Apr 30 2019 John 17: 12-19

I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one.

Jesus is nearing the end of his farewell speech to the disciples, the night he’s arrested. Now he’s turned his focus and talk to God. He’s praying to God about his disciples and the rest of us motley crew.
Jesus was sent into this world, shared his good new of love and peace and mercy. And experienced much of the pain and evil we inflict on others, and at the time he’s speaking these words, he’s staring down a long, evil, painful trial, torture and death. 

He’s appealing to God that although those remaining on Earth when Jesus dies and rises don’t belong to this world, we squarely are in this world. He acknowledges that he’s not asking to have us taken out of this world, but having us remain here. Rather than porting us all up to a place of infinite peace and love, we are left behind by Jesus himself. 

And after acknowledging that we’ll be left behind, Jesus asks that we be protected from the evil one. This one is tough for me to understand. He wasn’t protected, given what he’d been through and was heading into -  and he’s God in man-form. Yes, ultimately he rose and beat evil, but I wouldn’t say he was protected.

It  doesn’t look or feel like we’re protected. Children of God gunned down while at worship. People bullied and killed because of their skin color, religion, sexual orientation. People with no food or shelter in the ‘developed’ nations. There are challenges and bad things happening all around us, in our world and in our homes. How is that at all protection? If the protection Jesus speaks of is like an insurance policy, it’s not a very good one. 

This morning, I’m wondering about what that means. If his words ‘protect them from the evil one’ aren't about avoiding that kind of pain and suffering, what is it?  Maybe it’s the sense deep down that it will all work out in the end, that faint glimmer of hope that isn’t extinguished, even as we read the evening news, or face our own trials.

Maybe this protection is more about what’s deep in our core, the little candle light that burns with hope that darkness cannot overcome. Maybe it’s like God putting God's hands around our flickering candle, to keep it from blowing out in the midst of the evil winds. With that light inside each of us, we can keep from being overcome. 

Maybe what’s protected, then isn’t our bodies, or minds, but our spirits and souls. As we pray daily, let them never give up hope. Because when we give up hope, that's when evil wins. When we succumb and let our candle be blown out, regardless of what’s going on around us.

Apr 28 2019 Psalm 145

The Lord is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and of great kindness.

I’ve seen calendars and memes full of pithy comments from the psalms. Maybe it’s the artificially enhanced sunsets or the puppies, but I’ve never been called to those. But actually reading through the psalms themselves, day after day? That’s more compelling. 

I find it intriguing that they seem to capture all human emotions. There are psalm for all occasions. Happy, lamenting, grief, despair, joy, violence, retribution. It’s all there. I’m intrigued that the compilers of the book we know as the Psalms included all these. 

There have been times in human history where the gods were seen as mean and punishing. That is not a god you’d rail against, for fear of retribution. Nor is it a god to which so much praise is offered. 

Maybe the psalms reflect humanity’s changing understanding of God; our God, unlike the understanding of the gods of yester-yester-year, is able to withstand all of humanity’s grief, lamenting, anger, pleas for retribution and justice. Our God is actually on our side, and like a really good friend, can sit with us at our pity party. 

Our God is worthy of the kind of praise piled on in the psalms. 
Maybe the writers of the psalms were newly aware of a God who in fact is gracious and full of compassion. We read the psalms all these years later with our modern understanding of a God who is good, all the time, and wonder why there’s so much praising. Yes, of course God is full of great kindness. That’s the narrative I’ve heard my whole life. Maybe that’s not the narrative the psalm writers had heard, so to them, it’s a shocking revelation. 

This morning, I’m thinking about those kinds of epiphanies, where, like the psalmist, we learn something that is counter to all of our previous thoughts and understandings. We make statements during that time of transition, that are shocking, and plainly express our new-found understanding. When everyone around us is in that same before-space, the statements are universally heard as new. 

If the gods had been previously understood and experienced as punitive, for the psalmist to write that God is worthy of praise, that would have been shocking. But now, in our new understanding, it’s not shocking. It’s a statement of what is. It has become the norm. In my world, things that are new and surprising to me now, will be normal, eventually. 

I’m thinking about all the ways life has and will be changing in my world. About all the statements that I make that today, and how they sound radical to me and those around me, because they’re different than my yesterday understandings. I'm thinking about all sorts of changes and transitions around me, and how change starts as shocking, and eventually becomes the new normal.  

I’m grateful for a God that can hear my cries, and who is fact, gracious and full of compassion.

Apr 28 2019 John 14:1-7

And you know the way to the place where I am going.

Jesus has told his disciples he’s leaving them, returning to the father. The disciples will be persecuted, but take courage! Jesus has defeated the world, and he’ll be back. Besides, today we read that Jesus affirms that they know the way to the place where he’s going. 

I’m right with Thomas, who responds that they cannot know the way, when they don’t even know where he’s going. How can they know the way? Thomas hears, as I do, that Jesus is affirming they know the route or map directions on how to get to the destination. Jesus answers that he, Jesus, is the way. 

I don’t think he’s saying that he’s the mapped directions, but rather he’s the method or manner needed to achieve something. It’s the difference between the way to the grocery store to buy flour and yeast, versus the way to mix, knead and bake the ingredients to make a loaf of bread. 

Thomas hears that Jesus is heading somewhere in particular, a particular store, and he’s questioning whether they have mapped the directions to get there. More than saying that Jesus himself is the route, this morning, I’m thinking about Jesus being the particular method to follow to achieve a lovely loaf of bread. 

Jesus isn’t affirming for them that he’s googled the route. It’s not a physical destination he’s talking about. Rather, by following Jesus’ way of loving God and loving your neighbor, we can achieve what we pray in the Lord’s Prayer – thy kingdom come, on earth. Jesus is the recipe to get there. This morning, I’m thinking about good crusty bread.

Apr 27 2019 John 16: 16-33

In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!



And still he continues. Jesus' farewell address continues with more talk about love, plain talk, and courage. Jesus tells his disciples that the Father loves them because they loved Jesus. He says that he will no longer talk in figures of speech, but in plain talk. He says that they’ll be persecuted, but they need to be joyful and take courage. I must admit that I rarely find John’s Gospel to contain anything remotely close to plain talk. Part of that, I suspect, is because the author is such an intuitive creative that virtually every retelling in John is figurative and poetic. The same is true for the other book written by the same author, Revelation, which I understand is beautiful poetry, and have yet to fully appreciate.



In any case, by the end of today’s reading, the disciples understand Jesus’ talk and believe him no longer to be talking in figures of speech, as they say, “Yes, now you are speaking plainly.”  I’m not sure what’s changed from the beginning of Jesus’ farewell address to that point, but apparently the disciples understood something anew.



