May 30 2020 Ephesians 6:10-24

Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

This little passage precedes a more familiar passage from Ephesians that outlines the whole armor of God, with the belt of truth and breastplate of truth. But this little passage has helped me more than any breastplate. Having done all, stand. 

When I’ve done what I can, whether it’s with my mentally ill stalker or my sick loved one, when I’ve done all, stand. 

Standing isn’t passive. It’s a strong stance. It requires stamina, and resolve. There have been times I’ve wanted to run, or argue, or reiterate, or give in. The stronger, better action frequently is to stand. I imagine a snag in a fast moving creek. To stay in one place in the midst of the current takes strength. How much easier to go with the flow, literally. 

Now, in addition to fighting with this pandemic and the economic outfall, our country is flaring up with insidious, ever-present racial tensions. With a brown child, and previous work for the police, I know this is not an issue conveniently attributed to black vs. blue; it’s about all of us. 

I know it’s wrong to judge, or hire, or sentence, or go to the other side of the street because of the color of someone’s skin. I know it’s wrong to be complicit in systems that have perpetuated racism. I know it’s wrong to set fire to people’s offices, and smash property. I know it’s wrong to be angry at one segment of our population, whether it’s because of the color of their skin, or the color of their uniform. I know I’m the product of white privilege. 

And having said all that, I also know I don’t know what I can personally do. Maybe it’s back to my trusty phrase from Ephesians. To stand. 

I’m imagining MLK marching. He didn’t back down. He didn’t shy away from the front lines. He preached the Gospel in very public settings, without ever saying God or Jesus, but he spoke with a moral authority that was undeniable. Many others stood with him. They stood in the face of racism and violence. I’m also thinking about Gandhi, who peacefully stood in the face of racism. With his peaceful protests, with his refusal to exact justice himself, he disarmed many of his opponents, simply by his willingness to stand. 

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. But I know this has to stop. And I am incredibly stubborn, just like that branch in the stream. Just stand. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the power of standing. Standing in solidarity. Standing between peaceful and violent protests. Taking a stand. Preaching the Gospel with the moral authority that only comes from God. I do not want to be a part of angry rallies, or marches, or other things that provoke more violence and hatred. I want this to stop. Maybe the way is to stop the actions and counter-actions, and to stop the motion and commotion. Maybe we need to be witnesses of God’s love in all the scary and scared places. Maybe we need to stand. 

May 28 2020 Ephesians 4:17-32

Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear. 

As we continue to live with this pandemic, we are increasingly socially isolated. Instead of meeting in person, we meet virtually. Instead of worshiping together, we watch a service, or listen to a reflection. And when we are finally able to meet in person, when it’s time to pass the peace at church, we will no longer hug, but we’ll bow or wave. I wonder what impact this has had on our collective lives together, or what lasting impact it will have. 

I’ve heard that it’s easier for people to be nasty, and say mean things on social media, than in person. For some time, I’ve carefully moderated whose voices I listen to, screening out too much negativity. But it seems there’s more of it now. Maybe it’s because we’re socially isolated, and lash out. Maybe it’s because we have the safety of social media. And maybe it’s because there’s really more to be angry and upset about, whether it’s another black man murdered by the police, or the economic impact of the pandemic response. It seems to me now is the time for all of us to be exceedingly careful about what we listen to, and what we expose ourselves to. Regardless of what evil others want to spew, I don’t need to hear it. 

And likewise, I need to be even more vigilant about what comes out of my mouth. I’m not likely to post anything negative, but I can have a sharp tongue, and have said unkind things. There is never a positive outcome from saying negative things. Even if I’m upset with something someone did, I can figure out a way to speak that’s missing all of the petty, gossipy tone. 

This morning, I’m thinking about giving grace to all who hear whatever I say. I want to imagine that my words can build up others; as long as I’m not tearing anyone down, my words can build up others, can give grace to others. If I’ve got a dark cloud in my head or soul, why would I ever need to share that darkness with anyone else? There’s enough of that already in the world. Today, I want to imagine my words give grace to those around me – every time I open my mouth. 

May 27, 2020 Ephesians 4:1-16

There is one body and one Spirit . . . one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all. 

One body. One spirit. One Lord. One faith. One baptism. One God. This seems pretty clear to me. We, in the Christian tradition are bound together in one. I might even go so far as to say we are bound to all children of One God, whether they call that one God Allah, or YHWH. One God. One body. One Faith. Of course, people who aren’t Christian aren’t united in one baptism. But I’m reminded of a saying from Episcopal Bishop John Spong, who wrote, “God is not a Christian, God is not a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Hindu, or a Buddhist. All of those are human systems which human beings have created to try to help us walk into the mystery of God. I honor my tradition, I walk through my tradition, but I don't think my tradition defines God, I think it only points me to God.”

Perhaps I ascribe to a liberal bent of what God is, but I genuinely believe the best we can do is create a framework to contain the uncontainable, and understand the incomprehensible. I genuinely believe God is God. One God. One Spirit. One Body, regardless of how we have contextualized our understanding of God. I cannot know my understanding of God is right, any more than a devout, loving Muslim or Jew can know their understanding of God is right. It wouldn’t bother me if loving Jews thought I had it all wrong, but I certainly wouldn’t begin to suggest they do either. I know my understanding is right for me, and today, that’s all I need. 

But even holding aside the issue of different faiths, I’d argue  within our Christian faith, we struggle with being one Body, and understanding One Lord. Different denominations worship differently. Some are comfortable to me, some are not. But again, I don’t think one is right, or more right. One just speaks to my soul more, because of my human lived experience. 

