Jul 31 2019 Acts 16:16-24

When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, 'These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe.'


Paul and Silas have gotten in trouble with the authorities. There was a slave girl who had the gift of divination, apparently from a less-than-holy spirit. Townspeople were using her to make money – her and her less-than-holy spirit. She’d become a slave to the spirit in her, and the townspeople who used her. The spirit in her recognized that Paul and Silas were slaves of God, and she followed them around, proclaiming as much. Paul ordered that less-than-holy spirit out of her, and it obeyed, leaving the girl no longer a money making, fortune telling freak.


The townspeople were upset because Paul and Silas were Jews, following customs not normal or acceptable the Romans. Those in authority and the crowds governed by the authorities attacked Paul and Silas. They were flogged and jailed.

But really, the writer tells us, the people were mad that Paul and Silas had taken away their income stream from the fortune-telling slave girl. And for this, this selfish reason, the crowds and magistrates turned on Paul and Silas and beat them with rods.


This looks to me like the mob mentality we see in modern society. If one idiot gets an idea and can stir up the passions of others, even others who aren’t as idiotic, all of a sudden we have trouble. The trouble can take the form of physical riots, or a voting populace that’s been swept up by one idiot.

Calling one person an idiot is harsher than I intend, but isn’t that what we do? We look to the one who starts something, who’s the instigator? In fact, in this story, regardless of the motives of those who originally were upset with Paul and Silas, it’s the magistrates and more correctly, the stirred up masses who are culpable.

I see this with our society’s willingness to place blame, quickly and inaccurately. Yes, there are rabble-rousers. But left to their own devices, without the mob-mentality townspeople, or electorate, the lone voice idiots would not be much of a threat.

This also goes for the magistrates. In this story, they’re quick to be blamed, when in fact I suspect they were adjudicating the will of the townspeople. In modern days, there are people that we, the townspeople, have put in positions of authority and power. Elected leaders, enforcement officials. In a democratic society, these leaders are doing our will.

The police, for example, don’t enforce laws not enacted by leaders, elected by the townspeople. I recall numerous times when I worked for the police, where they’d be charged uncompassionate enforcement – clearing homeless camps, arresting the mentally ill, preventing people from sleeping in parks. But the police cannot enforce laws not enacted as a result of actions by the townspeople. The townspeople say they want clean parks. Through the open and democratic process, the magistrates write laws that prohibit overnight camping, allegedly to keep parks clean. But what the electorate, or townspeople really want is to remove the ugly and visible signs of poverty and illness from their pristine parks. But that goes unsaid.

The elected officials propose laws to keep parks clean, and police are stuck enforcing laws to overtly keep parks clean, but covertly to rid the townspeople of the ugly homeless. And the police get blamed.

In the story of Paul and Silas, it’s the townspeople who are to blame. Not the few opposed to their healing the girl. Not the magistrates. It’s the rabble, who’s roused. 

This morning, I’m thinking about when and how I become like the townspeople, and get swept along to believe or say or do things not of God. I want to see it, and I want to remember that it’s not the jailer or the enforcer, it’s not the magistrate or law-maker, or the rabble-rousers or instigators, it’s the crowd. It’s me, as long as I go along in the crowd, that’s ultimately responsible. And stop blaming everyone else.

Jul 30 2019 Proverbs 25: 11-15 Commemoration of William Wilberforce

With patience a ruler may be persuaded, and a soft tongue can break bones.
William Wilberforce is another name I’ve heard but not known much about. He was a rich, English, Cambridge-educated politician. In the midst of his political career, he found religion, or God found him. He was urged to give up his political activism, but instead remained. He was a tireless abolitionist, bringing before Parliament a motion to end slavery and the slave trade. It failed. He brought it back the following year, and the following year. For 17 years, he brought it back before Parliament, never giving up. On the 18th try, it passed. As Proverbs says, patience and a soft tongue are mighty.

The book, “Holy Women, Holy Men” says it this way, "Wilberforce’s eloquence as a speaker, his charm in personal address, and his profound religious spirit made him a formidable power for good”.

Had he not been commemorated this morning, I wouldn’t have looked him up. If I hadn’t looked him up, I wouldn’t have found these great quotes.

"You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know."

"To live our lives and miss that great purpose we were designed to accomplish is truly a sin. It is inconceivable that we could be bored in a world with so much wrong to tackle, so much ignorance to reach and so much misery we could alleviate"

“What a difference it would be if our system of morality were based on the Bible instead of standards devised by cultural Christians.”

“Some might say that one’s faith is a private matter and should not be spoken of so publicly. They might assert this in public, but what do they really think in their hearts? The fact is, those who say such things usually don’t even have a concern for faith in the privacy of their interior lives”

“I would suggest that faith is everyone’s business. The advance or decline of faith is so intimately connected to the welfare of a society that it should be of particular interest to a politician.”

Wilberforce is a man after my own heart. I will rarely be the prophetic voice, railing against injustice. I feel it, and I see it, but railing isn’t my strength. I’m much better equipped to speak softly and persistently. And to bring my faith into the places where I go without fear.

That’s what I think we’re called to do – to do good and share God’s love in ways we’re good at, where we are, with the people who come into our lives. Wilberforce did that in Parliament 200 years ago and what he said then still rings true to me, a career government employee and person of faith. 

This morning I’m thinking about how I can continue to bring God’s love into the world I live, work and play. I want to have a public, persistent, soft-spoken faith where God is at the center, and God’s love is apparent and shared with those with whom I live, work and play. Today, I want to have the unwavering, public and persistent faith I learned about in William Wilberforce.

Jul 29 2019 Psalm 36: 5-10 Commemoration of Mary, Martha & Lazarus

Continue your loving-kindness to those who know you, and your favor to those who are true of heart.

Mary, Martha and Lazarus were three siblings, each of whom knew Jesus, and were true of heart. Mary sat at Jesus’ feet anointing them with her hair. This was a radical act of discipleship, at time when women didn’t do that sort of thing in public. Martha came running to meet Jesus after her brother’s death, with such strong faith that she knew Jesus could have saved him, if he’d only gotten there in time. Meanwhile, Lazarus was Jesus’ close friend, and upon his death, Jesus cried. Jesus did raise Lazarus from the dead. But Mary’s and Martha’s faith and discipleship preceded that healing.

These three had a deep and true friendship with Jesus, at a time in Jesus' ministry when I can imagine deep and true friendships were scarce. Lazarus is known as a good friend of Jesus, Mary as a model of contemplation, and Martha as a model of service. Their kindness, fidelity and service can be a model of how we are to respond to Christ. More poignant to me today, is that their kindness, fidelity and service is a model of genuine and abiding human friendship.

This morning, I’m thinking about those people who have shown kindness, fidelity and service to me, the people who’ve been my Mary, Martha and Lazarus. I have had an interesting couple of years, with job changes, relocation, stalkers and now a sick, resident loved one. Through all of that, I’ve had my people. Those I know well, and those I only know primarily through my writings. When I interact or hear from one of my people, I’m warmed and greatly appreciate it. And sometimes that appreciation is fleeting. But this morning, if I think about all of my people, all of the kindness and service and support, I have an abiding sense of love, both from them and from God, who is the source of their love.

If I am that warmed by the thought of their friendship, I am on fire thinking about the possibility of being that person for others.

Today, I am deeply grateful for my people – my Mary’s, Martha’s and Lazarus’. I want to hold on to that gratitude and use God’s love in and through me to be that person for others.

Jul 28 2019 Matthew 25: 31-46

Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing?

This has always been one of the most compelling draws for serving others. Jesus is telling this parable, about the king who sorts people into the righteous and unrighteous. To the righteous, he says that when he was hungry, they gave him food, a stranger and welcomed him, hungry and fed him, imprisoned and freed him, naked and clothed him. Their response was to question when they’d seen him hungry, thirsty, a stranger or naked. His response? When you do these things to the least in my family, you do it me. Alternately, to the unrighteous, he said that they’d seen him hungry, thirsty, a stranger and naked and they did nothing. They protest that they’ve never seen him like that, and he responds that when they saw people like that – hungry, stranger, thirsty, naked – and did not help, they did not help him.

I live in an urban area with plenty of people who are hungry, thirsty, needing clothes, imprisoned, and needing welcome. It is seemingly impossible to serve them all – every child of God on the street, every imprisoned brother and sister, every sick and lonely precious creation of God. I cannot do it all. But I can do something. To serve the least of Jesus’ family is to serve Jesus.

So what do I do, when I cannot do it all? When I cannot serve or feed or be kind?

Yesterday, we went out to dinner with my sick loved one. They were in a foul mood, or maybe just exhibiting how hard it must be for them. In either case it wasn’t a pleasant outing for me. By the end of the dinner, I responded in a less than gracious way. I wasn’t as welcoming or loving or caring as I’d started out, but they were still a loved child of God, and beloved by me.