It’s strange, though. The reading today concludes with Jesus telling them he’s conquered the world, and yet he says this mere hours before he’s about to be tortured and executed. If he knows he’s conquered the world at this point in his human existence, he must know something about the next 3 days. Maybe not the details of the gruesome weekend, but maybe the glory of his rising? 



He’s trying to bolster his disciples that despite the weekend, despite their future persecution and trials and death, he’s with them, and he’s already beaten the world. He’s told them that despite all of that, they should take courage.



The trouble with this, from the perspective of the disciples, or me now, is that his victory over the ‘world’, doesn’t diminish or eliminate or protect me from the persecution, hurt, heartache of this ‘world’. The disciples vacillated then, as I do now, between absolute trust in God’s ultimate victory, and absolute trust in God’s failure because of the persecution, heartache, hurt, illness, death, in this world.



Today, I’m thinking about how to stay on the ‘take courage’ side of that dichotomy. How to not run away, and abandon Jesus on the cross in the darkness of his pain, or the prospect of mine. I fully believe love and goodness win, in the end. And sometimes it’s a crappy road to get there.

Apr 26 2019 John 16: 1-15

I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now

Jesus continues his farewell address, offered at that time between the last supper and his arrest. He has already told the disciples a lot. Their heads must be spinning. And in today’s reading, he drops a few bombs on them like, “when those who kill you will think they’re offering worship to God”, and “it is to your advantage that I go away”. 

And to this confused, grieving, shocked group of followers, he says he has many more things to tell them but they cannot hear. Aargh!  How frustrating something like that must have been to hear. What do you mean, you have more to say?  What do you mean I cannot hear it now? 

But that’s actually very wise, if not frustrating. I have an ill family member, whose illness is rearing its ugly head again. Talking with them, I feel like I imagine Jesus felt. Can’t you understand? Can’t you see things the way I see it? Oh, right. You cannot, because what we see and understand as truth are not the same. 

At those moments in my life, it’s easy to try to “clarify” what I’m saying, as if saying things differently will somehow make everything clear. That reminds me about days in college, where I started as a deaf education major. Occasionally, we’d go to the mall and communicate exclusively with sign language. It was surprising how many hearing folk would talk to us, we’d respond in sign language as if deaf, and they’d respond by talking louder.  Their need to tell us something may have been there, but our ability to 'hear' what they were was not there. But still they persisted, because they had something to say.  

In my current world, it’s not a matter of me repeating myself and talking louder to the deaf person, it’s repeating myself or clarifying to someone who cannot understand. The wise thing to do would be to stop talking, or to talk simply. And realize that although I have many things to say, you cannot hear them now. 

This morning I’m thinking about the wisdom of that. Although I may have many things to say, I need to be aware of the person to whom I’m talking, both family and others in the world. I need to be aware of the timing, their interests, distractions, realities. Maybe they cannot hear it right now. In fact, just because I have many things to say is entirely unrelated to anyone else’s need or ability to hear what I have to say. Today, I’m going be attentive, not to what I need to say, but to what they can hear.

Apr 25 2019 John 15:12-27

If they persecuted me, they will persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also.

Jesus continues his farewell speech today, with more talk about love. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. It’s impossible to read this and not hear Jesus imploring his disciples to continue and grow in love, which is mentioned five times in these 15 verses.

I get that, and I strive to do that. And what I’m thinking about this morning is the warning Jesus offers in the midst of all of this love talk. He’s asking the disciples to follow in his way, to love God and love one another. And he continues by saying that if they do that, they’ll be persecuted and hated by those who persecuted and hated Jesus.

I genuinely struggle with this. I inherently believe all people are trying to do their best, or what they believe to do their best. I don’t understand how persecution or hatred fit in this world at all. How could Christians be hated? How can there be attacks on Christian places of worship? I had a disagreement with an early boyfriend of my oldest daughter about Christianity. He was pretty squarely atheist. I told him that other than the basic tenant of whether there’s a God or not, there’s nothing with which he could take issue from Jesus’ teaching. Love God and Love your Neighbor? How could anyone argue with that. We ultimately agreed that Christ wasn’t the problem, but what people do, albeit misguidedly, in Christ’s name that is the problem.

But here comes the hypocrisy. Christians judge and behave badly towards others. Think about this country’s response after 9/11, condemning and persecuting people of other faiths as if they’d personally been flying those jets. Or more close to home for me, those Christians who hate other Christians because they don’t follow their particular line of Christian thinking. I’m thinking of US politics.

Yes, we’ll be persecuted because we follow this counter-cultural framework that puts love above all else. And my hope is that if more people actually followed Jesus’ teachings about love, we’d have less persecution, because love would win. As it is, we’re stuck in this mire of people genuinely doing their best to follow what they believe God desires, but letting other values take over, things like fear, power, isolation, judgment, protectionism, patriotism. Instead, we should stop where Jesus started. Love one another, as I have loved you.

Apr 24 2019 John 15:1-11

I am the vine and you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit



Jesus is continuing his farewell speech, given after he’s been betrayed and before he is arrested. These are his parting words to his disciples.



Often, when we hear about this story of Jesus, we hear about the cuddly parts, where Jesus is offering a comparison that’s understandable and where his arms are opened up in a welcoming embrace. Be with me, and you’ll bear much fruit. Aw, isn’t that great. Jesus is the vine and I’m the branch. This whole story isn’t like that though, except if we selectively read it, stopping at this part. Jesus continues that those who don’t abide in him are like branches that are gathered up and thrown in the fire. Jesus is saying that if we don’t abide in him, we cannot produce fruit, will be gathered up and burned, or whatever the human equivalent of that is.



That doesn’t sound so welcoming and warm. I wonder if the disciples who heard this were a little discomfited by this. Granted, they all believed they were with him, were branches that were firmly attached to the Jesus vine.



And if that part didn’t (or doesn’t) cause some concern, Jesus also says in this section that “every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.”  So even if we are good, connected branches bearing fruit, we are not spared from the pruners. Having had fruit trees, I absolutely understand the analogy.



One of my favorite things to do in the winter, was to prune the wayward branches, excessively long branches, and water shoots of our 15+ fruit trees. I never gave it much thought, as it clearly would make the tree healthier and more productive come spring and summer. For those entire branches that were unproductive, they were pruned off, and thrown in the pile. Some of those branches were seemingly connected to the vine, but didn’t produce. Off they came.



And what about the branches that were healthy, fruit producing branches? They were pruned too. There’s a limit to how long or how tall a branch can spread before it’s a liability to the tree. The weight of the too-long branch can cause it to break off at the trunk, damaging the whole tree. Or the overly long branch crowds out the rest of the productive branches.


This morning, I’m thinking more about the good, connected branches that are nonetheless pruned. They were doing what they do – growing, expanding, reaching for the son. And for that, they are clipped.



How often do I continue to do what I believe I’m supposed to do, but go a little too far, or stick out a little too much. My efforts are pruned back. I’m still connected, but a little wounded by the pruning. And eventually, that pruning made me stronger, and more fruit-bearing.