Beyond worship style, we Christians have deep divisions that I feel keep us from actually being One Body. If I genuinely believe we are one body, and that there is one God, I cannot concurrently say anything that puts conditions or caveats on that. We are all one body, if we all believe in X or Y. There is one God, and if you don’t ascribe to my understanding of that God, you aren’t in my understanding of One Body. Who are we to decide who’s in or out?  

There is a human need for belonging. We create systems around us and treasure our sense of one-ness with others in that system. But by definition, a group not only defines who’s in, it defines who’s out. I think we do this for prehistoric safety. We were safe in our caves with our people, but we weren’t so safe when we left our group, or when strangers came to our group. 

Maybe that’s what creates such deeply held beliefs about and held by Christians. I’ve been in groups with loving, liberal Christians who had horrible things to say about the 1%. I’ve been at places with loving, conservative Christians who had horrible things to say about LGBTQ. But if, as Christians, we believe in One God, One Body, and One Spirit, I don’t understand how loving Christians can define their God as excluding or not loving anyone. 

This morning, I’m thinking about wealth, sexual preference, worship style and politics. Today, I want to think about One God, that includes and loves all. If I’m a part of that One Body, I want to do everything I can to assure that all members of the One Body know there is One God. There’s room at the table for us all.

May 26 2020 Matthew 8: 18-27

‘Lord, save us! We are perishing!’ 

Jesus has been teaching his disciples about the fact that Jesus didn’t have a place to lay his head, and that the dead should bury the dead. From this brief paragraph, we learn that being a disciple of Jesus wasn’t easy. There’d be times of feeling nomadic, and times when God needed to be put ahead of familial obligations. Both of these run counter to our Western values and priorities. We’re trained to set down roots, to buy a house, to make a home. And we’re taught that family is of utmost importance. 

As I was starting the discernment process to get ordained, I knew I was going to have a conflict between family priorities and God. My husband doesn’t regularly attend church – maybe once a year. And my kids had been attending church with me since they were baptized. When I was ordained, and had to work Sunday mornings, what would happen to the commitment I’d made to raise my kids in the Church? Would they stop attending? Did they need to show up as early as I did and stay as late? I was absolutely torn both because of the sense that I owed my presence to my kids, and because I’d made a covenant with God at their baptism about my responsibilities in raising them. It turns out, this is just one of the instances where my contrived conflict failed to materialize. It worked out just fine, in part because of the kids’ friends, my husband’s willingness to support me, and the time that passed before I was ordained and had to face these problems. Poof. Gone. 

The struggle is real, especially when we’re torn between two things we think God is calling us to do. It is now, and it was for the disciples. I don’t have an answer for that, except to say that things tend to work out better when we don’t impose and imagine problems, but at the moment, in prayer, follow God’s call. 

So after Jesus gives the disciples this sobering truth about the cost of discipleship, he and his disciples get in a boat to cross to the other side. He falls asleep, the storm arises, and they wake him, fearful of the storm. He asks, “Why are you afraid”? Um, because we followed you into this boat, despite the high costs you’ve outlined, and because we’re in a little boat, you’re the guy in charge, and you were sleeping. I’ve been in big boats during storms, and it’s frightening; you quickly get a sense of the power of the sea, the vastness of the sea, and the mystery of the sea. I can imagine that’s multiplied a hundred fold in a small boat. 

That feels like life, sometimes, doesn’t it?  Life comes crashing down, immense, powerful, mysterious. My reaction on a bad day is to presume all is lost, or that I’ll need to single-handedly pull things together. As it turns out, I don’t need to do it on my own. So on a mediocre day, I have the foresight to realize I’m not alone, and I might sound just like the disciples. Lord, save me! At least I turned to God on those days. 

On really good days, however, I don’t feel tossed by the waves. I know that God’s got me. I stand there on the front of the boat like Kate Winslet in the Titanic, laughing at the spray. 

This morning, I’m thinking about aiming for a mediocre response. As opposed to feeling self-reliant as I’m tossed and turned, I want to sound more like the disciples. I want to remember Jesus is in the boat, even if it seems he’s asleep. I want to cry out, ‘Lord save me’, more than I do. I don’t need to be entirely altruistic, only praying for others. I don’t need to be stupidly self-reliant. At least if I call out to Jesus at moments like that, what I’ll hear is, “why are you afraid?”  I’ll be in dialogue with God, rather than a monologue with myself. 

May 23 - Mental Health Awareness Month

After a tumultuous few days, our daughter asked to produce another video for Mental Health Awareness Month.  Again, so proud of her.  This time, she provides contact information for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, at 1-800-278-8255. 

Enjoy. 

https://youtu.be/FZ4crJ7QiYg 

May 22 2020 Ephesians 2:1-10

But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us … made us alive together with Christ



What a difference a few hours makes in my world. After the sadness that stemmed from my loved one’s “Get Out” post, things turned around yesterday. Sort of.

Again, after about 5 days of not communicating, not smiling, not even looking at us, yesterday, our loved one came out of the ‘episode’, and asked again if we were going to make a video for mental health awareness month. They were a little flatter in affect, still no eye contact, and it felt to me a little more frail. But they’d surfaced. They returned to some normal behavior during the day, including asking to be accompanied to the grocery store, and then buying mostly good food, and getting back on lengthy calls with a few long distance friends they’d met through social media.