It happens. Both with people I know, and strangers. Need exceeds my capacity to help. Either I say no intentionally, like when I pass the panhandler I don’t want to help at that moment, or unintentionally say no, like when I had no resilience at dinner last night. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what to do with the balance of need, or people in need, that exceeds my ability. The people at the border, and in prison. Hunger in this country and beyond. The frustrating people in my house. In all cases, I could fall in the category of the unrighteous. I saw Christ and didn’t feed or free.

I think, or I hope that intention matters. I hope that my well-intentioned efforts count. And I want to acknowledge that in these cases I am not serving Christ well. But perhaps I can do something. I can be respectful in my declining to give my spare change, acknowledging the Christ in that other person, even without my contribution. I can read about and support others who are feeding and freeing others. I can encourage those who are welcoming the stranger.

Today, I want to see Christ in the people I feed, clothe, free and welcome. More important, I want to see Christ in the people I cannot.

Jul 27 2019 2 Samuel 1: 1-16

Then David called one of the young men and said, Come here and strike him down.

This morning, I’m glad we have both the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament in our Christian faith tradition. To be clear, the Hebrew Scriptures paint a loving and just God. But in my read, they also paint an incomplete picture, focusing largely on revenge, retribution, and fear. While these have a place in the human heart – like it or not, the New Testament, particularly the Gospels focus on a God of love, mercy and justice.

Take this whole story of David and Saul. If it weren’t rife with death and murder, it might be comical. The Israelites hate the Philistines, they’re long time enemies. Saul is looking for someone to defeat the giant Philistine, Goliath. Saul looks to the family of Jesse, and dismisses all of his big strong sons, and finally figures out that puny David is still out tending sheep. But it turns out, David’s the one. So David goes into battle with Goliath, and famously sleighs Goliath with just the stones in his pocket, and the sword in his sheath. The Philistines had put all their stock in Goliath winning, and upon his death, they retreat and the Israelites are safe. David the hero.

David ends up a favorite of Saul. He’s a warrior, and he can play the lyre! So he ends up marrying one of Saul’s daughters. David also has an extremely strong bond with Saul’s son, Jonathan. Some go so far as to suggest it was a romance, while others say it was the ultimate kind of friendship forged between men in war times. In any case, Saul is so appreciative and aware of David’s gifts, he puts David in charge of the Israeli army. David the warrior leader.

But as David’s popularity waxes within the Israelites, Saul’s wanes, so he turns on David, and spends the rest of his days hunting him down to kill him. At times, David escapes through wile, and others because of Jonathan’s warning David of Saul’s coming threats. David on the run.

David hides out with the very Philistines that he’d defeated with his killing of Goliath. Eventually, the Philistines go to fight the Israelites again, including Saul and Jonathan. Saul is badly injured. He knew he was going to die, so he asked his own guard to kill him off, so he didn’t fall into enemy hands. His guard obliged, and then took his own life. Jonathan is also killed in this battle. David at this point doesn’t know all of this. David the unaware.

A man comes to tell David of Saul and Jonathan’s death at the hand of the Philistines. He tells David that he himself killed Jonathan at Jonathan’s request. Similar to Saul, Jonathan was mortally wounded but not dead. He asked this man to finish him off. The man obliged. He then came to tell David of this story. David in return killed the man. David the Hero?

We haven’t even gotten in the story to David taking someone else’s wife through very conniving ways, or all of the other drama surrounding David’s world.

There’s an awful lot of bloodshed, and retribution, and war. To be clear, I don’t believe that there was less bloodshed in the time of Jesus. I don’t think it’s an impossible story – the story of David. It’s neither impossible, or unique. And I do think God can work through all sorts, including hero-liars-murders-adulterers-musicians, like David. And David’s storied past makes him an excellent author of the Psalms, which reflect all sorts of human pain and suffering and confusion.

And the Gospels don’t dwell on that ugliness of humanity – other than the ultimate ugliness in the Passion of Jesus. And while there’s narrative of murder and mayhem in the Gospels, it’s rarely seen as positive trait of the hero of the story. Rather, in the Gospels we hear about how these things happen. There is ugliness in the human heart. Even in the hearts of beloved disciples, like the crooked tax collector Matthew, or the murderous Saul-turned-Paul. Those, however aren’t the point of the story. If mentioned at all, these traits are things that God works through. We don’t hear about Saul’s persecution of Christians as if that’s the point. He wasn’t a hero because of his involvement in killing Stephan. Despite his role in early Christian persecution, he was loved, and learned to move on to a message of God’s incredible and undeserving love. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the way we still glorify the ugly. Murder mysteries. Reality TV. Hollywood gossip. Obsession with political intrigue. The stories we read, and the narrative we tell ourselves should be less like David’s early life, and more like Paul’s later life. We can be ugly humans. Yes. But let’s talk about, read about, and live as if that’s just the background to God’s incredible mercy and love.

Jul 26 2019 Mark 5: 21-43

Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.

Another healing story. Another story of someone’s faith that cured them. This time, a woman with twelve years of hemorrhaging. I am extremely glad for the woman that was healed, who had sufficient faith that she only needed to touch his cloak to be healed. I’m happy that Jesus, in response to her faith, healed what twelve years of doctors couldn’t. And, given where I am in my world, it’s a growing edge for me.

Yes, I believe Jesus could heal. Yes, I hope to have the faith that it’s true. And My sick loved one has a disease that I have never ever heard of a miraculous recovery, faith or no. So I read the stories of healing, and I’m always a little miffed. What about my sick one?

It’s interesting that my self-absorbed previous self never ever thought about all of the instances, all of the parents who’d cry out in deep faith, and be disappointed in an apparent lack of response. It’s as if I’m the very first person who’s had seeming unanswered prayers. How dumb is that?

I believe that this sort of personal loss and anguish that occur to people of faith has caused at least one family member in my life to turn from God entirely. Hearing stories of God’s love, or Jesus’ healing while experience hate, harm, illness or death is a cold irony. How does anyone stay connected to that love and healing, when it seems it’s being withheld?

Maybe it’s about seeing and knowing that it’s not an all-or-nothing equation. God’s healing and love aren’t either all-present or not-at-all present. About seeking and seeing the moments of love and healing, that may be episodic, may not be permanent, but are there nonetheless.

Yesterday, I had one of those moments of healing and love with my sick love one. I don’t know if it’s new medicine, or a reduction of harmful self medication, but I enjoyed 90 minutes of uninterrupted blissful bonding time with my loved one. We sat on the balcony of the apartment, and I groomed their hair. We talked, although it didn’t always make sense, and included a flood of emotions and sentiments from their mixed-up brain.

There’s no chance this would have happened a week, or a month ago. And it might not happen again. But for those 90 minutes, we both were healed a little bit. And I’m certain they felt my love. I know I felt God’s.

I also know that that little moment of healing and peace will carry me far. It restored my personal capacity and resiliency banks. Not in a settling way, but in a way that reflects that God’s grace is ever-present, maybe that’s the miraculous cure. It’s not that my loved one is immediately cured, permanently, or else there is no God and God’s love. That all-or-nothing thinking absolutely makes people lose their faith. Rather, God’s healing and love come right when we need it.

This morning, I’m thinking about having faith that the healing and grace and love will happen, with or without a miraculous cure. How the faith shows up in believing it will happen, and with that faith, it absolutely will. So maybe my faith did make me well. Without the framework of faith and healing, that experience may have been incidental and fleeting. Nice, but signifying nothing. Instead, I absolutely see it as a moment of God’s healing, for both of us. For that context, I am grateful.

Jul 25 2019 Mark 1:14-20 - Commemoration of James

Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

Today the church calendar commemorates James, one of the twelve original disciples, brother of John, referred to as one of the sons of thunder. James is right there at the transfiguration, when Jesus appears all lit up. He witnessed many healing miracles of Jesus, was there with him in the garden of Gethsemane the night before Jesus was executed. James was in the inner circle.

You’d think that would get you better insight, or a better outcome – to be one of the closest to this man-God. But James is also the one who wanted Jesus to destroy the people of Samaria, after they were refused hospitality there. Jesus nixed that idea. James and his brother John also asked Jesus for a special place in the kingdom, you know, because they were Jesus’ favorite. Jesus nixed that idea too.

So being in the inner sanctum didn’t get James more insight. He didn’t understand things better. He seemed to think that it would. We all do. When we work harder, pray harder, spend more time in church, we think we’re somehow closer or better. What a risk that is! If James got it wrong with Jesus right there, it’s highly likely I do too. 

James, son of Zebedee, is the first disciple martyred for his faith. So not only did he not have a special place in the inner circle, he was the first to die.

This morning I’m thinking about what there is to learn about my faith from James. First, I believe, it’s too easy to create a false sense of inner-circle-ness, in our modern world. If you’re in upper echelons of whatever institution, it’s easy to think you’re on the inside track. But that inherently presumes there’s an outer circle; there’s an inherent judgement about who’s in and out, when I think about having the inside track. God does not care who’s inside and who’s outside, except perhaps to demand that those on the inside break those boundaries. 