Today, I want to think about the ways and places my best, connected efforts are clipped, and to see how it might be like productive pruning.

Apr 23 2019 John 14:15-31

If you love me, keep my commandments.



This is part of Jesus last bit of advice for the disciples, and occurs in that space after Jesus washes their feet, has his last meal with them, and Judas leaves to betray him, and before he’s arrested. It’s been an emotional week, and his disciples have, up to this point, fully showed their love, if not imperfect human love, to Jesus. His final hook to them, is that if they love him, they should keep his commandments.



For many years, I heard this as paternalistic, or legalistic,  or conditional. First off, Jesus isn’t implying or stating that they need to do anything to get his love. He didn’t say, if you want me to love you, keep my commandments, so it’s not conditional love at all.



It’s also not paternalistic or legalistic. If Jesus was saying that there was a long long list of rules or commandments to follow, maybe. But he’s just simplified the law into two simple commandments. Love God, and the new commandment he gives – love your neighbor. SO what Jesus is saying is that if his disciples love Jesus, they should love God and love their neighbors.



This morning, I’m thinking about God in all of God’s forms. Through Lent and now into the 50 days of Easter, I’ll think and learn a lot Jesus, God the Son. He walked this earth and showed us how we should walk through this earth. God the father is bigger than I can imagine, but I sense in nature and in the largest and smallest things. Mountains, galaxies, hummingbirds. God the Spirit, I sense in my own deep peace, and in the connections between me and other people.



I’m thinking about commutative property from math, if a+b=c, then c=b+a. Breaking down Jesus’ words using math, I hear ‘my commandments = love God and love your neighbor’. So Jesus is saying, ‘if you love me, love God and love your neighbor’.



I’m thinking about the Trinity. God the father, son and holy spirit. If the three are one, than this commandment isn’t as much telling them what they should do, as explaining the truth of what loving Jesus means. If they loved Jesus, by that same commutative property math, they loved God and loved the Holy Spirit. Since God is everywhere, and the Spirit is in all of us, I hear ‘if you love me then you love God the Father and God the Spirit’. And since God and the Spirit are here and everywhere, doesn’t that mean ‘if you love me, you love God and your neighbor’?



For the original disciples who had a human Jesus to follow, Jesus was the most tangible and accessible face or experience of God the disciples had. For me, thousands of years later, sometimes I connect with Jesus, with the human things Jesus did and said. Sometimes I sense God through the Spirit in me or in others. And sometimes I sense an all powerful God in the mountains or ocean. If I love God the Spirit, I love God the Son and God the Father.



Jesus continues in his farewell that they should not let their hearts be troubled, and that he’s leaving them his peace. All of this, the don’t be troubled, and peace-leaving, are comforting. And this morning, what’s most comforting is that old commutative math theory. Love Jesus = Love God and Love Spirit and Love Neighbor who is infilled with the Spirit. Who knew that commutative theory would ever come in handy? My math major son would be proud.

Apr 22 2019 John 14:1-14

The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these…



Easter Monday. After a week of intentional faith and church attendance and emotion, things begin to go back to ‘normal’. After the emotional output of lots of church, and highs and lows of Christ’s arrest, torture, execution, and rising, it’s Monday. It’s a day where many just go back to their ‘regular’ lives.



While it’s hard to hold that kind of week for too long, in my tradition, we celebrate Easter for another 50 days, all the way until May 30. So, Happy Easter everyone!



Sometimes those 50 days of Easter feel loooong. Like today, when it feels like we should be just getting back to ‘normal’. Or towards the end of the 50 days, when it’s tough to sustain that level of Easter. But it’s a shame, actually, to not celebrate for longer than one day. And so today I start in earnest celebrating 50 days of Easter.



This morning’s reading from the Gospel of John starts us off for those 50 days well. “Those who believe in me, will do the works I do.”  This I believe. There are times when my actions make no sense, measured against modern-day standards. But I strive to apply Jesus’ standards to my life and actions, because I believe it to be the true and right way to be. I’ve taken a series of lesser-paying jobs, to do work that’s more meaningful, in places more meaningful, with people more meaningful. I’ve been grateful for the good fortune of others I love when it didn’t seem fair, when I’ve been the laborer showing up first thing in the morning, and they show up at the end of the day. I’ve dined with sinners and modern day tax collectors. This is not to say I’ve saintly, but because I believe in Jesus Christ, these feel like the appropriate and normal things to do, in my culture of choice.


And the part of this morning’s reading that seems hard to fathom is the last bit, where Jesus says that if we believe in him, we’ll do greater deeds than his. I’m not sure what to make of that. Maybe I can do greater things with Christ because in my little corner of the world, I’m the one who’s here. With Christ not roaming the streets of downtown Portland, maybe I can do greater things, here with these people, because accompanied by the risen Christ, I am the proverbial hands and feet. With the historical Jesus not in my apartment, I’m the one who will tend and care and show God’s love.



I want to be an Easter person through the next 50 days. I want to remember and see Christ’s defeat over the tomb, this year more than any other in the past. He is risen indeed!

Apr 21 2019 John 1:1-18 Easter Sunday

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.



The Lord is risen indeed!  Alleluia!  This morning we celebrate Jesus’ victory over death. He was executed, laid in a tomb, and now he’s not in the tomb. All of the scriptures and prayers appointed for Morning Prayer are joyful, full of praise and ‘Alleluias’, a word and sentiment that’s been absent for these past 40 days of Lent.



This morning’s reading from the Gospel of John is intriguing. It’s also the reading for the regular Sunday Eucharist reading on the first Sunday after Christmas. In the beginning was the Word.. That’s John’s version of the nativity story. No lambs and shepherds. Just the cosmos.. and God.



The Scripture continues, “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.” That’s Easter, a short 4 sentences after In the Beginning.



For Jesus’ brief life on Earth, maybe that’s fitting. His earthly life was so short. But his Life in this world was before all things and continues after all things.



This morning, I’m thinking about the brevity of Jesus’ earthly life. Just because it was brief is irrelevant. Just because he was executed at the hands of power and religion is irrelevant. The darkness did not overcome it.



This morning, this earthly life continues. Pain and suffering happen. Illnesses remain. Bombings in far off countries rock our world. And yet, it’s Easter morning. There’s nothing about Easter morning that diminishes the trouble of this world. I’m not celebrating with loud Alleluias because somehow all of that is wiped away. But I am again reminded that all of that is brief, and ultimately irrelevant; the darkness will not overcome it.



It’s a deep joy to know that in the end, all shall be well. And for that, Again, I say rejoice.



The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Apr 20 2019 Hebrews 4:1-16 Holy Saturday

So therefore, a sabbath rest still remains for the people of God; 10 for those who enter God's rest also cease from their labors as God did from his.