As fleeting as the manic good mood was of a week ago, so was the deep funk of this pat week. Yesterday, they were able to look back on the darkness and with some clarity about it. To be clear, things were not normal yesterday. But boy howdy, they were better. And to be clear, that isn’t indication of a linear improvement. And by the end of the day, they'd again decided they didn't want to a video with me. But perhaps it was building our capacity to deal with the ups and downs of mood disorders, partnered with the brain dysfunction. Practice makes perfect? Or at least better.

By the end of they day, they were outside on the patio happily talking loudly to no one in particular wrapped in a blanket. Talking about social media hashtags. At one point, they’d struck up a conversation with a couple walking by, and they were charming and asked their names, and when they left, said farewell to these new friends by name. I know this is how it went down because we could hear the past 30 minutes of talk, from inside upstairs. Did I mention they were loud?

I’m not one to cry out, with my hands in the air, that “it’s a miracle”. And I don’t think my loved one was cured. Yesterday, I read that Paul was attributing to the devil some pretty nasty stuff, but that God can beat the devil. I believe that. And as I mentioned I struggled with what does it look like for God to beat Schizophrenia. Paul continues today, explaining that God makes us alive together in Christ. Maybe that’s what was missing in yesterday’s reading, the together part. Whether it’s together in prayer (thanks to everyone for their prayers and supportive comments), or just a sense of being in community in the midst of this illness and stupid pandemic, this morning is way better.

I attribute all of this to God’s love and grace. My loved one has a brief reprieve from their darkness. I have a reprieve from my funk. I find something to hold on to in this morning’s readings. And in addition to God’s grace, I attribute this change to the ‘together’ notion mentioned by Paul this morning. We are made alive together. Not by myself, willing things to be better. But together, with all of the communities in which we find ourselves.

This morning I’m thinking about how grateful I am to again be reminded that we are, indeed, all in this together. We cannot survive as a lone ranger. It’s dumb to act as if we are, because we are never alone. Or at least we should know that God’s put us in community for a reason. God made us alive together, with Christ.

May 21 2020 Hebrews 2: 5-18

[T]hrough death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and

free those who all their lives were held in slavery

A few weeks ago, my sick loved one and I made a video where they explained what it was like to have a mind disorganized by schizophrenia. Over 1000 people viewed the video, with mostly positive comments. It was a wonderful time, and my husband and I used this great time to talk further with them about how we might help in the future. A week ago, we were going to make another video, possibly focusing on what it was like to have the voices, and how they interacted and affected our loved one. 

But unfortunately this disease does not move in a linear fashion. The next day, they were clearly being tormented by those very voices that just the day before were comforting. It’s been five days, and they continue to be having an “episode” as they referred to it. We’ve shared few more than a dozen words, always contentious, or dismissed. I heard from a mutual friend that they shared on their social media a message that they were their ex’s devils, and more heartbreaking two word post. “Get out”. 

So when Paul talks about freeing us from the devil, I want that. Now. Not for me, but for my loved one. Now. In the course of 10 days, we are in an entirely different place as a family, and even more critical, they are in a more critical place as a person. 

When people saw the upbeat video, I heard many congratulations. Great job. Glad you’re doing so well. Knowing the trajectory of this illness, I knew it was not likely a forever space. And now that the moment is gone, I mourn. 

Back to Paul. Later in this same passage, Paul writes that because Jesus was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested. I definitely feel tested, as I fret and watch my loved one suffer. I fully believe my faith in God lightens my burden a little bit. I believe tonight will come, and I will have done my best. And there will be things to be grateful for. Jesus, because of his suffering, is able to help me. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what it looks like for Jesus to help the suffering of my sick loved one. They are definitely being tested, and absolutely feeling the presence of the devil. I don’t know if in their scattered and dark brain, if they can sense God’s presence. 

I believe God can defeat the devil. I believe God can defeat all powers of darkness. But to be honest, I’m not sure about schizophrenia. I don’t know what it looks like for God to defeat schizophrenia. 

May 18 2020 Matthew 13:1-16

A sower went out to sow.

Today’s appointed reading from the Gospels is Jesus’ parable about the man planting seeds. Some seeds land on rocky soil, some fell where a bird promptly ate the seeds, other seeds met unfortunate demise, and some lucky seeds sprouted, rooted, and grew undisturbed to result in a harvest. 

This is a poignant story for me this year. After two summers in a gardenless apartment, I have a yard. It’s not a large yard, more like a city lot. But it’s green, and the previous owners clearly were gardeners. And for the preceding five summers, we lived on an acreage that produced great food crops, and had immense pink and purple rhododendrons that were nearly 20’ tall. I was not as engaged in that garden, as it felt too large; my efforts to plant, or weed, or prune, or tend seemed wasted, or at least out of scale to the need. 

So this year, I have a tidy, small city-lot garden. And this year, I have lots of time to plant, weed, prune and tend. I’ve bought a weeder, so I can go out and contemplatively weed. And I can see a difference, because the yard is tiny. I have new pruners, and I’ve been carefully taking off the old blooms of the iris, and deadheading the rhodies. It’s not a chore. It’s a brief respite outside. I’ve spent lots of time watching things grow, day by day. I’m home during the day, where I haven’t been – ever, or at least not since summer breaks in school days. I am feeling sentimental about things that grow. Or maybe just closer to them this year. And I like it. 

I, too, have planted things that have been ravaged by birds, or more likely squirrels. Things that have been burnt out  by sun, or choked out by weeds. When something takes root and thrives, it is truly a wonder-full thing. We’ve planted some beans and they’re unfurling their crumpled first leaves in little rows. It’s a little, persistent, magical miracle. 

