Jun 30 2019 Matthew 21: 23-32

Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.

Why is this so hard for us? Why do we keep forgetting that Jesus intentionally picked the outcasts? I took a class on ‘liberation theology’, the line of thinking that originated from countering the wrong-headed notion that the powerful colonial church could be horrible to the indigenous people because their reward would be in heaven. Let us oppress you now because we’re spectacular, and you’re brown-skinned. It will all be ok, because your reward is not in this world. Trust us. No wonder a whole line of theology sprouted in response to that.

But while I fully enjoyed the theology of the underdog, I couldn’t get behind the conclusion of the theology. They landed at something called, God’s preferential treatment of the poor. God cares more for the poor and underdog. I think I struggled with this because I don’t like the idea of a preference for anyone, or any class of people.

Jesus wasn’t saying that the prostitutes and corrupt tax collectors were inherently better. This quote from Matthew comes after the story about the two sons who were asked to do their father’s will. One said he would do it, and didn’t. He said the right things, but had wrong actions. The other son said he wouldn’t, but eventually did do them. He said the wrong thing, but followed through with right actions. He told this story to a bunch of religious leaders in the temple. He was suggesting that these ‘leaders’ were good at saying the right things, but didn’t end up doing the right things. They didn’t believe John the Baptist. But the tax collectors and prostitutes, who did said and looked wrong, eventually did believe John. It’s because of their faith.

Unfortunately, this feels like a very relevant story today too. There was a big clash in downtown Portland yesterday between conservative ‘Proud Boys’ and Antifa, with arrests, beatings and pepper spray. Both sides were willing to resort to violence to silence the other, all for what they believed or said.

On a more personal level, my church tradition is full of conservative, wealthy, well intentioned Jesus followers, who scoff at the uber liberal, or at the homeless and addicts. Meanwhile the church is also full of the uber-liberal well-intentioned Jesus followers, who scoff at the 1%, the conservatives, the elite. I don’t believe God loves the 1% better than the addicts. Nor do I believe God loves the liberals more than the conservatives. If this is a God of love of all, God loves all. It all comes down to belief and right-action. Do the homeless love God, believe in Jesus? Do the bankers believe in God, and love Jesus? They’ll all make it to heaven, for a gigantic classless party, with bankers dancing with addicts, and liberals helping the 1%.

The tax collectors in Jesus’ story, or the brown people in liberation theology don’t have a fast-pass to get to the front of the line. Nor are they precluded from the party. With right action, with a belief in an all-loving God, all are welcome. Including me. 

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Jun 29 2019 Acts 11:1-18

Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?

Jesus is gone, and Peter and the other disciples are continuing to spread Jesus’ good news about love of all. In Jerusalem, he runs into some ‘circumcised believers’. To be clear, this refers more to their status as good God-fearing Jews than to the status of their foreskin. The good Jewish believers are extremely concerned about why Peter’s hanging out and becoming ritually unclean by dining with the non-Jewish-non-believers.

In response, Peter tells them of a vision he had that is pretty kooky. It involves a big sheet, hooved animals, reptiles, birds of prey, and a voice that tells him to eat. Peter responds that he shouldn’t eat what’s profane. The voice repeats the command to eat, adding that “what God has made clean, you must not call profane”. He gets additional signals, including the Holy Spirit telling him not to make a distinction between ‘them and us’. 

Given the prevailing thinking at the time, about clean/unclean, ritually pure/profane, circumcised/uncircumcised, us/them, this was quite a conversion story for Peter. From this, he proceeds to spread the love in all the places and to all the people previously deemed unfit, or outsiders. Since this started as a faith in Israel which was occupied by the cruel Roman empire, and now one of the major seats Christianity is in Rome, at a place called St. Peter’s, it is fair to say that Peter shared the message of love to the most hated, outsiders of the time – the occupying Romans – and everyone in between.

From Oregon, the distance from the circumcised in Israel to the Vatican feels small. Then, the distance was as far as imaginable, figuratively and literally.

From Oregon in 2019, nothing feels that far away – so far that I can’t reach them, can’t read about them. But still there are distances to cross, where the message of universal radical love is hard to share, or hard to hear. Where or who are my clean/unclean, us/them?

Right now, given where I am in my world, some of unclean other are represented in the seriously mentally ill. It’s not that I don’t think God loves them. Rather, it’s hard to show and share that love, particularly in my home.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to live as if every person I encounter is something God has made clean. It’s not my job to call anything unclean, or anything ‘them’. God has made all things. God loves all things. Even in the hard things. But because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s not clean, or profane or needs fixing. It just is. I’m called to be here, to show love, to make every one of God’s creatures know God’s love. I am not called to name anything as profane, or to do anything less than share this incredible, irrational love. Circumcised or not.

Jun 28 2019 Luke 22: 31-38

'Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!'

So said Peter the night Jesus was arrested. In response, Jesus offered his, “before the cock crows…” Peter absolutely believed this – that he’d go to his death and prison for Jesus. And eventually all of that was true. But not before he denied knowing Christ, and abandoning him at his execution. 

What is it about our words and deeds, that make it so hard to do what we say, or follow through with what we believe we’ll do? What was it about that night that made Peter deny knowing Jesus? Maybe it was the newness and rawness of Jesus’ imminent prosecution and death. Maybe Peter was in shock, but not in shock of Jesus’ fate, but of Peter’s inability to fix it.

If my thinking is any indication, I might be more in shock at my absolute impotence at this horrible situation. I would do anything for you, Jesus. I’d go to prison. I’d follow you to death. I’m loyal. You don’t need to die. Let me at ‘em. I’ll fix this. Jesus repeatedly tells them, and perhaps Peter most of all, that no, there’s nothing they can do. 

Faced with the reality of his inability to fix this, Peter runs away. He needs to be far away from this reminder of his false sense of fixedness. I can’t just stand there and watch you go through this. Maybe there as a little self-preservation too, but I think that played a minor part. He didn’t have that concern when he was crucified.

Jesus didn’t need Peter to fix anything. Didn’t need Peter to prevent anything. Jesus needed Peter’s companionship, not his heroics. When Peter couldn’t be the hero, he couldn’t, he found he couldn’t be a companion either. 

Often, we’re asked to accompany someone. To sit with them. To love them. Not to fix them. We’ll have our chance to go to bat for someone, as Peter eventually did. But when they ask for our company, that’s what’s needed.

Jesus knew Peter would flee. Peter couldn’t see it or wouldn’t see it. After his resurrection, Jesus asked Peter three times, do you love me? We’ll get it wrong, but Jesus always gives us a chance to make it right. To be a companion. To profess our love. To feed his sheep.
This morning, I’m thinking about how hard it is to acknowledge that I’m not in control, and that I can’t fix everything. About how sometimes it’s easier to deny the problem than simply accompany it. Today, I pray that I recognize that instinct to run, or deny and instead give up the sense of control and just be a companion.

Jun 27 2019 I Samuel 8: 1-22

The Lord said to Samuel, 'Listen to their voice and set a king over them.

Samuel has lived a good life, and has been a good judge. As he nears death, his people cry out that they want a king, like the other nations. Samuel prays about it, and the Lord responds to Samuel that they’ve not rejected Samuel, but the Lord as King. God tells Samuel to warn the people that an appointed king might not be so good. Their human-selected king might extort them, force bribes, take their best property and women for his use. In general, God was setting up a picture of a bad king, warning the people of Israel that God would be their Good king, instead. Samuel brought this message to the people, but they dismissed him and his warnings. Returning to God, Samuel lamented that they still wanted a King. God’s response was to listen to the people and set a king over them. Basically, God is saying, ok, give them what they ask for.

This morning, this is striking me both for good and bad. Yesterday I conjured up a ministry opportunity for me and a fellow deacon. It would be wonderful, meaningful ministry that is church. Where church starts and ministry starts is hard to define, which makes my deacon-heart very glad. It was a novel approach, and so far, everyone has thought it’s a wonderful idea. The idea was hatched during yesterday’s morning prayer reading of the calling of Stephan and his buddies, to effectively be the first deacons. There are a few more logistics to work through, and I’m very excited. And when I proposed this wacky idea, I’ve heard nothing but “yes!”. Basically God has said. Ok. Give them what they ask for. In this instance, I hope God’s “yes” is because it’s the right thing, not because eventually I need to hear, “I told you so”. So far, I think it’s a good ‘give them what they’re asking for’.