Rest. I like the idea of rest, and I like to think that I can rest. But I’m not as good at it in deed as  in thought. Today, Holy Saturday, is a day in between. Yesterday was Good Friday, and Jesus was crucified. Tomorrow, Easter Sunday, Jesus rises. Today, we wait.



I had a priest friend describe today in an interesting way. He said that some Christian denominations,  those who tend to be more penitential, and original-sin-proclaiming, feel like a Good Friday kind of Christian. Much of their life and faith is spent thinking about sin, feeling guilty, and confessing, without spending a commensurate amount time on Easter Sunday. Other Christian denominations spend a lot of time worshipping and praising, and celebrating the risen Christ. My priest friend likened them to Easter Sunday Christians, always celebrating without spending time on Good Friday. Episcopalians, he posited are like Holy Saturday people, aware of the Good Fridays, and awaiting our Easters. Today, for the first time after hearing his theory probably 20 years ago, it rings more true.


I used to feel like Holy Saturday was a day to wait. Not much happened, except the bustle of preparing for Easter, whether that’s at home with Easter eggs, or brunch fixings, or at church, putting the final touches on the big day and music.


Today’s readings are full of language of rest. The 16 verses from Hebrews reference rest nine times. The regular collect for Saturdays talks about God’s rest on the seventh day, and that we should put away all earthly anxieties. Every Saturday, I like reading that and being reminded that a sabbath rest is not just nice, but it’s holy. Most surprising this morning is the reference to rest in the Collect for Holy Saturday. It talks about today, this day in-between, as a day when Christ ‘rested’ in the tomb. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about Christ, dead in the tomb, as resting.



All of this talk in the Scriptures and collects about rest, it’s hard not to hear rest. It reminds me of that pause when you breath slowly. Breath in, pause, breath out. That’s what I’m thinking about this morning. Today, Holy Saturday is the pause in between breaths. It’s not just a wasted, not-Good-Friday-and-not-Easter-Sunday-day. Just like our weekly Saturdays are to be our weekly sabbath rest (or Sundays for some Christians), today, Holy Saturday,  is our annual church calendar sabbath rest. And unlike vacation, this isn’t a day of simply playing and fun. We really are in the midst of the biggest days in the church year. There’s a lot to pray about, mourn, and anticipate.



My day is full of wonderful things. I pray that I seek out and find the spaces for that pause.

Apr 19 2019 John 13: 36-38 Good Friday

Very truly, I tell you, before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times.



Good Friday. A somber day, when Christians everywhere ponder what humanity did, and still does to Christ. In this reading Peter tells Jesus that he’d like to follow him wherever Jesus goes. Jesus response is that Peter cannot now. Peter responds that he’d lay down his life for Jesus. No, Jesus assures him, that before morning dawns, Peter will deny Jesus three times.



And it is true. Peter does deny knowing Jesus so he’s not found guilty by association. But what is also true is that Peter does lay down his life for Jesus after all. So why couldn’t he follow Jesus when he originally asked? 



Maybe Jesus was giving Peter a chance to finish up all of his earthly impetuousness and humanity. Even after saying this, that he’d lay down his life, Peter denied him three times. And Peter abandoned him at the cross. But after Jesus died and was risen, he appeared to Peter three times, with the question, Peter do you love me? Peter responds increasingly frustrated, . Lord you know that I love you. Then feed my sheep.



This morning, I’m thinking about the trials we need to go to in order to be followers – genuine, to our core, followers. Like Peter, I’ve thought that I could follow anywhere. Like Peter, I’ve abandoned Christ, both the Christ in me and the Christ in fellow humans. And maybe, like Peter, I need to be asked – after that abandonment, do you love me.



Maybe like Peter, it’s a cycle. I have a desire to do good and follow Jesus. I deny his presence and place in my life. I watch him suffer and be killed. I have remorse and repent. Jesus again asks me if I love him. I do. Feed my sheep. Year after year, this cycle is repeated as I live through Good Friday. Day after day, this cycle is repeated as I live through my life. Today, it feels big, and hard. Today, I’m feeling fatigue from the repeated Good Fridays of my life. Today, I need to remember it’s a persistent cycle, and Easter will come once again.

Apr 18 2019 John 13:14 Maundy Thursday

Because I your lord and teacher have washed your feet…

This isn’t really from the appointed readings for Morning Prayer, but it’s Maundy Thursday, so I’m thinking about Maundy Thursday. A lot. 

I have the honor of preaching tonight at a lovely parish in Portland, so I’ve been reading, thinking, writing and praying about tonight’s readings. They’re all about Jesus’ last night – how he washed the feet of his disciples and then held his ‘last supper’, and instituted what we now celebrate as Eucharist. 

During his time, foot washing was a thing. People wore sandals, and slogged through nastiness in the streets, with trash, mud and open sewers. This is reason enough to wash feet. But then they ate lounging on the floor, which puts the mouth-food duo too close to the muck-foot duo. But that job was reserved for the slaves of the household, or at the very least, the lowest on the social scale. Jesus shocked them when he got up from the low table, and washed the feet of his disciples. Like the time where he turned over the tables in the temple with the money-changers, Jesus turned over the tables by again breaking a social norm.

This morning I’m thinking about how he washed their feet. How awkward that would have been for them, even though it was a custom of their time. I’m thinking about Peter, who was so shocked that he asked Jesus to wash not only his feet but all of him. Peter, who less than 24 hours later, said he didn’t even know Jesus. I’m thinking about Judas. Judas who would bring the authorities to arrest, torture and execute Jesus less than 24 hours later. Was Judas thinking about that when Jesus washed his feet?  Was Jesus thinking about that? 

And still, Jesus washed their feet. More shocking still, he turned and commanded them to do the same thing. You break the social norms. You serve the doubters, the betrayers. Continuing the verse at the beginning, 

… you should wash one another’s.  

Apr 17 2019 Philippians 4:1-13 Wednesday in Holy Week

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

I like this. I like the repetition of the language. It hits home the point. It’s the right use of the word ‘whatever’ as opposed to the surly teenage girl usage. It is such an expansive list of goodness, and the use of whatever feels to me to make it even bigger. Not just what IS honorable, but what ever might conceivably possibly be considered honorable. This is a mighty list of goodness, and light. 

Paul is writing to the people of Philippi, and commending them to think of these good things. During this Holy Week, I’m in need of this list of goodness. In addition to the heaviness of Christ’s Passion looming again, I have some work commitments that are bigger than I’d imagined, and a family member whose sickness is waxing, and this week we’re moving into a different apartment in our current building, more of a grown-up space. There is difficulty and hardness in all of these things. But there are also aspects that are honorable, pure, pleasing, commendable, and worthy of praise. Those are the parts I need to think about, according to Paul. And if I can’t think about them all of the time, at least recognizing they’re there is hugely helpful.

