Feb 28 2019 Anna Julia Haywood Cooper & Elizabeth Evelyn Wright 1 Timothy 4: 6-16

Teach believers with your life: by word, by demeanor, by love, by faith, by integrity.



This morning, I’m inspired by the lives of the two women celebrated in Holy Women, Holy Men, a supplemental prayer resource that every day, highlights lesser known, normal people who led lives worth following. Many communities use this book as the source of the Morning Prayer readings and prayers. Each day, there’s a new Holy Woman or Holy Man, a little summary of why the Church included them in the book, alternative scripture readings related to their life, and a prayer to bring it all together.



Ms. Cooper and Ms. Wright were both African American teachers in the US who first learned and then taught in a divided and hateful system. Ms. Cooper was the daughter of a slave and white man (presumably the slave’s master), was the principal of African American High School in Washington DC, and lost her job for refusing to lower the academic standards for her students because they were black. Ms. Wright was in college Tuskegee in the late 1800’s, and quit her own schooling to create a school for rural African American children in South Carolina. Her school was burned down by arsonists, and she returned to complete her education.



These two women were both drawn to teach children of God who at the time, society saw as second class. They knew in their hearts that these children deserved a high quality education, and despite the risks and hardships, they answered that call.



From them and the selected reading from 1 Timothy, there is much to learn. It’s through how we live our lives that we teach. These two women taught not only the children, but everyone around them, everyone who saw their actions. They taught  by how they lived. By their love, faith, integrity, demeanor, and word.



I want to be that person. To be clear, I’m not a trained educator, and that is not my gift. But through my life, I want others to see God’s love. Through what I say. Through what I believe. Through what I do. Through how I love.

Feb 27 2019 Prayer of Self Dedication

Almighty and eternal God,
so draw our hearts to you,
so guide our minds,
so fill our imaginations,
so control our wills,
that we may be wholly yours,
utterly dedicated unto you;
and then use us, we pray you, as you will,
and always to your glory and the welfare of your people;
through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

In addition to daily psalms and scripture, Morning Prayer also includes prayers that you can select to pray as the spirit moves you. This is one of my favorites.

The four lines beginning with “so” speak to me.

So draw our hearts to you. God wants my heart. I want God to have my heart. I just have to remember that, all the time.

So guide our minds. From this, I get a sense that even though I spend a lot of time in my head, if I ask, God can guide that head. So often, I feel that my mind and my thoughts are antithetical to God’s will. It’s me thinking what I should do, what I know, what I believe. It feels very internal and self-focused. When I say out loud, “So guide our minds”, I’m reminded that if I choose to, my mind can be more like the cars at Disneyland, where there’s some freedom of steering, but there’s a central course and my car will bounce back on course if I get too far afield. I just have to remember.

So fill our imaginations. I spend so much time in my head, I often think I don’t have much imagination. I don’t say this to solicit consolation or feedback, but to admit I spend a lot of time in my left brain. This petition reminds me that while I might not have an elaborate imagination, it’s not all up to me. Again, if I remember to ask, God will happily fill my imagination.

So control our wills. Yes, I have a will, and yes, God will let me have free will. But I don’t believe I have a better plan or execution of that plan than God’s will for me. At one time, I saw this prayer as limiting. I’m turning my will to God? Letting someone else control my “free will”?  But now, it feels incredibly freeing. I don’t always see what’s the right path; I don’t always take the right action. But if I remain connected, remember that God has a great plan, and be willing to turn over my will to God, things turn out so much better than if I do it on my own. Or under the illusion that I’m doing it on my own.

After turning over my heart, my mind, my imagination and my will, I pray that God will use me as God wills, always for the welfare of God’s people. 

Some argue that prescribed written prayers stymie and constrain our connection with God. This prayer is one of the best antidotes to that argument for me. Every time I pray it, I am filled with this freeing, expansive sense of love of God and purpose for me. It’s a point by point reminder of how, left to my own devices, I self-limit and self-stymie my relationship with God.

Feb 26 2019 Psalm 122

The LORD shall watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth for evermore. 

There are a lot of images of God’s vastness and majesty. Of the God who made the heavens and earth, who tells the sea where to stop. The God who is omnipresent, omni-loving. That image of God is awe inspiring. 

Today’s psalm ends with something that for me, is equally awe inspiring. God watches out over your going out and your coming in. Wow. That’s a very minute, and often boring detail about my day. Just in the 30 minutes I’ve been awake I’ve had dozens of going outs and coming ins.  I got out of bed. I come in to the living room. I go to the kitchen to get coffee. I come back to the living room to read, pray and write. I’m still in my PJ’s, and yet this psalm reminds me God is present, watching over my every going out and coming in.

 For as much as the star-creating God is wonderous because of God’s vastness, the watching-over-my-every-move God is wonderous because its particularness. My every coming. My every going. That pretty much is my everything. Elsewhere in Scripture,  we hear about the God who has counted every hair on my head. But for some reason, the image of every coming and every going is so personal that this morning, I’m struck by the nearness of God throughout my day and my every action. 

If I could remember that throughout my day – God watches over my every move – what would be different?  How can I bring that awareness into today’s every action? Maybe today I’ll try to remember this in the mundane moments. Maybe today, every time I enter or leave a room, I’ll use that door threshold as a visual prompt that God is with me.

Feb 25 2019 - Feast of St. Matthias

Feb 25 2019

Acts 1: 26 Feast of St. Matthias

T­hen they cast lots, and the lot fell to Matthias; so he was added to the eleven apostles.

Today in morning prayer, we commemorate Matthias, about whom we know very little. After Judas’ betrayal and subsequent suicide, the remaining disciples wanted to round out their numbers and fill Judas’ empty spot.

To fill this important spot, they did some important analysis, vetting, matrix, etc. No, not really. They drew straws, and Matthias was named the new disciple.

 As a life long government and non-profit administrator, this is startling, and ultimately comforting. As opposed to drawing straws for important decisions, I am the on who plans and labors over the decision, trying to predict the right path forward. Risk benefit analysis. Triple bottom line. Skill inventories. And while my job is to help decision makers make timely and good decisions, I have no illusion that my methods predict the goodness of an outcome. At best, my toil reduces the risks of a bad outcome.

This is such human nature, that we fret and stew over choices or actions or days yet to come. We save for a rainy day. We exercise, even when we don’t like it. There’s a sense of control we’re trying to exert over the outcome. Not the disciples. They drew straws.

I am not suggesting that they were careless in their methods. But what I find comforting is that regardless of their human contrived effort to predict or manage the results, God made the choice right. Matthias was the right disciple. And even if he was the worst of the options, I’m quite certain that God worked with what the humans had; Matthias may or may not have been God’s first choice, but I can hear God saying, “hmm. I can work with that”.