And on the not-so-good side, my sick loved one is sicker. Nearly catatonic – literally not figure of speech. They had an appointment to get a court-ordered injection of medicine to try to improve things. They were so scared they tried to run away, but we found them less than a block from our apartment, standing on the sidewalk, still and staring.

Eventually, they returned and got their medicine. Since, they’ve been hiding. Not talking to us. Not responding to any attempts to communicate. I’m certain they’re scared, angry, frustrated, confused, and feeling betrayed that we who are to protect them subjected them to this traumatic day, and traumatic six months.

Like you and I, the mental health and legal system give to them significant power over their own destiny and care. Were it not for court involvement 6 months ago, there would be no forced hospitalizations. No forced medicines. I heard one advocate say that the system is set up to allow people to be sick if they want to, even if they don’t even know they’re sick in the first place. OK. Give them what they’re asking for.

The problem in this situation is that my loved one doesn’t really have the capacity to know what’s good. They’re scared and angry and won’t defer to anyone medical decision making in their best interest. They’re sick enough to be unable to see there’s anything wrong. But over 18, and able to make decisions about care or refusal of care. Ok. Give them what they’re asking for.

In 10 days, they’ll conclude their mandated court supervision of treatment, which occurred because of a previous hospitalization. When freed from that interference, my loved one will most likely cease all treatment. Absent a contentious court proceeding and traumatic hospitalization, there’s nothing we can do. The system is rigged to give them what they’re asking for.

This morning, I’m thinking about a God, that Samuel understood allow kings to be placed over Israel, because they wanted it. God’s response was that Samuel should give them what they’ve asked for. At that time, both Samuel and God seem to have had a foreboding sense that it wasn’t what should have occurred, but it’s what they wanted. I’m sitting here, with a foreboding sense that the end of all treatment is not what should occur, but it’s what they want. To allow them some dignity, I cannot presume to always know what’s best, or to take from them any decision about their life, their rights and their treatment.

In Samuel’s time, the people did get a series of crummy kings, and God saved them, only to have them again want a human king who did more crummy things. And God saved them again. And again. What the people wanted was not always what was best. And God gave them what they wanted. What my loved one wants may not be what’s best. But it appears the system is set up to give them what they are asking for. My prayer today is that while God and the system allow us all to make decisions and ask for things that may or may not be in our best interest, God will be there when we get the equivalent of a crummy king. God will save us from ourselves. Again. And again. 

* OH, and Happy Birthday Katherine!

Jun 26 2019 Nicene Creed - Commemoration of Isabel Florence Hapgood

I believe in one God

Here’s another name I’ve never heard. It’s one of the many things I really enjoy from this prayer practice – coming across names and stories of people through history from whom I can learn much.

Hapgood was known for translating many great French and Russian works into English, including Les Miserables, and the Brothers Karamazov. She also admired Russian orthodox liturgy and music, and worked to translate those rich resources for American audiences. She brought Russian Orthodox choral singing to American audiences.

There is something very beautiful, haunting, and holy about orthodoxy. I’ve been involved in a Russian Orthodox baptism, and wedding, both of which were beautiful, and included a reverence to holy mysteries that we post-modern Americans find difficult to allow to remain a mystery.

My home parish outside Seattle shared our space with a Greek Orthodox Mission, until they were able to find their own space. That allowed us to share worship space, write icons together, share Holy Week liturgies.

I’m not Orthodox, and there are parts of that faith I neither understand nor can entirely endorse. But I loved the opportunity to experience those rich liturgies and faith practices.

At the other end of the religious spectrum, I was invite to participate in a monthly prayer gathering of evangelical clergy. I went when I was available. And it provided amazing exposure to a rich, emotional, fully-American, prayer practice. There were parts of that that I neither understand nor can entirely endorse. But I loved the opportunity to experience those rich prayer practices.

The collect that was written to commemorate Hapgood reads:

Teach your divided church, O God, to look upon one another with a holy envy, to see what is good and right in our separate traditions, and to continually seek the unity that you desire for all your people.

This morning, I’m thinking about my faith tradition and practices. It suits me, partly because of my constitution, and partly because it’s what I know. I’m thinking about the traditions and practices that surround me that seem foreign, that are foreign. I’m wondering about how to seek them out and learn from them, both to infuse my faith practices, and to seek unity with God’s children who are following a different path. It is after all, One God.

Jun 25 2019 Ephesians 6: 10-18 Commemoration of James Weldon Johnson

And having done everything, to stand.

James Weldon Johnson is described as an author, educator, lawyer, diplomat, songwriter, and civil rights activist. He was a leader of the NAACP, school administrator, and appointed diplomat by the Roosevelt Administration. He also wrote Lift Every Voice and Sing, which has become known as the African American National Anthem. This beautiful and hopeful song is included in the Episcopal Hymnal. I must admit that with a congregation of well-intentioned white folks and an organ, I’ve yet to hear the song sung as beautifully as it looks on the page.

Thinking about the African American history that Johnson had lived through, it’s a true testament to God’s grace that he had the faith to write a song that opens with this beautiful line, Lift every voice and sing. A few lines later, the song continues with the haunting,

Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us

Only recently have I understood about the faith that darkness teaches. Only recently have I fully appreciated that wisdom in Paul’s words that after we’ve armed ourselves for everything, we are called to Just Stand.

I have cognitively understood about the evils of racism, slavery, internment, detentions. I know from my baptismal covenant none of these things have any room in God’s dream; they’re all constructs of this horrible human nightmare. And I have lived a charmed life. I understood the evils and impacts and saw them in others. I hadn’t really felt that sheer exhaustion from something so wrong.

I’m beginning to feel that. My loved one is increasingly unable to cope with life without a lot of help. Texting us in the middle of the day to make pancakes, even though I’m 10 miles away at work. Unable to meet that most basic human need to be fed. Texting us that they need oreos. Ice cream. Pizza. Teriyaki. Nonsensical words. Stream of consciousness needs. Frustrated angry words. Unable to communicate. Unable to cope. Unable to leave the house. Unable to leave the bedroom, except to wander out to look for oreos. Ice Cream. Pizza. Teriyaki. Nonsensical words. Frustrated and angry words.

This morning, I’m taking comfort in the words from Johnson’s song. I’m feeling both tired, and faith-filled, taught from this dark time. And honestly, given the times when he wrote, I’m a little awed by the idea that he was able to see past the exhaustion and difficulty and write about hope. I’m not sure if the human nightmare in which he found himself actually gave him much to hope about. Hence the idea that it’s faith-filled and grace-inspired. Only God could grant him hope at that time.

I’m thinking about constantly seeking that hope, when I don’t really see it in my current situation, in this human nightmare. And I do have faith that God’s got this. That there is some goodness ahead for all of us. I’m not sure when or how. But for now, I’ll just stand.

Jun 24 2019 John 3:22-30 Nativity of John the Baptist

The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice.

Today we commemorate the birth of John the Baptist. He is often portrayed in icons with wild hair, a rough looking cloak and wild eyes – a marked departure from the ordered and calm portrayals of nearly everyone else. He’s known as a prophet – one who speaks about the way things are supposed to be, and points out when that’s not the way they are now. He created a cognitive dissonance for the religious leaders of his time, where they believed in God, I believe genuinely wanted to do God’s will, but had gotten off course. John would use their own words and Scriptures to point out that while their vision may have been good, their practices were inconsistent.

And for this prophetic voice, John was martyred. He told Herod his behavior was unlawful and ungodly, for divorcing his wife, and marrying his brother’s wife. Herod’s sister-in-law-now-wife didn’t like that, and effectively tricked Herod into beheading John, despite Herod having some creeping sense that John was a man of God.

John features prominently in the season leading up to Christmas, as he announces the coming of the one greater than he. Deacons are often called to have the same prophetic voice, pointing out where what we say we believe and what we do are inconsistent. Or pointing out how what we’re doing is flat-out wrong.