If I can be this awed by Kentucky Blue beans, how much more should we be awed by God’s gift of faith. Yes, sometimes, my efforts at faith feel like the ill-sown seeds. But when it roots and grows, my faith is like a little, persistent, magical miracle. 

This morning, I’m thinking about all of the green and growing things around me. About what a miracle it is that seeds germinate, and the spectacular colors of the flowers around me. In these days when I’m home and can literally see things grow, I’d like to be reminded of Jesus’ parable about the sower. When I’m out tending, and watering, and pruning, I want to be as amazed at God’s grace and gift of faith.

There’s a lot to learn from the growing world around us. I want to pay attention to what they have to teach us about persistence, grace, and faith. 

May 17 2020 Luke 12:13-21

And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.

Jesus has just tried to explain that people need to be alert to all kinds of greed, for life doesn’t consist in an abundance of possessions. To illustrate the story he told the parable about the rich man who decides to build bigger barns to store his bigger excess of crops. The man, pleased with himself for being well prepared, rewards himself with the thought of relaxing, eating, drinking and being merry. 

That strategy was not to be a successful one, however. God calls the man a fool, and says that “this very night your life is being demanded of you”, and rhetorically asks whose will the treasures be then?  First of all, I’d be a little unnerved if none other than God called me a fool. That it was God who issued this condemnation tells me this is a very serious lesson that Jesus wants to teach. 

Obviously, we are not to hoard possessions. We do not need to build bigger barns or rent storage lockers to keep our excess. But we all do it, to some extent, don’t we? We want a bigger this, or more of that. My current vices are two-fold. I recently changed phone platforms so I could have a watch that connects better to some things that are important to me. That’s not necessarily the problem, but now that I’m in this new world, maybe I really need the next generation this, or better that. If my life were called in tonight, would it matter?  I have a phone and watch that do what I said I wanted them to do. That should be enough. 

My other current excess is in the world of my new home. It’s been some years since we had a tidy, city-lot house and yard. I’m nearly maniacal in weeding, pruning, tidying up outside. Perhaps it’s the forced time at home, but I do find myself dreaming up more and better and prettier things. Again, if my life were called in tonight, what would it matter?  I have a lovely absolutely sufficient abode. That should be enough. 

From this parable, I can imagine God calling me a fool for fretting over any of it. I should take heed. Today, I’ll try. 

And while it seems like this is clearly the point of this parable, I’m struck by what the man says. He says he’s going to eat, drink, be merry, and relax, because he’d prepared and all of his excess was to be stored. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the difference between relaxing and resting. This man says he’s going to relax, which after looking it up means to calm down, to be engaged in rejuvenating leisure. Relaxing is always something that starts awake, although some might fall asleep while relaxing. Resting, on the other hand, is to cease from doing. Cease from motion, work, action. Sabbath means rest. So to observe a holy sabbath is not about a leisurely Sunday drive, or a Saturday in the park. It means to stop doing. 

As someone who feels like I’m constantly moving and doing, the idea of a real 24 hour rest is nearly frightening. What? No mindless TV? Tidying? Trips to the store? Scrolling? Nope. To rest is to stop doing things. 

Sure, we all need to relax. But when was the last time any of us really rested? And while sleep is important, I think we have something to learn if we rested while awake. This week, I want to build some intentional rest time in to my week. I wonder what that will look like. 

May 16 2020 Martyrs of Sudan – Hebrews 10:32-39

Do not, therefore, abandon that confidence of yours; it brings a great reward. 

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I’m not going to pretend that I understand the complicated, commandeered and tragic story of Sudan’s governance. What I can say is that the country was divided up for political purposes, including the politics of various faith traditions, in a way that created increasing animosity between its people. There was a large fundamental Muslim contingent in the north, that was large enough to impose its fundamental understanding of Muslim law on the minority Christians in the south. 

Famine in the 1980’s heightened tensions, and civil war again broke out. Much of the fighting was in the name of Allah. I personally cannot imagine that Allah condones this, since Allah is only the translated name for God, that some children of Abraham use. In any case, four million people were displaced. A group of Episcopal and Roman Catholic clergy signed a declaration committing t’hat they would not abandon God, despite the plundering. Those who stayed in Sudan did not fare well. Two million were killed. That’s 2,000,000 people killed. 

I know that there was a crisis in Sudan, a famine in Sudan. I either didn’t know or didn’t grasp the extent of the man-made horrors. 2,000,000. 

It’s fascinating that one of the appointed reading for today is this bit from Hebrews. Do not abandon that confidence (in God). It brings great reward. It’s hard to imagine how rewarded the 2,000,000 felt. 

I suspect some think the reward is that they were able to meet Jesus. That seems wrong to me, sort of like people who tell a grieving parent that their child was needed in heaven. Um, no. 

Some may think the reward has to do with the resulting growth of the Church, which grew from 1.6 million to 11 million in 30 years. I don’t think people’s death is needed to grow an institution, even the church. 

So where’s the reward? Where’s the reward in suffering at all, or suffering explicitly for your faith? 

Although it does not compare to facing martyrdom, I’ve had a challenging year. My confidence in my faith doesn’t necessarily alleviate the suffering, but I do have  a deep sense that I am not alone. I don’t suffer in isolation. Jesus suffered, and through Jesus, God knows what human suffering is like, and through the Holy Spirit, God abides with me, knowing. This belief stems solely from a deep confidence. That does bring comfort. 