 What this says to me is that yes, I still need to pursue laying out the best option, to take care of myself to fend off possible future bad outcomes. But regardless of my efforts, any decision, outcome or choice will be the right one, because God will make it right. It takes a little burden off me, thinking that I really need to choose, predict or recommend the sole right option. God’s the one who makes it the right option. Not me.

Feb 24 2019 John 10:7-16

I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me

In this morning’s prayer, we come to John. He talks in metaphors, and poetry and a lot of language I really struggle to understand. Today, the section I read from John goes on and on about being the good shepherd, and sheep, and gates. There has always been something compelling to me about this section, so when it comes up on a Sunday morning or in morning prayer, I take it as an opportunity to dig a little deeper. Probably more accurate, I try to let go of the logical, linear thinking I inherited. John is about images that conjure more accurate description of God and Jesus than simple words, and certainly more than my logical brain ever could.

In this section, Jesus is telling his disciples he is the good shepherd, who cares for his flock. This is the opposite of a hired hand, who’s hired to watch the flock, but if there is a serious threat, flees for his own safety. Not the good shepherd. The good shepherd stays with his flock. I get this. What is happening is that Jesus is trying to explain that he’s with his flock, regardless of the threats he encounters. In fact, that’s what happened. Jesus was executed effectively for protecting and loving his flock, and for loving God. I like that image, that Jesus will stick with me, regardless.

This section from John starts with Jesus saying he is the gate; that whoever enters through that gate will be saved. Hmm.

Jesus goes on to say that he knows his flock and his flock knows him, just as sheep know their shepherd. Having not tended sheep, I’m guessing relates to some sense of reciprocal acknowledgment and ownership. These are my sheep. This is my shepherd.

These two bits are where I struggle. Granted, John was writing from a persecuted community that for safety, and their existence as Christians, were very selective exclusive. If you believe as we do, believe in our Jesus, you have access to God. Unfortunately this section is used by other Christians to say that it’s our way or the high way.

I was involved in trying to gather people of faith for conversation, and to try to discover areas of mutual belief and interest. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen because an existing gathering of evangelical Christians said they didn’t have things in common with the Jews or Muslims because of Jesus. Because of how they’d interpreted this section of John, and that stupid gate. I respect their beliefs, but I was sad.

Using John’s writings, written in a time of persecution as the basis for exclusivity is enough to make me not want to read John. Luckily, through a discipline of morning prayer, I cannot escape it. In this very section that causes me to stumble, there’s a saving sentence.

After the talk of the exclusive gate, exclusive familiarity of Jesus’ flock, Jesus concludes by saying that “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice, so there will be one flock, one shepherd”.

Ah. There’s hope for all of those people in the world who are not part of anyone’s understanding of Jesus’ current flock. Whether it’s between Christian faiths, or between all people of faith, Jesus is saying there will be one flock, one shepherd. Since Jesus is God incarnate, I believe this to be true. One God, one flock. Christians, Muslims, liberals, conservatives, people of no faith, homeless, addicts, abusers. One God. One flock.

I don’t know how that works. I do believe Jesus is my way; it’s the way I understand God and see God in other people. And if I believe in Jesus, I have to believe it when Jesus says there will be one flock.  I want to be an agent to help create that one flock.

Feb 23 2019 1 Timothy 6: 6-21

For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.

This is a very wonderful section of scripture, if you’ve ever struggled with money. With wanting it, with having it, with worrying about others who have none, or those who have an excess. I look around and I see a society obsessed with money, and I imagine this is the community Timothy found himself, and Paul is writing an encouraging letter all about money.

One expected line of thought is the one about the evils of money, and the challenges of those who chase after it. Those people who want to be rich wander away from God, pursuing harmful desires that actually take them further away from God. I believe this happens when we put the love of money above Jesus’ two simple rules. Love God. Love your neighbor. But when we have some, or see someone who has more, we are sometimes compelled to pursue more, at the expense of those simple laws. Love God. Love your neighbor. It is a mighty hard choice, day in and day out. To choose love of God or neighbor over money. But if we can remember those two simple rules, money takes an appropriate back seat.

The other message contained in this reading has to do with the rich, or those who have an abundance. As Paul writes to Timothy, we enter this world with nothing, and leave with nothing, so if we have food and clothing, we have enough.

By this definition, most all of us have more than just the food and clothes we need; we are all rich, or at least should see ourselves as rich. But I know that for most all of us, there are always people who have more. They are the people we see as rich. It’s the relative richness from our own perspective I’m thinking about this morning.

It seems so easy for the have-nots to blame the haves. Or for those with a strong sense of care and duty for our neighbors to demonize those who we consider rich. This troubles me deeply for several reasons. First, if we start from just the clothes and food we need, we are all rich. When we bemoan those who are richer, we are falling prey to relative wealth. I am not the problem because they’re the rich ones, not me.

Second, this section does not ever blame the rich. Paul does caution about the money itself, and what it does to people. But he goes on to say that for those who are rich in this present age, they are to do good, be rich in good works, generous and ready to share.

There is a place and a role in this world for people who are rich. They have money to do the good deeds that many who want to do the good deeds do not have. The rich can fund the deep desires and willing actions to help from those without the financial resources needed. To some this role of financier may look or feel like condescending and toxic charity.  I have absolutely seen that, with people who believe their sole job is to give money to the disadvantaged, to those who aren’t as great as they are. O, those poor needy. I can help them.

But I have also see amazing examples of love and charity from incredibly wealthy people. They do marvelous things with their wealth. They fund systems and shelters and staff to do amazing work. They may have millions but that is not sufficient reason to dismiss them. They are not the evil ones. Money has the potential to be evil, because it can woo us into wrong actions. But that can happen to the lower class, middle class and upper class. The wealthy are not the bad ones. What a human does with money is.

Finally, I find this judgement wrong because 1) we’re not supposed to judge and 2) we are commanded to do only two things. Love God. Love our neighbor. That includes our millionaire neighbors. Love them. Encourage them, in love, to follow those two commands. Love God. Love your Neighbor. It’s really simple, which makes it possible. As long as we start with love, not judgement.

Feb 22 2019 Psalm 102

But you are always the same, *
and your years will never end

This morning’s psalm starts where I am. LORD, hear my prayer, and let my cry come before you; *
hide not your face from me in the day of my trouble.

I have the wonderful opportunity to spend a few days with Episcopal archdeacons from throughout the country. Yesterday was our day of gathering. And while it was lovely to see everyone, it felt heavy to me.

Since we all last saw each other, one woman’s husband died of protracted Alzheimer’s. Her pain was palpable. Another from our group died quickly from an undiagnosed aggressive cancer. Another woman’s son, after battling heroin, died of an overdose – to prescribed opioids. Another is battling a child with newly diagnosed schizophrenia. These are the big hurts. But the room was full of smaller pains, too, no less painful.