Between his prophetic voice, and his wild-eyed icon, I’ve always had a warm spot in my heart for John. I have friends with much clearer prophetic voices – they’re quick to point out the tragedies of caged immigrant children, racial injustice, gun violence, and do so with clear convicting messages and pleas for right action. I am grateful for their clarity and voice and strength. And that has never been my strength.

I am better as the friend of the bridegroom, who awaits for the groom, is grateful for his voice, and will quietly and humbly tell everyone about the groom. As John says, the friend of the groom is happy to be in his presence, but the party is ultimately about the groom.

John’s prophetic message ultimately got him beheaded. I absolutely see the inconsistencies between what is and what should be. I know there are plenty of opportunities to be that voice crying out in the wilderness, and I wonder if there are places I should be crying out more. But for the most part, that’s not my constitution. I’m more like the friend of the bridegroom, who will help out in any way necessary to help the groom and the groom’s feast.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to be prophetic, how to talk about the vast difference between God’s dream and our nightmare, and how to do it in a way that plays to my strengths. How I can use the gifts I’ve been given from God to help the groom and his feast. How I can bring others to the groom’s feast. Maybe part of my gift to the groom is the funny administrative role I have supporting the deacons and other clergy in this corner of the world, in helping those with clearer prophetic voices cry out. I’m a good administrator, and love the people with whom I work. Maybe I can work to keep us all from getting beheaded. 

* Beginning July 1, I'm planning on posting these writings on this blog (hawley-hill.blogspot.com), and not posting also in the separate facebook page.  I will link to this blog from my own account. Some of you read one account, and others read another. I appreciate all readers, and want to get you all in one place. If you have strong thoughts about this, please let me know. And please share these readings if you think it's useful.  Thank you.  

Jun 23 2019 Matthew 19: 23-30

But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.

Jesus is still trying to teach his disciples about what following him means. They’ve asked what they’ll get in return for giving up everything and following him. He responds those who’ve given up everything will get inherit eternal life. But then he throws in that many who are first will be last and the last will be first. Wait, what?

I was reminded of how this sometimes works by my BFF. When we were in grade school, we used to hang out with our moms who volunteered in the kitchen for our church’s Lenten suppers on Friday night. I’m not sure what time dinner actually was served, be we went over right after school and hung out, running around church, I’m sure getting in everyone’s way. Personally, I didn’t even like the fish. I mostly subsisted on the roast potatoes and a paper cup full of apple sauce. But it was always a good time, “helping” in the kitchen, or running around.

Before dinner was actually started, we’d queue up – being all hot and fatigued from all of our hard work. We’d be in the very front of the line. The crotchety old priest one evening quoted Jesus, about the first will be last, and made us all go to the end of the line. Oh, the injustice! I don’t think he was really trying to teach anyone about Jesus, as much as be ornery to us kids, who he never liked much anyway.

In hindsight, it sounds petty, right? And yet, there’s something to this, I think. The disciples had been doing everything they believed to be right. Jesus said leave your home, your jobs, your parents, and they did. And in the queue behind Jesus, they were first up, sort of like us kids.

So what do you do with ‘the first will be last’? If I’m honest, sometimes I feel like I’m queueing up first. I want to be at the front of the line; I want to do things right, and first. Where is that fine line between wanting to be first and best – even if it’s first and best as a Jesus-follower, and being an honest, genuine, Jesus-follower? What if my best attempts tilt towards firstness, rather than Godness?

This morning, I’m thinking about the first, who shall end up last. Everywhere I am first, or striving to be first, is it solely because I want to give up everything and follow Jesus? Is there any part of me that just wants to be first in line? If I recognize that desire to be first, maybe that’s when I immediately go the back of the line, or better yet, invite others to join me, and let them go first.

Jun 22 2019 1 Samuel 4: 1-11

So the Philistines fought; Israel was defeated, and they fled, everyone to his home.

We continue to hear about Samuel and the Israelites. They have a battle with the Philistines, and are defeated, with 4,000 killed on the battle field. So the Israelite leaders decide to get the ark (not the Noah-big-boat kind, but the box-containing-the-10-commandments kind), so that the Lord would be among the Israelites and save them from their enemies.

Interesting. At that time, the Israelites believed that the mere presence of the tablets that Moses received with the 10 commandments contained God, the famous ark of the covenant. God was somehow contained in the box, and God would be more present and attentive if only the ark was with the Israelites. So the Israelites get the ark and raise a loud shout, in anticipatory victory. The Philistines hear this, are afraid because they too believe the ark gives the Israelites an added edge. Nevertheless, the Philistines again attack, and this time they defeat the Israelites, killing 30,000 and capturing the ark.

So much for the power of the ark, or the god contained therein. It’s easy now to look back at this story and wonder what they were thinking, that God could be contained in the ark, or that the presence of the ark would give them an advantage. But don’t we do the same thing both with a box-contained God and God’s on my side?

We go to church, as if church is a place where God is. Sunday morning, or Saturday for some, we go to be near God in church. The rest of the week, we go about our business, as if God remains in that church building. Maybe the size of our box is bigger than the ark, but we frequently still think of God as contained in our church-box. But when Jesus was walking the earth, church wasn’t a building. When he left the earth, he left behind a group of people, a group of Jesus-followers. Those people were church. Church isn’t somewhere we go to be in the presence of God. Church is something we are, because God is with us right where we are.

And just because I’m a Jesus followers, doesn’t mean I’ll prevail in every battle, or even any battle. There are plenty of modern-day instances of good God following people struck down. Gun violence in churches and synagogues, natural disasters, illness. Even the mundane losses like a losing ball game, missed parking spot, failures at home or work. Having God on my side doesn’t immunize me from defeat. What it does, however, is assure that however things turn out, God’s with me. In the victory, in the defeat. During the battle. Preparing for battle. Even anticipating the battle that lies ahead.

This morning, I’m thinking about a God who’s ever-present, everywhere. At the store, at home, even at church. I’m thinking about all the instances where it feels like I’m in a battle, either with someone else, or against some force bigger than me, like my loved one’s illness. Just because I pray and try to be a Jesus-follower, does not mean I will prevail. It does mean God will be with me during every moment. And through Jesus’ human experience, God has had the same human experience. More important, God is in the whole situation – with me, with my loved one, with the victor and the oppressed. Let me remember God’s in and through it all.

Jun 21 2019 1 Samuel 3:1-21

Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.

Samuel was given by his mother to God, because God had granted her a child. Her response to that gift of child is a beautiful song, and looks very similar to Mary’s song in response to God’s gift of child to Mary, as Mary certainly knew the story of Hannah, her faith and her response to God’s gift.

Samuel was raised by Eli, a high priest. One night, when Samuel is asleep, he hears someone call, “Samuel, Samuel.” He runs in to Eli, asking what Eli wants, but Eli responds that he hadn’t called him. This happens several times, and finally Eli realizes it might be God, calling Samuel. So Eli tells Samuel to respond, “Speak, for your servant is listening”. It happens again, Samuel responds as directed, and he ends up getting a word from God, and eventually becomes a God-loving prophet and leader of the Israelites.

This story, Samuel’s response to God, as well as Hannah’s, is often referred to as a ‘call story’. How God called Samuel and Samuel’s response. As someone who’s felt God’s call in a particular way. I have always loved this story. Actually, call stories in general are compelling.

During my formation, I spent the better part of eight years thinking about God’s call, and my purpose. If God were to call me, “Carter, Carter”, and I responded, Speak, Lord for your servant is listening”, what would God say next?

Here’s the thing. It’s not a theoretical or hypothetical question. I fully believe God called me, and calls me still. The challenge in this modern and noisy world is to take the space and find the silence to both ask God to speak, and then listen to God’s response. By virtue of the required period of formation to be ordained, I had was forced to take that time and make that space. Or at least at the beginning felt like being forced. Towards the end of that time and through to today, it feels more like a wonderful luxury. As opposed to thinking that ‘I have to spend time thinking about God’s call’, now I see it more as ‘I get to spend time thinking about God’s call.

