God calls us to have courage to live with hard questions. To cultivate the longing to seek and to know God. To grow the desire to be patient. To harvest a willingness to love.

Lectionary for July 12 (Track 2)

My husband, Dwayne, is a very impatient gardener. In the spring, after seeds have been planted he starts to watch…he watches for the first shoots of the season. And as warm weather drifts his impatience tends to grow. A week passes…no sign of sprouts. Two weeks pass…he starts to get worried. Three weeks pass…he begins to consider that nothing is going to happen. Four weeks pass…he is certain something is wrong. With each passing week, Dwayne’s impatience grows to a strong conviction…maybe all of our work isn’t going to pay off.

I think we both breathe a sigh of relief when the tiniest glimmer of green finally breaks through the ground.

But we have also had our share of disappointments cultivating our green thumb.

For a little history…for years we worked to reclaim a forgotten garden behind our church. We repaired the raised beds, pulled up a jungle of weeds, cut down a few fledgling trees, planted seeds and watered the ground. But each year, only a portion of our plants would thrive. There were a couple of beds that refused to grow anything at all and the weeds became unbearable.

Dwayne’s impatience started to rub off on me and I started counting down the days until fall when I could pull it all up and walk away for a few months.

It seemed that no matter how hard we worked, we just couldn’t get it right. Impatience turned to discouragement. Discouragement turned to doubt. Doubt turned to ambivalence. And the garden would ultimately become a burden year after year. The reality set in that we just didn’t have the skills we needed…at least not on our own.

Then, someone observed that the soil wasn’t healthy. And no matter how much we planted and watered and weeded, the soil wasn’t rich enough to grow big, strong, healthy plants.

So we went back to the basics…a proper ratio of garden soil, peet moss and fertilizer. In hindsight, it seemed so simple…how had we not worked with the soil before? We had jumped ahead in our impatience but hadn’t created the right foundation.

Once the right foundation was in place, the plants started to overflow to the point that it was hard to walk between the raised beds. The flowers were so heavy with blooms that they bent under their own weight. The bees were thrilled with the pollen and butterflies were everywhere. It was magical.

All it took was some much-needed guidance from others, a good foundation, and a dose of patience.

Guidance. Foundation. Patience.

I want you to remember those three things as we consider our parable from the Gospel reading this week. The parable of the Sower carries with it a special beauty especially for those of us who love to spend hours outdoors and in our gardens. But, when I look beyond the beauty of the harvest in this text, I can’t help but remember all of struggles we had in our little garden and how much help we needed.

It makes me notice something bigger that I think this parable is getting at. Maybe our text in Matthew isn’t so much a celebration of the good harvest but a cautionary tale on how easily our rush to get what we want results in unhealthy patterns and choices that take us away from God and away from one another. Patterns and choices that pull us away from seeking guidance, building a healthy foundation, and cultivating patience when the work is difficult.

In other words, the parable asks us to consider how our impatience is pushing us towards ambivalence…when we are desperate for change…in our lives and in our communities. When we have worked so hard to repair a relationship or end an addiction or heal a sickness. When we watch the news and see violence and hate all around us. When things are so overwhelming that we start to wonder if all of the effort we have put forth is even worth it.

And so our impatience turns to discouragement and discouragement to doubt and doubt feeds ambivalence. And we pull up all of the things we have tried to grow. We walk away. We say to ourselves, I can’t make a difference or my voice doesn’t matter or I’m tired or I’m scared or I don’t have the skills to do what needs to be done.

This is where our text gets interesting. Matthew actually gives us affirming guidance when it comes to our tendencies toward impatience. However, the guidance we need to hear was left out of our lectionary selection for today. Verses 10-17 are omitted. But I want you to hear these words in order to gain the larger lesson that this text has to teach.

When Jesus finishes the first part of the Parable of the Sower, his disciples ask him why he teaches in parables. He answers them with a quote from Isaiah,

“You will indeed listen, but never understand,
and you will indeed look, but never perceive.
For this people’s heart has grown dull,
and their ears are hard of hearing,
and they have shut their eyes;
so that they might not look with their eyes,
and listen with their ears,
and understand with their heart and turn…”

And then Jesus goes on to tell his disciples…

“But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. Truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.”

Jesus is teaching the disciples that not everyone is going to get it right. Not everyone is going to understand. In essence, people will be impatient. They will get discouraged. They will doubt. They will become ambivalent because their hearts have become dull and tired.

It’s important that we include these verses in our reading because they affirm for us that we will struggle to get the foundation right and we will need help at times. Luckily, like the disciples who were sent out to teach others, there are people in our lives who can help us cultivate our hearts and encourage us when we struggle. The blessing of a community is that we can lean on one another when we become impatient and discouraged, when we doubt or when we want to give up.

Jesus understood this.

Because there will be times when our work doesn’t take root right away, when our endurance runs thin, when trouble pulls us away from what God is calling us to do, when the cares of the world choke out the yield we had once dreamed of.

In those times, we are called to work together, to break up the hardness of the human heart, to heal the wounds that have cut too deep, to reassure one another of the importance of hope and faith for a good harvest.

Jesus understood that we will all get impatient. He understood that the change that is needed in our hearts and in our world takes time but when we get the help we need, when we place our hope in God and in one another, we are able to cultivate that beautiful, healthy foundation that can begin to grow something wonderful. So be patient. Have faith in yourself and in one another.

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Lectionary for July 5 (Track 2)

Faith is not created in your heart or in your head. It’s created in your commitments.

At first, it sounds counterintuitive. My first reaction when I heard this was…well of course faith is created my heart…where else would it be?

And then I realized something important. Faith…can be a powerful and influential thing to talk about. Something that feels good for our souls. It grounds us in an identity and groups us into communities. It also provides a sense of peace and purpose to who we are and who we want to be.

But faith isn’t meant to reside in our hearts or our heads alone. Faith is meant to be lived. Faith comes alive when our commitment to faith embodies our practice of faith.

Let’s talk about what that means.

Consider this idea…faith is when we seek to become completely what God has placed within us.^[1]

This is such a beautiful way to describe what faith is all about. A proactive, loving creative process that God has bestowed upon us. A gracious gift of belonging where God reaches down into our hearts and our heads and forms a life where we participate in God’s desire for us. And that desire is the foundation of our faithful commitments.

It’s the process of belief, a process of practice, a practice of coming back again and again to who we are called to be as followers of Christ.

But here is the challenge…We can desire to be a faithful person, to make faithful choices. We can long to become the person God wants us to be. But, getting there is often harder than it looks. We keep the theory of faith in our hearts and heads but stumble when it comes to bringing that faith to life.

Take a look at Romans 7. In verse 18 Paul is recognizing that he has set some faithful commitments for himself. He has outlined a practice. He says I can will what is right, (I can set that goal) but I cannot do it. And then in verses 22 & 23 he states, “For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self (my heart and my head want to do the right thing) ²³but I see…another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin…”

You can almost hear his frustration. I’m trying so hard, God, why can’t I get it right?

There is a deep, heartfelt seeking going on within Paul. He has faith in his heart and his head but he is struggling to consistently bring that faith into his commitments. He wants to live the faith that God has placed within him and yet he falls short of the goal time and time again.

So, why does he keep failing?

God, I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. I want to become completely what you have placed within me but I keep stumbling and falling right back into the same old patterns.

Does that feel like a truth within your own life? If so, you are not alone. That process of messing up is actually a very faithful path…if we can look honestly enough at ourselves and acknowledge our stumbling blocks. Moving our faith out of our heart and head and into our actions takes consistency and practice….and that includes our failures.

The Rev’d Edmund Harris from St. Thomas Church in Medina, Washington describes it like this…

So how do we move our commitments beyond those stumbling blocks? John Philip Newell said it well…we need to learn to read our own soul. To look deeply at what we believe and how we are living. He says we need to write down what we notice. Then compare what we notice to the life of Jesus. And ask ourselves…where do we see discord? Where are we stumbling? Where might we need help?

Because true commitment to any new way of living takes more than just our desire. It takes more than one right choice. It takes more than one confession. It takes honesty and consistency and it takes community.

Paul recognized that it’s not enough to simply want to be a better person. It’s not enough to simply hear what God’s wants you to do. Remember Paul’s point… Knowledge of the law isn’t power to follow it. In verse 21 he says…the law is good, and even for those who delight in it, evil still lies close at hand.

That’s the discord with Jesus that John Philip Newell was talking about. And recognizing that discord is ultimately where we find hope.

Because God has placed something beautiful within each of you. And God has no desire to condemn us to our failures. Instead, God opens his arms to encircle us with encouragement. Not to call out our weakness in faith but to embrace our commitment to faith.

We are all a work in progress. And the path of faithful progress will always be found in God’s love for us.

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^[1] This thought is from a course I am taking with Sarah Clarkson on her book Reclaiming Quiet. You can learn more about Sarah here:

https://sarahclarkson.com/

^[2] https://www.episcopalchurch.org/sermon/freedom-for-proper-9-a-july-5-2026/

^[3] The Iona Community. Iona Abbey Worship Book. Rev. ed., Wild Goose Publications, 2017. p.118

Lectionary for June 28 (Track 2)

Mr. Rogers once said, “The world needs a sense of worth, and it will achieve it only by its people feeling that they are worthwhile.”^[1] The lesson is so very simple…by extending our kindness to one another we create immeasurable opportunities for people to feel valued.

It’s that feeling of worth that I want to focus on. The emphasis we place on human dignity and the ways in which we care for one another as a foundational expression of faith.

And so, I want to tell you a story. It’s one of those stories that has stayed with me over the years and it continues to teach me about dignity and worth. I hope it will do the same for you.

As many of you know, before coming to Grace, I worked in the Chaplaincy at the University of Richmond. My main role was taking students abroad to places of conflict in the world to consider where faith was working to build bridges in areas marked by pain and suffering. We visited community groups, government and military leaders, families and faith communities. And no matter what country we visited, there was one narrative that continued to emerge.

That was the importance of cultivating a shared experience of worth. Of taking little steps to build trust across lines of difference even in the midst of generational tensions, political divides, and religious polarization.

On one particular trip I was in Israel with eight students. They were Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, and Muslim. One of my co-leaders was an Orthodox rabbi named Eitan. By all accounts, we were not your average tour group. But we traveled with a common purpose of learning from one another. We were committed to walking alongside one another and facing our toughest questions about what it means to have faith in an often uncertain world. And more importantly, we were committed to discovering what it means to value the worth of those who differ from ourselves.

One of my students, a female Muslim, had committed to praying at least 3 times a day while she was in Israel. She told me she wasn’t the most observant Muslim but on this trip she wanted to explore the roots of her religious tradition and find a renewed connection to her faith.

Our challenge as trip leaders was finding a place for her to pray as we traveled in spaces that might not always be hospitable for a young Muslim girl.

We soon discovered that prayer space was hard to come by particularly in the Old City of Jerusalem were every nook and cranny was filled with homes and businesses, churches and synagogues. Few spaces were accessible to a foreigner wanting a quiet place out of public scrutiny. My student became discouraged.