There were a lot of shared tears of grief and loss. And a few amazing things happened too. The two women who lost family members talked about the singularly spectacular, compassionate outpouring from their faith community. From their bishops who sat with them at death’s bedside, or presided at their loved ones’ memorials. The hundreds of friends and strangers who came to celebrate life. From the continued love and support from our community of faith leaders.

I have a strict policy not to let anyone cry alone in my presence, so I started crying mid-day, and didn’t stop until the final gin and tonic with a friend at 9pm. My eyes this morning still have that burning feeling from too many tears, too much loss.

This is what I sense from the Psalm – an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. The psalmist goes on about his heart being withered, bones hot as burning coals, of groaning at night. But as the psalmist continues there’s a rest and peace in the eternal changlessness and love of God. And if we believe that our God is a loving God, God’s enduring eternalness is something we can rest our heaviness on. It’s something we can count on. To that this morning, all I can say is Thank God.

Feb 21 2019 1 Timothy 1:4-16

Now the Spirit expressly says that in later times some will renounce the faith by paying attention to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons, through the hypocrisy of liars whose consciences are seared with a hot iron.

In Morning Prayer readings, we’re working our way through Paul’s first letter to Timothy. I’ve mostly not reflected on them, as they’re pretty contextual about who he’s talking to and what they needed to hear. He opens with something about the law is not written for the innocent, but for murderers, fornicators and other lawless. He continues that he – Paul – used to be the worst. But God had grace and mercy, and now he’s a devoted apostle.

But then there are bits that I struggle over. Two days ago, “let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I permit no woman to teach of have authority over man’. And yesterday, “a deacon must be serious, not double-tongued, not indulging in much wine, not greedy for money; they must hold fast to the mystery of the faith with a clear conscience.”. But wait, he’s not talking about me, because I’m supposed to be in full submission.

I’m not going to get all hung up on this. I don’t believe it’s a biblical edict that women can’t teach or be in positions of authority. I think it’s more about the time and place this was written. I’m not trying to be dismissive, or selective in my adherence to the Bible, but there’s enough of Scripture I can work on and chew on. There’s enough that’s about love, that I’ll focus on those and yes, would argue about. But not Paul’s views of women.

Today, Paul continues by providing the example of those who renounce their faith as people who demand abstinence from certain food, since God created all food and it is good. As a person who occasionally fasts for religious reasons, here’s my take on this.

A lot of the food and purity rules of ancient Israel had to do with safety. Pork, for example, was not safe to eat. The faithful stopped eating pork, and because God was in their world and lives all the time, it became a religious rule. We won’t eat pork for God. Maybe that sounds silly, but don’t we all do things or don’t do things for God?

My tradition invites me to fast every Friday, and especially in the season of Lent, before Easter. Fasting isn’t defined specifically, but it’s intended to be an intentional choice about less. Fridays, the day we commemorate Christ’s death, I am invited to fast. It’s not that the food isn’t God-given bounty. I’m not seared by the devil for abstaining. When I fast, I am making a choice for a day or a season that reminds me throughout the day or the season why. Hunger pangs come. And ice cream or beer beckons. And so fasting and cravings are like a little internal call to prayer, that comes whenever hunger pangs come. And in that moment, I think about why I’m fasting.

Similarly, I have a rabbi friend who’s husband is orthodox. She keeps a precise kosher kitchen. Two sets of pots, no milk and meat. Rules I don’t remember. Do I think God will strike her or her family if they use the wrong pot? I don’t think so. But I admire how she brings adherence to her understanding of what God wants her to do into her daily chores, and feeding her family. It’s a beautiful rich part of her faith.

I understand that in Paul’s time, there were those who deemed some people true believers or not, based on whether they ate pork or whatever. Yes, I’m not sure food choice or a kosher kitchen choice is what makes God happy or not. But I do think that food choices can make us think more about God, can infuse God in our daily life. So, despite what Paul tells Timothy, sometimes I abstain from certain foods, and don’t think I’m following the hypocrisy of liars.

Feb 20 2019 The Lord’s Prayer

Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

In addition to a psalm, new testament reading and Gospel reading,  Morning Prayer offers the luxury of praying the Lord’s Prayer daily. The more I pray it, the richer I find it. This morning, sitting in the airport after awakening at 3:00 for an early flight, I’m struck by the line, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

This, I believe is one of the most important, and convicting petitions we make. Every time we pray this prayer, we ask God to make the all-wonderous, all-loving, all-forgiving nature of heaven happen here on earth. And while I absolutely believe God could make it happen with or without our involvement, I believe we are integral in this petition.

We pray that God’s will, God’s dream, be a reality in our world. We are the ones who are in our world, and I believe we are the ones called to bring that dream to a reality. Here. Now. Us. How we do this is as varied as those of us who are here. We each have a part to play. We each have our gifts and talents. We are each called to offer them to make God’s kingdom come. Not only are we called to do that, we pray it every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer.

Today, I head off to a conference of people who train and support and shepherd deacons in the Episcopal church. It’s a small  role, considering all of God’s purposes and plans and people in the world. But it’s my small little role. I do it, hopefully to help thy kingdom come. What are you going to do today to bring God’s dream here, on earth as it is in heaven?

Feb 19 2019 Agnes Tsao Kou Ying, Agatha Lin Zhao, & Lucy Yi Zhenmei

In addition to the regular daily prayers and psalms, throughout the year, there are commemorations of God’s people. Many are people I’ve heard of, like Martin Luther King. But some I’ve never heard of. As a tradition that believes that saints are all around us, and we too can be saints, I enjoy learning about those who the Church highlights. As the hymn says, “for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”.

These three ladies were canonized, or made saints by the Roman Catholic church in 2000. They all died in China in the 19th century, while bravely defending their faith. The first died in a small cage where she was locked up because she continued to profess her faith, and the last two were beheaded for refusing to deny their faith. To be clear, these women did not proselytize, didn’t organize great numbers for Christianity. What they did was held on to their own personal beliefs, in the face of death.

Wow. We in 21st Century America have probably never experienced quite this level of persecution. We haven’t been threatened with beheading for our Christ-following beliefs. The simple lack of threat has lulled us, I think, into a lackadaisical  faith. Almost apathetic.

Sure, we (mostly) believe what we say on Sunday mornings. Maybe we trip over some of the statements or tenants of our faith, but we recover quickly. Maybe we believe that we should seek and serve Christ in (almost) all people, or respect the dignity of (most) people. When we say these things, or realize the discrepancies between what we’ve said and what we actually believe, maybe we’re a little uncomfortable. Maybe we make a mental note to work on those things. But in most cases, these variances between what we say on Sundays and what we do – we see, we acknowledge, and we try to (mostly) address or at least understand. That’s the beauty of regularly going to church and professing our faith. We’re regularly faced with those growing edges of our faith.