While I eventually believed that God was calling me to something particular, I also fully believe that God calls each of us to something particular. And while the result of my listening resulted in getting ordained, I also fully believe the result of each of our prayerful listening results in something equally spectacular. The only difference is that where I thought God was calling me built in space to listen and pray. How I wish that everyone had that luxury, to make or take the space and time needed to listen to God’s call, after saying, Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.

And to be clear, I never heard God’s booming voice, or silent whisper. I got a sense of what I was supposed to be doing, and as I continued to prayerfully listen to God, to mentors, to people I love, it became increasingly clear that this was what I was supposed to do. As a wise mentor once said when I was contemplating another change, “If it is of God, it will work out”. This is true for every call from God, every choice we make. We just need to ask for God’s guidance, and listen as God’s created universe responds. No one is specially called. No one is exempt from this gift. We just need to know it’s there, and ask, Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.

Jun 20 2019 The Confession

Let us confess our sins against God and our neighbor.

Every morning in prayer, I pray the Confession. If I regularly prayed evening prayer, I’d pray the Confession. Every time I attend a communion service, I pray the Confession. Some days, it seems like too much. Sometimes it feels like I just confessed. Now I’m having to confess again.

And here’s what I realized this week. It’s actually really simple, and aligned with what I believe Christ calls us to do. Love God. Love your neighbor. That’s it. When we fail at these two simple (but not easy) commands, we confess. And of course I fail at that, dozens of times a day.

But I’m not confessing that I lost my temper. That I swore. That I ate an extra cookie. Those are the particulars of my day, and those are important to keep in mind, because otherwise a confession of sin purely theoretical. I had a priest who actually kept a slip of paper in his pocket and he’d write down the things he’d done in the day or week. Before the prayers, he’d review his list so that when he confessed, he knew exactly what he was confessing about.

And while I appreciate the level of precision, this week, I’m struck by the larger arc of the confession. It talks about how – through thought, word, and deed. By what we’ve done, and not done. But here’s what I find interesting. When you get down to exactly what we’re confessing, it’s only two things.

We have not loved you with our whole heart.

We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.

Or in other words, Love God. Love your Neighbor.

Maybe I’ve spent a lot of time in places and with people who focus on the particulars, and sometimes I feel the particulars are petty. Or punitive. Or hard to keep track of. Or too small for God to care about. But for me, I have a new-found appreciation for the confession, because it too, focuses back on these two commandments. Love God with your whole heart. Love your neighbor as yourself. If we believe what Jesus said when commanded that this is all that’s required to be a Christ Follower, of course I need the confession. I’m not confessing unkind thoughts. Or that work pen I stole. Or that time I didn’t speak up against injustice. I’m confessing that in those actions and inactions, I demonstrated the truth that Jesus’ commands are simple to remember, but not easy to consistently execute.

This morning, I’m thinking about the forest and the trees. For me, now, I’ve been very good at focusing on the trees. This slight. That omission. Those unkind words. That bad action. Those are real, and I absolutely need to remain aware of them. But I also need to rise out of the trees to see the forest. In the context of the Confession, the forest is that I have not done the two simple things Christ commanded. Of course I haven’t all the time! But when I stay focused on that forest, I can come to the Confession with a newfound openness. Of course I need to confess, probably hourly. It’s all about those two commandments. If I remember those two, and recognize when I’ve fallen short, make my confession, I’m able to keep those two simple but not easy commandments front and center. Love God. Love my Neighbor. That’s it.

Jun 19 2019 Acts 2: 1-21

And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?

In addition to celebrating feast days, and commemorating various saints, the appointed readings in the daily office make their way through the Hebrew Scriptures, Gospels, New Testament, and Psalms. I believe that if you read Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer, you read all of scriptures in a three year period. Who says we aren’t people of Scripture?

So this morning, the appointed reading from the New Testament is continuation of the sequential reading through Acts, which is also read on the Sunday of Pentecost, just a few weeks ago. Tongues of fire, many languages and nations represented, Holy Spirit descends on everyone and all understand. One interesting thing about this gathered many who understand, is that it reverses or at least counters the story of God spreading all people in Babylon when they made the tower to try to reach heaven. It was named the Tower of Babel, with Babel meaning confused. God did not like the people’s arrogance to try to build a tower to be better and closer to God, so he gave them all different languages and they couldn’t understand each other. Now in the book of Acts, God descends on the gathered people of different languages and they can all understand. No more confusion.

About 10 years ago, we took a family trip to Kenya, for about 10 days, we worked in an orphanage in a coastal town. We had a driver who’d daily transport us from our lodging to the orphanage, and to other errands. He was probably 25, and our son was 18. In the course of the trip, we discovered that he was on a soccer team, and learning our son played soccer, invited our son to play with his team one night.

That day, he picked us up, and we drove through his village on the dirt road. Turning off the main road, the road was not paved and not even cleared, just a few ruts driving between huts. Eventually we come to an open dirt patch with two make-shift goals at either end, surrounded by huts. The field is surrounded by villagers and really big Kenyans. And my family. Most of the other players did not wear shoes, so our son decided not to wear shoes either. And out they go onto the field. There’s my blond barefoot son, and 21 dark skinned mostly-barefoot Kenyans. They’re playing soccer, all playing their positions, the majority of them speaking a language we could not understand.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, my family was possibly more interesting to the villagers than the game itself. Everyone came over at some point, and touched our skin, smiled, sat, and continued on. We even had a Masai elder, complete in his traditional red outfit meander up to take in the match.

I was struck by the common language we had that day. Our son, able to play a game with 2 dozen people speaking a different language. We able to communicate with the young children, mothers and elders, the common language of greeting, and gratitude. We all had a common understanding, each in our own language.

If you look at the language in Acts, it does not say that the Spirit spoke to each in their own language. Rather it says each understood or heard in their own language. Rather than being about a sprit that is multi-lingual, I like to think this is about people coming together, and with the help and gift of the Holy Spirit, each had a common understanding about what God and grace and love and community was about, each in their own language.

This morning, I’m thinking about all of the different languages, and dialects, and colors, and customs and cultures are in my city, let alone my country, let alone my world. I’m thinking that the challenge isn’t that we need to become multi-lingual, but rather we need to have a common framework, like the rules of soccer. With that, we can understand, each in our own language. Love God. Love your neighbor. Common rules. Common understanding.

Jun 18 2019 Psalm 78 Part 1

But he was so merciful that he forgave their sins and did not destroy them; many times he held back his anger and did not permit his wrath to be roused.

Part 1 of Psalm 78 is a litany of bad behavior and God’s grace – a historical recounting of the people of Israel. God split the sea, and let the people leave Egypt. God split the rock and gave them drink in the desert. The people continued to sin, and complained that they didn’t have sufficient or good food. In response, God opened the heavens and gave them manna, and ‘mortals ate the bread of heaven’. They kept complaining, even with food in their mouth.

Based on the psalmist’s understanding of God, God then tried to slay some folks. Even after this, the people kept sinning. They’d try to remember that God was mighty, speak good words, but continue bad deeds. Even then, God forgave their sins, and held back God’s anger.

This God that is described as slaying people and withholding God’s anger? I think this has more to do with the psalmist trying to fit God into the previous understanding of vengeful Gods. To my ears, the part of this Psalm that sounds startling is that God would slay people, and be angry. But to the ears of the original audience, the startling part is that God kept forgiving them. This was a new kind of god; not a god who’d kill for retribution. This God, while God might be painted with that historical brush of vengeance, represented a new understanding of a loving and forgiving God. This Psalm is illustrative more about the people’s increasing awareness of the reality God of Love, rather than illustrative of an angry god.

Yesterday was a hard day in my world. We had a family meeting with our sick loved one’s case manager, to try to better understand the challenges we’re having collectively. From there, we all went to an appointment with a doctor to discuss medicine and future. It was a challenging day for our loved one. It was a day that started with them on a sour note, included plenty of barbs throughout the day, and concluded with more testiness. We repeatedly tried to help, with providing lunch, loving words, dinner. And they persisted in their funk. The day involved exasperated calls between my husband and I, short words between us, angry words with our loved one, and frustration. And if it was hard for my husband and I, I cannot fathom how hard it was for my sick loved one. Note to self: these appointment days always create a huge emotional wake for everyone. Be tender with each other.