The second thing I think is that discipleship obviously not easy. If I were to stand up for everything I know to be right in the sight of God, my life would look very different. I don’t know if I’d be martyred, but I’d probably be a pain to be around, and likely arrested.  

Yesterday, I was involved in a conversation that pushed me beyond my comfort. I was in a meeting talking about the great challenge of getting people who are traditionally underrepresented in church governance groups in those places. Some were arguing the institution is getting better at having everyone looking out for the underrepresented and that we don't necessarily need to have those people sitting on a board; the structures aren't conducive to people who have different work schedules than the predominant culture. Besides, it's not necessarily fair to have a token underrepresented person at the table.  While that's true, I argued we need to look at those structures that inherently and unintentionally create insiders and outsiders.  I mention this not because I was a spectacular orator or right. It was a growing edge for me, to speak up arguing for what I believed to be right. 

Today, I want to think of James any time I get an inkling of thinking I’m on the inside track. I want to remember that there is no such thing to God. I want to remember that discipleship, if done with integrity, has a great cost. I want to continue to push me into that space of discipleship beyond my current comfort – but just short of martyrdom.

Jul 24 2019 Mark 4: 35-41

But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion.

The disciples are in the boat. There’s a big storm. Jesus is asleep, and the disciples are scared. Waking Jesus, they ask him doesn’t he care?

Anyone who’s been in a boat on rough water or worse in a storm understands this fear. There’s something immense and eternal about stormy waters. There seems to be no end to the churning, nor any cause. And it’s just water – water we drink and bathe in. But now, it’s violent and dark and deadly.

And Jesus is sleeping through this. It’s an interesting setup, for what I believe is the only instance where we hear of Jesus sleeping. He goes off to rest, but I think he’s resting and praying. In this story, he’s sleeping. In the boat. In the storm.

Upon their bidding, Jesus awakens and answers the disciples’ petitions. Peace! Be Still! At this, the seas become ‘dead calm’.

This morning, I’m thinking about Jesus asleep – present, but asleep. I’m thinking about the storm. I’m not in a boat, but I definitely feel the turmoil. In the past two days, I’ve had terms used for my personal storm, that up until now I’ve understood theoretically.

Normative stress – When the increased, persistent stress becomes normal. It feels like my house is at a new normal, with my sick loved one’s presence and behavior. But when I talk about what happens or our exchanges, I can tell from the reaction of others that it’s not really normal. It’s definitely a coping mechanism and makes day-to-day life easier. But the hidden cost is that the stress is still there, and a significantly higher level, and insidiously hidden, because of the brain’s desire for normal. Yup. Got that.

The other term is harm reduction model. Make choices for the care and treatment of others that reduces harm – maybe not solves all their problems. A perfect example of this is the concept of a needle exchange program for IV drug addicts. Yes, stopping the drug use would be the best option. The next best option – the one that reduces harm, would be to provide clean needles to reduce the risk of disease caused by dirty needles. Harm reduction, not harm elimination. We are at a place where treatment for our loved one involves harm reduction. In a perfect world, I could eliminate the disease and behaviors that are harming them. And it is not a perfect world. The storm rages on. I’ve known of the term, Harm Reduction. I support it. I never thought I’d be using it in personal stories.

So here I sit in these stormy, deadly waters. Of course Jesus is present. Of course he’ll respond when petitioned. Of course God has the power to make all of this immediately go away. Peace be still. And of course I’ll ask.

Regardless of whether the waters are immediately calmed, two things I know. First, God is present, even if asleep in the helm. That presence is comforting, regardless of the outcome. Second, when I’m in prayer, or worship, or reflection, or writing, there is an immediate calming of the waters. It doesn’t feel like I’m living with a new normalized increased stress. I genuinely feel at peace.

Today, I want to recognize how my moments of peace and still waters come when I intentionally ask, ‘teacher, don’t you care about the storm?’ Not 100%, but pretty close. It’s fleeting, because I need to finish writing and get back to my day. After calming the waters, Jesus’ response to the disciples was to ask them why they were afraid in the first place. Didn’t they have faith? Today, I want to petition for peace without that sense, from a place of faith. Today, I seek moments of calmed waters, from a God always present in my rocky boat.

Jul 23 2019 Mark 4:21-34

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables; With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; but he explained everything in private to his disciples.

Slowly, slowly, I’m finding value in parables, or the mystery contained in them. I was raised by two very wise, and very concrete thinkers. My mom was incredibly practical, and as far as I remember, pretty transparent. She said what she thought, and thought clearly. Likewise, my dad was very smart and transparent. An engineer, his flaw would have been to over-explain things, just to be sure you understood. As my mom used to say, “ask your dad what time it is, and he’ll tell you how to build a clock”.

I was raised with two models of transparent, clear, direct thinking and communication. There wasn’t a lot of wonder, or speculation. My parents knew a lot. Like Jesus to the disciples, they explained everything to us.

My parents were good people with integrity and clear communication, two traits I have in strength. Some might say too much of a good thing…. But what I lacked growing up was space and skills for that wonder that comes from a good parable. It’s so much easier if someone just explains things; it’s what I’ve always known.

Now, sitting with parables and Scripture, I’m gaining some appreciation for the vagaries of parables. There’s more room for thinking, and coming up with explanations and having the ‘aha moments’ that come from deep within me.

I used to think that when Jesus talked to everyone in parables, but explained everything to his disciples was because he was trying to be vague and garbled with everyone, but to his favorites – the disciples, he’d be clear. I’m wondering now if he had to explain things to his disciples because they didn’t have or couldn’t take the space to wrestle with the parables. Or maybe he needed to be sure they got the point. In any case, now I think it wasn’t necessarily a positive thing, that he explained everything to the disciples.

The parable that precedes this explanation of Jesus’ methods is the parable of the man who puts out seed at night and it grows but the man doesn’t know how. And after the Earth produces of itself, the man goes back and cuts the whole plant down, because it’s harvest has come.

This one little parable has so much that I can think of this morning. Man throws seed into the unknown. Earth’s abundant life-giving resources. Things grow for unknown invisible reasons. Man plants then destroys. Repeat. Each one of these could be the theme of an entire sermon or book. And I’m sure on another day, I could come up with others themes or lessons.

To have this parable ‘explained’ to me would constrain its meaning to today’s explanation. As it is, some portion of the parable resonates today, and another part resonates tomorrow.

This morning, I’m thinking about all those places where I don’t have explanations. Where that lack of precision is both frustrating and freeing. I want to continue to embrace those unknowns, and wrestle with them. With the Holy Spirit’s guidance, I’ll learn and grow in that space, based on what I need to see and understand today.

Jul 22 2019 John 20: 11-18 – Commemoration of Mary Magdalene

Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’

There’s lots of speculation about all of the people referenced in the bible who Mary might have been. There’s speculation about whether she was in fact a prostitute. There’s speculation about whether she was an intimate partner of Jesus. I, honestly don’t care about all of that. Not because it’s not interesting, or not true, but because what we do know about her is enough. No need to introduce contentious suppositions. We do that enough with the Bible. Not here, and not today.

Mary Magdalene met Jesus while possessed by seven demons. He healed her, and in return she joined him. She followed him and became one of his most mentioned followers, outside the twelve men named apostles.

She was one of the few who stuck with him to the bitter end, there at the cross after the men fled. She was also the first to whom Jesus appeared after he’d risen. She has gone to the tomb, is crying outside and sees two angels where his body was. Of course she’s distraught over the execution of the man who healed her, and now she doesn’t even know where someone has taken his body. We hear that Jesus comes behind her, and asks her why she’s crying. She doesn’t recognize him, but instead assumes he’s the gardener.

To me, this says he didn’t look like he’d looked before death. While she was in shock and grief, she wouldn’t have entirely missed his presence, albeit dead and resurrected, if he looked like the Jesus she knew. At that moment, she didn’t know him.

Jesus does one simple thing, and everything changes. He calls her by name.

With that simple, personal recognition, the scales fell from her eyes, and everything was different. He was dead and buried. And now is not.

I have always had a special affinity towards Mary Magdalene. This icon of Mary Magdalene from Trinity Stores speaks to me (I really like Trinity Store icons, and have several.) The language and her image are designed to remind us that she was middle eastern. If the pose looks familiar, it’s modeled after the famous National Geographic haunting photo of the Afghan girl with the bright green eyes. She’s holding an egg, because based on ancient stories, she was asked by a leader if she really saw the risen Jesus. She said that it was true, and to prove it, the egg would turn red. That’s the source of the red Easter eggs in Orthodox Easter breads.