But what strikes me this morning is that outside of Sunday morning, the other 90% of our waking hours, we regularly do not see the discrepancy between what we say we believe and what we do. These three ladies died because of their faith, the other 90% of the time.

In our days, how often do we see Christ’s love withheld, justice not spread, children of God suffering? When we see it, how often do we act versus walking by, deciding it’s not our job or not our business?  How often do we see this as an  affront to our faith?  Maybe we aren’t so far from the 19th Century persecuted Chinese women. We would be persecuted if we stood up and spoke out. Maybe that’s why we don’t.  Even though beheading isn’t a likely consequence, we don’t act on our faith. Sometimes we don’t even see the inconsistencies between what we say we believe, and what we see 90% of our life.

What if we watched for it?  What if we acted on it?  Without the threat of beheading, I’m not sure why I don’t more often. God, give me the grace to see  where my actions are not the same as my words 90% of the time, and give me the strength to stand up, and speak out. I want them to know I am Christian by my love, by my love. 100% of the time.

Feb 18 2019 Mark 1: 1-11

Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.

And so it begins. For liturgical Christians, or those who follow the prescribed readings and church calendar, this is a familiar passage. It is the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, with people waving their leafy branches, sometimes translated as palms. This is the reading that undergirds our Palm Sunday service, the Sunday before Easter.

A little set up is useful. Jesus has been repeatedly telling his disciples that he’ll go to Jerusalem, be tortured and executed by the authorities. And here is his entering into Jerusalem. I can imagine that the disciples are less than thrilled. Meanwhile, the occupied and oppressed people of Jerusalem are awaiting their Messiah, the one who will save them from the horrible Roman occupation. Jesus, they’ve heard, is that Messiah. As a result, they cheer wildly as he enters. Woo hoo! 
We who’ve heard the story, or have lived through a Holy Week are also a little uncomfortable by the celebratory cries of the people. It’s a little awkward. If they only knew.

18 months ago, my father-in-law died in my home. We knew his death was imminent, so there were four generations of family, along with friends, 15 people in all. His wife of 62 years was there, holding his hand. With her dementia, she knew who everyone was in the room, but I believe only sometimes remembered why we were all there. When she remembered, her grief was palpable and brand new, every time.

A dear priest friend had given last rites, and we’d all offered our blessings on him, as we gathered around and touched him. In his last moments, we started singing. We sang the song he and his wife had sung their kids, who’d sung to their kids, who’d sung to their kids – many of whom were sitting in the room. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. After two verses, we moved to Amazing Grace.  His wife was holding his hand, a little in front of him, so she couldn’t see as the life drained from his face.

She’d forgotten what was happening, and she was singing with a happy, gleeful gusto, and a beautiful voice, while all of the rest of us were trying to hold it together. It felt a little awkward, all that happiness and cheerfulness. But during that moment, my discomfort changed to peace. Of all of us choking back tears and sobs, as he died, the voice most clear and loud was his loving wife, singing something very familiar, very comforting, very loving. He died during Amazing Grace.

For us in that room, and for the disciples during that “triumphal entry”, it’s not about us, or our feeling awkward at the irony. Joy is joy. And happiness is good, even if I know better, even if I know the rest of the story.

In our tradition, there’s a service of prayer normally done in the late evening, around 9:00. It includes a prayer from Augustine of Hippo, from the 4th Century. It includes the line “shield the joyous”. I’ve often wondered what that’s about. I think this is it. Joy is joy. Triumphal cries and palms should be joyous. Don’t rain on their parade. The happy songs at a husband’s death aren’t demented, or awkward. They’re joyous. Let me always let happiness be happiness and joy be joy.

Feb 17 2019 John 8:12-19

You judge by human standards; I judge no one.

Judgment. It seems to me like one of the most insidious evils. By judging others, or even judging ourselves, we act as if we KNOW what is good and right. But we don’t always know. We can’t.
Jesus reminds us of two things. First, we judge by human standards. As such, we cannot possibly know. We can’t know the circumstances of others. A woman I work with has a slightly rough edge. Recently, I found out her son has an undiagnosed significant mental illness, and has spent much of the past 5 years either homeless or in jail. We cannot know other people’s truths.

A gentleman I met last night was explaining that he’d lost his housing at a shelter, only to find a better option for himself. In this case, judgment could have been made that in losing his shelter housing, God was horrible or mean or uncaring. But something better came out of it. We cannot know God’s plans.

There are parts of my personality that I’d like to cut away. There are parts of my past I’d like to have not happened. But I cannot know God’s plan for those bits of me.

Finally, Jesus repeats that he judges no one. If Jesus, God incarnate, does not judge anyone, clearly I shouldn’t either. To be clear, I’m not suggesting that I shouldn’t be angry or action in response to the actions of others. I do not have to reserve judgment for bad policy or injustices. I just have to reserve judgment for the policy makers or actors. And even if I did, I’d be judging by human standards. I cannot know. God Only Knows.

Feb 16 2019 Mark 10: 46-52

“Take heart; get up, he is calling you”

As we continue to skip through the book of Mark, today we hear of the blind beggar, Bartimaeus. He hears that Jesus is walking by and calls to Jesus to heal him. A blind beggar would have been a pretty miserable wretch in those days – not unlike today. When faced with this wretched creature calling out for mercy, those around Jesus called out to the beggar.

But they did not start out with a loving, welcoming response. Their first response when faced with this blind beggar was to “sternly order him to be quiet”. The beggar does not give up, but rather calls out more insistently. Jesus hears the beggar, and orders his disciples to call the man here. Only after the beggar’s second plea to Jesus. Only after Jesus’ order to have the disciples to call the man. Only then did his disciples respond with the “take heart, get up”.

Guilty as charged. Again. How often do I come across wretched souls who are crying out for help, and I walk by. Just last night, we were out for a walk in downtown Portland and came across a beggar, asking for change. I didn’t stop. I didn’t even acknowledge his humanity with eye contact, or a kind word.

I don’t tend to give to beggars. I’m too judgmental, and do not want to second guess their intentions or subsequent actions. For me, it’s better to not give my change. Then I’m not tempted to judge them. But I strive to respond by acknowledging their presence, with eye contact, a smile, and a kind word, even if that word is “Not tonight, I’m sorry.”

Sometimes I’ve been disturbed in prayer or my day job by someone crying out for help. And while I may not actually sternly order them to be quiet, I sure think it.

Whether I walk by the beggar, or try to ignore the bothersome interrupter, I’m not unlike the crowds surrounding Jesus. I’ve got my purpose. I’m doing my thing. I’m in the club closely following Jesus. Sometimes, I don’t want to be disturbed, or distracted. Sometimes I don’t want me and my fellow club members to have to include someone else who’s not like we are.