That’s when something truly remarkable happened. Our guide, Eitan, the Orthodox rabbi, offered to pray with our Muslim student. He committed to creating space for the two of them to pray alongside each other because as a rabbi in Jerusalem he had access to prayer space that she did not.

One day, they prayed together in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City, the Orthodox rabbi and the young Muslim girl. In this one act, he upheld her value. He honored her worth. Their differences did not matter. The only thing that mattered was their shared humanity.

Eitan laughed afterwards saying they were quite the curiosity for the Jewish children running around in the neighborhood. I like to think that they were sowing beautiful seeds of understanding that day by their example of mutual respect. I would like to think that the children who watched in wonder will remember the day they saw a rabbi pray alongside a Muslim girl.

We will never know the result of their actions. I do know, however, that they showed us what it truly means to grow together, to take whatever steps you can as an individual to live out an example of love and compassion and caring.

Remember…“The world needs a sense of worth, and it will achieve it only by its people feeling that they are worthwhile.”

This is what Jesus is teaching in Matthew. Jesus sums it up with one word…welcome.

By the time we get to our Gospel reading today, Jesus has been very clear…the work of welcome, of hospitality, is difficult. It is radical, life-giving openness in a world that would rather shut the door on difference. But Jesus calls the disciples forth anyway…to push open every closed door and to open every closed heart. To live the way of love. To take the risk. To be an example.

Jesus also reassures the disciples that no matter what opposition they may encounter, because they will, there will also be people who will say…come on in, you are doing good work and you are welcome here.

Because…“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me….”

Welcome, not judgement. Love, not hate. Conversation, not confrontation.

Nouwen doesn’t say that the dividing lines won’t be there. They will. He simply reminds us that they should not hinder our unconditional care for one another.

There is a beautiful Welsh sonnet by Gwenallt Jones that reminds us…

God has not forbidden us to love the world.^[3]

The world, even those who differ from us, is an expression of God’s glory. And that glory is full of worth.

In a time where we are inundated with messages of fear and division, where loving the world feels risky…I want you to remember that God’s vision was for something so much more. Like the rabbi and the Muslim girl, our care for one another needs no qualifiers. But it will take our conviction to continue to seek God’s sacredness in one another.

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^[1] Rogers, Fred. You Are Special: Words of Wisdom for All Ages from a Beloved Neighbor. New York: Penguin, 1995, p. 17.

^[2] Nouwen, Henri J.M. Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life. New York: Image (Doubleday), 1975, p. 71.

^[3] A. M. Allchin, Praise Above All (University of Wales Press), 1991, p. 37.

Lectionary for June 21 (Track 2)

What if we believed, I mean really believed, that we belonged to one another?

This became a central question during my time on Iona last week. Now, Iona if you do not know, is one of the centers of the development of early Christianity, particularly for the British Isles. It was for many years, isolated from the influence of the Roman Empire, and had the freedom to consider the teachings of Jesus in a holistic way that was grounded in the Celtic belief that God was deeply embodied in all of creation. John Philip Newell refers to this embodiment as the Cathedral of Earth, Sky and Sea. The cathedral not as an institution but as a source of God’s presence within and around us all.

For these early Celts, there was a sense of equality and justice. Of respect and unity. You couldn’t look at an animal or a human without seeing the face of God. You might say it was a theology that broke every single boundary of religious dogma and stood to question any form of religion that desired to build walls of exclusivity.

At its heart, Celtic Christianity teaches that we belong to one another.

But over the years, as empires collided and Christianity became a voice of the powerful, the Celtic teaching of God’s oneness with creation became threatening. People needed enemies. They desired influence. And they needed God on their side. And so the Celtic message was pushed aside and forgotten in many Christian circles.

When I look out at the religious landscape right now, there are two things that I see…I see beauty and hope…in certain circles. But in other circles, I see division. A split in the fabric of how we define “good” Christianity. And that divide shows up in so many ways. We don’t agree on LGBTQ inclusion, so we break from our denomination. We don’t agree on the ordination of women, so we create our own church that feels a little more comfortable. We want to align ourselves with one political party over another and so we exclude any religious expression that might feel too liberal or too conservative. We begin separating ourselves into religious categories, not belonging to one another but living separate from one another.

The early expression of Celtic Christianity would have found this to be the antithesis of what they were learning about Jesus and about the love of God. And yet, when I read our text from Matthew, I am reminded that religious expression was rarely able to hold onto the Celtic ideal. Or we might even go so far as to say that religious expression has rarely been able to hold onto Jesus’ ideal.

Division. Conflict. Fighting. All in the name of someone’s definition of faith. Man against father, daughter against mother. So it makes me wonder…what is Jesus trying to teach us in our Gospel reading?

Let’s go back to my original question…what if we believed that we belonged to one another?

Early Celtic Christianity gives us a useful way to interpret this text. It held two very important foundational beliefs…the first is that life is made up of both dark and light, joy and sorrow, death and life. Religion didn’t promise an absence of darkness for these earlier followers of Jesus. Instead, it provided a way to mend and heal that which was broken. Religion was a way forward, not in avoidance of hardship but in hope for restoration. Faith didn’t provide easy answers, but it did provide divine assurance of a loving God walking right in the midst of our pain. A God who directed us to see light shining forth even when man is against his father and daughter is against her mother.

The second foundational belief is that God is embodied in all of the earth…in nature, in all living creatures, in all of humanity. So even in our differences, God is with each and every one of us. To not just live side by side but to live in mutuality under the guidance of this God who encompasses all of our lives into one corporate life-giving spiritual path.

So when Jesus acknowledges in Matthew that families and communities will be torn apart, he is naming a truth at the heart of humanity. There is darkness. There is division. We are not immune to such struggles. But in naming this, Jesus is calling us forward out of what separates us into what unites us.

And right there, in that calling forth, is the heart of the Gospel message unadulterated by denominational, nationalistic, or political agendas. And that message asks one very important question…Can we see the face of God in one another, especially when we are divided? Can we belong to one another when it may be easier to isolate, blame, and disregard?

All too often it’s easier to choose the latter. We do it all the time…we put on a good face, pretend everything is just fine and hope the problems go away whether we caused them or not. Maybe we are too proud or confused or embarrassed to confess our complacency or our participation when confronted with brokenness…in our families, in our workplaces, in our communities. We keep the “peace” at whatever cost while allowing hurt to perpetuate.

In other words, we look for the face of God where it is convenient.

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John Philip Newell calls this “selective sacredness.” And he says that the Celtic tradition would refer to this as soul-forgetfulness where we have forgotten who we are and have fallen out of true relationship with the earth and with one another.^[1] We forget how to belong to one another.

Esther De Waal, author of “The Celtic Way of Prayer” provides a beautiful image of life-giving belonging as ““Life lived under the shadow of God’s outstretched arm.”^[2] And that outstretched arm isn’t selective. It is expansive reaching out to every inch of creation, bringing it in and holding it. Loving broken relationships into healing. Loving divided communities into unity. Loving you and me into wholeness.

That is Jesus’ desire for us.

I want to leave you with a portion of a Celtic blessing. This blessing was a part of a collection of ancient prayers that were passed down from generation to generation. A way of praying for expansive belonging for all of creation. As you listen to these words, I want you to imagine the shadow of God’s outstretched arm bringing peace and hope and healing to whatever brokenness you may experiencing.

^[1] Newell, John Philip. Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul: Celtic Wisdom for Reawakening to What Our Souls Know and Healing the World. HarperOne, 2021. p.3.

^[2] de Waal, Esther. The Celtic Way of Prayer: The Recovery of the Religious Imagination. Doubleday, 1997. p.73.

^[3] Carmichael, Alexander, ed. Carmina Gadelica: Hymns and Incantations. Floris Books, 1992.

Lectionary for May 31

What does it cost to be a disciple?

The word disciple as we often use it in church pertains to folks back then, in history. The people who hung out with Jesus. Who saw, at its emerging this new way of living, this new way of looking at the world and one another. These were the people who heard the message firsthand and knew what it took to change how they were living and who they were following.

They knew it came with risks. To call themselves followers of Jesus wasn’t a path of ease and acceptance. It wasn’t a path towards power and privilege. Being a disciple was an identity that took everything they had and began to transform everything they knew.

And the cost?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer describes it as a cross that is laid on every follower of Christ. “The first Christ-suffering which every man must experience is the call to abandon the attachments of this world.””^[1]

The call to abandon the attachments of this world.

That begins the costly nature of discipleship. And the first to take on the job were those 11 disciples in Matthew. We are told that Jesus charges them to go out into the world and to cultivate other people, other disciples, who were willing to take up the cost as well. And the one directive Jesus gave them was this…teach them to obey everything I have commanded.

So if discipleship is costly, the price we have to pay is tied up in this one statement:

Obey what Jesus has commanded.

And what do we know about what Jesus commanded? He commanded us to love God and to love one another. And he showed us how that was supposed to look. It looked like healing the sick and feeding the hungry. It looked like standing up for others who were hurting. It looked like speaking out against injustice and power. It looked like welcoming the stranger.

It also looked like joy and community and family and friends…young and old, rich and poor, sinner and saint.

To be a disciple of Jesus wasn’t about law or regulations or restrictions as we are often quick to define biblical guidance. Instead, to be a disciple was about love.

A love that broke all of the rules.

And what Jesus commanded wasn’t about our accuracy to get it all right. It was about our willingness to keep trying and growing and becoming a disciple willing to pay the cost.

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You know…the last time I peached on these texts was 6 years ago. George Floyd had just been murdered. Faith communities were all wrestling with deep and difficult questions about life and death, justice and mercy. The conclusions were divided. Who was wrong…who was right. Who was justified, who wasn’t. Who had the freedom to breathe and who didn’t. We were so caught up in law and regulations and restrictions that as a society we forgot the core of Jesus’ teachings.

And it made me wonder…what would it have meant to be a disciple on the scene that day?

Bonhoeffer describes our ability to respond to these moments as costly grace. The kind of grace that picks up the cross and carries it right into the heart of pain and suffering. The kind of grace that stands against power and uplifts freedom…even when it comes at a price. But he acknowledges that for many of us, cheap grace is more palatable. Cheap grace that allows us to claim ourselves followers of Christ without ever having to put in the consistent hard work of insuring that God’s love isn’t just a concept on paper.

He describes it like this…

Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline…absolution without personal confession. ^[2]

In other words, Bonhoeffer is saying that we want the good things that come with grace for ourselves, for those closest to us, for those who think like us and look like us. In his words it’s the inexhaustible treasury of the Church that showers us with blessings without asking questions or fixing limits. Because that would be a little too costly.

And if that is our claim to God’s grace are we actually following the teachings that Jesus sent his disciples out to cultivate?

I read a powerful sermon this week from Episcopal priest Allison Burns-LaGreca and I think she summed this dilemma up so well. She said…

“Perhaps part of the ache so many people carry right now is this deep forgetting. We have inherited a story that tells us strength means independence, that vulnerability is weakness, that asking for help somehow diminishes us. And yet the human spirit was never built for isolation. We hunger to be seen, to matter, to belong to something larger than our fears.”^[3]

The human spirit was never built for isolation.