After this list of goodness and reminding us to think about these things, Paul encourages the people to let their gentleness be known to everyone. Yes!  If he even needed to give them this list of traits, they must have had some heaviness too. In the midst of that, he’s encouraging them to be gentle. How easy it is to let hard things make us hardened.

And after this list of goodness, reminding us to think about these things, and encouraging gentleness, Paul reminds the people that the peace which surpasses all understanding will guard their hearts and minds. Yes! Yes!  I love that peace. Once in my life have I experienced that peace that defied all logic, that surpassed all understanding. It was a wonderful event, but I was incredibly nervous, my stomach in knots and nauseous, and me on the verge of joyful tears. After prayer, I really did get peaceful – a peace that surpassed all understanding. That was a dramatic peace-granting, but I’ve had other, less dramatic senses of peace. 

So this morning, I’m thinking about this expansive list of goodness and where I can see it, and then think about those things,  in the midst of this week. I’m praying to remain gentle, and above all, praying for that peace that surpasses all understanding. It seems like there might be some causality in these things. Thinking of what’s good and light and worthy of praise can help me remain gentle, which can grant me that peace. I'll start with thinking about seeking the goodness and light.

Apr 16 2019 Collect for the day Tuesday of Holy Week

Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ;

I have a new cross ring. I got a ring because I often forget to put on necklaces and I don’t like to sleep in them. I wanted a cross I could wear all the time and not be inconvenienced by forgetting to put it on in the morning. So I have a new ring.

For probably 20 years, I didn’t like crosses and didn’t like wearing them. After years of working in the very secular Pacific Northwest public sector, I was uncomfortable in a cross. Part of that was because Christianity was such a foreign thing to be mocked, and part of my reluctance was because I didn’t want to be seen as THAT kind of Christian. In any case, now I have a cross ring. I have two, and I wear one every day.  I like what it says, and I like that I’m proud to be a Christian of any stripe.

But this week, heading towards Good Friday, I see the cross in a new-but-really-old way. The cross was the instrument of humanity’s worst. What happened to Jesus and thousands of others on a cross was horrific.

The collect appointed for the Tuesday of Holy Week talks about the cross, and because it’s Holy Week, the words seem clearer or harder. We pray today that God lets us glory in that tortuous device. We pray that we can suffer shame and loss.

Quite frankly, I don’t feel much like doing any of that. I don’t even feel like wearing my cross ring. I feel that I’ve had suffering, shame and loss. I’ve seen what humanity does to each other. And while I’ve never seen anyone crucified on a cross, I’ve seen families torn apart because of words on paper. People living on the streets with significant mental illness. We should be caring for them, not mocking them. Children of God mocking, bullying, and assaulting other children of God because of their faith, skin color, sexual orientation.

The collect for the day continues that we pray to suffer these things for the sake of Jesus Christ. Today, I’m thinking about the cross ring I’ll put on. Today, I hope that every time I see it or any other cross that I think it as a symbol of humanity’s worst, and feel the burden of the hurt, and pain, and shame I’ve seen in afflicted victims, caused by oppressors, and felt and caused by me. Today, I pray that when I see that cross, I feel its weight, and get a glimmer of the hope that comes from Easter Sunday.

Apr 15 2019 Psalm 51: 1-18 – Monday in Holy Week

Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.

Yesterday, we celebrated Palm Sunday, Jesus’ triumphal entry in to Jerusalem, as the priest said in her sermon yesterday, we celebrate his coming on a stolen baby donkey. At the end of the service yesterday, we sung, “All Glory Laud and Honor, to thee Redeemer King” I was struck how well I knew that song. Since we sing some version of it on Palm Sunday and no other time, I was trying to figure out if it’s the familiarity that made me know it, since I’ve probably sung it in over 50 times that I remember, or because of it’s uniqueness, since I only sing it once a year. In either case, it was a heart-warming moment. 

And continuing with yesterday’s thoughts about blessings, I actually cried at the altar rail. A father and daughter came up for a blessing at communion. English was not their first language, but they knew  to come up to the rail, and cross their arms over their chest. The blue-haired priest bent over, made the sign of the cross on their head, and whispered a beautiful blessing in their ears, about how they were made by God in love, and God loves them always. God’s blessings abound, don’t they?

So this morning, I’m struck by these words in the psalm appointed for the Monday of Holy Week. Every single day in morning prayer, we pray a collective version of this line from Psalm 51. Lord, open our lips, and our mouth shall proclaim your praise. I’ve taken it for granted that it’s just one-line attestation that we’ll soon be collectively praying, opening our mouths, and a prayer that with our open lips, we use them to praise. Sort of a reminder of our intentions for the upcoming time of prayer. 

But reading that sentence in context gives me a new appreciation for that proclamation. Psalm 51 is entitled Miserere Mei, Deus, translates to Have Mercy on Me, O God. It’s got an arc that concludes with this proclamation. But not before it goes through some other rough patches. The psalm is full of penitential, miserable images. Blot out all my offenses. Wash me from my wickedness. My sin is ever before me. And my least favorite - I have been wicked from my birth, a sinner from my mother’s womb. Yuck. 

From all of this wretchedness, the psalmist asks God to create a clean heart in him, renew a right spirit. Sustain me with your bountiful spirit. And moving quickly on, the psalmist asks God to Give me the joy of your saving help again, and then I’ll teach your ways to the wicked. After all of this.. wretchedness, sin from birth, imploring God to renew me, and sustain me, give me joy, and I’ll teach others – only then do I say, Open my lips O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise. 

So it’s not just a statement of my intention in today’s prayer. Because I am again reminded of the context, it’s a recap of the power of God. Even though I’ve done wretched things and can’t seem to avoid to repeat that, even as that powerless imperfect mortal, I ask for God’s blessing and strength and joy. Despite all that, I open my lips and my mouth proclaims your praise. I don’t proclaim and praise from a place of strength and readiness, but from weakness and unpreparedness. And yet, I pray this daily.

Today, I want to think about all of the parts of my prayer scriptures that are deep, and have a lot of context I don’t always consider. And I want to extend this hidden depth to the people I encounter too. People have a lot of context and depth I don’t consider.

Apr 14 2019 Psalm 24

They shall receive a blessing from the Lord



This morning I’m thinking about blessings. In my tradition, priests are ‘ordained’ or authorized to give blessings on behalf of God. When priests are ordained into Holy Orders, the bishop and other priests lay their hands on that person, and ask the Holy Spirit to be on that person and make them a priest in God’s church. And in our creed, when we pray for one apostolic church, apostolic refers to the fact that the bishops have had hands laid on them from bishops who’ve had hands laid on them from bishops… all the way back to the original apostles, who had hands laid on them by Christ himself.