In most cases, that’s when Jesus calls out to me to say, Call him here. Not only am I not allowed to ignore, walk past, order quiet. I’m expected to turn, and invite, engage, welcome. Even when I’m busy doing something else! Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when the other person isn’t like my current club members. I’m called to fix that. Thank God Jesus is around to catch us when we sternly order anyone to be quiet, and stop bothering Jesus for Mercy.

Feb 15 2019 Mark 10: 32-45

When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John.

Poor Jesus. Throughout the Gospel of Mark, Jesus has been trying to tell his disciples that he’ll be tortured, killed, buried, and rise. But they cannot hear it. They think he’s exaggerating, or that they’ll be able to stop it. In today’s reading, we have another classic human response. Jesus has explained in detail what will happen. In response, we have a lot of jockeying and envy.

Upon hearing this, James and John respond by asking if they can be seated at his right and left – to them, this is a story that is about them and their position. I can imagine Jesus’ exasperation. Not only did they not hear, but they turned it into something about them, something for their own personal gain. Jesus patiently explains that no, he cannot give them those seats.

And then, the remaining disciples are equally petty and .. human. They turned and were angry with James and John. Yes, James and John had jockeyed for position, but then out of envy, the remaining ten showed their desire to jockey for the same position by being angry at James and John. They all were concerned with position and power.

Jesus’ response was to explain that whoever wishes to be great must be servant, and whoever wishes to be first must be slave. I love this, and frequently I get it. But not always.

I’ve been in paying jobs where there was jockeying for who sat with the boss, whose office was closest to the boss, who had the greatest square feet. Other than the square feet argument, I might have partaken in all of these, not frequently, but I have. And I’ve been in places where there was no shortage of envy when someone else got the best seat, best office, best title, most praise. Again, I might have had these flashes of envy. Except for the square feet. That was just stupid.

So how is it I can fully understand and embody the idea of servant ministry, but only sometimes? Why is it not always my response?  I’m guessing it’s because of my pesky humanness.

More important, how can I move away from those human, unattractive, unhelpful responses?  Maybe that is first about God’s grace. Second, it’s about remembering my feelings when I go there. Whenever I feel that sense of “that’s not fair”, I feel bad. I feel dejected, devalued, and petty. Why do that to myself?  To be clear, there are plenty of things in this life that are not fair, but mostly they haven’t happened to me. And I feel so crappy when I wallow in envy that I just need to remember that feeling, and seek the grace to avoid it. Let the others feel envious, crappy, and more deserving. I’ll seek to serve.

Feb 14 2019 2 Timothy 2:14-26

Have nothing to do with stupid and senseless controversies; you know that they breed quarrels.

Guilty as charged.  Those who know me know that for me, there are few arguments that are not worth entering. I’m not frightened or angered by them. Sometimes it’s a sport. Sometimes the other person is so patently wrong, I cannot walk away. Sometimes I need to be right. Even writing that down, it looks so wrong!

After nearly 30 years of marriage, I’m beginning to discover that entering an agreement because he’s so wrong, is in fact stupid and senseless.  Who cares?  The same with kids.

The reading in Timothy continues that the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome (guilty), but kindly to everyone.  Hmm.  I think I do that.  Maybe my attempt to be kindly is being thwarted by my arguing. I can enter an argument with no malice or anger, just a sense of collegial banter. But maybe I’ve underestimated the impact of my sporty disagreements.

The passage goes on to say that instead of stupid and senseless arguments, we should correct opponents with gentleness, to be an apt teacher.  Hmm. I’m guessing that’s a much more effective, loving way to walk through life. Maybe that results in fewer quarrels.  Maybe I’ll try that.

Feb 13 2019 Psalm 119: 97-120

Oh, how I love your law! All the day long it is in my mind.

In the world of personality types, I have one that would find comfort in this phrase. I am, for the most part, a rule follower – not to be confused as a conformist, by any stretch. But I’m generally very deferential to rules, and rulers. So it may come as no surprise that I appreciate this section of the psalms. Oh how I love your law!

The psalmist goes on and on in this lengthy psalm about his joy at receiving, meditating, and obeying the law. Was the psalmist also an inherent rule-follower, or is this about something different?
When I served as assistant city manager, I worked for a city manager who said that he always followed and enforced the laws consistently. This was tough, as the job of many managers is to deal with the millions of exceptions that come their way. His thinking was that if he always was consistent in his enforcement and application of the law, there was never going to be an instance where he was seen as unfair or arbitrary. Adherence to the rules, absolutely, made his life easier, his decisions more defensible and easier to predict.

I see something similar with God’s law. Love God. Love your neighbor. It makes my life easier, when I follow this, absolutely. It makes my decisions more defensible, and easier to predict. To be clear, I’m not suggesting I get it right every time. But the beauty of laws, especially laws I believe to be life-affirming, is that it takes out of my life some of the hardness. Given two choices, I have a north star, in God’s law.

It’s a little like Obama’s decision to always wear grey suits. He claimed he had too many important decisions in his day. Why add wardrobe drama to that? So daily, he wore grey suits. It was a way to avert decision fatigue, by reducing the brain power for choices that should be easier.
And while life isn’t easy, and our life choices aren’t easy, I like the idea of God’s law being like my grey suits. It’s my go-to choice. Love God. Love my neighbors.

Feb 12 2019 Psalm 78:1-39

So mortals ate the bread of angels; he provided for them food enough.

This  is a great psalm, that goes on and on about how God’s people didn’t trust in God – until God provided for them and saved them from their enemy. Then they were grateful and praised God. Then they forgot, and railed against God. And God provided again.

This morning, I’m struck by the idea that God gives enough. Enough food, enough justice. Anyone who reads the paper, or who’s been on mission trips, or travelled extensively knows this is not the case everywhere. There is not enough food, enough justice. Central America? India? Mexico? Appalachia?  Detroit?

What are we to do with this? Are we to rail against God, blaming God? Questioning God’s love and mercy? Perhaps instead, we need to pick up the resolutions of God. Justice, mercy. We who are blessed with mostly enough need to step out and bring that love and mercy to those who don’t have enough. It’s not that God doesn’t give everyone enough, or that God couldn’t. God does, and humans screw it up. We are greedy, and we want power. We want more than enough, and are willing to take it from those who have just enough.

Today, the church calendar commemorates Charles Freer Andrews, an English priest who was drawn to the relationship between a commitment to the Gospel and a commitment to justice, which led him to places where the British Empire wasn’t so just. He ended up meeting a young Indian lawyer, Mohandas Gandhi and was impressed by Gandhi’s knowledge of Christian values and his believe in non-violence. Andrews was probably Gandhi’s closest friend, and worked with him extensively. Eventually, Gandhi convinced Andrews it was better to leave the freedom struggle to the local people, and Andrews returned to England, where he continued to advocate for justice.