This is an insidious disease, because of the incredible lack of awareness of the disease or symptoms the disease itself causes. It’s easy to lose patience, to show my wrath and be more like the punitive, earlier understanding of a god of vengeance. And my challenge is to be more like the God who withheld anger. I don’t have God’s infinite patience or grace, nor do I expect to. And I have a model of a better way to be.

This morning, I’m thinking about ways to show more love and grace, rather than anger and wrath. To be clear, I’m not trying to invoke sympathy or encouragement about how well I’m doing, or that I’m doing a good job, or how hard this must be. I believe all of that to be true. And I believe there are ways to reframe the interactions so my wrath is not roused. And whether directed towards our sick loved one, my husband, coworkers, political leaders, drivers, or strangers, wrath never makes things better

Jun 17 2019 2 Corinthians 5:14-20 – Marina the Monk

From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view;  even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation



What a timely commemoration today!  Today in the Morning Prayer cycle of saints and others to celebrate, we celebrate Marina the Monk. Marina was an 8^th century Byzantine Christian saint. She was born female, but identified as male. Who knew?  Upon his retirement, his father wanted to enter a monastery himself, and marry Marina off, who he knew as his daughter. He found Marina a husband, and Marina was very upset, asking to instead to accompany his father and join a monastery. Some sources claim she wanted to be a man solely to enter the monastery, others say it was because he identified as a man.



In either case, Marina lived happily as a monk, until a woman outside the monastery complained to the abbot that Marina had gotten her pregnant, a strict no-no for monks. The abbot believed her, and Marina refused to disclose his secret, and was thrown out of the monastery and was a beggar/ The woman had the baby, and Marina raised the child. Ten years passed, and the other monks convinced the abbot to readmit Marina. Soon after, Marina became ill and died. When cleaning Marina’s body, they discovered his secret, that he was born female. Again, who knew?


The appointed reading to accompany Marina is this reading from 2 Corinthians where Paul is imploring people to stop judging by human standards. If anyone is in Christ they are a new creation. Fitting, for a commemoration of possibly one of the first celebrated Christian transgender saints. The accompanying prayer for Marina reads “Teach us, Lord God, to refrain from false judgments about the sins of others, and to hold fast to our path of discipleship when we suffer unjustly because of judgments made by others.”. How simple, and yet now hard. Of course we should love people where they are. Of course we should let people be who they are, and most importantly, Of course God loves them as they are. And yet it’s hard, isn’t it? To judge as God sees, and not presume we know what that looks like?



Yesterday I marched in the Portland Pride Parade, with lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer friends, many of whom were clergy. I don’t understand their world because I’m not in their world. I don’t know what it’s like to feel so disingenuous to who I am; I’ve always felt pretty comfortable in the skin and body I was born into. But I do know that I committed in my baptismal covenant that I will respect the dignity of every human being, and serve Christ in all others. I believe all Christians want to do that. It’s just that sometimes we judge with human standards, rather than God’s.

Yesterday’s parade was a sea of color and joy and beauty in all sorts of people. The highlight for me was the sincere thanks that people shouted at us church folk for showing up. Thank you for being here. Thank you for supporting us. I believe we, and other faith-based marchers, countered years or decades of judgment and condemnation that this community has heard and experienced from ‘the church’, and felt that the judgment was directly from God. How sad that was to me. How grateful to think that I played a small part in restoring anyone’s faith that God loves all. Even Marina.  

Jun 16 2019 Sirach 43: 1-33

Glorify the Lord and exalt him as much as you can, for he surpasses even that.

Sirach is another book in the Apocrypha, that portion of the Bible that appears in Catholic bibles in the Old Testament, not in most Protestant bibles at all, and in Episcopal tradition, we take the middle way, including it in the Bible but it’s contained in its own section, between the Old and New Testament. Books of the Apocrypha don’t carry quite as much weight, but aren’t omitted entirely. As with ancient arguments between Papists and Reformers, the Anglicans took the middle way, asking ‘can’t we all just get along?’

This section of Sirach starts with a string of beautiful poetic commentaries on things in the sky. It was written around 3 bc, and I can imagine there was more wonder at what was in the sky, than certitude. The preceding verses talk about the beautiful sun, starting each day, but then scorching the earth at noon. But at God’s command, it moves on. The moon marks changing seasons, marks festal days, and serves as a beacon to those on high. The stars are the beauty of heaven, a glittering array, and at God’s command they stay where they are placed, and never relax. And the rainbow?  It encircles the earth with its beautiful brightness. Praise the One who made that!

After reviewing the sun, moon, stars and rainbow in all of their beauty and mystery, the writer concludes with “We could say more, but never say enough”. How true is that? In their day, these things had some science, but mostly were shrouded in mystery. How does the sun rise every day? What creates a rainbow? More important than how, why? Why are we gifted with these beauties and wonders?  

Maybe astrology and climatic occurrences aren’t your wonder. Mostly they aren’t mine, but occasionally, I’m awed by something in the sky, like this rainbow from my balcony. But these wonders are all around us, aren’t they? Love, hummingbirds, that first cup of coffee. There is no shortage of things to wonder at in this world. He surpasses all of that. 

Later today, I’ll join a contingent from the Episcopal Church to march in the Pride Parade, joining many church leaders and the bishop. 

That there is a Pride Parade is a wonder. That it’s a well-loved part of this community is something I give thanks for. I praise God, that my faith is so supportive of everyone’s right to be who they are, and that the leaders will be present. And that there are those in my tradition for whom this is not their position or anything for which to praise God. I actually give thanks to God for that. God is big enough to love those who march in Pride, and those who don’t. 

This morning, I’m so grateful for a God that created rainbows and moons. That put me in a place where I will be marching with the bishop in the Pride Parade. That there are people who feel loved and welcomed because of Pride. And there are those who feel threatened and confused by a church that marches in Pride. God is bigger than all of that. God holds all of that, loves all of that, and made all of that. As Sirach writes, I could say more, but never enough.

Jun 15 2019 2 Corinthians 13: 1-14

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you all.

At the end of Morning Prayer, a final sentence can be added, effectively as a closing. This is one of those sentences, and today the reading from the New Testament contains the source of that sentence. It’s not that I think these things are made up or arbitrary, and it’s nice to get re-grounded in where these gems come from. In the context of Paul’s letter, he’s offering the people of Corinth his final blessing. In the context of communal modern prayer, we change the final ‘you’ to ‘us all’, and add ‘evermore’

For the 15 years I was in choir in a church outside Seattle, we concluded our choir practice in a circle, hands held, and offered our prayers for what was going on in our world. And we’d conclude with this sentence. For the first few months, I mumbled through it, having never regularly recited it. Eventually, it became like breath – easy, deep, life-giving. And to pray with all our senses, many people would make the sign of the cross on our forehead, chest, left and right shoulder, while praying the words.

There are several options in Morning Prayer to conclude with, but this is always my choice. The others are beautiful and meaningful too, but this blessing feels so deep, in part because it’s been a part of my practice in various ways for 25 years.

This morning I’m thinking about how repetition and familiarity can make things seep deep inside my soul. There’s comfort and resonance when I recite prayers I know. They have a history in my soul. This isn’t the kind of prayer I offer up because of a petition – it’s not that I think about my sick family member and pray, “the grace of our Lord…”  But this blessing or benediction has come out of my mouth during all of my life’s twists and turns for the past quarter century. I’d go to choir when my kids were in day care, and pray these words. I’d go to choir when they struggled with school, and finish the choir with “The grace of our Lord..”  I’d pray them in morning prayer while we were relocating from Seattle to Eugene to Portland. I’d pray them the mornings of doctor visits, and promotions, and ordinations. I don’t remember the days or events, and can’t pin this prayer to any particular day. But it was there.

When I say them, I’m bringing all of that – all of me – to God for a blessing, that’s as easy and life-giving as breath.


The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all, evermore. Amen.