I’m not sure what Mary looked like with seven demons. I don’t know what the modern day equivalent of that would look like. But I live with someone now, who talks about the voices in their head. About what they’re supposed to do and say. How the voices make it incredibly difficult to hold a normal conversation, because there’s so much negative chatter. To be clear, there is a lot of controversy about dismissing mental illness as ‘demons’, and I am not doing that. But I do believe it’s possible Mary’s affliction, and the affliction of my loved one is more similar than unlike.

To be cured from that kind of affliction would create indescribable joy, deep gratitude, and loyalty to the tomb. At the tomb, she feels she’s lost everything that’s made her whole. To be reminded that it’s not lost, Jesus calls her name, and all of a sudden, he’s back, has beaten death, and returns first to Mary.

This morning, I’m thinking about the power of the name. In the midst of the illness in my house, have I invoked Jesus’ name to heal them, or to heal me? What would it be like to hear Jesus call my name? Would I recognize it? I don’t believe this is a theoretical possibility. I genuinely believe Jesus calls my name all the time, to ask me to follow, and believe, and heal, and serve, and love. Often, I’m distracted and think he’s the gardener.

Today, I want to be on the lookout for Jesus calling my name. I’ve got work to do with my loved one, and I definitely need Jesus’ presence.

Jul 21 2019 Ephesians 2: 12-17 – Commemoration of Albert Luthuli

He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, so that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it.


Albert Luthuli was the first African to receive the Nobel Peace Prize, for his work in South Africa’s non-violent fight against apartheid. He was a Zulu chief, and eventually elected president of a region in South Africa. He firmly believed that his fight for civil rights was inherently a Christian struggle. He said that because he was a Christian, he was compelled to “get into the thick of the struggle with other Christians, taking my Christianity with me and praying that it may be used to influence for good”.

The reading appointed to commemorate him is this section of Ephesians. In it, Paul is talking about Christ abolishing the law, so he can reconcile both groups to God. It seems this happens whenever there is a law or rule, people line up on opposing sides, and become enemies over the arbitrary line in the sand. Granted, some of the rules are for everyone’s benefit, but frequently they benefit the rule-maker, not the intended rule-follower.

That’s one reason I like today’s saint. Luthuli worked within the political system, peacefully to bring about change. He brought his Christian faith with him to the arenas of power where his people were marginalized, and appealed to the Christian faith of others.

This feels missing to me today. Instead of appealing to Christian values of others in the political arena, we wag our fingers at others, shaming them. I wonder if there’s more room and potentially more success if we could appeal to their Christian values and actually dialogue about our commonly held values.

This morning, I’m thinking of ways of seeking reconciliation with fellow children of God, and in particular Christ-followers. Reconciliation to the simple laws of Christ – Love God. Love your neighbor. Maybe it’s intentional constructed conversations with people who see things very differently, but still follow Christ. Maybe it’s not so formal. Either way, I think one key is to remain in, or create dialogue.

Jul 20 2019 1 Peter 4: 10-11 – Commemoration of Sojourner Truth, Hariet Tubman, Elizabeth Cody Stanton, Amelia Bloomer – Pioneers of Women’s Rights

Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received.

Each of the women commemorated took amazing risks to speak out. Truth and Tubman worked tirelessly as abolitionists, while Stanton and Bloomer picked up the cause of Women’s rights. Now, all these years later, it’s hard to imagine the circumstances each one faced: the injustices and risks. It’s also hard to imagine their lives. I don’t know what daily life was like in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s for women, black women in particular.

But I’ve heard their names so much and little snippets of their story, that it’s easy to get a picture that’s both flat and incomplete, just like a Polaroid. Thinking about bringing slaves to freedom, the Underground Railroad, or women’s rights and these women, I wonder how they did what they did. At least some of these women had families. Children to raise, households to run, partners to support. And given the times they lived, I can imagine it wasn’t an easy life, even without putting themselves out.

This morning, I’m thinking about the grace that all of these women must have had. The strength, and will to do hard work during hard time.

Some years ago, my husband and I were interviewed by a small-town paper about our decision to be foster parents. They asked why we did it. Our answer seemed genuinely easy. Because we could. There are lots of things in this world I cannot imagine doing, and I am extremely grateful for those who do those things, and enjoy them. Teacher. Priest. Doctor. Daycare Provider. To me, people who do those things are heroic, because I could not. You could not pay me enough. But I could take an abandoned kid in. And because I could, I had an obligation to society to do what I could. No more special or heroic than teachers. Just different.

That’s what I hear from this morning’s appointed reading for these strong women. Do what you can. Serve each other with the grace and skills you’ve been given. The women commemorated did great things. So do each of us, if we do what we can. Nothing heroic. Just an openness to God’s call, and a response that serves.

This morning, I’m thinking about my current life situation. I have this sick loved one. It’s challenging, and mostly not rewarding. Some days I feel like I can’t do it. But I’m here and they’re here. And most likely, I cannot do it alone. But I have my husband, and a great community. And most importantly, God’s grace. So today, I will think about the world I have now, and serving where I can, because of God’s grace. Nothing heroic. But it’s what I can do.

Jul 19 2019 Matthew 11: 27-30 – Commemoration of Macrina

‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me

Macrina was the older sister of several well-known early men of faith, including Basil the Great and Greggory of Nyssa. What we know comes from writings, primarily of her brother Greggory. After her fiancé died, Marcina opened her home to serve, feed and house the poor and hungry women of her community. Eventually she founded a house of nuns, all dedicated to such service. As a dutiful older sister, she also was able to correct her younger famous brothers when needed. She’d point out their vanity, or desire for material goods.

The reading appointed for her commemoration is that familiar and comforting statement of Jesus, which ends with ‘for my yoke is heavy and my burden light’. Given all that Jesus was doing in his ministry, that’s hard to fathom, that he felt his yolk heavy.

I think it comes from his knowledge that if he’s yoked to God, like two oxen are yoked together, God will take the greater burden.

I understand this in theory. But it feels very far away. As a person of faith, my burden doesn’t feel light. I know God’s present. But my burden feels heavy.

I want to be the empathetic helper of all, taking in, and feeding people in need. And I have someone in my home who’s in need. And I sometimes am not empathetic. Sometimes it’s hard to care for the surly, angry, confused person in my house. It’s hard to feel their pain, when it appears as anger towards us. And yet, clearly they’re in pain and need help.

Today, I need to continue to actively turn over my burdens to God. To try to feel the weight lifted from that yoking. Just a little.

Jul 18 2019 Mark 2:23 -3:6

"Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath?"

The apostles are harvesting grain on the Sabbath. Jesus is healing on the Sabbath. The Pharisees are angered, because he is not following their Sabbath law. After observing Jesus healing the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath, the Pharisees immediately went out and conspired with the political leaders about “how to destroy him”.

This is a convicting story for me. I fear I could be like the Pharisees. Rules are rules, and I’m exceedingly good – probably to a fault- at keeping them. To me, rules aren’t meant to be relative, or sometime. I have much to learn from those who know when, in fact, a rule should be bent.

Rule bending aside, this story makes me think about rules of Sabbath. My grandparents lived in a town with a high number of Orthodox Jews, who without bending, kept the Sabbath holy. Lightbulbs were unscrewed the night before, all work ceased, and a quiet pervaded the town. It did seem excessive, as a kid.

But as an adult, living in a busy city, I think about the quiet that an unbending Holy Sabbath creates. I feel like I could or should be creating more Sabbath quiet, without compromise. Maybe Sundays become a phone-free zone. Or weekends are a no-social-media zone. Or I find a day that’s a no-work zone. Or maybe it’s just an afternoon.

This morning, I’m thinking about my need for more Sabbath rest, and about my tendency to be dogmatic like the Pharisees. I’m thinking about my deep desire to serve and heal, even through a time of Sabbath. Can I find a holy time for regular rest, without modeling the Pharisaic hardness of heart?

Today, I want to think about ways to find time for Sabbath rest, for resting in God’s presence. And to strip away meaningless distractions during that time, while still allowing space for doing God’s work of healing and serving and feeding. Maybe it’s about removing the distractions, so when I’m called to serve or feed or heal, it’s infused and rooted in God’s presence and love. Maybe that’s the way to keep the Sabbath holy, without my propensity for unbending rules.

Jul 17 2019 Mark 2: 13-22

As he was walking along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, "Follow me." And he got up and followed him.

This is the full extent of the call story of the disciple known as Matthew. Jesus saw him at a tax booth, called him, and Matthew got up and followed him. In this time of political turmoil, it feels like we can learn from Jesus’ call of Matthew. After the call of Matthew, Jesus is questioned as to why he’s having dinner with “sinners and tax collectors” Clearly, tax collectors in general, and Matthew in particular were seen as people of ill-repute.