Like Andrews, we are called to struggle with the inextricable connection between the Gospel and justice. Between we who God has given enough, and those who are the victims of humanities’ greed and violence, and don’t have enough. We need to show God’s love to people who don’t have enough.
And like Andrews, we need to not stop there. It’s not enough to hand someone food, although that’s important. We need to return to our places of power and work on behalf of those who don’t have enough. We need to use our social and political capital to change the systems that resulted in the haves, and have nots.

Feb 11 2019 Mark 9: 30-41

John said to him, Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.

Here’s another instance where we, with hindsight, scoff at those silly disciples. With the luxury of hindsight, we know that this was another example of their pettiness. They’re trying to stop people who are doing things in Jesus’ name, but not following the ‘in crowd’. Jesus will have nothing of it. He says that whoever is not against us is for us, and more pointedly, says that whoever gives a cup of water in Jesus’ name will not lose the reward.

I take this to mean that good deeds in Jesus’ name count. People who believe and behave as Jesus followers are real. Even if they aren’t my type of Jesus followers. Our presiding bishop, Michael Curry describes us as the “Episcopal branch of the Jesus movement”. There are other branches of the Jesus movement, no less attached.

There are many, many branches of this movement. Some worship in ways I’m not comfortable. Some have more or less music, more or less preaching, more or less sacramental theology. Those are not any less attached. They’re just not my branch. I get that.

But there are many, many branches of this Jesus movement which are much harder for me to understand, or be as merciful. Cognitively I believe they’re attached, but I’m not sure I act that way. What about Christ followers who are politically or socially opposed to what I believe?  What about Christ followers who are genuine in their love of Christ and intention to love, but from my eyes, don’t love all. Don’t welcome all. Actively oppose people who aren’t like them?  What about those Christ followers?

Jesus says that anyone whoever does good in his name, will not lose the reward. That includes Jesus followers who worship differently. That includes Jesus followers who believe and act differently. Even those who on my bad days, I could argue are not true Christians. If they give someone water in Jesus’ name will not lose the reward.

I do not want to be like the disciples who tried to argue that because those others were not with the ‘in crowd’  they should be stopped. I want to believe and act that all who do good in Jesus’ name are different branches of the Jesus Movement. How might I behave and act that way? How might I help strengthen all branches?

Feb 10 2019 Hebrews 12:1-6

My child, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, or lose heart when you are punished by him; for the Lord disciplines those whom he loves, and chastises every child whom he accepts.

Wow.. Just wow. I’m really not sure what to do with this section. Discipline of the Lord? Punished by him? I have never felt that God punishes us humans when we’re on this earth, or actively disciplines us.

But that’s what it says, so that’s what I’m writing about this morning. Ugh. One of the joys of following a set of prescribed readings, whether it’s for Sunday morning or daily prayer, is that I don’t get to skip over the parts I don’t like and head right to the sections that support what I already believe. Of course that would be so much easier. But if God supported everything I already believe, I’m not sure I’d need God; I’d have the truth already.

Here’s what I make of this. First, I have friends who don’t believe in God. They would never see bad things happening as a function of God because there is no God. So this section isn’t talking about them. But for everyone else, God is a loving God. So if you believe in God, then it stands to reason that if bad things happen, things that seem like discipline or punishment, and if we want to ascribe that to God, it’s a God that loves, because that’s the only way God is.

I guess my other thought about this is that God doesn’t actively punish us, rather God sometimes doesn’t jump in and pull us out of the mire. That can feel like punishment, but I don’t think God fiendishly intentionally punishes us. There’s an analogy from the book, A Prayer for Owen Meany, where God’s “discipline” is likened to a mother who lets her child try to ride a bike. Sometimes the child falls and gets hurt. And any mother who’s watched their kid get hurt knows it hurts the mother too. But the mother lets the child do that anyway.

I will take from this little section the following: Sometimes my actions, or nature, or illness, or mean people result in me having a bad time. I don’t get to do what I want, or someone I love is hurt, or I am hurt. It stinks, every time. Sometimes it’s because I shouldn’t get my way – I’m wrong. Sometimes it’s because bad things happen. I don’t always get to know why, if I’m at fault, of if no one is at fault. In all cases though, a loving God is there throughout. I am loved throughout. God knows how everything will turn out because God is there, at the end already. I just need ot have the faith to walk through this world knowing that.

Feb 9 2019 Psalm 75

For judgment is neither from the east nor from the west, nor yet from the wilderness or the mountains. It is God who judges;

Why is this so hard for us? This concept that God is the judge, not us? This portion of Psalm 75 is pretty clear. And yet through the ages, we forget. This psalm was known by ancient Jews, long before Christ. It was prayed then, it is prayed now. I think we understand it in our heads, but quickly slip. 

Yes, God judges, but what happens, I think is that we each think we know what God would want. 

God wants a home of the free and the brave.  God wants prayer in school. God wants to save all fetuses. God wants to rid the world of corrupt overreaching government. Some of us absolutely believe this is what God would want, and God judges those who disagree.
God wants open borders between political nations. God wants publicly funded housing for all. God wants to censure hate. God wants to rid the world of the corrupt overreaching 1%. Some of us absolutely believe this is what God would want, and God judges those who disagree. 

I have my opinion about what God would want. Operative words are ‘my opinion’. I’m quite sure the Scripture says nothing about building a wall along the south border of the US, so to claim that God has made a judgement on that precise issue is greatly informed by the humans who read and interpret what has been said in Scripture. God is the judge. Not us. 

There is a way to walk through this world with opinions about what we think is right, about what we believe what is right from God. But ultimately, only God can accurately interpret what God means in scripture. And ultimately, only God can accurately judge.
As Samuel Johnson, an 18th Century English author said, “God Himself, sir, does not propose to judge a man until his life is over. Why should you and I?”

Feb 8 2019 Mark 9:2-13

Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’.

Good old Peter. We read stories of what he did, and we think he’s so thick, so rash. How could HE be the rock on which the church is built? But I think that’s because we have the luxury of hindsight, church teachings, and a familiarity with the stories. But if you stop and think about Peter’s responses and actions, they’re humanly rationale, and I would likely do the same. 

It reminds me of the movie Invictus, about Nelson Mandela’s insistence to desegregate and utilize the formerly all-white South African rugby team. It’s a great movie – politics, humanity, compassion, sports. There’s a scene where he’s riding in the backseat with his chief of staff, as she’s running through his schedule and upcoming work. Instead, he wants to talk about rugby. She is utterly confused, and ‘rebukes’ him. “Why do you care about a child’s game? You have big world problems to solve!”  As you watched the scene, you knew Mandela had a bigger plan, but I absolutely related to her. She was doing her job, and I would have likely been doing the same. 

Of course, Mandela had a bigger vision, and an integrated national sports team would be the perfect tool to rally the divided nation. Like Peter, she was a faithful companion. Like Peter, she didn’t have the same vision as her leader. And unlike Bible stories about Peter, I was quick to relate to her, because I didn't have the history of hindsight, familiarity, and teachings.
  