June 14 2019 Ecclesiasticus 45: 6-16

Moses ordained him, and anointed him with holy oil; it was an everlasting covenant for him and for his descendants as long as the heavens endure, to minister to the Lord and serve as priest and bless his people in his name.



This section of Scripture contains this long and somewhat archaic description of Aaron and his royal priesthood. He was clothed in symbols of authority, like linen undergarments, and an ephod, which is a vest-like thing that priests wore. There were bells all around him so when he walked, the people in the temple could hear and be reminded of prayer. And, the best part?  He was encircled with pomegranates. Now that’s holiness!



I trust that if I looked into each of the symbols it would be very meaningful. But for now, I’m focusing on the symbols I understand, and see. The idea that Moses ordained Aaron, and that it was an everlasting covenant to both Aaron and his descendants forever. That he was anointed with holy oil.



Aaron did the same, ordaining others to be priests, anointing them with holy oil. And so on, and so on, and so on. All the way to current day. The Bishop of Oregon was ordained and anointed with holy oil by someone who was ordained and anointed with holy oil, and so on, and so on, and so on.



Next week, I have the great honor of participating in this ancient tradition. The Episcopal Church will be ordaining four wonderful people, all of whom will become priests. They will be anointed with holy oil, by someone who was anointed by holy oil, and so on.



The rich history of these liturgical symbols are powerful and deep, and do in fact mean something. When done well, everything we do in liturgy is powerful, deep and meaningful. It’s easy to forget that and get into the habit of just doing it because that’s the way we’ve always done it. But when I read that Aaron was anointed with holy oil, I’m reminded that the holy oil we’ll use next week is holy, and is a reminder forever for priests to minister and bless the people.



This morning, I’m thinking about how grateful I am to be a part of this rich and deep tradition. I’m grateful because I’m a part of a faith that has these rich and deep liturgies. Week by week, I recite words recited throughout the world and throughout the ages. And in very immediate sense, I’m a part of it because next week, I’ll hold the oil, while the bishop anoints the ordained. Life is good.

Jun 13 2019 2 Corinthians 12: 1-10

 Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.



Paul is rambling on in this section about boasting. If he boasts, it’s for Christ. If it’s not about Christ, it’s based in and caused by his weakness. Through weakness, he’s strong because Christ makes him strong.



I am currently facing a time of hardship and calamity that I’ve never experienced before.  This illness my family is addressing is insidious, cruel and permanent.  Watching a love one slip deeper into the grips of this calamity, without any recourse or any glimmer of hope to get out is quite a hardship indeed.



One of the most challenging aspects of the disease is a symptom known as anosognosia. The disease affects the part of the brain that has self-awareness; brain studies have shown a marked difference in the frontal lobe after episodes of illness, which as of now appear to be irreversible.  Our sick loved one has no awareness of their illness, believes they are fine.  This creates a horrible problem of compliance with doctors’ recommendations – whether medicine or therapy. Why would they need any of that, when their not sick?  That one  symptom also creates a lack of awareness about the other debilitating symptoms that you and I would know are signals of something wrong. Voices? That’s normal.  Delusions of grandeur?  It’s their absolute truth.  It is a calamity for our loved one for sure. As the caretaker it feels like quite a hardship, although looking at them, it’s hard to feel sorry for myself. 



There absolutely are times when I feel weak, and cannot manage this. I have always been self-sufficient, and self-reliant.  This hardship we’re all facing is helping me shake that sense of self-sufficiency. It’s more than having a support network, although that’s important. It’s knowing that I need to ask for that support. Whether it’s respite care when we head out of town, a long phone call with a friend, or a well-needed date-night, I’m increasingly aware that I cannot do this without my people.



More important, and slower to arrive, is my reliance on God. I understand cognitively that I need God. And so far, quiet moments of prayer are not my go-to comfort.  But I am increasingly turning to God.  Whether it’s listening to prayerful chant during my bike commute, or being really present during daily Morning Prayer at work, or relishing this time to reflect on scripture, my day is increasingly infused with moments of turning to God.  Those moments have grown, without any intentional focus on my part; it’s what I needed or wanted at the time. In hindsight, there’s absolutely a pattern, and more God in my day. I don’t know that I feel strengthened those moments, but I do feel peaceful in them. 

This morning I’m thinking about how my crazy day is punctuated with moments of peace, and those moments uncoincidentally are related to my God moments.  Today, I want to try to carry that peace and strength a little beyond the moment itself. 

Jun 12 2019 Luke 19: 11-27

A nobleman went to a distant country to get royal power for himself and then return. 

And so begins one of Jesus’ parables. This is the one where the nobleman leaves and gives ten slaves ten pounds to do business with, while he’s away. One increases his money ten-fold and one five-fold. The third slave gives him back the single pound, having buried it because he was afraid of the man. This third slave said the man was harsh, taking what he didn’t deposit, and reaping what he didn’t sow. The man is angry, saying the slave should have at least invested it in a bank, where it could earn interest. So the man takes the single, cloth-wrapped pound and gives it to the slave who increased the pound 10-fold. To those who have, more will be given, and to those have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. Hmm. The man concludes with a command that for the slaves who didn’t want him to be king over them at all, they were to be brought to the king, and slaughtered in his presence. 

I’m not sure what to make of this parable. I cannot fathom a God who would slaughter someone in his presence and think it’s a good thing, or who would take from those who have nothing. Or who would head off to  get royal  power for himself.  So maybe we’re reading it wrong. 

I was in a workshop with a theologian who warned against assuming these parables are allegories, with God being the master or father. Sometimes that’s true, but allegories, as a normal way of describing or teaching things didn’t happen until the middle ages. I’m not sure this is necessarily helpful, as it’s so much easier to hear a parable, and presume that Jesus is likening the main character to God. But if we don’t jump to that conclusion, maybe the parables are even richer. 

In this morning’s reading, the master who’s deemed harsh by his slaves, is angry because the third slave didn’t give his money to a bank to earn interest. But in ancient times, I think charging interest was considered a bad thing; charging interest was likened to extortion. So maybe that’s a clue that the man isn’t the good guy in the story. Or the fact that he wants people to be brought and slaughtered in front of him. 

Maybe we are to hear in this story about the risks of power, about being harsh, of taking from the poor. I genuinely don’t know. What I do know is that the simple assumption about God being the king in this story is risky, and doesn’t sound like good news.

Which leads me to assumptions. It is so stinking easy to assume we know things. We know how to interpret these parables. We know the intent of our loved ones’ actions. We know the intent of our political leaders. We know the facts behind the actions of anyone else. 

When we read the parables and assume we know who plays what part, we get to a place where God is taking from the poor, giving to the wealthy, and ordering the slaughter of people. That interpretation makes no sense, and yet that’s where I jumped when reading this parable – because of my assumptions. If that is true when reading stories from thousands of years ago, of course it is true in modern day. I can absolutely reach the wrong conclusion, if I read into a situation anything – because of my assumptions.

Today, I want to be aware of those places where my assumptions are filling in the holes between facts, and the story I’m telling myself about those facts. Everywhere I presume to know anything. This world is complicated enough, without me jumping to conclusions that leave me with a parable about a harsh god.

Jun 11 2019 Lord’s Prayer – Feast of Barnabas

Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.

Barnabas was one of the early apostles, mentioned in the book of Acts who sold his field and gave the proceeds to the apostles. This is at the time when they were sharing all of their wealth in common, owning nothing individually. I’m  not sure whether this concept is brilliant or naïve, although I like the idea of leveling the individual wealth of some. In any case, Barnabas sold a field, and gave the money to the good of all. His name means son of encouragement, and he proves later to be just that. 

Soon after Paul’s conversion, he meets up with Barnabas. At that time, no one would trust Paul, despite his story of conversion and professing a deep faith in Christ. Barnabas was willing to accept him, forgiving him, and brought him to meet other Christians.
Later, Paul and Barnabas head out on a missionary trip, and Mark came with them. Soon Mark turned back. On a second trip of Paul and Barnabas, Barnabas proposed to take Mark again, and Paul said no, that Mark was unreliable. Barnabas wanted to give Mark another chance, so Barnabas and Mark headed off on a missionary trip, while Paul took Silas. 