In that time, the reputation of tax collectors was worse than it is now. Tax collectors were normally Jews who’d taken jobs for the occupying Roman Empire. Their job was to collect taxes from their fellow Jews and hand it over to the hated Romans. This made them suspect. Worse, it was common practice that they could take extra and pocket the difference. As long as Rome got its share, they didn’t care what the tax collectors took. So these tax collectors took money from fellow citizens, were part of the corrupt occupying system, and profited from their place in that oppressive system.

This feels familiar to me. Living in this liberal corner of the US, the old-time tax collectors and the charges against them sound like the modern day 1% and the charges against them. The wealthiest people in the country make a living off of fellow citizens. They are part of a system that oppresses others and profit from their role in that system.

And Jesus called Matthew.

To me, what this says is that no one is beyond God’s grace. Even modern day tax collectors. If Jesus called Matthew and dined with him and other sinners, who am I to dismiss modern-day tax collectors as beyond Jesus’ call or grace. Who am I to partake in bashing the 1%? That sounds like the Pharisees complaining that Jesus was dining with tax collectors.

This morning, I’m thinking about the wonderful statement, sinners and tax collectors. That includes pretty much everyone that modern society, both liberal and conservative, would challenge is excluded from God’s call and grace. In particular, I’m thinking about Matthew, tax collectors, and the modern day 1%. They are all children of God. I am to seek and serve Christ in all people, including the 1%. More important, I am to respect the dignity of every human being. From this liberal corner of the country, I see a great deal of disrespect and hateful language towards the 1%, or the financial, political and economic elite.

If Jesus returned and called his disciples today, who would he call as his ‘tax collector’? Would we be like the Pharisees, questioning his choice of dinner mates? Who would I second guess and why?

Jul 16 2019 Joshua 2: 1-21 Commemoration of the ‘Righteous Gentiles’

But the woman took the two men and hid them.

Today, the Church commemorates the ‘Righteous Gentiles’, including Hiram Bingham IV, an Episcopalian US State Department diplomat in France. He violated State Department rules providing escape routes for some, and provided sanctuary in his own home for others. He, plus a document 23,000 others are commemorated for risking their own lives to save the lives of fellow children of God during WWII.

The Scripture appointed for this day is the story of Rahab, a prostitute living in the city of Jericho. She clearly was an outsider, given her gender and profession. Two men from Israel came to Jericho to scope it out. The king of Jericho went to apprehend the two men, but Rahab hid them on her roof, and send the pursuers away. She later went to the spies and said that she knew that these two men were sent from God, and that their God was the God of all. Rahab provided sanctuary for fellow children of God, and if she hadn’t, their lives were at risk.

Reading this, I feel convicted. There has been a lot in the news about the crisis at the southern border, with the refugees coming from countries south of here. There are stories of families separated, children in cages, people dying. All of this is horrible.

I’ve heard some say that the attention and media focus on this current problem is a ploy to stir up trouble against the current political administration; previous administrations have done similar horrible things, and there are horrible things occurring throughout the world, caused by my country. I’m not addressing that, nor dismissing it, nor minimizing that. Maybe it’s true, and maybe there are bad things happening elsewhere. And the crisis at the border is also happening, and it’s horrible.

I feel impotent to the problems at the border. I’m not one to stand in a protest, and just yesterday, I was thinking about what I could do. I could write Congress. I could stand in protest. I could contribute to sanctuary movements or support humanitarian efforts at the border. All of that feels impotent.

Perhaps my best efforts are to pray, and to trust in a God who ultimately makes everything right. To be open to the opportunities to do something. What Rahab did was small, in the scope of the arc of humanity. But it’s noted and recorded for history. Her small deed for two children of God was enough.

This morning, I’m thinking about being open and responsive to God’s call to me to do something. I want to be aware of the small things and small opportunities to contribute my small part. My part may not be protesting. But if I’m receptive to God’s movement, I know I have a part to play. Today, I pray that I recognize the two spies that come to my door. I pray that I don’t turn them away, but hide them on my roof, like the prostitute Rahab did.

Jul 15 2019 Mark 1: 29-45

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.

Jesus has just healed the mother of one of his apostles, the whole town has crowded around the door, and throughout the night, he’s healed many demons. In the wee hours of the morning, Jesus leaves, finds a deserted place and prays.

This resonates with me this morning. I feel like I’ve had that kind of day, or week – full of busy, full of doing.

I’ve just returned from a wonderful, whirlwind trip to Manhattan – buzzing with the energy only New York has, and to Wisconsin – buzzing with my husband’s three sisters, 13 of their first cousins, their parents and kids and grand kids, easily 35 in total.

The trip concluded earlier than intended with returning to take care of my sick loved one. Changed flights, rented cars, time zone differences, means we got in at what felt like 3:30AM, and awoke a little later than normal, but still hours short of sleep. And while that change was the right thing to do, it’s been inherently unrewarding, because our sick loved one is still sick, still surly, still foul-mouthed. We know they appreciate our mini-rescue mission, but you’d never know it.

So after all of that – city buzz, immediate and extended family buzz, travel challenge buzz, mental illness buzz – I’m absolutely ready for a deserted place. The great news about our changed plans is that it put us back in town with one day free before returning to work Tuesday. Today, I will strive to find those deserted dark places, in the midst of vacation reentry – laundry, groceries, errands.

This morning I’m thinking about how my need today for going away to a deserted place is apparent, partly because I’ve had a buzz-filled week. But in normal weeks, with normal demands, I also need to go find a deserted place and pray. It’s less compelling because there’s always something that needs to be done, and I don’t have as much apparent ‘need’. But still, life happens. We all need times of solace and prayer and stillness.

I need to work on building in those moments on a daily and weekly basis. Maybe put them in my calendar. Or actually use a weekend day as a Sabbath. It’s funny how much harder it is to plan to do little, than to plan to do a lot. Today, I want to come up with one way to build in time for going off to my own deserted place to pray.

Jul 14 2019 Lord’s Prayer

Give us today our daily bread

As part of Morning Prayer, I pray the Lord’s Prayer. Our Father… Like other things that sink in, parts resonate different days. Today, I’m struck by the fleeting and yet perpetual nature of the ask.

In the prayer, I pray for enough bread for today. Not tomorrow, not next week. Just today. That requires a good amount of trust – trust that today will be sufficient. And faith that tomorrow will come and be sufficient too

It’s a fleeting prayer, but it’s also persistent. Tomorrow I will pray for enough for the day. And the next day. If every day I pray for enough for today, and have faith that today will be provided, I’m gold.

Today, this feels important. We’re 8 days into our trip, sitting on the deck overlooking a lake in Wisconsin, and likely needing to rearrange things for the end of our trip, because our sick loved one needs care back in the pacific northwest. Today, I have what I need. I have the resources, calm, rest and wherewithal to figure this out.

I’ve no idea what tomorrow will hold, but I have faith that today, I have what I need. Better still, I have faith that tomorrow, when I check, I’ll have what I need then too.

Jul 13 2019 1 Samuel 17: 31-49

Saul clothed David with his armor; he put a bronze helmet on his head and clothed him with a coat of mail.

The Philistines, enemies of Israel at the time, were mounting an offense, sending a big warrior to fight. Saul was looking for someone to fight, and after the other options were nixed, ended up with the young, ruddy herder, David. There were doubts whether David was up to the battle, but he assured Saul that in the course of his sheep herding, he’d taken on lions and bears. So he was the chosen one.

Saul prepared David, giving him his armor and strapped on his sword. With all this heavy battle gear, it says David “tried in vain to walk, for he was not used to them”. I can imagine that, young David in the oversized, unaccustomed armor, tottering around, absolutely unprepared for battle. So David removed the armor, and picked up the tools of his trade, including a staff and smooth stones. That’s all he head when he headed off to battle Goliath.

This morning, I’m thinking about Saul putting the ill-fitting armor on David, it not working for David, and David removing it.

We do that don’t we? We try to prepare for battle using other people’s tools and tricks and swords. The self-help section of any book store is proof of that, or Pinterist. Sometimes we learn good tricks. Sometimes it’s worth it.

But sometimes it seems we assume other people’s armor, and don’t know enough to take it off. It’s ill fitting, and we can’t walk, and still we head into battle. How much better we’d be if we just used the tools we have, our own staff and pocket of rocks.

With my sick loved one, I hear lots of suggestions and get lots of tips and advice, both personally and through various support groups. Some of it is very helpful or comforting. Most people mean well. They offer comforting words, insightful observations, or great self-care advice. But some people don’t mean well. They blame our loved one, or us, or circumstances. I read about caregivers who take extraordinary measures, with extraordinary personal costs. I read about ‘tough love’ types of resolutions. Or laissez-faire. Or better living through illicit drugs. Or..

Like Saul, many of these people are simply trying to arm me for the battle ahead. Like David, I need to be aware of whether the armor fits and is helpful, or whether I need to leave it. If I need to pick up my staff and smooth stones, and head in with what I know.