To be a disciple means we are going to have to turn the tables on many of our assumptions about who we are as a community. Because to be in community, real community, will mean setting aside many of our divisions. Worrying less about who is right and focusing more on who is loved. Yes it is costly but it is the price we should all be willing to pay.

And…let me leave you this week with these beautiful words from Bob Holmes…

Contemplative Monk

Nobody Chooses To Become A Mystic

“We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and privacy: and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship.” ~ C.S. Lewis…

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2 months ago · 27 likes · 2 comments · Bob Holmes

^[1] Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship. Touchstone, 1995, p. 89.

^[2] Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship. Touchstone, 1995, p. 44.

^[3]

Thoughts, Prayers and Art

Held Together

The wind in Aruba never stops. It moves through everything, against your skin, through the divi-divi trees that have learned over lifetimes to bend toward it rather than break. And sitting among those permanently tilted branches, something quietly obvious became quietly profound: nothing here survives alone…

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2 months ago · 20 likes · 2 comments · Rev. Allison Burns-LaGreca

Lectionary for Pentecost Sunday

If you were to testify about the love God, what would you say?

It seems like a straightforward question and the answer would seem to be just as clear cut. After all, isn’t love fairly central to who we are as Christians?

And for many of us our testimony about God’s love typically includes all the right sentiments.

- It is unconditional.

- It is sacrificial.

- It is selfless.

In other words, we understand the love of God to be poured out to each of us no matter who we are or where we are from. I think of it as being poured out in eager abundance. God can’t wait to love us. And as a kid, every time I sang Jesus Loves Me that is what I envisioned. A God who couldn’t wait to love me.

That feels like a pretty good way to describe to someone what God’s love is like.

But, here’s a question that is a little more challenging. How would we describe the way we practice God’s love?

Take the qualities of God’s love and apply them to your own actions. And then ask…how are we doing when it comes to love that is unconditional, sacrificial, and selfless? Are we pouring it out to one another in eager abundance? Not just to the folks we like or agree with (that’s not necessarily unconditional and it doesn’t require much sacrifice or selflessness). I’m talking about eager abundance to everyone. All Y’all.

As I was writing my sermon I started doing a little survey of church websites…all different denominations. And I continued to run across one troubling consistent teaching. That is that although many churches testify to the eager abundant love of God, more often than not the eagerness they claim is squelched when someone doesn’t adhere to their specific brand of religious belief.

In fact, when you dig down deep enough, you start to find that God’s love as defined by many churches and by many people has a lot of qualifiers. And…the unconditional part of the equation is often the first to go.

The theological logic they profess?

If you rebel against God (in however they may define rebellion), you become estranged from God. That estrangement opens you to God’s wrath and you become incapable of returning to God.

This isn’t language we are familiar with in the Episcopal church but it is language used on a website for one of the major evangelical churches in the US. And this belief is not uncommon. I grew up hearing similar perspectives. Beliefs that taught our sin could make us incapable of returning to God.

That hurts my heart just repeating those words. Because I know that “sin” is a powerful tool depending on who chooses to define it and how they choose to define it.

My research made me wonder…what happened to God’s love that was unconditional, sacrificial, and selfless? What happened to the embodiment of that love?

Let me tell you a story that has brought this home for me this week.

If you followed Christian praise music in the 90’s you may remember a song called Testify to Love by the group Avalon.

The chorus goes…

For as long as I shall live
I will testify to love
I’ll be a witness in the silences
When words are not enough
With every breath I take
I will give thanks to God above
For as long as I shall live
I will testify to love

You can listen to the full song here:

What do you hear in those words?

Melissa Greene, one of the original members of Avalon describes the song this way…

“Testify to Love was our biggest hit. It is a song about love without exception, love that reaches every corner of creation, love that testifies through every star in every sky. We sang it night after night to arenas of people.”^[1]

In other words, this was a song that on the surface conveyed love without exception.

Unconditional, sacrificial, selfless love. And man did they sing it out. And people’s hands were in the air, some would cry, others would be on their knees saying:

Yes…this is what God’s love is all about! Thank you, Jesus! I can testify to that kind of love.

But then Melissa goes on to say that while this song was at its most popular her bandmate, Michael Passons, was kicked out of Avalon for being gay. So, while this song was being sung in stadiums and on car stereos and in worship services, Michael Passons had fallen into that category of estrangement…from God and from those whom he loved.

Apparently, God’s love had a few limits.

The love they were testifying to, the love they were encouraging from you and from me was conditional, limited, and self-serving, defining a faith perspective that pointed a finger right at anyone deemed to be sinful and therefore estranged from God, not even worthy of the love of friends and family. The doors were shut.

I wonder how many of you have found yourselves on the outside of those limits. Estranged. Told you were less than worthy of God’s love. If you have been there, I am sorry. I know how much it hurts. I know how much you just want to believe in your heart that God loves you. That your family will love you. That your friends will love you.

But here’s the Good News…now, almost 20 years later, Melissa and Michael, along with Ty Herndon, have rerecorded Testify to Love. It has taken 20 years for Michael to reclaim the words of this song and live into its intention to stand as a beacon of love without exception. His courage has shown what living God’s love is truly about. And this past week a wave of open hearts has emerged as this song has become an anthem for the eager abundance of God’s love. For everyone. No exceptions. No limits.

A love that is not transactional.

A love that is not exclusive.

A love that will never ever separate you from God.

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And when we come together for Pentecost we are testifying as a body of Christ to this grand expansive embracing love. When the Holy Spirit descends, we are told that the Spirit descended on all who were gathered. All y’all. We hear the words of Joel’s vision that God, “…will rain down God’s spirit upon all human beings from every nation.” It’s the moment God’s love is poured out in eager abundance to all of humanity. And make no mistake…there are no qualifiers or limits.

It’s a moment of healing and restoration. A moment of hope. A moment of radical reconciliation and renewal.

So to anyone who would tell you that you are outside of God’s love, for anyone who would question your worth in God’s eyes, Pentecost stands as your reminder…

And God breathes love and life into your very being. Into the darkest of places, into the deepest of hurts. That’s the love we testify to as followers of Christ. A love that is beautiful and good. A love that breaks down every barrier and builds up every life. A love that is eager and abundant.

Because…

For as long as we shall live
we will testify to love.

^[1]

Melissa Greene's Substack

TESTIFY TO LOVE

Today, a song I’ve sung a thousand times gets to mean what it always said.Melissa Greene's Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber…

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2 months ago · 457 likes · 67 comments · Melissa Greene

***This post was originally written May 2025. As I was doing sermon prep for this week, I reread it and thought it was the perfect primer for Pentecost Sunday. So take a moment to read and reflect on God’s love for you and this world. More to come tomorrow.***

Read the Lectionary Texts

One of my favorite quotes is from the book “What’s Wrong with the World” by writer and philosopher G.K Chesterton. He wrote, "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and left untried."^[1]

The Christian ideal has been found difficult and left untried.

So, let’s talk about this concept of a Christian ideal. But first let me ask you….If you had to define your faithful ideal, what would it be? I think we all have them…those aspirational practices and attitudes that come with hanging our hat on a particular religion or spiritual belief. Ideals that say this is what I believe to be true and as a result this is who I want to be.

For many of us, the greatest ideal we come back to over and over again is the ideal of Christian love.

Jesus states in the Gospel of John:

³⁴I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples….

In fact, most of us would point to this verse as foundational to living the way of Jesus. It’s the verse we can hang our hat on and say this is what I believe and this is who I want to be.

Our former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry would famously cheer…

”If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.”

It became a clarion call to open our hearts to build a faith community that stood outside of political, social, and cultural divisions. A call to not just say this is what we believe but to actually become the kind of people who embody this belief. Sometimes it felt as though he was pleading with us to change something within ourselves that we weren’t quite mature enough to understand.

And Jesus is making this same plea. To not just say you believe in the ideal of Christian love but to build faithful maturity to embody Christian love.

In other words, how will we live and breathe it? How will it seep into our hearts? How will it become who we are?

And so, when we read the ideal of a new commandment to love one another just as I have loved you…the deeper, more powerful question becomes…

Can I do all that is required of me to love the way I am commanded to love?

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Because, I think that in all honesty we would say that the ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and therefore left untried.

And let me be clear…

It’s OK to say that Christian love is difficult.

None of us get gold stars for keeping a stiff upper lip of semi-sainthood. Instead, I think it’s a whole lot healthier and more beneficial to say we aren’t so sure we can do it.

I would even venture to say that love, in the form Jesus teaches, isn’t all that appealing. I mean, it’s good on paper. But I can’t say that we like to give Jesus’ version of love all that much. To be fair, we like to give it when it’s convenient, when love doesn’t challenge us too much, when we can give it to people we like.

But that’s not the kind of love Jesus is talking about.

He’s not talking about easy, convenient, or comfortable love. Consider the night he is teaching his disciples this very lesson. Remember what has just transpired. As Jesus is washing his disciples’ feet, as he is breaking bread with them, he knows that he is about to be arrested. He knows Judas is about to betray him. He knows Peter is about to deny him. And his response even with this painful knowledge is to love them anyway.

It’s kind of crazy.

Jesus doesn’t show bitterness or resentment. He doesn’t try to create division. He doesn’t even argue. Instead, he gets down on his knees and washes their feet and feeds them.

That’s not easy love. That’s mature love. That’s the Christian ideal.

Could we do the same?

To answer that we have to get personal. We have to address the parts of our own heart that might be closed off to an honest answer. The parts that might have already established strong opinions about right and wrong based on one theological perspective. The parts that might have aligned religious belief with political ideology. The parts that might have become selective in which teachings of Jesus are most relevant to our individual wellbeing.

What might some of those challenges be for you?

If you aren’t sure how to answer that question or if you are uncomfortable naming your discomfort start by simply noticing when you get defensive. Notice when you start to label some people more worthy than others. Notice when you are quick to judge, point fingers, or blame.

When those emotions arise, that’s when we need to breathe. And then, even though it’s going to feel really vulnerable and counter-intuitive I want you to set aside your politics, your comfort, your sense of security and ask yourself…

What did Jesus teach about love and if I truly follow Jesus, who am I called to be in this moment?

You may not be comfortable with the answer at first but this is where our faith can truly start to mature. This is the real work of becoming the person Jesus calls you to be.

I want to share with you a portion of an essay by David Gate who writes powerfully about how we embody the faith we say we believe in.

A Rebellion of Care

In this excerpt he challenges our spiritual immaturity. Gate reflects on the untried ideal of kindness but we could just as well substitute any faithful the ideal that we value. The message is the same. He writes…

Kindness? Really? That’s your spiritual strategy? But here’s the thing: true piercing kindness will ruin your life. It will wreck your schedule. It will screw with your politics. It will force you to unlearn your cleverness and confront your cowardice and care about people who do not care about you. And it will hurt. And it will be the holiest thing you've ever done…..^[2]

Because this is what embodied love looks like. And to get to that kind of spiritual maturity we must be willing to let the grace of God open our hearts so that difficulty doesn’t have the last word and nothing is left untried.