My confidence in faith also gives me a deep sense that my loved one is loved and comforted by God too. While their faith is not so deep, my faith assures me that through Jesus’ suffering, he knows. God knows. And through the Holy Spirit, God is with my loved one, and God is watching over us all. That my loved one is in God’s tender hands brings me comfort. 

For the martyrs of Sudan, I believe that their faith made them know they were loved, know God was with them, know All shall be well. Their faith made them know that their families, their country, their communities, were in God’s tender hands. Even in the midst of suffering – perhaps especially in the midst of suffering – faith in God brings deep comfort. 

And while I don’t think church growth is something to be comforted by, there is something about the legacy of the faith of those martyrs that could be counted as a reward. Today, 20 years later and half a world away, I’m writing about and inspired by their faith. Their commitment to their faith bolsters mine. 

This morning, I’m thinking about faith in the midst of suffering, and how the rewards are both to the sufferer and to unknown people who witness that faith. Today, I want to notice the faith of others, and let it wash me in a renewed sense of my own faith. 

May 15 2020 Commemoration of Pachomius Matthew 6:24-33

Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?

Pachomius was a fourth century monk in Egypt. He was the first to conceive and execute the idea of gathering the formerly solitary monks into a community, what we know as monasteries. His community followed a rule of life that stressed common life, common prayer and common work.

It wasn’t until I started the process to get ordained that I’d ever heard of the concept “Rule of Life”. We were expected to create one. How does one do that, when you don’t know what it is? A little internet research and questions to smarter people answered that. Basically, a rule of life is a commitment to live your days in a particular way. Currently there’s talk about morning routines, or miracle mornings. Add prayer and discernment to the process of creating a routine, and you’ve got a rule of life.

It is so easy to float through these days without purpose and without a plan. At the end of the day, it’s easy to wonder where the time went, even though I’ve got many hours ‘free’. It’s easy to look around my house and imagine what I need to be doing. Dust here, new pillows there. Perhaps a new porch. But I’m wondering if there’s something to be learned from those early communal monks.

They didn’t care about their environment, or their clothing. To be clear, I’m not suggesting they were without these temptations, but by virtue of their choices, they overcame them. They didn’t worry about what was for dinner, whether it was going to be tasty fancy. Unlike them, I’ve become incredibly focused on all sorts of things that don’t really matter. And at the same time, my focus has shifted from things I know that do matter. I believe I need to spend some time discerning a new rule of life.

For these pandemic times, it seems my rule of life needs to include something about moving my body or exercise. Maybe not at the gym, but regular, creaky-body-soothing movement. Daily. I need to return to daily morning reflection and writing. To be honest, it’s suffered at the expense of another value of mine which is sleep. I’ve had more 9+ hours of sleep in the past few months than in years. And I don’t want to lose that, so I need to make a commitment to sleep. And I need to spend time in silent, prayer time, not reading or writing, or reciting. Just communing.

Once I’ve figured out what I want to include in my rule of life, my next task will be to construct it – how often, how frequent, what time, what will be sacrificed to get this done (like mindless scrolling). Then I’ll write it out in my planner. A rule of life, I feel, will give me a little more structure in my day, and personal accountability for making it through my days. At the end of the day, I hope to be able to reflect and see shape, purpose, form, and a life lived according to what I genuinely value. Today, I’m thinking about creating a pandemic rule of life, to help guide and shape my otherwise formless hours.

May 13 2020 Commemoration of Frances Perkins – Ephesians 4:25-5:2

Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. 

Frances Perkins was the first female appointed to a presidential cabinet, serving as FDR’s Secretary of Labor. Her role meant she was instrumental in the creation of the New Deal. She tirelessly fought for injustices stemming from industrialization, and the recession. She also is known for having relied heavily on her faith and faith traditions to guide her work and strengthen her soul. Even in the midst of her busy world, she took time monthly to make a retreat at a local abbey.

As a fellow Episcopalian, female, and public servant for years, I’m intrigued by the role Perkins’ faith played in her work. Now that I work for the church, the connection between my faith and my job is easier to point to. And I do feel that my faith played a large part in my work as a public servant. While faith-in-action working directly for the Church is important, faith-in-action is critical for everyone who’s not working for the church. That’s how God’s good news is spread, by all of the faithful doctors, garbage men, public servants, and moms. The notion that there are jobs that don’t promote God’s kingdom makes no sense to me, if the job is held by a person of faith. There is always an opportunity to show God’s love, mercy, justice and grace.

I’m also intrigued this morning in the New Deal. It was a series of government programs designed to address poverty, unemployment, protect farms, and regulate the disparity between uber wealthy and everyone else. I wonder if there’s any such notion being contemplated, to help us out of the crushing impact of this pandemic.

The New Deal was exciting because it was comprehensive and because it implemented things that had never been done, and possibly not conceived before it was needed. What will faithful people imagine as we try to recover? Where will those conversations take place?

As we all try to figure out how to recover, my fear is that we’ll try to simply try to get back on the horse off of which we fell. We’ll seek to return to what was. And by doing that, we’ll significantly narrow our vision on the next New Deal. I am not suggesting that we’ll have a series of federal programs, although it’s possible. But I do think that we’d be better off spending some of this quiet separated time to think about what we really need. What do workers need? Employers? The church? I’m not at all sure that it’s what we had.

This morning, I’m thinking about my faith and my job, the New Deal, and how to dream and imagine a new future, rather than a hand-me-down past. I believe people of faith will need to bring the Good News of God’s love into every corner of our world, as we imagine what’s next. If we can do that, I believe we’ll be a little closer to God’s dream for us, rather than the nightmare we’re in. As we pray the Lord’s prayer, I hope to remember that I’ve got a role in “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven”. What’s your role?