There have been a few times when I’ve felt especially blessed, after a blessing by a priest – a few times out of hundreds. In one church, the priest offered a blessing for health, by laying hands on you if you asked. During those blessings, I genuinely got warm and tingly inside, especially my ears. Maybe it was my introvert awkwardness kicking in, but I don’t think so. To be clear, after these sickness blessings, I didn’t immediately recover. But I did have a greater sense of peace.


Sometimes, I’d get my husband to church for a special blessing on the anniversary of our wedding. With our hands held, and wrapped up in the priests stole, we received a blessing for the coming year. My ears didn’t get tingly for this, but I did feel blessed to be with the man I love, in a community I love. 


Within the past few months, I have some personal challenges that remain challenging. Some days, I can’t help but bring that messiness to work. One day, I was on the phone in the kitchen in my office, huddled over a counter, having a difficult conversation. My boss the bishop walked by, and with his thumb, made the sign of the cross on my forehead. This blessing might have induced tears. I am blessed. I am loved. Not by the bishop. By God. I needed that. 


And every week, at the end of a regular Sunday service or mid-week communion service, the priest stands and offers a blessing over the people, holding up their arm and making a big sweeping cross as the blessing is pronounced. These blessings have rarely felt special as the recipient. It has felt like the ending movement of a morning of worship. Until..

As a deacon, I don’t offer these blessings, but I do get to stand behind the altar when they’re pronounced at the end of the service. One priest I worked with had the kindest, most loving, mother-hen look in her eyes as she said her blessing. She clearly looked on her gathered people with love, and deep appreciation. When she raised her arm and made the sign of the cross to bless the gathered, it was clear she meant it. Every time. She deeply intended to pass on a blessing of God’s love to all. 


I don’t know if the gathered people knew that or could sense it. But I could because I had a front row seat. 


I don’t believe God’s blessing only happens when words or motions are uttered by ordained priests  in an apostolic tradition. I think God can bless whoever and whenever and however God wants to. But I do believe that God’s blessing is surely and certainly passed with the words and motions of priests  ordained in an apostolic tradition. So while it’s not the only way, it’s one the only ways I know I’m blessed. 


Today, I will watch for God’s blessings coming from the priests I encounter. I will sense God’s blessing in the personal and corporate blessings they offer. I will also watch for the incidental blessings of God that occur throughout my day. Even if it’s in a stranger’s response to a sneeze.

Apr 13 2019 John 11:28-44

 Jesus wept.



I went to college with a wonderful woman, who was raised by an Episcopalian mother, and a father who was agnostic on a good day, not unlike my parents, or come to think of it, my nuclear family. In any case, she talked about how they took turns with grace at dinner. Her dad, not wanting to waste time, and probably being a little cheeky, prayed this prayer, Jesus wept. Amen. His claim was that it was biblical, and more importantly, the shortest verse in the Bible.



I’m not certain it was the best prayer at the table, but it worked for them, and makes a great memory. This morning, I’m thinking about that verse.



In yesterday’s reading, we heard that Jesus waited – on purpose – to go to the house of Lazarus, because through the illness and death, the son of God would be glorified. Even after he heard that Lazarus was ill, and even though he loved Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary, Jesus waits to go.


When he shows up, Martha meets him en route, angry because her brother has died. Jesus continues and meets up with Mary and the rest of the weeping Jews. The scripture says that Jesus is moved. And Jesus wept.



What are we to make of this?  Jesus, fully divine, it seems has let Lazarus die, but has some greater plan. What I’m thinking about this morning is that Jesus is also fully human, not above fully human emotions and pains. More importantly to me this morning is that Jesus choses to have these fully human emotions and pains. You’d think as the man-God, Jesus could avoid that pesky crying, especially in this story, when he clearly has a plan for something amazing with Lazarus, so the ‘son of God can be glorified’. And yet, Jesus wept.



Christ didn’t avoid or transcend grief, or pain, or all of the messy emotions we have. If Christ didn’t, it seems that we as Christians shouldn’t expect to either. Being Christian doesn’t mean that we’re exempt from grief or pain. Christ himself wasn’t. This man-God allowed himself to go through pain and suffering. There must be some benefit to grief and tears, otherwise wouldn’t Christ have sailed through that part?  Skipped it all together? Looking ahead to the week before Christ’s execution, there is a lot of pain and suffering to come. Jesus could skip that part. 


Instead, Jesus weeps. This Saturday before Holy Week,  I want to be aware of all of my emotions, good and bad, church-induced and family-induced. Instead of trying to barrel through them or skipping them all together, I want to rest in my emotion. And know that I am not alone. God experienced all of these emotions, as Jesus Christ fully human. And God is with me this week, as I experience them, as Jesus Christ fully divine.

Apr 12 2019 Psalm 22

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

One interesting thing about the Daily Office is that its schedule is based on the months and days of a three year cycle. Occasionally, the regular prescribed readings that get you through the Scripture during the year are interrupted by a particular reading for the specific celebrated day, but not always, and not for the general flow of the church year. 

This Sunday begins what we call Holy Week, the week celebrating Christ’s last week. It is packed with emotional and liturgical highs and lows – a crazy roller coaster which concludes on Easter Sunday. This Sunday, Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem, where his vision of where he’s heading (death) is very different than the crowds', who think he’s their savior. Thursday, his last supper with his disciples and his imprisonment. Friday, his death. Saturday our waiting. And Saturday night or Sunday, his resurrection. Leaders at churches, big and small, have twice or three times the number of services to coordinate, sermons to prepare, music to arrange. It's a lot. 

This is my first year in 30 years where I don’t have a home parish, I’m not walking that Holy Week journey with my beloved choir from Kenmore, where I shared the journey with 16 of my favorite singers, with many extra rehearsals and long hours. I’m not at the parishes I served during my ordination process, learning many of the different ways of being church. I’m not with the parishes I served as an ordained deacon, learning the way to lead others through that, and developing my voice in preaching and writing. 

Maybe it’s because of that sense of nomadness, that I see today’s reading in the context of Holy Week. The beginning of this psalm, My God My God, why have you forsaken me, comes at a stark moment during this week, that takes my breath away. It is read during the scripted reading  of Jesus’ death. Different people in the church take different ‘roles’, and the arrest, torture, trial and execution are read from those different voices. Jesus says, Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?, which the script parenthetically translates as My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?  After 50 years, I no longer stumble over the foreign language, but always stumble at the rawness of his cry.

Jesus is dying, after a horrible and unjust trial, his torture, and during an intentionally slow, painful, humiliating execution. Jesus, who’s laid down a new law, a new way of love, is being killed by the very humans he’d come to love. Jesus, like the rest of us mortals, cries out with a sense of anger, defeat, abandonment that I have felt. He turns to this line from Psalms, written about 1000 years before he was born. He turned to something well established, with staying power and deeply faith-filled for him. 