Of course, it’s hard to know what works before hand. And the advice that doesn’t work isn’t as physically apparently wrong as ill-fitting armor. And some new suggestions or ways of thinking are helpful. So it’s not about avoiding all new things.

Rather, I think it’s about knowing what my staff and rocks are – what are the tools I already have, and know how to use. And carefully assuming anything new, and determining if it’s really useful, or if it makes me teeter around in ill-fitting armor.

Jul 12 2019 Acts 10:34-48

The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles

Peter is on his adventure, teaching about Jesus the Christ. He’s told this gathered group of Jesus’ message of peace. While speaking to them, the Holy Spirit was poured out on the whole group. The good, faithful God-loving Jews (aka the circumcised), it says, are astounded that the gift of the spirit was poured out “even on the Gentiles.” Hrumph. As a God-loving Gentile, it’s hard to read this and not feel a little miffed. Of course, God the Spirit is poured out on the Gentiles! God the Spirit is poured out on all.

We read this and immediately see the short-sightedness of the circumcised. How could they think they have a patented right to God’s spirit? How could they be astounded? The Gentiles were children of God too.

But think about it. Maybe I don’t divide the Spirit-worthy world between Jews and Gentiles. But I have one. The Spirit-worthy world includes me, people who look or believe like me. People who love all. People who care for all.

On the other hand, the not-so-worthy people would be those who hate. Who exclude. Who harm. Who victimize. And yet, all means all.

God’s Spirit is poured out on all. And as such, God’s providence and God’s working is happening in and through all. Even those who I don’t understand. Even those who hate. Who exclude. Who harm. I have no idea how, but if I can believe God is working in and through me, who am I to decide God isn’t working in and through others? Who am I to be astounded that God’s grace isn’t at work elsewhere? Do I genuinely believe I have a corner on God’s grace? Or people who look, think or worship like I do?

I tend to be less judgmental than many. I don’t get goaded into political arguments and I rarely get angry. During an early argument with my wonderful husband, he wagged his finger at me, and accused me of being “too non-judgmental”. But that means my short-sightedness comes in the form of people who are argumentative, judgmental, and angry – all the things I strive to not be. But God’s grace is poured out on them, and God is working in and through them too. 

This morning, I want to realize there is a direct connection between the things I value about myself, and my ability to discount those who aren’t that. Maybe I cannot understand how, but I want to acknowledge that God’s Spirit is poured out on them too.

Jul 11 2019 Luke 24: 36-53

"Have you anything here to eat?"

Jesus has died and risen. The disciples are not at all sure what’s happened, because they knew he’d died and been laid in the tomb. Some returned to them explaining he’d returned but they could not believe. Or they dared not.

In the midst of this confusion, grief, disbelief, cautious hope, Jesus appears to the eleven. His first words to them? “Peace be with you”. Familiar words from him, and yet so ironic at this moment. He tries to convince them of his genuineness by showing them his pierced hands and feet. He says he’s not a ghost, as he has flesh and bones. They are increasingly believing him.

This is all hard for the disciples to believe. Hard for me to believe. To make this story stranger, Jesus then asks if they have something to eat. On one hand, if he’s human, it would make sense that he’s hungry. He’s had a busy few days presumably without food. On the other hand, if he’s God incarnate and has been raised from the dead, you’d think he been raised with a full stomach. Or at least without that pesky hunger.

They gave him fish and bread, and he ate in their presence. I can imagine they were more than a little perplexed, with this reincarnate teacher, flesh and bones, holes in his hands. After eating with them, Jesus opened their minds to the scriptures.

This odd detail, the “I’m a hungry reincarnated man”, makes me wonder about food and feeding.

Isn’t it us who are hungry? Who need to be nurtured by God’s word and Jesus’ presence? Was this Jesus’ way of showing us what our job is after he left his mortal life? We are to not only seek to be fed by God’s word, but also turn and offer that bread of life to anyone who asks? In this simple statement that Jesus is hungry, he gives the disciples their first opportunity to be the bearers of the food, to share the bread.

Which leads me to my other thought. Food and hunger are universal. Every family, language, people and nation have bread and have known hunger. Coming together with food is always a holy thing, even when we don’t say grace, or eat in the car with the kids on the way to soccer. God is always present when we gather to eat. This is what we believe when we celebrate Eucharist. Sometimes I wish it looked more like a feast. But Eucharistic feasts happen every day, with or without the consecrated bread.

Today, I want to be mindful of Christ’s presence at every meal. In every morsel of food I have and I share. I want to respond as the disciples did when Christ asks, “have you anything to eat?”

Jul 10 2019 Luke 24: 12-35

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on.

Jesus has died, and the tomb found empty by the women. Everyone is mourning the loss of this man, who was to be their savior. And now, not only has he been killed, his body is missing. Grief abounds.

Two people were walking to Emmaus talking about all that happened. Unbeknownst to them, Jesus himself walks up and asks them what they’re upset about. They are surprised that he doesn’t know – everyone must have been talking about this. Jesus calls them foolish, for not understanding the scripture, and retells Scripture stories which all pointed to what happened. After doing this, the story says, Jesus walked ahead of them, as if he were continuing on without them.

Wait, what?

We hear a story where humans are experiencing normal human grief. In an era before social media, and photographs, they didn’t recognize Jesus. Even if they knew what he looked like, and he looked just as he did before death and resurrection, I can imagine they would not have presumed this was the dead man. Jesus describes everything to them, as if to convince them that everything points to this. And then he walks on.

The story continues, that they ask him to stay with them, as it’s getting dark. So he does, and shares dinner with them. As he breaks bread, their eyes are opened, and they recognize Jesus. And in an instance, he’s gone. Again.

This morning, I’m thinking about the fact that after appearing to them and explaining things to them, he walks away as if he’s leaving them. It’s only after they ask him to stay that he is made known.

So is that the way it is? Is Jesus ready to appear, explain, and walk away? Was Jesus playing coy?

Maybe not coy. Maybe trying to get us past the huge stumbling block we all have of unbidden advice. It’s always harder to hear advice or learn a lesson if we haven’t asked for it. Unbidden advice is rarely heeded. The men, after hearing Jesus’ story asked him to return and stay with them. It was after their bidding, he broke bread and was made known.

Jesus is ever-present, but ready to walk away. Daily, or hourly, I need to invite him to stay. It’s at my invitation, Jesus is made known. That’s not to say that absent my invitation, he would walk away, or at least I believe he would never walk too far. He’s always within earshot, to return and be made known.

Today, I want to think about ways to build in that invitation in my every day. Maybe it’s when I get a drink of water. Or look at my phone. It doesn’t really matter how I invite Jesus to stay. It only matters that I invite Jesus back. It is then, after my bidding, he’s made known.

Jul 9 2019 Canticle 18 – A Song to the Lamb

Splendor and honor and kingly power are yours by right, O Lord our God

In addition to daily readings from Old Testament, New Testament, Psalms and Gospel, the practice of Morning Prayer includes the reading of two canticles every day. A canticle is like a song of praise, and they’re lifted from throughout the Bible. Like with everything you do repeatedly, something seeps in, almost infuses my soul.

Today’s canticle is from the book of Revelation, the last book of the New Testament, full of apocalyptical, end-of-time writings. And while I struggle with the allegories, sometimes the poetic beauty of the language strikes something deep – especially when repeated in daily prayer.

Today, I’m struck by the language about kingly power and thrones. At the time of the writing of this song of praise, there was political upheaval, and great dissent against the Roman Empire. There’s something about these writings that is contrasting Jesus’ reign to that of the mortal leaders of the time. There’s a sense of promise and hope in a ruler who created everything that is.

I’ve been on a news boycott for several months, maybe years. In particular, politics. I hear of atrocities in policy and stupid statements from US elected officials. At the risk of admitting apathy, I don’t pay enough attention to get very worked up.

Here, during a short visit in New York, it’s hard to miss the towers built by human kings, including entertainment kings, financial kings, and political kings. It’s hard to be apathetic to what I see: to the human leaders building towers to heaven, to show everyone their might and power.

But here’s what’s troubling me most. Yes, there are screaming billboards and video displays, and shiny towers. But none of these worldly kings got to where they are without the assent of the masses. Records are bought, stocks are sold, political leaders elected. These human kings are only on top because we put them there. We are complicit in their ascent to power.

Thinking of political leaders, it is far too easy to blame them, or blame him. The tweets are pretty horrible, and policies worse. But we elected him. Maybe you didn’t vote for him. Maybe the popular vote didn’t elect him. But our system did. Our brothers and sisters in God did. He is not the problem. Blaming him allows us to abdicate responsibility to and for our brothers and sisters. We cannot be armchair quarterbacks. We are in this game.

Today’s canticle reminds me that I have a choice. I can choose to offer praise and thanksgiving to the kingly power who redeemed us already from every family, language, people and nation.

This morning, I want to look around at gleaming New York when I see human kings in media, and finances and politics, and I want to remember who put them there. And I want to remember who it is that really warrants worship and praise, dominion and power, for ever and for ever more.