Peter is asking about building houses for two apparitions that appeared with Jesus after he’d been turned dazzling white at the top of a mountain. This is known as the Transfiguration, where Jesus was transfigured in front of some of his disciples. Of course the visions of Moses and Elijah didn’t need houses. Maybe this offer of construction was to help. Maybe it’s what Peter knew how to do in that moment. Maybe it was an offer intended to make permanent this moment. If I build a house for these three, they’ll stick around.
Whatever his motive, Peter was genuine in his human, fallible, yet well-intentioned actions. He didn’t have the same insight or lineage as Jesus. He worked with the human world, human insights, and human faults we all have. And you’d think that Peter would have figured it out. But even at his crucifixion, Peter was the one who denied knowing him – another entirely human response. And we scoff at Peter, because we know Jesus’ lineage, and we know the rest of the story. But the glory of Peter is that he, Peter, the fallible, human, impetuous Peter was the rock on which the Church was built. 

Peter’s the person who the risen Christ returned to, and asked him three times “Do you love me?” Peter’s response three times was, “Of course”. Jesus’ response? Feed my sheep. Three times he denied Jesus. Three times given the option to profess his love. 
Even Peter. Even after the denials at the cross. We gloss over Peter’s humanity, when we think he’s so unlike us, that we’d know better. But in doing that, we miss the glorious truth that it’s precisely in those human, impetuous, oafish moments that Jesus’ love and faith in Peter is so constant.. And we miss the fact that it’s in our human, impetuous, oafish moments that Jesus’ love and faith in us is so constant.

Feb 7 2019 Mark 8:27-9:1

But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, 'Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’. 

This is an odd little section. Jesus starts by asking his disciples who others say that he is. First of all, if he’s God incarnate, wouldn’t he know?  Maybe he’s not asking to truly find out, but for the power of suggestion. After his disciples have recounted what they’ve heard – you are John the Baptist, Elijah, etc -he asks them who do they say he is. Peter responds correctly, that he’s the Messiah, although at this point, Peter might have different ideas about what that will entail, like Jesus will be the one who kicks the occupying Romans to the curb versus Jesus will bring God’s love to all.
After this, Jesus tells them that he’ll undergo great suffering, be rejected by the religious leaders and be killed. Again Peter chimes in and “rebukes”. I can imagine what hot-headed-always-loyal Peter was saying?  “Are you crazy? That can’t be! Just tell me who’s going to do that, and I’ll kick them to the curb!”  In response, Jesus “rebukes” Peter. This time, we see what rebuke means, “get behind me Satan, for you are setting your mind on human things, not heavenly”. 

Wait, what?  If I was following Jesus at that time, I’d want him to stick around too. I’d want to protect his human life, as that’s all I’d have. As it turns out, I do that today too. All of the people in my world that I care deeply about, even those I care only a little about, I’d try to protect their human body from harm, from being killed or dying. I do that for myself too.

I don’t think Jesus is saying that we shouldn’t try to protect the ones we love, but I do think it’s a hard message we need to hear. I think Jesus is saying that his earthly body is just a vessel, carrying a deeply important soul. A soul that will continue on, when the vessel is broken. We too are deeply important souls, carried in a impermanent vessel. We should care more about the contents than the vessel. 

When we care too much for the human body at the expense of the soul, we miss the point. I’ve seen this in recent days, caring for sick loved ones. When my father in law made a choice to break the vessel to free his soul, taking advantage of the death with dignity laws. Some people around him rebuked him, arguing, “Are you crazy? This can’t be!”  His holy soul continues, despite the broken body. 

I’ve seen this when dealing with very sick family members. We care more about physically healing the body than lovingly caring for the soul. The body is just a vessel. But the soul is holy and forever. 

It’s a fine line between caring for the temporal bodies of our loved ones and ourselves, and doing that at the expense of tending the holy soul it contains.

Feb 6 2019 Galatians 4: 21-31

‘Drive out the slave and her child; for the child of the slave will not share the inheritance with the child of the free woman.’

Sometimes something comes up in a reading that I just don’t like. This is one of them. This is Paul telling the people of Galatia that Abraham had two sons, one by a slave (Ismael) and one by a free woman (Isaac). The original story in Genesis is pretty crummy, where Abraham sends Hagar the slave away, despite fathering a child at the suggestion of his previously barren wife. Then she has a baby too, and it becomes clear that the previous idea of a child from the slave wasn’t such a good idea, so Abraham sends them away. 

Now Paul is telling Christians that this is good. We are free children of Abraham’s free child. We are not slave children of Abraham’s slave child. He likens the free child’s descendants to the Jerusalem above, and the descendants of the slave child to the current world Jerusalem. 

It all sounds pretty judgmental, harsh, exclusionary. And in fact, it has been used to defend Christianity as the true religion, stemming from the lineage of Isaac (free son), as compared to the Muslim connection to Ishmael (slave son). In fact, Islam, Judaism and Christianity all consider themselves to be children of Abraham.
But in this passage in Galatians, Paul is making the case that Christianity is freer and worthier than the descendants of Ishmael. I don’t know what that meant to the people of Galatia two thousand years ago but modern-day exclusionists use it to defend the ‘one true religion’. But if we’re all descendants of Abraham, we’re all children of the same God. 

And if you look at the psalm and Gospel reading, it makes no sense to use this text to defend putting people out. Psalm 72 is all about God listening to and helping needy, delivering the poor and crushing the oppressor. In the Gospel, Jesus heals the blind man. And going to leaders of my faith tradition, our current presiding bishop Michael Curry has a refrain, that if it’s not about Love, it’s not about God. 

Yes there are horrible snippets in the Bible, that if taken out of context look to be about exclusion, separateness, human judgment. And I’m no biblical scholar so I can’t explain what it meant then. I don’t know what pressures Paul was up against when he wrote those words. But given my faith in the God of Love, it cannot mean those things today. Or it should not be used to exclude, separate, discriminate, prioritize, judge. There’s too much of what Jesus says that is about inclusion, togetherness, justice, and nonjudgment. That beats everything.

Feb 5 2019 Psalm 62

For God alone, my soul in silence waits. 

I’m not normally a fan of poetry. Someone needs to explain allusions and metaphors; like my dad, I’m a pretty concrete thinker. But sometimes, writing reaches my soul in ways that my logical mind cannot. Psalms sometimes do that. 

Today’s psalm does. It speaks of all sorts of trials and tribulations. People who bless you with their lips but curse you in their hearts. Lies are their chief delight. Don’t fret about the people who mean to do harm. Instead, in silence, wait for God alone. 

It talks about all sorts of things we experience that can either harm us, or lull us into thinking they’re worthy of our faith or fear. Extortion. Robbery. Even wealth, and people in high places. But it says these are all fleeting. Instead, in silence, wait for God alone.
It repeats this line, “For God alone, my soul in silence waits,” like a refrain. That’s because like a refrain, it fits in all of these situations. When you’re troubled by others, wait for God. When there’s too much noise and distraction, wait silently on God. When there other things to woo our affections and loyalty and trust, wait only for God. 