When I turn to these same psalms, this morning I’m struck how long they’ve been around and how many have used these words, written 3000 years before my uttering them. The Psalms are foundational to Judaism and Christianity throughout that time. Think of all of the people who’ve lived, and done amazing things, and died, all turning to the Psalms as an expression of their joy, adoration, gratitude, anger, despair, abandonment. 

Today’s reading adds Christ to that list of Psalm-users, at a pivotal moment in his life and death. And as a result, in a pivotal moment in my faith. Christ feels God’s distance and abandonment as he’s hanging, knowing death is soon. He senses this distance even though he’s been preaching an all-loving, all-powerful God. Even as he forgives the people who’ve done this to him. Even as he forgives the criminals dying with him. But God’s love doesn’t stop there with Christ. We know the rest of the story with Christ. We believe evil and death don’t have the last word. God does.

Today, I want to relish the depth and history of the psalms – all they’ve seen and all the people through time and space who’ve prayed the same words. I want to realize that wonderous people have prayed these words, even that guy hanging on the cross. And today, I want to end where Psalm 22 ends, My soul shall live for him.

Apr 11 2019 John 10: 19-42

How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.



Poor Jesus. He’s tromping around Jerusalem performing miracles, talking about his father in heaven, and still the authorities haven’t seen. Exasperatedly, they ask him how long he’ll keep them in suspense. Exasperatedly, he responds that he has told them, and shown them and still they don’t believe. What more can I do?



The authorities look thick, asking this question when the answer is obvious, right? Except it’s only obvious to us because we have the luxury of time and having heard the story dozens of times. If I was in their shoes, I’m guessing I’d be in a s similar space. Could you just plainly tell me?  What Jesus was saying and doing was blasphemous to the religious authorities and traitorous to the political authorities. Of course they had a challenge believing it. I would too.



More real, I say stupid things like this all the time, when the answer is clear. If I don’t like what I see, or don’t like the answer, I have been know to shop for a better answer, or to ask the question again thinking I’ll get a different answer. It costs how much? What again are you planning to do?  



The authorities aren’t thick. They’re human. We do have a hard time hearing what we don’t want to hear, or believing what we can’t believe we’re seeing. And when God’s involved, that’s even more apparent. Today, I want to strive to listen, see and believe the first time.

April 10 2019 Romans 10:14-21

And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard?



This comes in a long line of rhetorical questions from Paul, which ultimately concludes with “So faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Jesus Christ” Maybe this is a case of the phenomena that we hear what we need to from the inspired Word, but in this, I hear a call to go. I have always felt pulled to go to far flung places, to do good in far flung places. That pull  continues. What it ultimately looks like has changed over the years.



One of the spiritual practices you go through to get ordained is to write quarterly letters to your bishop, describing your spiritual journey and formation process. Depending on how long it takes to be formed before being ordained, which is on God’s time, these quarterly letters can continue for 3-5 years. I thoroughly enjoyed writing them, as rereading them quarter to quarter gave me a good assessment of where I’ve been. In any case, in one of those letters, I expressed that I had a vision that my husband and I would head off somewhere far flung. We didn’t know where or how.



I started my ordination process in Seattle, and had moved to Oregon in the midst of my 7 year process. I travelled to Seattle to be ordained by the bishop and in the process I’d started. During the sermon, he’d reviewed my quarterly letters and mentioned that I’d thought I’d go somewhere far flung. He quipped that I had, in fact, gone somewhere – Oregon.



I chuckled at the time, but hoped that wasn’t the end of it. So here I sit, still in Oregon, and life is significantly more complicated than I’d imagined it would be. My vision for going somewhere is sometimes disappointedly smaller. And yet, I firmly believe I’m where I’m supposed to be, when I’m supposed to be, doing precisely what God wants me to be doing. So maybe the dissapointment comes from when my human-driven visions are replaced with God’s dream. It’s hard to let go of our well crafted visions, isn’t it? 



Besides, Oregon is one of the least-churched places in this country. There are plenty of people here who have never heard, or if they have, they’ve heard of a God that’s judgmental and conditional. Or maybe they’ve heard, but never seen. In any case, there’s plenty to do here, right where I am.



This morning, I’m thinking about how to be that person who speaks and acts in a way that Christ’s love is undeniably present, especially to people who don’t know that love. I’m thinking about ways to do that where I am now, rather than envisioning some future date and future plan. Here and now is when I need to do that work. Next week or year? Who knows where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing?  Here and now isn’t settling; it isn’t a consolation prize. This is where Christ’s word can be made real, if I realize and step into my call here and now.

Apr 9 2019 Commemoration of Dietrich Bonhoeffer Matthew 5:1-12

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, what a guy. And what a peacemaker. There is little that he has written that doesn’t make me genuinely want to attest with a resounding “Amen!”. He doubted his faith and his calling, but eventually became a pastor in pre- WWII Nazi Germany. He was a resister, and met with other peaceful resisters in England and the US, trying to explore where his efforts could be best used. He decided to return to Germany to continue his work of peace. A pastor and organizer of a seminary, he continued to preach peace and work quietly in the resistance. At the age of 37, he was imprisoned by the Nazis, and after two years in captivity, he was hanged on April 9, 1945. Less than a month later, Germany surrendered. 

There are many books written both about and by him. Knowing his times and fate, the books he wrote, and what he said is even more revealing: The Cost of Discipleship, and Letters from Prison. This morning, I’m again inspired by the life of this great, and frequently unknown man. Today, instead of my musings, I share his. Today, my challenge is to pluck from his wisdom something to hold on to, and see throughout the day. Today, I imagine how I might live like that. Again, I say Amen. 

Christianity preaches the infinite worth of that which is seemingly worthless and the infinite worthlessness of that which is seemingly so valued.

The ultimate test of a moral society is the kind of world that it leaves to its children.

There is meaning in every journey that is unknown to the traveler.

The blessedness of waiting is lost on those who cannot wait, and the fulfillment of promise is never theirs. They want quick answers to the deepest questions of life and miss the value of those times of anxious waiting, seeking with patient uncertainties until the answers come. They lose the moment when the answers are revealed in dazzling clarity.

 The awareness of a spiritual tradition that reaches through the centuries gives one a certain feeling of security in the face of all transitory difficulties. 

Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act. 

We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself. 

Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.

In normal life we hardly realize how much more we receive than we give, and life cannot be rich without such gratitude. It is so easy to overestimate the importance of our own achievements compared with what we owe to the help of others.

Jesus himself did not try to convert the two thieves on the cross; he waited until one of them turned to him.

We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.

A God who let us prove his existence would be an idol.

There is meaning in every journey that is unknown to the traveler.

I discovered later, and I'm still discovering right up to this moment, that is it only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes and failures. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world. That, I think, is faith.

Where God tears great gaps we should not try to fill them with human words.

The will of God, to which the law gives expression, is that men should defeat their enemies by loving them.

Amen.