. Jul 8 2019 I Samuel 15:1-37

I have obeyed the voice of the LORD.

Samuel is old, and God has instructed Samuel to anoint Saul as king of Israel. So far so good. Samuel tells Saul that God said that God will destroy the people of Amalek, so Samuel tells Saul to go do so. Saul is to destroy every living thing. Saul heads off, and destroys nearly every living thing, keeping the best sheep and cattle. He returns and Samuel is upset, because Saul defied the word of the Lord. Meanwhile, Saul explains that he was actually doing what the Lord had told him, because he’d saved the best sheep and cattle for sacrifice to the Lord, as the Lord had instructed Saul. Samuel is duly ticked off that he says that because Saul rejected the Lord, the Lord will reject Saul as king.

I must admit that all the back story and lineage is a little weak for me at this point, but this section highlights something about the word of the Lord that makes me very nervous. In this brief passage, we have both Saul and Samuel doing what they do precisely because they were doing what the word of the Lord instructed them to do. Samuel’s version – kill everything. Saul’s version – kill everything except things to offer sacrifice to God. That there are disagreements between men is not surprising. What is, however is that God would deliver contradicting messages to these two men about the same plotline.

Maybe one got the message wrong. Maybe one made it up. In any case, they can’t both be acting pursuant to God’s direction, if they’re in utter conflict. To me, this is the beauty of Jesus’ message. Love God. Love your neighbor. That’s it. No exceptions. No conditions. If that was their direction, there wouldn’t be big disagreement about whether to spare the sheep and cattle; slaughtering all of the Amalekites would have been a non-starter.

If Christians everywhere really believed the message was that simple – Love God. Love your neighbor – would we be having all of these conflicts? Even if the conflicts were with non-Christians. Love God. Love your neighbor. Don’t argue about whether the sheep should have been slaughtered or kept for sacrifice. Love your neighbor would have nipped that whole argument in the bud.

Maybe it’s not that simple. Maybe that’s naïve. But it genuinely feels to me as if we really did that – love God and love our neighbor – all would be well. Maybe the disagreements come when we each think we’re hearing what the Lord told us, like Saul and Samuel. Maybe that’s the beauty of the second commandment.

This morning, I’m thinking about that second commandment. Love your neighbor. As mortals we risk mishearing God’s voice and direction. Love the Lord your God could look different to different people. In any given circumstance, two humans could believe they’re doing God’s will, because the Lord spoke to them – just like Saul and Samuel. But as mortals, loving our neighbor looks the same. Every human is someone’s neighbor. We need to love them all. I believe that second commandment is the safeguard against Saul- and Samuel-like disagreements. We can get that wrong and believe we’re doing God’s will. But I’m not sure there can be genuine disagreement if we all genuinely loved our neighbor.

Jul 7 2019 Romans 5: 1-11

[W]e also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.
Again with the suffering. It’s interesting. I think we see or gravitate to the portions of scripture that resonate where we are when we read it The psalm today talked about God’s might and power, about our righteous fear of God, of worship, gratitude and praise. The Gospel is a pithy parable of the wedding banquet. On another day, any one of those themes would have bene where I gravitate, but this morning, it’s suffering.

There is a lot of suffering in my world now. As I sit in Manhattan, for the first time away in years, there’s a little distance between me and my personal drama; my biggest challenge is to finish this up in time to get off to Trinity for church. So maybe I’ve moved on to the endurance. Distance from suffering, either time or space, helps me realize that I can truly endure. In fact, what’s the option?

But while I have a little distance, my sick love one doesn’t. They have distance from us, as they’re visiting family. But the family doesn’t believe they’re sick The first night away, our loved one texted us that it was horrible but they’d stay. That was hard for us, since we hadn’t actually left. Our loved one also called at midnight, and didn’t leave a message. Did we need to do something about that?

With their current ability to communicate cogently, I’ve no idea what really was at issue. Maybe nothing more than fear of the unfamiliar. Or for as testy as they’ve been at our home, it wasn’t so bad. Or maybe… Again, we have no idea. Our hope is that they’re reconnecting with family, their family is developing a greater sense of their challenges, and we’re all developing a wider network of care.

But regardless of the long-term benefit of this visit, it’s absolutely safe to say the suffering remains with our loved one. They cannot escape their own thoughts and senses, which have betrayed them. And with an incredible lack of insight, cannot even see that there’s any illness at all. It’s impossible to name, and impossible to escape. All they know is that something’s not the same, and nothing seems to make it better.

This morning, I will relish in my distance from suffering. I will be grateful for that distance that produces a sense of endurance. I will try to turn the corner on character. I will try to figure out how to hold on to that understanding when I physically return to my loved one, who continues to suffer. Finally, I will try to remember that while I have the luxury of escape, they do not. For as hard as this is for me, it’s harder for them and ever-present. I will try to be kind and patient, because this has to absolutely suck for them.

And me? I went to a store that sold nothing but dozens of kinds of rice pudding last night. Paul should have added something about rice pudding in his list. Suffering produces a desire for distance. Suffering creates the urgency for a vacation. Vacation gives you rice pudding.

Jul 6 2019 Luke 23: 32-43

He replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

Jesus is hanging, dying on the cross. He’s hanging between two criminals. One of them is mocking him – if you’re so great, save yourself. But the other criminal suggests that the two are being condemned and sentenced to death for what they actually did, whereas Jesus, he explains did nothing to warrant this torture and execution. He asks Jesus to remember him, when Jesus gets to his Kingdom. Jesus responds that today, that criminal will be with him in paradise.

Even hanging to die, Jesus shows compassion for his fellow condemned. You will be with me in paradise. These men probably did something much more violent than being an enemy of the state and church. Instead of judging that he was better than these common criminals, Jesus explains they’ll be with him.

Instead of mollifying his own right-ness, or his exceptional-ness, Jesus takes this opportunity to be incredibly empathetic – to feel what they’re feeling, and to share a vision of God’s love and paradise. He gives them comfort and puts them on par with him – we will all go to paradise today.

Tonight I’m wondering why I ever need to appear better or more right. I’m struck by Jesus’ complete lack of self-needs, but rather his ultimate self-giving-ness. What an amazing and instant way to show God’s love, to be kind and empathetic when it’s least expected

Jul 5 2019 Acts 8:1-9

"Who are you, Lord?" The reply came, "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting…”

This morning, we read about Saul’s blinding, the beginning of his conversion story. Saul was there when Stephen, the first named deacon, was stoned to death. Here, Saul, watch my coat while I throw rocks at this deacon until he’s dead. Oh, ok. Whether he threw a stone or not, Saul was there, complicit in this and other crimes. In today’s reading, Saul’s on his way to Damascus to search for and bring back by force other Jesus followers. On his way, he sees a blinding light, and hears a voice. In his blinded state, he asks who are you? The response, I am Jesus whom you are persecuting. Saul continues on his way and for three days is blind, awaiting what’s next in this odd story. And so today’s reading ends.

At this point in Jesus’ life and death, Jesus is in fact, dead, risen and ascended. His mortal presence on Earth has ceased. Except here is Saul hearing the voice of Jesus. This has me thinking. Saul has been a good and faithful Jew; he was a pharisee. Pharisees were devout and observant Jews; there’s nothing wrong with that. He believed he was carrying out God’s will, by cleansing the world of these new alleged God followers, who also talked about Jesus. God is God. One God. Not God and Jesus. I can absolutely understand how and why Saul was a part of the thinking that these Jesus followers were wrong; it was so inconsistent with the Pharisees’ understanding of God.

But I can’t get on board with the complicit part in the stoning of Stephen and murderous thoughts about other Jesus followers. Obviously, a loving God wouldn’t have condoned that. So even if the Pharisees were speaking against Jesus-followers, murderous plots and exterminating them couldn’t have been part of God’s plan.

But Saul was on that murderous path, when Jesus speaks to him and asks why he’s persecuting him. It’s interesting that Jesus is not physically around at this time, and yet Jesus’ words are that Saul is persecuting Jesus himself. Not persecuting other Jesus followers.

By persecuting these other people, Saul was persecuting Jesus.

By our persecuting others, we are persecuting Jesus. By our ill will of others, we have ill will of Jesus. By our carrying out capital punishment of others, we are carrying out capital punishment on Jesus. Why do you persecute me?

This morning, I’m thinking about Jesus speaking to Saul. Saul who was holding the coats of the men who executed Stephen, who was heading to Damascus still ‘breathing threats and murder’ against Jesus-followers. And Jesus, who’s been executed himself, rose from the grave and ascended to God. If the God-incarnate Jesus can make himself known to Saul, of course God-incarnate can make himself known to me. If God-incarnate can remind Saul that persecution of others is persecution of God-incarnate, then of course God-incarnate can remind me of that as well.