May 9 2020 Matthew 5:38-48

For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?



Love your enemies. That’s what Jesus calls us to do. Not just love those who love us, or our family. There is no one beyond God’s love, and that’s our model. Love everyone. There is, or should be, no one beyond our love.

This is tricky stuff, loving our enemy. There are some people that are hard to love, even though we know they have been created to be who they are. I liken this to dogs that are bred to be mean, or are taught to fight. Pit bulls, Dobermans. These are not bad dogs. But they sure can be bred to be mean, unlovable fighting machines. Humans can be the same way. Addicts, who are fighting an incredibly powerful opioid. Homeless, who panhandle for whatever they can get. Empathetic people can find love for these children of God, because we see how they are maligned for things sometimes beyond their control. Or they’re blamed for being the cause societal ills, when they are more likely the result of societal ills.

There are others who are harder to love. The abuser, the racist, the murderer. Just yesterday, I saw that there is a group rallying behind the two white men who killed Ahmaud Arbery, the black man guilty of being black and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or what about those who are having corona parties, where they intentionally infect themselves and others, to get it over with? Or the politicians who seem hell-bent on putting money before humans?

I would argue that yes, Jesus calls us to love them. Maybe not like them, but love them. Loving someone doesn’t mean you have to love what they do, or what they believe, but that you care enough to find out their story. You empathize, or work to empathize, putting yourself in their shoes, trying to understand them.

Most abusers have been abused. Most racists were raised that way. I am certainly not suggesting their absolved of their current bad behavior. But I do think I’m called to understand their story, and love them as fellow children of God, even if I don’t like them or what they do. If I do any less, isn’t that just what Jesus is talking about? If I only love the people that are easy to love, or are a little stretch for me to love, how am I different from the racists? They love who they love, or who’s easy to love, and their love does not extend to Arbery. My love needs to extend to them, however unpalatable.

Yesterday, I posted a video interview of my loved one and me talking about their significant persistent mental illness. The response has been wonderful. And to be clear, this was an extremely rare moment of mutual insight, and is not indicative of permanent forward progress. This illness is incredibly persistent, and while there have been spectacular advances in our home world, we will return to harder times.

Loving the person beneath the illness is always possible, although not always easy. Sometimes the illness creates delusions that have landed us in hot water with adult protective services. Other times, it’s resulted in screaming tirades, or calls from the police. Last week, she told me I was her worst enemy. When she’s symptomatic, that’s when I’m most needed and called to love. I am not suggesting that she is ever my enemy, but sometimes the illness makes love nearly elusive. But I know she’s a beautiful, loved child of God, deep down.

This morning, I’m thinking about how even our mortal enemies are beloved children of God, despite whatever demons or behaviors or attitudes make them unlovable. We are called to see past the bravado, or behavior, or bias, to love the people inside. To do any less makes us just like them.

May 7 2020 Matthew 5: 21-26

But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgement


In the recounting of Jesus’ life in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus sounds a bit like a legalistic lawyer. That was likely who the writer was speaking to, and the perspective from which he saw things. But there’s a significant difference between the lawyers of the day and the way Matthew portrays Jesus.

Lawyers were, and continue to be good at looking at the letter of the law, and being sure that people are held accountable to those black and white expectations. This section of Matthew starts with, “You have heard it said you shall not murder”. Letter of the law. Do not murder. No one would argue with that. But Jesus goes a step further, and speaks to the intent, or the spirit of the law. Since he was able to sum all of the laws up in to the simple two-part law – Love God. Love your Neighbor – Jesus looks at the underlying reason murder would be a bad thing. Anger or hatred or non-love of your neighbor.

Jesus goes further, or maybe not further, but steps back behind the words and looks at the spirit. Do not murder, of course. But do not be angry. Do not make false accusations. Do not insult. All of these undergird the ultimate act of non-love – murder. Jesus is reminding the disciples that they are ultimately called to Love God. Love your Neighbor. Whatever gets in the way of that, that’s a problem you need to fix.

I am normally pretty good at going by the letter of the law. Over the years, I’ve developed a soft spot for not the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law. After working for the legislature, I know how hard it is to write laws that convey the spirit or intent. Someone smarter than the author can always find logical loophole that deconstructs everything intended. If only people could follow the intent of the law, and stop arguing about the letter. It’s not about murder. It’s about Love.

After nearly two full months in isolation, it’s hard not to overlay nearly everything with pandemic analogies. And here’s another.

We are at a place in Oregon where people are chomping at the bit to reopen, to see how we can return to normal, or kick start our economy, or return to corporate worship. The Governor has issued Executive Orders that are pretty clear about what can open, what has to close, and what needs to happen in order to open more. Except when you go through the Orders with the eye of a Pharisee.

Faith leaders from around the State have been gathering for phone calls with the Governor’s Office about how, when, and under what conditions churches and temples and mosques may expect to reopen, and what they’ll need to do to open safely. They’ve been struggling collectively with the intent of the Governor’s Orders. How do we provide spiritual leadership, guidance and comfort, while also absolutely protecting the safety of our communities? It’s tricky to legislate, for certain, and there have been many conversations that focus on the spirit of the law, while at the same time, people are asking for clarity around the letter of the law.

Meanwhile, one mainline faith leader has unilaterally decided to open, before the collective group had figured out how to do that. That leader is probably following the letter of the law. But not the spirit of the law. That leader, in an effort to gather the flock for all the right reasons, sounds like the people to whom Jesus is speaking in today’s reading. You’ve heard it said, thou shall not murder. But I say, do not be angry. Or in modern times, you’ve heard the Governor say no gatherings of more than 25, but I say, keep your communities safe, keep the rest of us safe, help us, please.