This is a great refrain, for almost any day, any circumstance.
Some days I need to remember that God alone is where I should place my trust and hope. Not my own merits, not the behavior of others, not good graces of others. God alone. 

Some days, the noise and distractions result in me chasing every shiny new thing. Too busy to pray. Too tired to sit still. Too scheduled for waiting. Waiting and silence are often seen as an enemy of my busy, noisy life. But they aren’t. Silence is golden, and waiting can be luxurious. In silence, my soul waits.
Today, and always. For God alone, my soul in silence waits.

Feb 4 2019 Ruth 1: 16-18

Where you go, I will go.

Commemoration of Manche Masemola

If I were to follow the morning prayer and evening prayer readings for two years, I believe I would make it through the entire Bible, the psalms dozens of times, and the Gospel numerous times. If we Anglicans partake in the rich tradition of daily prayer, we are, in fact, people of the Bible, and devout readers of Scripture.  

In addition to this richness, the Church has developed a book commemorating the rich and varied holy women and holy men in God’s kingdom. There is nearly one for every day, and for morning or evening prayer followers, there is always the option of using the prayer time to learn more and commemorate these holy people.  Many I’ve heard of, such as MLK, but some I haven’t. Today’s holy woman is a previously unknown martyr. 

Manche Masemola was a South African girl who was exposed to Christianity in her remote village after a mission was created by an Anglican priest in the early 1900’s. She was drawn to Christianity, and sought to be baptized. Her parents thought she’d been bewitched, and took her to a traditional healer. It didn’t stop her. Eventually they did stop her by taking her to a remote place and killing her.
Forty years later, her mother converted to Christianity, and was baptized. Manche was declared a martyr by the Anglican Church in South Africa. She is one of ten 20th century martyrs from across the world whose statutes are above the great doors of Westminster Abbey in London. 
The reading for this day is from Ruth. Ruth’s husband and her father in law have both died, leaving her and her mother-in-law alone in a very patriarchal society. She insists she will follow her mother-in-law, even if it results in death. 

Masme must have been fighting with her parents, well before her death. She must have had some idea that her conviction and desire to be baptized was contrary to her parent’s wishes, and increasingly dangerous. And yet she persisted. To the point of death. And maybe through that death, eventually her mother came to believe.  May I have the faith to believe when it’s hard. To follow when it’s dangerous. To persist.

Feb 3 2019 Hebrews 11: 8-16

If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return.

This is a snippet referring to Abraham’s descendants.  Abraham, by faith alone, left the country he knew, and eventually he and his barren wife Sarah had more descendants than stars in the sky. The descendants were also in a strange land. If they’d been thinking about where they’d come from, they could have returned. But Paul goes on to write, that they desired a better country, a heavenly country.
This is a little frightening to me. If they’d just thought about where they came from, they would have had the opportunity to return. Instead, they kept their eyes forward, and didn’t wish for the world they’d known. 

How often do we look back at places, times or situations we’ve come from, instead of pushing on? Sometimes we look back and wish to return to a time or place that was easier, kinder, simpler. We wish to return to a better time behind us. Other times, we think about the land we’ve come from for no other reason that it was known – even if it was not great, at least there was some constancy.
Thinking about where we’re going or where we currently are, sometimes all we want is the certainty of what was, even if it wasn’t all that great. In this reading, simply by thinking about the land we’ve left, we’re given the opportunity to return to it.  While that may seem like a great option, it negates the wonderful journey we’re on, or the place God has prepared for us in the future.  

But if we think about the land we’ve come from, God will oblige, and we can return, turning away from what’s ahead. May I always have the faith to face forward towards the heavenly country, regardless of the perceived comfort and constancy of where I’ve come from.

Feb 2 2019 Feast of the Presentation

God, you can now release your servant; release me in peace as you promised. With my own eyes I’ve seen your salvation;

Today we celebrate the presentation of Christ. Counting on a calendar, today is the 40th day past Christmas, the day a new baby would be brought to the temple to be presented to God. To be clear, I have no illusions that it was February 2 precisely. Rather, I believe it happened at some point, and today is as good as any to remember it.

When Jesus is brought to the Temple, there are a few old temple regulars hanging around, including Anna and Simeon. Simeon recognizes the baby is the Christ. He thanks God for letting him see God’s salvation with his own eyes, and acknowledges that now he can depart in peace. He continues by predicting that Jesus will be misunderstood, contradicted, and eventually will cause Mary much pain, but will be a light for all nations.

Today, I’m feeling the shock of his parents. These strangers recognize and profess their tiny baby’s greatness and burden – his amazing role in the world’s salvation, but how it will hurt and be hard.

Isn’t that how we should all respond, when we recognize Christ in our midst? Christ in the stranger, the infant, the addict, the orphan? Shouldn’t we be speechless at the holiness in each other? Saddened by the burdens and pain in each other? Awe-struck at the promise and salvation in each other?

It was at a church service commemorating the Feast of the Presentation that I first was nudged or pursued by God towards becoming an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Church. It involved a visual and auditory experience of God in the middle of the service, that I’d never had before, and haven’t had since. If it hadn’t happened to me, I’d be sure the story was crazy and made up. Apparently, God’s more subtle cues were going unnoticed. So on this Feast of the Presentation, God made sure I was presented with an undeniable experience of God.

Lord, let me go in peace, according to your word. For my eyes have seen your salvation.

Feb 1 2019 Mark 6:47-56

Then he got into the boat with them and the wind ceased.




The disciples are in the boat by themselves, having been sent away by themselves while Jesus stayed back to pray. They’re struggling against the storm. Jesus sees them, walks out on the water, and because they saw and were afraid, he got in the boat. At that, the wind ceased.

For many, the memorable part of this story is that Jesus walked on the water. To me, the most memorable part is that he calmed the storm. I’ve no doubt that God incarnate can walk on water, move mountains, heal. I am comforted that he joined his oafish disciples – who still didn’t understand about Jesus and the miracle of feeding the 5000, even though it had just occurred – in their terror and calmed the storm.

He calmed the storm for his disciples whose hearts were hardened and didn’t understand, even though they’d stopped what they were doing to follow Jesus, and been witness to, or participants in God’s miracles.

We too have been witnesses to God’s miracles. We’ve been participants, or bearers of God’s miracles. And we are also hard hearted. Even though I believe, I forget. Especially when I’m swirling in my own storm. I forget that Jesus can calm the sea. Jesus can pilot my battered ship safely to shore. If I remember to look up and ask.

(somehow yesterday's post was not actually posted, but was waiting for me to post when I opened my computer. oops. so today, there are two)