We are blessed to believe in a faith that says love is so much stronger than fear and so much greater than division. We are blessed to believe in a faith that is more powerful than any political affiliation or nationality. We are blessed to believe in a faith that calls us all equally to God’s table.

So let love wreck your schedule. Let it screw with your politics. Let it force you to unlearn your cleverness. Because as David Gate reminds us…it will be the holiest thing you have ever done.

^[1] Chesterton, G K. What’s Wrong with the World. Baton Rouge, Mud House, 2018.

‌

^[2]

A Rebellion of Care

What Does My Spirituality Look Like These Days?

What Does My Spirituality Look Like These Days…

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a year ago · 32 likes · 6 comments · David Gate

Lectionary for May 17

***Before you begin today’s reflection, read the Lectionary texts for

Acts, 1 Peter, and John.

I want us to spend some time today simply wondering. Wondering what it would be like to lose Jesus.

Today is a difficult day in scripture. The disciples who had already lost Jesus once are about to lose him again. And for good this time.

Can you imagine? They watched Jesus be crucified not too long ago and now they are watching him ascend into heaven. Saying goodbye. Not knowing what that would mean for their lives. Not understanding.

I picture them reaching their arms up, standing on their tip toes, trying to hold on for one more moment. It’s the goodbye they didn’t want to have to say. It’s the reality that this person whom they love is leaving them…again. And I was struck by the fact that even though the Easter season is meant to be a time of joyful celebration, it’s in some ways marked by the reality of this moment, this week– the moment Christ ascends out of their sight, and they are left on their tip toes grasping for just one more day.

Loss is like that. We can’t comprehend life without the person we love. We can’t fathom how to move through the world without them. And I don’t care how much reassurance folks might give you…I don’t even care how much reassurance Jesus gave his disciples…losing someone who you had built your life around feels like an impossible and even cruel task.

Jesus tried to tell them…you won’t be alone. The Holy Spirit is coming…just you wait and see. It will be OK. I promise.

You got give it to Jesus for trying. He prays so hard for their comfort and reassurance. Even if that attempt, in the moment, might have felt like one old, worn out cliché.

Because the reality is that the disciples couldn’t have known if everything was going to be OK. How could they? They were moving into a week full of uncertainty. Day after day of loneliness and grief. An entire week before their hope would be restored and the Holy Spirit would arrive on the scene.

A week of wondering if they could trust what Jesus had promised.

Could they have faith?

To me, that’s the question we are faced with this week. Can we have faith when we are having a hard time just finding hope?

As a priest, I’m faced with this question often. And it’s a question that is always hard to answer. Not because I don’t believe or understand how to hold on to God in the depths of uncertainty. But because trying to tell someone how to have hope when their world has fallen apart is one of the greatest challenges of walking alongside someone’s pain.

It would be easy to dig into clichés’ out of our own reticence of meeting someone where it hurts the most. Words…sufficient words…can be hard to come by.

And so we often hear words coming out of our mouths like…God will always be with you. God understands how much you hurt. Just have faith. Things will get better.

But words like those fall flat because so often we are just simply on our tip toes grasping for more time, more love, more joy. We want a solution but we don’t know where it is going to come from.

To me – this is the void between Ascension and Pentecost. The void when we are left wondering how to move through our days. Can we have enough faith to get to the other side?

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When the disciples were left in their void – they went home and prayed. They had reached their emotional and spiritual limit and in that moment there was no other response but prayer. In many ways, their story in Acts is about the process of letting go of what was and facing what will be. And, in that moment, I am sure they had no clue how to get there. Because there weren’t words worthy of their need. So they did the only thing they could do…they prayed.

For those of us who have known God through our own hard times, we understand what the words from 1 Peter are all about – Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. We know what it means to remember that God will restore, support, and strengthen us. If you have experienced that overwhelming sense of peace when the bottom has dropped out – you get what hope is all about. You know what it means to put your faith in a god that will bring you out of those dark voids. But, no cliché can give you that peace. We each, in our own time, must find it within ourselves to trust God’s promises. To give them a chance.

Pope Francis described such moments like this:

“To Christians, the future does have a name, and its name is Hope. Feeling hopeful does not mean to be optimistically naïve and ignore the tragedy humanity is facing. Hope is the virtue of a heart that doesn’t lock itself into darkness, that doesn’t dwell on the past, does not simply get by in the present, but is able to see a tomorrow.”^[1]

I believe all of that to be true. I also believe that living into that kind of hopefulness is extremely hard at times. I wish I could instill in each of you the ability to hope in God but somedays the best I can do, the best any of us can do, is offer those well-worn phrases and pray that some of those seeds will take root as you find your own path of faith. Not big answers but glimmers of God to grasp onto.

So, for those of you who are on your own journey of finding God in the midst of the void or for those of you who are loving someone through their own difficult journey, I want to share portions of a poem which was written in honor of the late Bishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador. These words are about the little steps we each share with one another in our moments of darkness.

What this poem reminds me of is that we can’t provide the big answers and we can’t make someone understand how to trust God through it all. But, we can show God’s love to those in darkness. Somedays, it may just be about the tiny bits of light that we allow in. But these bits of light matter. They are the seeds that may be incomplete today but will give space for God to enter in to do the rest.

^[1] https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/messages/pont-messages/2017/documents/papa-francesco_20170426_videomessaggio-ted-2017.html

^[2] https://www.romerotrust.org.uk/romero-prayer/

Lectionary for May 10

A couple of years ago I tried to save a baby bird. I found it along with 3 other fledglings right beside the church. All four were on the ground. The first three had died…most likely from the fall from their nest. But in the leaves of the daffodils I saw a small movement. And there…trying to scurry away full of fright was the fourth little bird. A little grey and black bird who against all odds, had survived a fall that seemed unsurvivable.

I immediately picked the baby bird up and took it home. He was so scared. I could feel his heart pounding in his little body. He wouldn’t eat at first. But after about 12 hours he started to eat. Soon, he wanted to be held. He would close his eyes and sing the most beautiful little songs…simple chirps and trills that said nothing less than thank you. He even liked the dogs…and they liked him…a lot.

But…I am sad to say he didn’t make it. After 4 days, whatever injuries his little body had sustained made living just a little too hard. I still get emotional thinking about the miraculous gift of that little bird. For a time we were able to give him safety and assurance, food to eat, and warm hands to hold him.

I wish we had a fairy tale ending. I wanted to set him free to fly away and I held secret hopes that he would come back day after day to our deck to say hello. But life doesn’t always turn out like the fairy tale.

Or does it?

Our Collect for today says these words…

“Pour into our hearts such love towards you, that we, loving you in all things and above all things, may obtain your promises, which exceed all that we can desire…”

Pour into our hearts such love.

Let us love you in all things.

May we obtain your promises which exceed anything we can ever desire.

Now, to me obtaining God’s promises so that they exceed anything we can ever desire seems like a fairy tale. Because when we look at our lives, we can name all kinds of things that did not exceed what we desired. Things go wrong. We lose someone we love. We get sick. We experience all sorts of bumps and bruises and those things surely aren’t what we desire. They can make us doubt those promises that we are told we will receive.

Why did you let that happen, God? Where were you?

In those moments it can be hard to believe that God provides anything that reaches beyond what we can desire for ourselves. Because pain and lose certainly don’t feel like things that exceed our expectations.

But, maybe, we are misinterpreting what God’s provisions for our lives are all about.

Let’s consider our texts from John and 1 Peter this morning and try to answer 2 questions…

How does God know what we need and how does God provide for those needs? In other words, what do these promises look like in real time, in real places, to real people?

First…how does God know what we need?

In the Gospel of John, we are told that God will send an advocate to be with us. Other translations refer to this advocate as our Comforter, Counselor, Helper, or Friend. The Greek word is Paraclete…which means the Spirit of God that takes the place of Christ after his ascension to help his followers move into a deeper knowledge of the gospel and to give them strength when they undergo trials and persecutions.

Another way to understand the advocate is simply the Holy Spirit. God with us. Our aide and intercessor. It is God walking with us and knowing very personally our joys and our sorrows. Our hopes and our fears. There is nothing in our lives that is not known by God and experienced by God. God promises that through the advocate, through the Holy Spirit, God will learn what we need and will provide for us from that personal, intimate knowledge.

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Second, how does God provide for our needs?

We have a wonderful clue in our text from the first letter of Peter. In this text, Peter makes a beautiful reference to Noah’s Ark. But first Peter reminds us that Christ suffered for our sins, was put to death, and made alive in the spirit. (Remember in our reading from John…what is the spirit? Our advocate, our guide…Peter is reinforcing that truth for us). God knows our needs through the gift of the Holy Spirit. And then, we hear the reference to Noah and the Ark…

“…God waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few…were saved through water.”

And then Peter goes on to compare the ark with our baptism.

This is a fantastic parallel! Why?

Because Peter is aligning the church and the act of our baptism with the safety of the ark. Like the ark, the church becomes for us a place of refuge and protection, a lifeboat, a shelter in the midst of life’s storms. A provision for our needs.

Here’s something you might like to know…If you are an architecture buff, what do you call the central aisle of the church?

In traditional church architecture, the central aisle is called the nave (that’s where the congregation typically sits). The word nave derives from the Latin, “navis” which means…SHIP! So…the nave of the church, especially when churches were designed with vaulted ceilings, are meant to remind us of being in a ship. To remind us of the safety of the ark. Our place of provision to weather the storm. That’s beautiful, isn’t it?

Frederick Buechner writes about the experience of the ark as the church:

That’s the knowledge and the provision of God for us. We are part of a community, gathered together to weather the storms that life will surely bring us. God has created this place for our comfort and our reassurance. God has given us a place for love to grow, for redemption to flourish, and grace to abound. That’s the provision and it will, if we open our hearts to it, exceed all that we can desire.

^[1] https://www.frederickbuechner.com/quote-of-the-day/2018/8/21/nave

Lectionary for May 3

6 years ago I started beekeeping. It was during COVID and it seemed like a nice solitary hobby to take up and it was sure to keep most folks at a safe 6 foot distance. But I soon learned that beekeeping was so much more than a good excuse to socially distance. It is a process that takes you deep into the heart of spiritual practice and closer to one another.

Beekeeping is a meditation, a process of presence, that requires your attentive devotion. You can’t work with bees if you are stressed or agitated. You can’t rush or demand your own way. Beekeeping asks that you stay mindful of how your actions will affect your hive. How you draw close to the bees matters.

Now, for some general background…

There are three types of bees found in the hive…the workers, the drones and of course, the queen. The workers and the drones have one objective…to support the queen. The drones have it easy…they are there to do one thing and one thing only…to mate with the queen. It’s a pretty straight forward job.