We’re at a time when everyone is getting stir-crazy, and looking for ways to be legally compliant with isolation regulations, while still getting some sunshine, exercise, making discretionary trips, supporting the economy, making money, gathering the flock.

This morning, I’m thinking about the spirit of the law, and how not much has changed in 2000 years. And yes, murder is bad. But the reason it’s bad is because it’s the ultimate of non-love. That’s why anger, insult, accusation, jealousy are also bad. Not that we are expected to never be angry, but we need to remember that all of these actions are counter to what we’re asked to do and be. Love God. Love your neighbor.

Likewise, opening one denomination of churches before the rest of the faith community has had a chance to stand together may be legalistically acceptable. And maybe some think it’s a way to show love for neighbor, but only some neighbors. Today, I want to continue to focus on the spirit of the law. I want to support the intent of our leaders who are trying to keep us safe, regardless of whether I could find a legalistic loophole to let me do what I want.

May 6 2020 Book of Common Prayer – Prayer for our Country

Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way.



In my faith tradition, we use a common prayer book. Some would argue that makes us stodgy, and as if we’re reading to God. I, on the other hand find it deeply comforting. I’m not quick on my feet, and have not exercised the muscles necessary for extemporaneous prayer, or praying on the spot. Having a book with prayers that reflect my sentiments is comforting, and allows my brain to focus on worship, rather than fretting about words.

I also appreciate a common prayer book because it unites people who otherwise wouldn’t be. In other traditions, I’ve seen leaders who pray a particular bent of politics, or social policies, and the congregation either gets in line behind the leader, or leaves. That’s great if there was any certainty that 1) the leader or their successor would always have the same political bent, or 2) my beliefs matched and were supported by the leader, or 3) I didn’t care about those who didn’t agree, and left.

I much prefer a middle-of-the-road approach that tries to focus on the Gospel, and loving God, while leaving space for both sides of a divided issue to stay in the room. I believe we are stronger when we can stand with our brothers and sisters who disagree with us, united in our love of God and love of neighbor, rather than self-selecting people who agree with me, and standing with them.

After having said all of that, I offer the prayer for our country as an example. There are parts of this prayer that come close to unnerving me, like defend our liberties. But I think my apprehension is simply the result of current political use of liberty, and images it brings to mind.

We pray for wisdom for our leaders. Regardless of what you think of our leaders, don’t they deserve our prayers? If not, aren’t I as bad as others who demonize the people I’m concerned about? The homeless and addicts?

This prayer concludes with something that I think is really important now. It asks for us to remember to be grateful during good times, and in bad times, save us from losing faith.

This morning, I’m thinking about the uniting force in commonly-said, carefully-constructed words. Yes, some of these words and prayers are constructed in syntax and with words we don’t use, like the word beseech. And yes, sometimes I trip over parts with which cause some angst. But I’d rather sit in unity with a community that otherwise wouldn’t be united. I’d rather let common prayers unite.

For our Country

Almighty God, who has given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech you that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of your favor and glad to do your will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion us into one united people. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in your Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to your law, we may show forth your praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in you to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

May 5 2020 Matthew 5:11-16

In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.


Jesus is wrapping up one of his top hits – the Sermon on the Mount. Blessed are the poor, those who hunger, the peacemakers. This is all language in the third person; Jesus is talking to a group of people, about other people, or at least impersonal others. But after he gets through this explanation of who’s blessed and why, he changes to tone, and starts talking to the group. You are the salt of the earth. You are light of the world.

I’ve always loved the Sermon on the Mount, also referred to as the Beatitudes. Jesus cares deeply about the hungry, poor, meek, or as some of alliterated, the least, the lost and the last. Reading these words of Jesus always stir something in me. This practice of morning prayer has given me the excuse to follow that curious thought, or niggling idea. It’s the positive version of a rabbit hole. And I’m delighted I did.

Yesterday, in morning prayer, we read about the Blesseds. . Blessed are the Poor. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness. Today we get the conclusion where Jesus is speaking directly to the group; the focus of his speaking has shifted and he’s getting personal. You are the salt. You are the light. He offers warnings about what happens when those attributes are not used. Salt that’s lost its taste is thrown out and trampled. A light isn’t put under a bushel. Jesus is saying that we are the salt and light, and we need to act like it.

Fr. Richard Rohr, Franciscan Mystic has a wonderful essay about being the light in the darkness. He wrote it shortly after 9/11, and in it he references liminal spaces. A liminal space is where we are between things, where what was is gone, and what’s coming has yet to arrive. Liminal space is uncomfortable, unknown and mostly undesirable; we’d much prefer the bright light of what was. But Rohr argues we have significantly less opportunity to grow and connect with the Holy in the bright light of what we’ve known. We have far too much certainty and self-assuredness.

He refers to liminal darkness, a place where we are stumbling a bit in the dark, because what was has fallen away, and what will be hasn’t yet arrived. As creatures of comfort, we rush to either place – anywhere but this uncertainty. We might even prefer what was, or blindly rush into something new – anything but this betwixt and between place. He argues that the place that was, our certain comfortable existence before we were plunged into uncertainty, was actually not a healthy spiritual place. We grow complacent, self-assured, and self-reliant, and actually lose the need for God, because we know more.