Apr 8 2019 John 9:1-17

Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him.

Jesus comes upon the blind man, and the others ask him whether the man sinned or his parents. 

This is the first thing from today’s reading that I find dumb, and unfortunately something that persists today - that notion that one’s troubles today are the result of sins yesterday. Other than the clearly causal woes, such as a drug overdose being caused by taking drugs, or blindness from an industrial accident, I can’t even fathom how rational people would be able to attribute modern day problems to things they see as sins, especially the sins of others. 

Except perhaps in the way that abused kids end up struggling with all sorts of mental and physical infirmities. Neglected kids can be emotionally detached. Loving parents who end up in jail for their sins leave a mark on their children by their absence, even if they always loved and cared for the children. So yes, sometimes the sins of the parents do result in infirmities of their offspring. 

But I don’t get the sense this is what the Jews were talking about in Jesus’ time, nor do I think it’s what Westboro Baptist, Jerry Falwell or Pat Robertson mean, when they blame today’s woes on the ‘sins’ of LGBTQ, Islam, or Voodoo. That’s horribly problematic for me, as who are they to decide what’s a sin or not? 

So the first part of this reading has been horribly misused. But then again, as the second. That part where Jesus says that neither the person nor their parents sinned. What it says is that the man was born blind ‘so that God’s works might be revealed in him’. 

Since I don’t read whatever language this was written in I can’t attest to the accuracy of the translation, but I cannot imagine that Jesus is saying that people are born blind, die from accidents, illness, or terrorism, or get lifelong illness simply so that God has a stage on which to perform. 

I guess I do believe that crappy things happen, and through those bad things God can show up in very unexpected ways. For us to read this section and suggest that it’s God’s purpose to have bad things happen, so God can perform doesn’t reflect the all-loving God I’ve encountered. 

When in doubt, I look for other translations of the readings. Here’s the translation from Eugene Peterson’s “The Message”, which feels much more reflective of an all-loving God. 

Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked, “Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?” Jesus said, “You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do.

How easy it is for us to blame. To blame the one who’s blind or ill. To blame the parents. To blame God. Instead of spending one ounce of energy on the blame-game, I want to spend that time watching for what God can do with this broken person and broken world.

Apr 7 2019 Psalm 118

Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his mercy endures forever.
Repetition. This morning I’m surrounded by repetition. Psalm 118 includes five refrains of ‘his mercy endures forever’, two ‘it is better to rely on the Lord’, and three ‘In the name of the Lord, I will repel them’. 

The two other scripture readings have come up in Morning Prayer within the past 5 months, one about Jesus rebuking Peter, and the other Paul’s explanation about being all things to all people, weak to the weak, slave to the slave. 

Every morning, I repeat some of the same prayers – Lord’s prayer, confession, Nicene Creed. And because it’s Sunday morning, so I’ll soon be heading to church where I’ll repeat the confession, Lord’s Prayer, and Nicene Creed this morning. 

I must admit that as I was reading the second  scripture reading that I know I’ve read recently, I was feeling a little exasperated by repetition. Not again. But no one is forcing me to pray the Daily Office, which is inherently repetitive. So I let those thoughts come and go, and continued in my repetitive Morning Prayer practice. 

And I’m glad I did. 

With the prayers that are prayed daily, I do have a fondness and welcome their familiar words daily. Give us this day, our daily bread. Their repetition is monotonous as much as the words infuse my day and set my intention for the day. If that has become true for me, wouldn’t it stand to reason that the same imbuing could happen with the repeated scripture readings and refrains from the psalm?  

I think the answer is yes, but two times in 5 months isn’t enough for that infusing to happen. That’s like marinating a steak for 5 minutes. Hearing the readings twice makes re recognize that they’ve come up before, but not enough to actually benefit from the familiarity. I pray that I continue with this daily practice long enough that daily, I get the sense that I’ve read, reflected, and have been informed by the readings at least once before. 

And while the same repetition happens Sunday to Sunday, at least for me, there’s too much time between repeats to have the same familiarity. Sure, some of the weekly prayers are familiar. But in my tradition, the scripture readings come up on a three year cycle, so it’s generally at least three years since I last heard those stories. I vaguely remember them, but wouldn’t say they’ve informed by days, months or years. 

And there’s another lovely thing from repetition. While I deeply value the familiarity of things that remain the same, I also value the nudge that the familiarity gives me to find the new in the old. When I pray the Lord’s Prayer daily, some days I’m value the comfort in the known. And some days I’m struck by some little nuance I’d never thought of, and probably wouldn’t if it wasn’t so familiar. I like how the comfortable and familiar pushes me to find the exciting and novel. 

In Morning Prayer there are collects that are prayed to sum up and set the intention for the day. We always pray the prayer that’s used during that Sunday’s Eucharist, and normally there’s one for specific day of the week. Today being Sunday, the Collect for the day is lovely, and if I weren’t praying this repetitive Morning Prayer in addition to later going to Church, I’d miss. Give us this day such blessing through our worship of you, that the week to come may be spent in your favor. 

Here’s to repetition. Here’s to repetition.

Apr 6 2019 The General Thanksgiving

And, we pray, give us such an awareness of your mercies, that with truly thankful hearts we may show forth your praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives

After the psalms and scripture readings, Morning Prayer goes through some standard daily prayers. The Nicene Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, praying for the good of others, and finally a concluding prayer or two. One of the prayers is called the General Thanksgiving. It is credited to Bp. Edward Reynolds from Norwich England, inspired by a private prayer of Queen Elizabeth I, and added to the Prayer Book in 1662. Now, 350 years later, it’s prayed daily, and its words still ring true. 

I like that some of these historical prayers remain in my daily practice. It ties me through time and space with people in the Anglican Communion around the world, and through time. People everywhere pray that same prayer, maybe even while I’m sitting in my prayer chair in the morning stillness. 

I like this prayer because in one line, it connects a string of things that are both critical on their own and beautiful strung together. 

• God’s mercies – Yes, God is merciful, and God’s mercies are all around us, all the time.
• Our awareness – We need to be aware of our world, and in particular God’s mercies
• Our gratitude – With truly thankful hearts. Our hearts should be brimming with gratitude of this amazing life, and especially if we are aware of God’s mercies all around us.
• Agents – We should show God’s love and praise God at all times, stemming from the gratitude in our hearts from our awareness of God’s mercies all around.
• Talk is necessary but not sufficient – Not only should we talk about God’s grace, and show God’s love, we should live it, every day.

This simple line connects God’s mercies, our awareness, our gratitude, and our action. It’s linear and causal. And so easy to forget one or more of those steps. But without all of them, our actions can become hallow, our gratitude contrived, our awareness cynical. 

Today, let me be very aware of this causal chain, look for it, and at the end of the day, reflect on it. 

Mercies. Awareness. Gratitude. Action. 

Thanks,  QE I.