But…the workers are more intriguing. From the time she is born (all workers are female by the way), she will do every job in the hive throughout her lifetime. When she is born, she starts to immediately focus on the necessities. She cleans up after herself. Then, she begins to help the other larvae as they hatch. The worker will begin cleaning other parts of the hive. She will make wax and help feed other bees from the stores within in the hive. Finally, she will embark upon the job of pollinating and bringing back food for herself and others. The worker bee is a powerful example of a lifetime of service to her community. Unselfish and dedicated.

Bees instinctively know they cannot live alone…they have to be in community with one another. These are not solitary insects. Their life is dependent upon the well-being of the whole.

It’s a message we all need to be reminded of at times. None of us are meant to live alone and none of us are accountable only to ourselves. We thrive when everyone thrives.

Martin Luther in his catechism on the 10 commandments states it this way, “We should fear and love God so that we do not hurt or harm our neighbor in his body, but help and support him in every physical need.”

The beehive runs under this same premise. The bees work to ensure that no other bee is ever left to fend for themselves and they dedicate their life to support the physical needs of the hive as a whole.

So the big question…what do bees have to do with our lives? Let me share two lessons that I think could benefit us all.

The first lesson I want us to consider is from our Psalm for today, verse 15 & 16…”My times are in your hand; deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors. Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love.”

It’s a simple yet challenging directive. When things are difficult, when you are scared, when you are broken and hurting and confused…remember that you are not to live a life alone. You are God’s and God has given you not only his love but a community of people around you to support and care for you. Your life is held lovingly by God and in response to that love, we lovingly hold one another in our own hands. That’s the lesson of the bee community.

Take care of one another and remember whose you are.

The second lesson is from our Gospel reading when Jesus says to his disciples… In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. And then he tells them that he is going to prepare a place for them. Now we often hear this as a portrayal of the afterlife in heaven…of the place that is being prepared for us in some future time when we pass from this life. That is certainly one way to read this passage.

But we also know that God calls upon us to help bring the kingdom of heaven to earth today, in the present. It’s in how we provide for the hungry, comfort the sick, stand up for the oppressed. It’s in how we forgive and in how we love. It’s cultivating a servant’s heart and using our gifts to bring the love of God to fruition in this tired and broken world. That means those dwelling places that are being cultivated into those many rooms require that we do some cultivating of our own. The bee’s lesson?

Work to make sure everyone has a secure place to thrive.

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So, let me ask you to consider this…

What would that look like if we created a dwelling place where everyone had a secure job and could provide for their family?

What would that look like if we created a dwelling place where an abused woman could safely break free from her situation without fear of retribution?

What would that look like if we created a dwelling place where all children could learn in safety, free from violence or drugs or poverty?

What would that look like if we created a dwelling place where hatred and racism were abolished and were replaced with justice and respect and equality?

Like the bees, we can work to build dwelling places so that the Kingdom of God is fully present. Where no one has to live in fear or scarcity. Where no child has to go hungry. Where no person is abused or oppressed or discriminated against.

Because…God gave us a community of people so that together we may work for the greater good…the greater good that is not just reserved for a lucky, privileged few but that is available for each and every one of God’s beloved.

One thing struck me as we transferred our bees to their new homes. Once the queen was in place and the hive cover put on, all of the bees that were left outside quickly made their way into the hive. They immediately reoriented themselves around a common purpose. They knew their job and they got to work…caring for their community, working tirelessly to feed and protect the well-being of their entire hive. And, not one bee was left outside. The final lesson from the hive?

When we turn our hearts to God, when we commit to following Jesus, we will be shown the way. All we need to do is follow and get to work.

My inspiration for today’s reflection…

Smaller & Deeper

Plants, Bees & Maybe

Recently, my “cardio” (audiobook which I listen to in the car — I think this is so clever; my teens think it’s a complete eye roll…) was: The Light Eaters: How the Unseen World of Plant Intelligence Offers a New Understanding of Life on Earth by Zoe Schlanger…

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3 months ago · 11 likes · 8 comments · Amy Hoppock

Lectionary for April 26

¹The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want.
²He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.
³He revives my soul and guides me along right pathways for his Name’s sake.
⁴Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
⁵You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; you have anointed my head with oil, and my cup is running over.
⁶Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23

Let me ask you a question…Why does it matter?

I’ve been asked that question a lot over the years. I’ve asked it a few times myself. And…we ask that question for all kinds of reasons.

Sometimes we fall into deep desperation when we have lost a job and there are bills to pay, kids to raise and we don’t know how we will even afford groceries for the week.

Sometimes, someone we love dearly has died. And the grief is so overwhelming that it feels like a betrayal to carry on without them.

Or maybe we have fallen into a place of despondency with life itself. Overcome by depression or substance abuse and we don’t know how to wake up each day and do the normal things that other people take for granted.

And so we ask…Why does it matter?

When we ask this question what we are naming is an unbearable pain, a fractured heart, a longing for peace and meaning, a gift of grace and mercy when we are at the depths of despair. We call out to God wondering if God will hear.

We demand to know why our lives matter.

I am struck at the times when we find ourselves in these dark valleys. When life pulls at the fabric of everything we thought was good and right and just. It’s those times that we often revert to questioning our meaning and worth. Afterall, we’ve been told that God has a plan, haven’t we?

But did God plan for our pain?

I want to tell you that your faith will make things better. But, that’s a too-easy answer that can feel dismissive and grossly out of touch. If only you had a stronger faith, everything would be OK. (Spoiler alert…I hate when people say that).

Because the strength of our faith has nothing to do with our inherent worth. Our ability to deal with pain isn’t an indicator of the genuineness of our relationship with God.

We can have the most sincere love of God and still wrestle with the circumstances that we may face. Faith doesn’t give us a pass on hardship. It doesn’t mean we will never go through seasons of suffering. But it does mean that we never, ever have to face those seasons alone.

This is why our texts today hit at the heart of the human journey and tell us a story of hope. A story of hope you might be searching for.

And so we start with this promise…The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

The 23^rd Psalm holds one of the most powerful stories of hope in scripture. It’s a story that reminds us of one important truth…there is nothing in your life that can keep you from the love of God. In fact, verse 6 reminds us that goodness and mercy will follow us every single day of our lives. But the better translation of this verse is that we will not just be followed by God’s love but that we will be pursued by God’s love.

Chased down by God with a fierce determination to look you in the eyes and say…

I love you. I’m here with you. Your life is worth everything to me.

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It’s the same reminder we receive John when the gatekeeper calls his sheep back to the safety of home and we are told he calls them by name. Each one…a beautiful, cherished life that is known and protected and called back to safety.

As my good friend, The Rev. Pete Nunnally wrote in his new book, Catching Hope, (and I will paraphrase here)…we often turn toward this incredible gift of grace with a desperate anticipation. And when we trust in that grace we give into it freely and completely. We cast off our old ways of thinking; we willingly embrace the new life we are offered and take the risk of change with our whole being. ^[1]

It reminds me of the grace that is offered in the 23^rd Psalm. Green pastures and still waters where our deepest of pain is healed, where our weary souls finally rest, where we begin to see a path forward out of the dark valleys we have traveled.

It’s the moment we can begin to cast off our fear, our anger, our grief and let the love of God gently and kindly hold us until we can walk out of that valley and into the graciousness of new life.

And so when you find yourself asking…why does it matter…I want you to remember that God loves you. All of you. Your life is worth everything to God.

Celtic Blessing

God to enfold me,
God to surround me,
God in my speaking,
God in my thinking.

God in my sleeping,
God in my waking,
God in my watching,
God in my hoping.

God in my life,
God in my lips,
God in my soul,
God in my heart.

God in my sufficing,
God in my slumber,
God in mine ever-living soul,
God in mine eternity.^[2]

And while you are at it…check out Pete’s Substack here:

Fr. Pete the Wilderness Priest

^[1] Nunnally, Pete. Catching Hope: The Hidden Spiritual Wisdom of Fishing. Broadleaf Books, 2026. P.91

^[2] Originally from the Carmina Gadelica III, 53, this version was taken from Esther de Waal, editor, The Celtic Vision (Triumph, 2001), p.20.

Lectionary for April 19

How many of you are familiar with a game show called To Tell the Truth?

The premise of the show is simple…you have 3 contestants…and 3 panelists. The host asks each contestant, “What is your name, please?”. All three answer the same name.

I am John Smith.

I am John Smith.

I am John Smith.

Then, the host tells a story about John Smith. The panelists begin asking questions to determine who is the real Mr. Smith. There is one rule…the actual subject of the story must always tell the truth and the 2 imposter contestants can make up any answer they want in order to convince the panelists that they are the real John Smith.

At the end of the game the panelists cast their vote for who they think is telling the truth. The host then says…”Would the real John Smith please stand up.” No matter how convincing the imposters might have been, there is only one right answer. There is only one real John Smith.

As I thought about this game show, I started to think about Jesus.

More specifically, I thought about who the real Jesus might be. Who was this man who showed up after his resurrection and how are we to understand him? Since Easter Sunday we have had three different accounts telling us the story of what Jesus did after he was resurrected.

• In Matthew, Mary encounters an angel and then suddenly out of nowhere is greeted by Jesus.

• In John, Jesus walks through walls and appears in front of the disciples and even lets Thomas touch his wounds.

• In Luke, Jesus walks alongside Cleopas on the road to Emmaus, has a nice chat and then eats a meal with him.

That means 3 different groups of people had 3 different perspectives on who Jesus was and what this resurrection meant to them.

If Jesus were on To Tell the Truth, I imagine a panelist might ask…Jesus, how did people know you were truly the resurrected son of God?

And we might hear three different answers depending on how Jesus wanted to tell us about his identity.

The challenge for us is how we choose to interpret each answer. If we were panelists, hearing those 3 stories, we might resonate with one story more than another. One might feel a little more accurate than the others. And so we start to consider…maybe this is the real Jesus. And we might begin to build a narrative around that understanding.

We have encountered Jesus one way and we let that encounter create our definition of what the resurrection is all about. That’s not bad necessarily but it raises concerns if we let that one encounter become our only encounter.

I was struck by an idea that was presented by Bishop Jake Owensby in his essay on this week’s Gospel. He considered that encountering Jesus is something that should happen over and over again…in different ways throughout our life. And that the heart of the Christian life is our on going encounter with Jesus on the different roads we may travel. In other words, our understanding of Jesus grows and expands the more we engage our journey of faith.^[1]

Our depth of understanding is never a one and done encounter.

However, too many times we stop with a singular encounter of Jesus and name that encounter as the one and only way to understand Jesus. We create a single-faceted faith with one exclusive theological lens. A proprietary claim that shuts out an expansive expression of love and mercy and grace.

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In one way, this is understandable…it’s how we have built so many different denominations. Did you know that it is estimated that there are approximately 45,000 Christian denominations worldwide? That’s a lot of ways that we have defined our understanding of Jesus.

Some of these distinctions grew out of worthwhile theological debates on doctrine and worship practices. Others, however, grew out of division and conflict around issues of morality or societal norms. Still others offered a path towards control and power for a select few of “chosen” individuals…claiming Jesus on their side and their side alone.