Barnabas seems to have taken the greater, more forgiving path, first giving Paul a second chance, and then Mark – even when Paul would not. Barnabas was able to be encouraging to Paul and Mark, when others would not forgive them for their past sins. 

This morning I’m thinking about what it means to be forgiving and encouraging, like Barnabas. While he certainly knew of Saul’s murderous crimes against Christians, he was able to trust the newly converted Paul at his word. Had he not,  I wonder if we’d have all of these writings of Paul.  And even after accepting Paul, Paul was unable to extend the same forgiveness to Mark. 

I’m thinking about the concept of innocent until proven guilty. How that’s a modern-day version of forgive us our sins. We are not to be judged by our past sins, but given a chance to do right – today. And when we screw up, given a chance tomorrow. And the next day.
It is so hard to let go of those past grievances, or at least let them color our judgment about someone today. But we pray daily in the Lord’s Prayer that God will forgive us – daily. Not remembering what we did yesterday, or keeping count of all the times we’ve screwed up. And we pray daily that we are to extend that clean slate to those around us, regardless of what they did yesterday. As we forgive those who sin against us. I’d like to think I’m able to forgive the sins of those who’ve done something against me. And for the most part, I can. Where I falter is in keeping a secret scorecard that informs my response to their actions tomorrow.

I want to be like the son of encouragement, extending God’s forgiveness through my forgiveness. Trusting people at their word, and letting God sort out the rest.

Jun 10 2019 Luke 18:31-43

Then he shouted, 'Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!



Jesus has again told his disciples he’ll be handed over and bad things will happen. Luke reports that the disciples understood nothing. They come upon a blind beggar sitting by the road. Upon learning it’s Jesus, he shouts “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’. But the people in front of the blind man told him to be quiet. So, he yelled even louder, crying out for Jesus. Jesus ordered the man to be brought over to him. In response to Jesus’ question, the man says he wants to see, and Jesus heals him, saying his faith has healed him.



This is another healing story of Jesus, and right now in my life, I find them a little tiresome. I have a sick family member, and while I do have absolute faith they could be healed by God, I don’t believe it’s likely. Nor do I believe that un-healing is the result of my lack of faith, or theirs. The good news is that beyond the  “your faith has saved you”, there is plenty of things to contemplate, pray and find good.



The crowds first shushed the blind man. As a blind beggar, he was pretty far down the social ladder. Their command to have him be quiet I can imagine was in part because Jesus was important and busy, and in a larger part because the beggar was embarrassing. While I would hope I don’t jump to that judgment about others seeking God, I hope I never ever try to discourage anyone from finding God, entering church, praying.



My sick loved one has taken up praying and reading the Bible. Given the rest of their symptoms and behavior, I’m occasionally unsure of their motive, and occasionally judgmental about the sincerity. And yet the other night they asked us to put our hands in a certain pose (not a normal prayer pose) and we each took turns praying. I have no idea what they’re thinking or intending. But I have absolute faith that God does. And with their clouded petition, God is invoked and present.



The second part I really appreciate about this healing story is that Jesus engaged the help of the very people who tried to quiet the man. Jesus didn’t go over and heal him, he told the crowds – presumably the same ones who’d told him to be quiet – to bring him over. And they did.



From this little bit, I get a sense of peace too. Even if I’m ever more like the crowds in the first part of the story, trying to thwart others from connecting with God in whatever way they can, I am still invited to have a change of heart and bring them in.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to spot the times when I may be creating a stumbling block between someone and God, even if I don’t mean to be doing it. And if I do, how to then turn and be the one who brings them closer to God.

Jun 9 2019 John 14: 21-29 Feast of Pentecost

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.



The Feast of Pentecost. This is another feast day that I really like. Today is the day the church celebrates the gift of the Holy Spirit. Jesus has died, resurrected to hang out with his people for several weeks, and then has left them again, to return to God. But as he’s leaving, he says he’ll send another, the Holy Spirit to stay with them always.



Then we get the story of the multitudes gathered in the early church, and the spirit descends on them, looking like tongues of fire. The each hear and understand, even thought they speak different languages.



As he’s explaining that he’ll be leaving to his disciples, Jesus says that God will send the Holy Spirit to teach them everything, and remind them of what Jesus has said. Immediately after this, he says that he’s leaving them peace, his own peace.



For the feast of Pentecost, the reading that I normally gravitate towards is the reading in Acts where the tongues of fire alight on the gathered. It’s graphic and very physical. I can imagine it. I think this morning is the first time I’ve contemplated this section from John where Jesus explains that he’s leaving but the Spirit, also referred to as the Advocate, will be returning to them.



This morning I’m thinking about that next sentence, what he says right after saying the Advocate will be sent. My peace I leave with you, my own peace I give to you. This morning, I’m imagining that this peace Jesus is talking about is in fact the Holy Spirit.



Yes, Jesus was God incarnate, but it’s the Holy Spirit in Jesus that gave him peace, not the fact that he was super-human. For some reason, that’s really comforting to me. While I greatly value God incarnate as a model of how to be incarnate, I like the idea that it’s God the spirit that was Jesus’ peace. It’s that peace or Spirit that Jesus is leaving. My own peace I give to you. It’s at our baptism we are anointed with the Holy Spirit and claimed as God’s own, forever. Today, we celebrate that first gift of Jesus’ peace given to the gathered church.



Today, I’m thinking about the Holy Spirit, and all the ways it operates in my life and world.

Jun 8 2019 Luke 11:14-23

When a strong man, fully armed, guards his castle, his property is safe.



Jesus is countering those who’ve argued that he’s only healing by the power of Beezlebul, the name of a demon. He’s saying that a kingdom divided against itself will fall. So he gives this analogy of the strong man.



He’s fully armed, guarding his castle, relying on his strength and armor. As a result of these, his property is safe. Until. Until a stronger man comes, overtakes him, and thrashes the armor in which he’d trusted.



This morning I’m thinking about how there are always stronger men, with more armor than the ones in whom I’ve put my trust – figuratively, of course. Whatever man-made things, or self-imposed standards, they can always be dashed by something greater. My home is my castle. Until I see the Jones’ castle, and then mine is a shack. My new cell phone is the best. Until the next generation comes out, and mine is crap. My vision of my future is perfect, until illness strikes.



Whatever it is, if it’s something I’ve constructed, imposed, or prioritized, it’s as weak as the strong man in armor, when the stronger man comes to the door. There’s always someone stronger, something better, or something unexpected, when I pin my hopes and expectations on earthly things.


The way to escape that unending drive for more and better, or expected and planned, is to pin my hopes on something outside of this realm, on God and God’s kingdom. I cannot know what that entails, but I’m quite certain it doesn’t include me trusting in the strong man I’ve put at my door.



Jesus concludes this story with ‘whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me, scatters.’. I’m not sure I understand the ‘against me’ part. But I do think that if we stick with God and God’s plan, we’ve picked the eternal winning side; there is no risk of a stronger man coming and plundering our spoils.



For me now, my challenge is not so much stuff, although that has been in the past. Now, the things I’ve mistakenly put my trust have to do with expectations about my time and my future. And the future of my sick loved one. I’d posted a very strong man at the door to those expectations and hopes. I’d planned, and prepared, and executed very well, and my strong man had the best armor around. Until. Until a stronger man with better armor came, and plundered my spoils, dismantling my well constructed and previously well-protected future. Those plans have scattered.



Today, I want to try to turn over to God all of places where I’ve posted strong security guards to protect my world and vision.

Jun 7 2019 Luke 10:38-42

But Martha was distracted by her many tasks



Martha, Martha, Martha. This morning I read about Mary and Martha. Jesus comes to their house, and Mary sits at Jesus’ feet worshipping him, and Martha is distracted by her many tasks. She pouts to Jesus, pointing out that there’s a lot to do, and Mary is just lounging at Jesus’ feet. Jesus responds with something that has always challenged me – there is need for only one thing, and Mary has chosen the better part.



What?  She’s sitting around doing nothing, and there’s all this work to be done!  This dichotomy, between the doing Martha and the contemplative Mary shows up in books written about ‘being Martha’, and in contemplative retreats where some people volunteer to come be the Martha’s, so the retreatants can do the one thing. As someone who’s always prided myself on my do-ing, I chafe at the idea that Martha’s wrong, that her part is not needed.