Like a city on a hill, God working in and through us shines a light in the darkness. We are that light. We do not have the ability to enlighten everything, but at least through our actions, we can be a beacon of light in the liminal darkness. We realize that we need God working through us to keep our salt salty, and our lamps lit.

We realize we need God, because we need to be content in that liminal space. In the Saturday after the Crucifixion. In the weeks after 9/11. In the time after a hard medical diagnosis. In the time during a pandemic. We can exist in that space not because it’s easy, or we like it. We can exist there because we have faith that something renewed and restored will come out the other end.

This morning, I’m thinking about the concept of liminal darkness, and how it feels like I’m there personally with uncertainties about my loved one, and it feels like I’m there, along with everyone else, because of the pandemic. I don’t want to return to the false certitude of before. I don’t want to rush towards the light at the end of this long tunnel. In God’s time, the light will emerge. I will strive to be content in the vast amount of unknown darkness, because of an even more vast faith in God’s providence.

May 3 2020 Mark 6:30-44

He said to them, ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.’

Jesus is urging his disciples to rest, as they’d been busy. So busy, Jesus says, that they didn’t have time to eat. And so they went away to rest. Unfortunately, the hoards saw them leaving by boat, and rushed ahead and met the boat, so when they landed at their deserted place to rest, it wasn’t deserted, and they couldn’t rest. Instead, they had to feed 5000. 

Here we are, in the midst of this pandemic. Parts of the country are beginning to open up, while other parts of the country and world are still seeing increases in cases.

For the most part, we are living in a deserted place. I’m not suggesting that this is the same as a relaxing day at the beach or spa. There are still demands on our lives, and the economy is struggling. But I’m wondering if we’re taking advantage of this forced deserted place. Or, are we setting ourselves up to be met on the other side of the lake by all of our previous demands and expectations.

Maybe we’re only like the disciples on the boat ride over to our not-really-deserted-place. Maybe when our economy opens back up, and we return to something that looks somewhat like January, we’ll be inundated by everything we left. Maybe the people will be there to meet our boat, and we won’t any rest, and instead have to feed 5000 ourselves.

So like the disciples, we are told to go rest. Maybe like the disciples we won’t get a chance when this is over. Maybe we don’t really even have a chance now, with finances, or work demands so weird that rest is unthinkable.

But maybe, like the disciples, we are in the boat. We left something crazy and busy, and are heading across to something we’d like to think is less busy. But we don’t know for sure what awaits us.

This morning, I’m thinking about the disciples on their way to their deserted place. I’m wondering if they realized that while they were in the boat, the were already in their deserted place. No one around, the work behind them, and yet to come. For those moments, they were in a deserted place, and there was no work to be done. They could rest. I wonder if they realized it? Or did the spend the boat ride thinking about how tired they were, or even dreaming about how wonderful their rest was going to be. In either case, they weren’t enjoying the ride, and the peace they had during the journey.

Today, I’m going to think about being in the boat, in the moment, in peace. However fleeting, this pandemic is causing moments where I can choose to rest and revive, or I can choose to worry about what was, or what will be. I want to find those moments in the boat, and rest.

May 1 2020 Job 23:1-12

‘If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.

Job is tested, through an unpleasant discussion between God and Satan, almost a wager. Go ahead, test him, but don’t harm him, God tells Satan. Job loses everything, his family, his wealth, his health. His friends taunt him, trying to prove to him that God couldn’t be loving, or couldn’t even exist, if God’s letting all this horrible stuff happen. Other than retaining his life, Job holds on to one thing. His faith.

It’s an interesting irony, that for Job to cry out that he cannot perceive God, that God’s not there, there’s an implicit and deep belief that God is.

There’s a phenomenon that happens with people of faith that some call the dark night of the soul. It’s that period of deep doubt, and darkness where God feels distant. Despite being such a beacon of light and God’s love, Mother Teresa experienced this sense of separation from God for years and years. Her personal writings were released after her death in a troubling book, Come be my Light. It recounts her deep sense of the absence of God. Looking at her life, you’d not know.

When all hell breaks loose, when God feels distant, when we doubt God’s providential love, it’s interesting that this is often when our faith shines through like a spotlight. I say that because to cry out to God, to wonder where God is in the midst of the storm or test, all of that demonstrates a deep faith that God is.

For me, when I see a beautiful mountain vista, or the dew on a new flower, or get a hug from my husband, it’s easy to praise God. Happy feelings equals gratitude for God. Beauty equals praise for creation. That’s not really faith, as much as it is acknowledging that God does equal goodness. I substitute God for my internal emotional response to good things. Commutative property. God=Good, therefore Good=God.

But when things are hard like they were for Job, when you see immense pain and suffering like Mother Teresa, you don’t have the luxury of that simple equation. Yes, God=Good. But if you don’t sense the Good, does that mean Not Good=No God? For these people of faith, the answer was no. They continued to pray, to believe in God, despite this equation being all messed up.

This morning, I’m thinking about how easy it is for us to unintentionally reduce God to an oversimplified algebra equation, and how easy it is to lose our faith, as a result. If we attribute only some of our life’s experiences to God, we risk not seeing God in the rest life. I am not suggesting that it’s easy to see God in the pain, or the loss. But to even acknowledge that God is there too is to break open that over-simplified God=Good thinking.

Today, I want to think about what my equation for God would be, if that’s even a thing. Yes, God=Good. But God is also in the void, the absence, the lonely, the dying, the pandemic affected. I want to be a person who behaves as if I believe God equals all. In everything I’m sensing, feeling, thinking, fearing, mourning, loving. God is.