So, out of those 45,000 interpretations…which is right?

If we asked the real Jesus to stand up…who would we meet?

We know the core teachings of Jesus. No matter how we may personally experience Jesus or how we may interpret what he taught, the teachings remain the same…

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself.

That’s it. That’s the real Jesus.

And the real Jesus also taught us how we are to carry out those commands. Jesus taught us to live with humility and mercy, to be peace-makers, to feed the hungry and care for the sick, to welcome the stranger, and stand up for the oppressed.

As theologian Daniel Maguire states in his book A Moral Creed for All Christians, the truth of the Gospel will always be….”paralleled with justice and coupled with love.” Maguire goes on to say that the Jesus we seek, the real Jesus, will not just inform us as people of faith, it will transform us into people of the truth.^[2]

And that’s why we have to keep meeting Jesus. Not once but over and over again. We keep meeting him so that we encounter his truth in all of its diversity so that we may more fully and honestly embody that truth. It’s those encounters that transform us from our individual theological, political, and social camps into a stronger, more unified community of truth-seekers.

C.S. Lewis reminds us that, “Theories about Christ’s death aren’t Christianity: they’re explanations about how it works.”^[3] The theories are secondary to the real gift of what Jesus did for us and continues to do for us.

I really want us to take this message to heart. Because as we grow into more and more divided camps of religious belief coupled with political posturing, I want to encourage us all to take a step back. Remember that what you are hearing is simply someone’s explanation of Jesus, someone’s claim on Jesus, someone’s manipulation of Jesus and of what his teachings are supposed to mean.

But no matter what interpretation you might hear, the teachings never changed. Only our use of those teachings has changed.

So what does that mean for us as Episcopalians?

We are a denomination that stands together in common prayer and common practice…a practice that is grounded in love and mercy and peace-making. A practice that invites us all to encounter Jesus together, over and over again for as long as it takes to become a loving, life-giving community for all people….no exceptions.

We even explain that practice in our Baptismal covenant. Our promise is that we will continue to learn and pray together. We will love our neighbors as ourselves and strive for justice and peace among all people respecting the dignity of every human being. This is our ongoing effort to live by Jesus’ example.

And so when we ask the real Jesus to stand up, I don’t think he is going to stand with any one religious or political group.

He is going to simply ask…did you do what I taught you to do?

The Baptismal Covenant

^[1]

The Woodlands: A place to explore the way of Jesus

Meeting Jesus Again

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3 months ago · 30 likes · 11 comments · Jake Owensby

^[2] Maguire, Daniel C. A Moral Creed for All Christians. Fortress Press, 2005. p139.

^[3] Lewis, C. S. The Case for Christianity. Macmillan, 1944. P.46.

Lectionary for April 12

¹⁹When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” ²²When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
  ²⁴But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” ²⁶A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁷Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” ²⁸Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” ²⁹Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”
  ³⁰Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. ³¹But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

John 20:19-31

When I was a little girl, I loved to play in the dirt. I would spend hours outdoors, watching bugs, catching butterflies, chasing grasshoppers, listening to birds. And I knew the best places to find interesting things.

One place full of interesting things was a small rock wall that ran along my grandmother’s dirt driveway. It wasn’t a fancy wall and it wasn’t tall. It was more like a little ledge of large stones that had been placed one on top of the other in a makeshift kind of way. Purple phlox grew randomly out of the crevices. So unassuming, you might walk by and not even notice that the rocks were anything special.

But, to me…they were pure joy.

I would spend hours at this humble rock wall. Exploring. Noticing. Investigating. Because underneath each rock were these incredible tiny villages made up of carefully crafted tunnels and pathways. They were vibrant and full of life.

There was the rock where the big black ants lived and another for the little black ants. And there was the rock where the red ants lived. Then…there was my favorite…the rock where the rollie pollies lived.

For me, looking underneath those rocks and seeing those little villages held an incredible magic…a discovery so special, each stone a beautiful story of life.

I have always been fascinated about the stories that linger behind things. Behind rocks, or doors, or walls. Your story and mine.

And so it caught my attention this week when Jesus keeps showing up on the other side of closed doorways, appearing behind walls and encountering the disciples who lingered there. The text for today tells us…

“…the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked out of fear, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” And then we hear… “A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them…”

It’s kind of odd really. It’s almost like a magician’s tale – appearing and disappearing at will to the astonishment of the weary and fearful disciples.

I love that Jesus suddenly peeks in on them, unannounced. I am sure they were busy going about their routine…trying to make sense of all that had been going on. Probably feeling isolated and alone. And, suddenly, there he is. Comforting and guiding them. Telling them to be at peace!

And, I love that we get to see the interplay of Thomas and Jesus together. Jesus peeking behind the walls at Thomas; Thomas wanting to take a peek at Jesus.

The moment is so deeply honest. Like Thomas, we all want to touch and feel and see Jesus. And we want Jesus to see us. It’s a mutual longing, a desire to know and to be known.

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As we look closer at our text, we find some important insights about what this interaction has to teach us about how we might encounter Jesus behind our own walls.

We are told in the first verse of our Gospel reading that the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked. In Greek, this idea of locked doors translates as a shutting off of compassion, to be devoid of care towards another person. It can even be translated as obstructing the entrance into the kingdom of heaven.

In other words, you might say that the closed doors of the disciples were not simply a physical closure but a spiritual closure. A perceived absence from God and from the one whom they had come to love and to follow.

And that makes sense based upon what they have just gone through. The disciples’ world was dark and they had become doubtful and fearful. It’s no surprise that spiritually they felt cut off from God.

And then our text takes a critical turn…when the disciples finally see Jesus, that moment when Jesus appears, the seeing that is presented isn’t just physical sight. It’s uncovering a deeper truth. The moment when you finally know something deep within your soul…not because someone has told you to believe but because you have experienced that belief.

And, then, we are told that Jesus breathes on them.

This is so important. We only see this particular usage of the word “breathe” one other time in the entire Bible. It’s when God breathed on Adam and he became a living soul. And now, here, in John, Jesus breathes on his disciples, in essence giving them new life.

Think of the power of that moment. A movement from darkness and doubt, as the rock is lifted, the door opened, the walls traversed, and Jesus appeared. And we can only imagine what that moment was like as they spent time in one another’s presence. Seeing and being seen. Knowing and being known. Loving one another.

That made me wonder…How often are we closed off because we don’t feel seen or known? When we lose hope in others, in ourselves, in God? We let the rocks and the doors and the walls that cover us keep out the love we need to give and the love we need to receive. We cut ourselves off from compassion and even like the disciples from accepting the kingdom of heaven.

Our doors are shut. And we dare anyone to look inside.

But that’s when Jesus shows up…behind our walls…and breathes new life into the darkness we may be experiencing. It’s the realization that we are seen and known and loved as Jesus shines new light into our hearts so that we can live.

Easter Sunday Lectionary

We’re going back to the frickin’ moon!

These very profound words were spoken by an enthusiastic young boy when asked on Wednesday why he wanted to witness the launch of Artemis II.

And I have to admit, I have been just as excited. Watching the launch of the first manned spacecraft to travel to the moon in over 50 years, brought tears to my eyes. I held my breath knowing that this moment wasn’t just about a mission to space. It was about the greater story of humanity and who we are together.

Some of you will recall Apollo 8, the first mission to orbit the moon in 1968. On Christmas Eve of that year, three astronauts, Bill Anders, Jim Lovell, and Frank Borman completed their 9th orbit around the moon. And as they had earth in view they broadcast a message to the world.

Taking turns, they read the creation story from Genesis. In the beginning God created heaven and earth. You know the story. But the words that continue to move me from their reading were these…

And God said let there be light and there was light and God said it was good.

The astronauts ended their broadcast by saying…

God bless all of you, all of you on the good Earth.

And now, the crew of Artemis II will have that same unique opportunity…to see earth, the good earth, from a vantage point few of us will ever experience.

But there’s something else that makes their journey incredibly unique. Before they emerge from the backside of the moon they will be cut off from communication with the earth. Out of satellite reach, they will spend approximately 40 minutes on Monday totally and utterly alone.

Before they see the light of the good earth shining in front of them, they will have to spend time in the absence of all that is familiar. They can’t turn around and go back the way they came even if they start to feel afraid. They can only move forward, pulled by the gravity of the moon, as they forge a new path toward the future.

Can you imagine that moment when connection is restored? With the darkness behind you, light shining forth ahead of you. A new path comes into view. And you feel joy rising up within your soul.

The journey of the Artemis crew reminds me of Easter morning.

When we’ve spent time in darkness, in the absence of light. When all that we have loved and counted on has faded into the background. When what we have relied upon is simply not there. Our savior has died and we have been suspended in time…unable to go back but uncertain of how to go forward.

And then, in that moment, the stone is rolled away. We round the corner and we see light once again. Good light. And it is beautiful.

Christ has risen.

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Easter morning reminds us of the love that God has for this world. The love that was described to us in Genesis. The love that was given to us through Jesus…For God so loved the world that he gave his only son.

God gives to this world because this world is good. And God keeps affirming that goodness over and over and over again.

And Easter stands for us as the greatest of gifts, the greatest of hopes. The reminder that there is nothing that can separate us from God’s love. No hardness of heart. No shame. No guilt. No anger. No fear.

Yes…we may be pulled into darkness at times, feeling as though we have lost hope, afraid we can’t find our way home as a person, as a family, as a nation, as a world. Division and conflict, regret and uncertainty can feel that way. And they can grow and take over our hearts if we don’t keep moving forward...looking for the light that is emerging right in front of us. That’s what sin does…it holds us back and convinces us that we don’t have the power to overcome our darkness.

But Christ shines a light on you and on me. A light that says sin will not have the last word. A light that pushes out the darkness and guides us forward, to a new life…on this good earth together.

Christ’s death shows us what darkness feels like. And Christ’s resurrection shows us what love looks like.

It’s the story of humanity and who we are together. Because the light of Christ changes us.

And when it changes us, when the forgiveness and redemption and reconciliation of Christ overflow into our lives, we can do no less than offer that same forgiveness and redemption and reconciliation to others.

The world is good when we are good, together. Christ redeems not just one of us. Christ redeems all of us.

And one thing is for certain, living the Easter story is a process for us all. We round the corner, we emerge out of darkness and see this incredible light. But like those astronauts turning for home, it will be a journey to fully comprehend what Jesus’ love for us will mean. It will be a journey to learn how to live into that love especially in the divided world we find ourselves in right now.

But there is surely no turning back. Instead, Easter calls us forward with courage to love beyond boundaries. With strength to build across divides. And with conviction to be changed by the light that Christ has given us.

The realization of God’s good earth is in our hands. It is the salvation of Christ given for you and for all of us to live in freedom and wholeness and abundance.

One earth. One people. One creation. And God said it is good.

Lectionary for Good Friday

**Jan Richardson is one of my favorite poets and this poem in particular speaks to me about our experience on Good Friday. Sit with her words for a while before continuing with my reflection below.