But I’m warming to that one thing that Mary does. She provides her undivided attention to Jesus. She’s not distracted. She’s not worrying about the many tasks to be done, or pouting about the injustice of her workload. I’d like to believe that Jesus’ comment to Martha isn’t suggesting that the do-ing is the problem. Rather, it’s the fact that she’s distracted by the tasks, and distracted when doing them.



Some years ago, I was involved in a class on spiritual places. At the time,  I was busy with a big job and small kids. We were asked to spend time thinking about a holy place in your home, somewhere you felt God’s presence. I thought about all of the places that should be that spot – the comfy corner where I read scripture, the desk where I wrote. But without a doubt, the spot that felt the holiest was my kitchen work table. Quietly, undistractedly, and intentionally, I could chop onions. I was do-ing, and undistracted. I could pray, not necessarily with words like “Dear Jesus…”, but in that way is beyond words, led by the Spirit. I could contemplate. As conceived in Celtic spirituality, the kitchen was my thin place – where the eternal and spiritual met my physical and mundane world.



I’d like to believe that for us do-ers, the challenge is to find the quiet, focused, intentionality in the do-ing, rather than being distracted by it. I once read a book about Zen cooking, written by a Buddhist cook at retreat center. It was all about how to be incredibly intentional and un-distracted while cooking. Thank the dish rag for the work it’s done and take care of it as you rinse it out and hang it up to do its job again. While I don’t actually thank the dish rag, I do occasionally remember that if I intentionally rinse it out, it will be better able to do the job I’m asking it to do, without being a stinky mess in the corner of the sink.

None of this is to say that Martha’s do-ing is the better part, or that I don’t sometimes sit and pray, like Mary. But in the midst of my Martha-ness, I try to remove the distracted-ness, so while dusting, or commuting, or chopping, I can ‘sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to what he says’. That’s the better part, and I can only do that when I’m not distracted.



This morning, I want to try to one thing at a time, keep my mind focused on that one thing, and leave space to listen to what God says while I’m doing it. Even when I’m chopping onions.

Jun 6 2019 Luke 10: 25-37

And who is my neighbor?



Most of us know about the story of the Good Samaritan. A man was beaten up and left for dead. A priest passed by, as did a political and education leader of the time. Not only did they not help him, the crossed to the other side of the street. A Samaritan walks by and it’s the Samaritan that helps the naked, half-dead man.



At the time, Samaritans and Jews hated each other; the Jews had actually destroyed a holy temple of the Samaritans. So for Jesus to have made the hero of the story the Samaritan would be like making _______ the hero. Fill in the blank with whoever is your perceived arch enemy – conservatives, liberals, homeless, sex offenders,  Speaking to the audience at the time, Jesus hit precisely the most offensive group for the hero.



I appreciate this story for the irony of the perceived good guys (priests and political leaders) actually being not so good, and the perceived enemy (Samaritans) being good. It’s nice to be reminded that our limited and limiting perspectives of who’s good and who’s not good are, in fact, limited and limiting.



But more, I appreciate this story for where Luke places it in his narrative. A wealthy man has asked Jesus what he must do to ‘inherit eternal life’. Jesus responds with the ever-simple but not easy, Love God. Love your neighbor. The rich man responds with “And who is my neighbor”. That’s where this story comes. After the ironic story, Jesus asks which of the people in the story was a neighbor to the half-dead man. The wealthy man responds that it’s the Samaritan. Jesus simply says, “Go and do likewise”.



So more than this being a story about who is and isn’t actually good, it’s a story about the all-encompassing nature of Love your Neighbor. If to a Jewish audience Jesus is suggesting that Samaritans are their love-worthy neighbor, he is suggesting that there is no one who is not a love-worthy neighbor.



This morning, I’m thinking about Love your Neighbor. About who my Samaritans would be. Who do I think is beyond the required boundary of neighbor, unworthy of my love. This isn’t an emotional feeling kind of love, but an active empathy and compassion for someone else. Who is it I can’t empathize with?  I’d like to think I don’t have many, but if I’m honest, I there are some with whom I struggle. A lot. Those are the very people this story challenges me to love. I am not allowed to exclude anyone; God doesn’t. Today, I want to think about my Samaritans, and more towards more love. 

Jun 5 2019 The Lord’s Prayer

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

Part of the morning prayer practice is to pray the Lord’s Prayer. It’s a rich prayer, that warrants daily repetition. While some days it flows off my tongue without much thought, that occurs very rarely. There’s always something that catches me, on which my thoughts linger even as my mouth is moving on to the next sentence.

This morning, this was the phrase. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven. I do not take this as some grand scene change in a play, where in an instant our scenery is different – all of a sudden we’re in the midst of God’s kingdom, or God’s dream. Rather I think this portion of the prayer hinges on the middle phrase – thy will be done.

Not to make it too simple, but Jesus said it’s pretty simple. Love God. Love your neighbor. And clarifying, he pointed to the least acceptable, different colored, ritually unclean person, and said that was a neighbor. So Love God – learn, study reflect about what God is, means, does. And love all. That is God’s will.

If we do God’s will – love God & love our neighbor – If we do that here on earth, then God’s heavenly dream will come to Earth. Not from some cosmic, inexplicable, instantaneous scene change, but rather from our actions. Now granted, we cannot love God and love our neighbor without an immense amount of God’s grace, but we have the choice to bring God’s kingdom here.

At the macro level, if all humanity could do that, I do believe we’d be living in a very different place, that might look like God’s dream for us. Nationally, the same. And this morning, I’m thinking about my corner of the world. My house, my family, my colleagues, my community. I absolutely believe I have the power to bring God’s kingdom near, and it’s directly related to my ability and willingness to do God’s will, and encourage and model that to those around me.

Today, I want to bring God’s dream a little closer to this human mess we are living in, by intentionally doing God’s will, here on earth, as God does in heaven

Jun 4 2019 Psalm 97

Confounded be all who worship carved images and delight in false gods!



Confounded.  That’s another word we don’t use nearly enough. It seems like a word that was used in some Loony Toon cartoon. Elmer Fudd maybe?  In any case, it’s a good word that describes me in my world oftentimes. The definition is to cause surprise or confusion by acting against expectations.  



False gods are all those things other than God in which we put our trust. Fame, fortune, prestige, power, control. Even things that start as ‘good’, can turn into a false god, if they supplant God. Service, liturgy, worship, church, philanthropy, mission work. 



If gods are external values or things, carved images are more internal; they’re things of our own making. I am exceedingly good at carving, of constructing an image of myself or my world that is in fact carved by me. Often these carved images are how I perceive my world, or how my world SHOULD operate.



My home world is pretty carved, and I didn’t even really know it.  I have great self-imposed expectations about how everyone should behave, what everyone should do. My sick loved one cannot operate as they once did. Their behavior and thinking and language are hard to comprehend and frustrating for me. And I’m sure their behavior and thinking are even more hard to comprehend and frustrating for them.  



Their presence is a great blessing; I’m grateful to be able to support them in their time of incredible illness. And it’s highlighting all the areas of my world where I was worshipping images I’d carved. I am in fact confounded, much of the time. 



It’s very difficult to have these images of how I thought things should be dismantled. Whether it’s an image of my move-to-Portland-sell-the-car-play-with-my-husband self, or their life, or my spare time, or my dinner table peace – these are all images I’d created or carved that clearly I worshipped; I can tell because as they are dismantled, I’m hanging on desperately, worshipping the image. 



None of this is to say that those images are wrong, or didn’t serve a purpose.  And maybe originally, they were God-inspired. But now, I need to worship God, not the images I’d created at a time very different than now. 



This morning, I’m begrudgingly grateful for the disruptions in my world, for my seemingly constant state of confoundedness. Feeling confounded at carved images that aren’t my current reality may be a great signal that those are images I shouldn’t be worshipping any longer. Today, I will try to recognize that my sense of being confounded is likely the result of my worshipping something of my making, not God’s.