It’s a dramatic conversion – that Saul had to be blinded and hear Jesus’ voice. I wonder and hope that I’m attentive enough to hear Jesus’ voice and see his hand in my world. To hear Jesus remind me that ‘when you do this to the least of these, you do it to me’. I pray I’m not already blinded or deaf enough that I need this dramatic of a reminder of God’s providence in my world. Today, I pray that I hear Jesus voice asking, “Why do you persecute me?”

Jul 4 2019 Ecclesiasticus 10: 1-8 Independence Day

Human success is in the hand of the Lord, and it is he who confers honor upon the lawgiver.

What an interesting time and day to be commemorating. As a faith tradition rooted in England, Independence Day was a quagmire of conflicted thoughts and opinions. The early colonists started as subjects of England, and brought with them their Anglican faith. When independence was looming, those in the Church had to figure out how to be Anglican, while declaring independence from Anglican. Two-thirds of the signers of the Declaration of Independence were nominally Anglican, a church where the monarch of England was the head of the Church, so the struggle was real. When those early Anglicans figured out how to hold on to the faith and theology to which they ascribed, and still support independence from England, that was worthy of celebration. As a result, Independence Day remains in the Episcopal prayer book as an official feast day. Many Episcopal Churches have American flags, right next to the Episcopal flag in the church. And many shudder at the notion.

So today, 243 years after that Declaration, we are conflicted by this feast day. Yes, we will take the opportunity to grill out, and find fireworks, but that’s about all the celebrating we do. Politics are complicated, the flag is now seen by some as a symbol or icon of something ugly and very different than what it originally signaled. So Independence Day becomes a day where some rail against the government, the politics, and all the flag has come to symbolize.

But to me, that feels like throwing the baby out with the bathwater. And it presumes that the we are the saviors of this nation. The appointed readings for Independence Day clearly point to God being in charge, not us – even in political settings. God overthrows the unrighteous. God plucks up the roots of nations, and plants the humble. God removes some of the nations and erases them from human memory. This sovereign God rant concludes with the admonition that Pride and violent anger were not created for human beings. I’m not suggesting we cannot be angry, but ultimately it’s God that will resolve any national drama, not mortals.

Early US political and church leaders understood this. The Declaration of Independence is full of reference and deference to God as the ultimate creator and keeper of the peace. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,”. We’re familiar with that clause, but the next part of that same sentence continues, “that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights”. It is God who provides unalienable rights. The Declaration concludes, “And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

Divine Providence. Capitalized in the Declaration of Independence. Our nation was founded on a clear understanding and acknowledgment of God’s supreme authority and loving-kindness on this nation, and all of us in it. And while the nation is different than it was, the political leaders are different – everything is different, I’m not sure that means it’s all worse. I don’t know why we’d dismiss the good, because of the bad. If that was God’s way, wouldn’t we all be dismissed, because of our bad bits?

This morning, I’m thinking about Independence Day. About being grateful for what the early leaders of this country intended. Clearly there are places we aren’t living out that vision – for example, all men are still not equal. And the flag is sometimes flown in grotesque settings – at violent protests, at hate rallies. 

But I won’t allow others to steal my sense of honor and gratitude at the original intent and meaning, and the wise deference to God as the ultimate adjudicator and overseer. Where we’ve strayed from that early vision of this country, today I will hand that over to God to sort out, and instead celebrate the good.

Jul 3 2019 Acts 8:14-25

But Peter said to him, "May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain God's gift with money!

We pick up the story of the early disciples, after Jesus has died. I can imagine they’re still trying to figure out what it means to be followers of Jesus Christ, without Jesus Christ still there – sort of like us.

Peter and John are off in Samaria, an area formerly one of the many enemies of Israel. But now, word is that the Samaritans have accepted the word of God, so now Peter and John head there to pray. When they lay hands on the locals, they receive the Holy Spirit. A man named Simon watches this and offers them silver, so that he too might be given power. They rebuke him, upset that Simon thought he could obtain God’s gift with money.

There are a couple of parts of this that make me want to explore further. First, Simon wasn’t asking for anything worldly, or horrible. He offered to pay for the power to do the same thing as Peter and John – that when he laid his hands on someone, they would receive the Spirit. Was he offering to pay for a gift he wanted to receive – the gift of receiving that power? Or was he offering to pay so he could give that gift away – laying on of hands and giving others the Holy Spirit? It seems to me that the two are conflated in this story. Simon’s request was for him to receive something to allow him to give something.

His motives are good – he wanted to offer the Holy Spirit to others. But he’s made God’s gift transactional – I give you money, you give me this ability to share God’s spirit. We are such a transactional culture – in our love, vocation, gift giving. Because of that, I think this is a really really hard message to unpack.

Maybe this is about decoupling these two things. I give you something, you give me something in return. No. Instead, God’s gifts and grace happen are given, regardless of our gifts. To presume it’s conditional on our offering sets up the second thing I’m thinking about.

While we hear that God’s gift and grace are freely given, not contingent on our offering, we because we’re in a transactional society, and we need money to pay bills, the Church can sometimes unintentionally buy into the transactional nature of God’s grace. I have been in meetings of a church governing body, where the discussion was whether we should do some building-related beautification, versus some outreach in the community to share God’s love. The money was there to do one, but not both. Alas, the people who’d given the money to the church expected the beautification. If I give you silver, will you beautify the building? The answer was yes. So for very practical reasons, like paying the light bill, church leaders allow silver gifts to influence the sharing of God’s gifts.

This is not only bad for the church, but it’s also bad for the people who offer silver in return for a transactional experience of God’s grace. It allows people to create a mental hierarchy of God’s love and gifts. I give more, I get more. Those people give less – or not at all, so they get less of God’s love and gifts.

This morning I’m thinking about how we decouple money and God’s gifts. If only we could believe and convince others to believe that if they are at all coupled, it’s the gifts from God that come first. In return for the good graces I’ve received, I offer a small portion of them back to God. If I’ve received more graces and gifts from God, I offer more of that. Yes, the church needs money to operate. But what if we actually said to the entitled transactional faithful that their silver will perish with them, because they thought they could obtain God’s gift with money?

Jul 2 2019 James 2: 14-18 – Commemoration of Walter Rauschenbusch

If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?

Walter Rauschenbusch was a Baptist pastor, who died July 2, 1918. He was a key figure in the early social justice movements. Where many had argued that heaven was that place far away, he argued that it wasn’t a matter of “getting individuals to heaven but transforming life on earth into the harmony of heaven.” Yes! He further wrote that “Whoever uncouples the religious and the social life has not understood Jesus”. Yes!

Also very compelling to me was his identification of six social sins – long before Gandhi’s social sins. Rauschenbusch’s writings actually influenced Gandhi. His social sins include

• Religious bigotry
• Combination of graft (corruption or bribery) and political power
• Corruption of Justice
• Mob spirit and mob action
• Militarism
• Class contempt

Yes! Yes! Yes!

What a convicting and relevant list this is to us today. It seems that we currently struggle with each of these, to some extent. It’s interesting that the reading appointed for this commemoration is James talking about faith without works. Yes! We need to have faith, absolutely. But we need to do something with that faith.

Of Rauschenbusch’s sins, the two that speak to me this morning are class contempt and mob spirit. In the US, we’re often quick to scoff at the India Caste system, where there is a strict code of access and privilege based on birth into one social class or another. But we have the same thing here – we just don’t call it a caste system. But here, absolutely, people are destined to certain jobs, status, and stereotypes, based on their class. Whether it’s white trash, ghettos, barrios, or immigrant hovels, we absolutely hold tightly to class contempt. It’s more hidden, and more insidious.

The other troubling sin is that of mob spirit and mob action. How easy it is to join the swell of _____ism in our society. Left to stand on our own, I believe people wouldn’t behave quite as badly as they do when they’re gathered with others. It’s easy to get swept up into political wrong-headed fervor, when surrounded by others who agree. To a large degree, I’d argue that mob spirit may be at the root of much of the class contempt.

It seems to me that social media has exacerbated both of these socials sins – class contempt and mob action – particularly mob action. It doesn’t take long to find like-minded angry mobs online – whether it’s a twitter storm or a facebook group. We choose to surround ourselves with people who agree, and soon we’re swept up in mob-mentality. It’s not innocent or anonymous. People are hurt. Mean things are said. Our own souls are incrementally deadened.

This morning I’m thinking about how use social media to help transform this life into the harmony of heaven, through my faith, coupled with action. Maybe it’s refraining from mob mentality online. Maybe it’s calling out the other social sins that we see online. People, I believe, don’t intend to be hurtful, but genuinely get swept up in mob thought and action. Maybe the action called for by people of faith is to name it, stop participating in it everywhere online, and help others to see the social sins that we perpetuate with online group think. Even when we think our political or social perspective is right, we should not show contempt, or get wrapped up in the mob mentality. As a person of faith, that will be my action.