Solace Blessing

That’s it.
That’s all this blessing
knows how to do:

Shine your shoes.
Fill your refrigerator.
Water your plants.
Make some soup.

All the things
you cannot think
to do yourself
when the world
has come apart,
when nothing
will be normal
again.

Somehow
this blessing knows
precisely what you need,
even before
you know.

It sees what will bring
the deepest solace
for you.
It senses what will offer
the kindest grace.

And so it will step
with such quietness
into the ordinary moments
where the absence
is the deepest.

It will enter
with such tenderness
into the hours
where the sorrow
is most keen.

You do not even
have to ask.

Just leave it open—
your door,
your heart,
your day
in every aching moment
it holds.

See what solace
spills through the gaps
your sorrow has torn.

See what comfort
comes to visit,
holding out its gifts
in each compassionate hand.

—Jan Richardson
from The Cure for Sorrow1

Solace and grace. I love the idea that they will step with quietness into our ordinary moments where the absence is the deepest. It’s that moment when you think you simply can’t survive the heaviness of your hurt. When all you can do is put one foot in front of the other (and maybe…even that is hard). When you find yourself sitting alone and hours pass. When the thing you lost fills every waking minute and every waking moment is utterly devastating.

And…if you hear things will be OK just one more time, you might scream at the top of your lungs.

This is the moment we find ourselves on Good Friday. The moment of our darkest hour at the very depths of grief. Nothing feels OK. For a moment, we are simply called to acknowledge what we have lost. It is just fine to wrestle with your anger and your emptiness. It is just fine to feel your heart break. It is just fine to wonder if you will ever feel better.

That is the reality of the cross in this moment. Those emotions were no different for Jesus’ family and friends and the people who followed him. Mary watching her son be tortured to death. His disciples watching their leader be taken from this world. Nothing could have made sense in that moment.

You might even say the cross doesn’t make sense. How could it? How can we as Christians look to this symbol as a symbol of hope when today, all we can see is darkness? Richard Rohr calls the cross our greatest paradox. That in the midst of darkness there is also solace and grace.

Rohr describes the cross as a symbol of our solidarity. A joining of our communal experience as children of God, a relational crossroads where Jesus experiences the depths of the human heart…in all of its forms.2

On the one hand, Jesus looks down from the cross and joins his mother to his disciple because he knows they will need each other. Mother, here is your son. Disciple, here is your mother. They will need one another to heal. That is the solace.

On the other hand, Jesus faces down the ugliest parts of the human soul. His tormentors showing no mercy. The crowd come to gawk at the site of the crucifixion. Soldiers casting lots for his clothes and mocking him. And, yet Jesus is still able to forgive. “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” That is the grace.

Because somehow this blessing of the cross knows precisely what you need, even before you know. This blessing of solace and grace is ready to calm your troubled and heavy heart. And if that feels too impossible, too improbable, then simply allow yourself to go back to those ordinary things and just be with the darkness a bit longer. It’s OK to linger there while you shine your shoes. Fill your refrigerator. Water your plants. Make some soup. The blessing of the cross will come. So when it’s time, open the door and allow it to quietly step in.

The Lectionary for Maundy Thursday

Take a moment to read the Lectionary for today before reading the reflection. This reflection is based upon the Gospel reading from John.

I Will Try by Mary Oliver

I will try.

I will step from the house to see what I see

and hear and I will praise it.

I did not come into this world

to be comforted.

I came, like red bird, to sing.

But I’m not red bird, with his head-mop of flame

and the red triangle of his mouth

full of tongue and whistles,

but a woman whose love has vanished,

who thinks now, too much, of roots

and the dark places

where everything is simply holding on.

But this too, I believe, is a place

where God is keeping watch

until we rise, and step forth again and –

but wait. Be still. Listen!

Is it red bird? Or something

inside myself, singing?1

Red birds and Maundy Thursday. There is something important that this poem tells me about why we are here. If you are like me – red birds make you smile especially in winter and in those dark places when there are no leaves on the trees and the grass is brown. They offer a glimmer of hope, of brightness, and of joy.

When I was a little girl, I would sit on an old yellow metal framed swing in my grandmother’s backyard. Summers were hot and grandmother only had a simple window fan to cool her house. So even on the hottest of days, we found ourselves outside in the shade sitting in that yellow swing catching the little bit of breeze that we could kick up as we swung, bare feet in the dirt, sweat rolling down our arms.

That swing was a respite from the southern humidity that lingered heavy in the air. It was also our best vantage point to watch the red birds that came to her birdfeeder.

Red birds were her favorite.

And every time I see one it makes my heart sing for those days in my grandmother’s backyard.

I also remember the last meal I ever saw my grandmother eat. It was a few days before she died. She was sitting at her little kitchen table eating a bologna sandwich on white bread with yellow mustard and a glass of sweet tea. Somehow, I remember every detail of that moment. I was 16 at the time. And I had taken a pause in my day to stop and notice every nuance of her kitchen, how her hands shook every time she picked up her glass, her soft white hair, the hunch of her back as she ate.

I think I knew it would be the last time I saw her. And, it was.

There are those times that we know things will change. When we know our red bird moments will be taken away. Maundy Thursday is one of those days. It’s that day when Jesus says “I am with you only a little longer.”

Just a little longer.

And, I imagine the disciples taking in every moment.

Maundy Thursday is not, after all, a joyful day. It is not one filled with good times and laughter. Instead, people are saying goodbye. They are the people Mary Oliver would describe as thinking too much about roots and dark places. They are the people who are simply holding on to that moment, to that feeling of love and companionship.

We have all heard this story countless times. We know these well-worn verses backwards and forwards. But did you ever stop to think about what it felt like to be in that room with Jesus? Did you ever take a moment to look around in your imagination, to smell the food, to blink your eyes as they adjust to the coming darkness of evening, to feel the water poured over your feet as Jesus kneels beside you, loving and caring for you in that moment that would last only a little longer.

Stop and linger there, even though it may be hard.

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Some of us, in our struggle with goodbyes will be like Peter and will want to turn away because it’s too difficult to face the change ahead. And it will be even harder to accept the generosity of kind actions in the midst of your pain.

Others of us will be like Simon Peter who begs for more – more water, more time, more of Christ. Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head! All of me!! Just a while longer.

No matter their reaction, they know the moment will soon pass and that darkness is near. And, what Jesus does for them that evening is so profoundly beautiful. Knowing what is to come, he slows down their time together.

He changes his clothes.

He bends down.

He begins to care for them, each of them, one by one.

There is not a more important act. There is nowhere more important to be. It is a gift of unconditional love and service – where each person is fully valued, where distinctions disappear and where time stands still in all of its sacredness.

On this evening, I want you to think about that kind of stillness. The kind of stillness that allows us to see one another and to love one another fully and unconditionally.

This kind of time is what Jesus wanted us to cultivate together when he said, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” His loving act of washing his disciples’ feet is about the community we build right we are, taking care of one another, listening to one another, doing what needs to be done so that each of us can hear and experience those red bird moments even in the midst of our darkness and our goodbyes.

Whomever you may be with today…at work, at home, at church…I want you to take a moment and look one another in the eye. Notice each other. Smile and linger in that moment. Say a silent prayer of gratitude for this person you are encountering. Appreciate the time you are given to care for someone and to be cared for. You don’t have to do it perfectly.

Let your time and presence be enough.

Sometimes, there are no words to share when darkness is upon us. And, that’s OK. Our actions of grace and of mercy for one another may be all that we need to hear the singing of the red bird come back into our hearts.

Be still and listen.

Lectionary for Palm Sunday

Does Jesus ever disappoint you?^[1]

I know…it may seem like a strange question especially for us church-goers. Jesus? Disappointing? Say it isn’t so.

But nevertheless, this is the question I want us to consider this morning and for good reason.

Let us start with some context. We open Palm Sunday with shouts of Hosanna! This is our king! This is the Son of David who is going to save us! Emotions are high. Hopes and dreams are about to be fulfilled. The world is going to change. And all of that expectation is placed upon this one man.

And not only that…he looks and acts as though he is fulfilling the prophecy…your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey. This is what the people have been promised. I want you just to imagine the energy that is brewing. The crowds hearing the rumble of revelation. Excitement, anticipation, freedom at their fingertips. All the while…the sounds of the Roman Empire beating and pulsing in the background. It all seemed like a miracle…this savior coming down the mountain and entering the city gates with a presence they couldn’t quite describe. And he was going to not only confront the Empire but he was going to overthrow the oppressors. That was what the people were hoping for.

So the people get involved in the movement…waving their branches, laying down their cloaks…creating a makeshift red carpet for their king.

But, we know the story that is about to unfold - in a few short days that red carpet will be rolled up from the ground and instead a rock will be rolled in front of a tomb.

We often focus on the grief of those close to Jesus who watched him die on the cross and on those who buried him…the people named in the biblical narrative. But what about the people in the crowds…people like you and me? After all of the hype…might they have walked away…disappointed?

Afterall, this wasn’t the god they had been hoping for.

And I get it. Because sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about this version of Jesus. When we are tired, worn down, and longing for relief, a savior who gets crucified can be hard to stomach. We want answers. We want action. And we want someone to do the heavy lifting to create change we long to see, the freedom we long to experience.

Take our grief away. Relieve our suffering. Do away with the things that hurt us. Make things better!

And the answer Jesus gives can be downright frustrating…and disappointing.

Is this the god we were hoping for? A god who leaves us wanting something more?

What kind of a god are you hoping for this Easter? A god who forgives? A god who rescues? A god who promises deliverance? I think we all want those things and our faith promises them to us. But what does that promise of deliverance actually look like? How is it carried out? Are we hoping for a god who does the work for us? And what happens when the work isn’t done (at least not in the way we wanted it to be done) and it’s left up to us to create the change we long to see?

Palm Sunday asks these questions. And like the people who followed Jesus into the city that day, we have to decide…will we be left disappointed or will we see that this was a king who wanted to do more than patch together a temporary solution of liberation?

Because Jesus was different…He wanted to teach us how to cultivate our own long lasting sustainable solution. He wanted to give us the tools to keep going even when he wasn’t around in person. He wanted to show us that walking behind a king and waving our branches of adulation wasn’t enough. We needed to learn how to walk with a king…side by side.

To do that we have to first become clear about what that walk means.

I want to suggest to you that even though Jesus could have overthrown the Roman Empire he didn’t because doing so would have perpetuated a false narrative of what power was supposed to look like. Sure the leader could have been overthrown but the hearts of the people who followed that leader would still be intact.

And Jesus wasn’t going after a regime change. He was going after a heart change.

And that was going to require a longer, more consistent effort than just putting a new person into power.

As Richard Rohr stated…“Your image of God creates you. You become the God you worship.” ^[2]

Therefore, if our God or our leader is cruel or power hungry then we become cruel and power hungry. If our God is unjust, we become unjust. What we look up to and what we allow is what we become. That’s the point Rohr is making.

But on the other hand, if God is presented as a humble, loving servant, then we are shown what that means for our own lives. That example matters.

John van de Laar astutely suggests…

“…when we cling to an image of God that is defined by power and domination, we have to ignore most of Jesus’ life and message.” The two do not go hand in hand. They are in direct opposition to each other.

And so it might be rather disappointing if Jesus doesn’t provide the power and domination we were hoping for. The world teaches us that power and prestige, security and stability look like a leader who is forceful, dominant, and driven by material gain and social status. And if that’s the kind of leader or the kind of god we look up to it’s no wonder that Jesus might be disappointing. Because to follow the kind of leader Jesus exemplifies means that we have to address our personal motivations and desires…we have to address our heart. We have to change our lives in to something that might seem counterintuitive to the world around us.

Paul talks about this very dynamic is his letter to the church in Philippi. The church had become enamored with power and privilege. The ethos of Rome had become a touch point to how they wanted to follow Jesus. The Philippians may have wanted to walk beside Jesus in theory but their hearts were walking with Roman ideals. And Paul speaks about this with clarity:

“…let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.”

And that humanness that Jesus embodied is precious to God not as an embodiment of power but as an embodiment of love and service. Not as a tool for dominance but as a path toward abundance. Not to the exclusion of anyone but the inclusion of everyone.

Why is this important? It’s important because the beliefs and actions of the people will always fuel the systems that we choose to follow. Jesus understood this. So we can fuel systems of dominance, or we can fuel systems of compassion. We can fuel systems of power and privilege, or we can fuel systems of love and mercy.

As I have heard many people state…the world is as it is because of the choices we make.

And those choices are most often influenced by the leaders and the systems we choose to follow. And so when Jesus rode into Jerusalem, he became for us a different kind of leader. A better example. A more impactful presence that takes hold of our hearts and asks us to walk with him. Side by side.

That’s the kind of leader Jesus was. And he has empowered us all to follow.

^[1] This question was inspired by the insightful post of John van de Laar. You can read it here: https://sacredise.substack.com/p/lectionary-reflection-for-palm-passion

You can find John’s Substack here

^[2] https://cac.org/daily-meditations/baking-the-cake-from-the-bottom-up-2017-01-02/

Lectionary for March 22

On March 25^th, history will be made. Sarah Mullally will be installed as the 106^th Archbishop of Canterbury…the first woman to hold this position in the 1,400 year history of our denomination.

And to mark the beginning of her historic ministry, she is walking from London to Canterbury…a six-day pilgrimage that will cover 87 miles of the Becket Camino route ending at Canterbury Cathedral. It is the first time in modern history that the Archbishop has taken on this type of pilgrimage to spiritually prepare in heart, mind, and body for the role that God has called her to fulfill.

She is walking with people…listening…and praying. Not in vestments or official regalia. But in hiking boots. As Ayala Harris, president of the House of Deputies for the Episcopal Church, stated, “…[Mullally’s] ministry invites all of us into the slow, faithful work of walking together, with honesty, with responsibility and with a deeper commitment to one another.”^[1]

In the Archbishop’s own words…”Every Christian life is a pilgrimage – a journey with God.”^[2]

And that journey is true for all of us.

We may not be walking towards Canterbury but we do walk our own journeys. Journeys that require us to take each committed step toward the call that is being given to each of us. Sometimes, that call is welcome…we are eager to take it on. We feel prepared and capable.

But sometimes, we have to take those first steps not out of certainty or a sense of readiness but out of faith, not knowing what those steps will mean for us.

It reminds me of the call Lazarus received in our Gospel. Now, you might think…Lazarus was dead so this call must have been great news to him. I mean…who wouldn’t want a second chance? A new lease on life?

Lazarus, come out!

Maybe he ran out of that tomb unable to hold back his enthusiasm. Ready and willing to start again. Jesus…I’m here!

But maybe, just maybe, he stumbled. Unsure. Full of doubt and resistance. My husband and I were talking about this story the other morning and Dwayne said to me…”After being dead for 4 days wouldn’t his soul have been up in heaven by now? Heaven must be a pretty nice place to be. I bet he was really irritated to be called back down to earth. It’s messy down here.”

Point taken.

Whatever your theological belief may be of this moment…wherever Lazarus’ soul may have been hanging out…we do know one thing…when he was called…he had to make a choice.

Jesus didn’t carry him out of that tomb. Lazarus had to take those steps, one by one, on his own. Ready or not.

When I think about that moment, I don’t think of some bright light beaming out of that tomb. I don’t hear the sound of singing angels. I don’t imagine shouts of joy.

I imagine a good dose of fear and trepidation. Uncertainty. Hesitation.

This was not a pristine gathering of goodness but one of harsh accusations and pain. Not only was Jesus weeping but some biblical translations describe him as groaning as though a deep agony was seeping out of him. Everyone was crying…some were even accusing Jesus of not caring enough for his friend to show up on time and help. It was raw and dirty and smelly.

The King James translation of the Bible states it in no uncertain terms…Lazarus “stinketh.”

And that’s where God shows up. Right there in the mess.

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Calling us out of the most difficult of circumstances. Giving us grace in midst of the grit. Right in the moment everything seems beyond repair God shows up and calls us to come forward. God doesn’t care where we have been or what we have done. It doesn’t matter how much we may stinketh…God still loves us.

As the Reverend Edmund Harris states in his sermon for this week,

“Jesus is the one who shows up when it is too late. When it is far too late. Jesus is the one who arrives after the nick of time has passed—after the eleventh hour has come and gone. Jesus comes when the flame of hope has flickered and gone out, when everything seems lost and the world has fallen apart.”^[3]

Lazarus, come out!

You know…we can talk about miracles all day long which is what we often focus on when we hear this story. But I want to suggest to you that this story isn’t about a miracle.

It’s about pure, unconditional love. Love that is granted to each of us even after we feel it is far too late.

So, if you have found yourself in the depths of despair…maybe you are there now…if you have found yourself weighed down by shame and regret…if you feel as though you will never be worthy of God’s love…I want you to remember that is exactly when Jesus shows up.

Come out. Take a step or two or three.

You may not feel ready or prepared. You may be scared and uncertain. Those first steps may be really, really difficult. But they are steps toward a new life that God is calling forth within you.

And I will promise you this…those steps will change everything. Because your life is and will always be a powerful pilgrimage with God.

^[1] https://episcopalnewsservice.org/2026/03/17/anglican-communion-prepares-to-celebrate-new-archbishop-of-canterbury-at-her-installation/?utm_source=Christian+Century+Newsletter&utm_campaign=c2b5518379-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_EXCHANGE_ENS_2026_03_20&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-c2b5518379-86220411

^[2] https://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/news/archbishop-canterbury-walk-140km-pilgrimage-canterbury

^[3] https://www.episcopalchurch.org/authors/edmund-harris/

Lectionary for March 15

There’s a moment in our Gospel lesson today that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind. And…it isn’t the healing of the blind man. It’s not the doubt and skepticism of the crowds. It isn’t even the debate about sin. Those would all be interesting to consider.

But, what has taken hold of my heart is this part of the story…

It’s what Jesus does when he hears that the blind man (the one he had just healed) had been driven out of his community. Jesus goes to find the man and when he finds him, he says, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

The man responds with a question of his own…”And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.”

Jesus then says, “You have seen him and the one speaking to you is he.”

And that’s when the man says, “Lord, I believe.”

Now…one of the draw backs to only having a written text is that we don’t get to hear how the words are spoken. We don’t hear the tone of people’s voices or the emotions they are trying to convey. But what we do know is how Jesus showed his love to others. So with that in mind, I want you to imagine hearing these words exchanged between these two men in a tone that is gentle, loving, and full of wonder.

We’ll come back to that in a moment. But first, I want you to put yourself in the blind man’s shoes.

His entire life had just been changed by an incredible act of mercy, a miraculous healing that gave him sight for the very first time. Just imagine what it felt like to have light start to seep in, as he blinked his eyes the world around him became clearer and clearer until he could see every color, every person, every animal that was around him.

And he starts to say to himself as he blinks his eyes…I have been healed. And then he says a little louder to those standing around him…I’ve been healed. And then even louder to the crowds. I am the one! I have been healed! This is the best day of my life!

As people doubted and questioned him he just kept reaffirming…I’m the one! Jesus did this for me!

But in their lack of understanding, the people got so caught up in judgement and suspicion that they cast him out. They couldn’t comprehend this incredible gift of grace and so they turned their backs on him. And in that moment all this man’s joy began to fade as he was met with condemnation. Surely, it was a sucker punch…a hit that took him out at the knees. You can feel his heart sinking as he says quieter this time…but I’ve been healed.

Jesus hears what has happened. He hears that this man has been driven out of his hometown and Jesus doesn’t hesitate…he seeks out the man and finds him. He doesn’t leave him to struggle alone.

And here’s the moment I keep coming back to…I imagine Jesus sitting down next to the man, maybe holding his hand, looking into his eyes…eyes that can now see. And for a few moments maybe they just sit quietly together. Taking in the pain and exhaustion of this experience. Trying to make sense of the cruelty and judgement of the people in this community.

And then Jesus whispers the words…do you believe in the Son of Man?

It’s an offer, not a quiz. It’s a gift, not a litmus test.

I love the man’s response…because he wants to know and understand. He is desperate for comfort and desperate for someone to allow him to live into this new life he has been given. To replenish his joy. To accept him and love him unconditionally. Not as someone who is blind but as someone who has overcome his darkness.

That’s when this story becomes so powerful to me. Jesus essentially says…I see you and I’m not going to let you go. Can’t you hear the man letting out a long sigh of relief? Accepting hope maybe for the first time in his life. Allowing joy to return. And that’s when he says…I believe.

I believe in your grace.

I believe in your love for me.

I believe that I am not alone.

I am that person!

Have you ever felt that kind of wide open love? I hope you have. The whisper of someone who cares and is going to walk beside you right when you need it the most.

Do you believe? Because I’m not going to let you go.

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That’s the love of Christ poured out in our moment of greatest need. Reminding us that in our suffering, Jesus will always be with us. Not to see how much faith we have but to show us how to have faith in our darkest times.

In our Lenten study this past week we named one of those dark times…the dark time when we want to scream out at God…I didn’t sign up for this! I didn’t sign up to be sick. I didn’t sign up to be abused. I didn’t sign up to get a divorce or to be without a job. It’s the moment of our greatest lament where we lay it all out for God. Our anger, our desperation, our sadness, our fear.

It’s the rawness of the human experience.

And I bet the blind man had many days where his cry to God was loud and assertive. And I’m sure there were also days his cry was weak and despondent not knowing if his life would ever be different.

Maybe you have had those days. God, I didn’t sign up for this!

That’s why I love this text. Because it tells the story of that very moment…when things seem dark and insurmountable. That’s when Jesus seeks us out and sits down beside us.

So, this morning, I want you to take away this one simple truth…that no matter what darkness you may be facing, you are not alone. And in those moments when you want to call out to God in anger or fear or grief…I want you to listen for the words of Jesus spoken in that gentle, loving tone…Do you believe? Because I am never going to let you go.