God's Upside-Down Math - October 17

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 20, 21:1-7(8-14); PM Psalm 110:1-5(6-7), 116, 117; Ecclus. 3:17-31; Acts 28:17-31; Luke 9:37-50

Today’s Reflection

“The greater you are, the more you must humble yourself…. by the humble he is glorified.”

–Sirach 3: 18-20

The word “great” is used often in our cultural context. Personally, I think it is overused, as it is not a terribly specific or descriptive word. We say, “I had a great time,” or “That was a great meal,” or “I read a great book.” But what do we really mean by great? Oftentimes, it is used as a point of comparison. This meal was more delicious than any other meal I have had in a while. Or I learned more from reading this book than I have any other book I have read recently. Usually there is a better, more nuanced word that we could say to describe something’s quality, but great ends up being the default word for many of us. (Now that I have written this, I will need to be hypervigilant about how often I use this word—probably more often than I would like to admit.)

Or, on the societal level, we hear the word “great” used in reference to policies, people, and even whole nations. One dictionary says that great refers to largeness, predominance, or eminence—great refers to something “remarkable in magnitude, degree, or effectiveness” (Merriam-Webster). Likewise, greatness is defined there as “the quality or state of being great (as in size, skill, achievement, or power).” When we say a nation or a person is great, we often mean it in comparison with others. When a nation, a generation, or a person is considered a great one, is it meant that it is the greatest compared with all the others—or perhaps in comparison with its own history.

In Luke 9 (as well as in Mark 9), we hear of how Jesus’ disciples, when they were walking along the road to Capernaum, were arguing amongst themselves “as to which one of the them was the greatest.” In Mark’s account, when they arrive in Capernaum and Jesus asked them, “What were you discussing on the way?” the disciples “kept silent” because they were embarrassed—they did not want Jesus to know that they had been discussing their relative greatness. However, in Luke’s account, we learn that “Jesus, aware of their inner thoughts, took a little child and put it by his side, and said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes this child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me; for the least among you is the greatest.’”

Similarly, in our reading today from the wisdom book of Sirach (also known as Ecclesiasticus), we read this admonition: “My child, perform your tasks with humility; then you will be loved by those whom God accepts. The greater you are, the more you must humble yourself; so you will find favour in the sight of the Lord. For great is the might of the Lord; but by the humble he is glorified.”

In the kingdom of God, calculations of relative greatness and value are turned upside-down. In God’s way of doing the math, first will be last and last will be first. Those who think themselves greatest are least, and those who think of themselves as (or are thought of as) least are in fact greatest. In God’s way of calculating things, leadership comes not from wielding one’s great power or sense of self over others. Greatness is, instead, making oneself less.

By God’s measure, true greatness flows from living into a posture of humility and servanthood in relationship to those for whom one has been entrusted with responsibility or authority. As Jesus illustrated to his disciples that day, when we become as humble and vulnerable as a child—as someone who knows that they are still growing, developing, and learning—it is then that we are best able to glorify God.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When do you notice that it is most difficult to practice humility? When does it seem easiest?

Daily Challenge

Look for an opportunity to do something you do not feel confident doing—an activity you have little (or no) experience doing, or a reading about a subject about which you know very little (or nothing at all). How does this experience of being a novice at something help you to reconnect with a sense of humility?

Being Wise with Our Words - October 16

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 16, 17; PM Psalm 22; Ecclus. 1:1-10,18-27; Acts 28:1-16; Luke 9:28-36

Today’s Reflection

“They hold back their words until the right moment; then the lips of many tell of their good sense.”

–Ecclesiasticus 1:24

Earlier this month, Pope Francis released a long public letter (or an encyclical, as it’s called in Catholicism) that he titled Fratelli Tutti, which means “On Fraternity and Social Friendship.” Coming in at 73 pages in length (plus 20 pages of notes), it’s clear that Pope Francis believes this is a subject worthy of much reflection for Christians around the world.

Francis spends much of Fratelli Tutti reflecting on political and social charity as well as conflict and forgiveness, laying the foundation for what he calls “a better kind of politics” based on “dialogue and friendship in society.” As he observes, “Approaching, speaking, listening, looking at, coming to know and understand one another, and to find common ground: all these things are summed up in one word ‘dialogue.’ If we want to encounter and help one another, we have to dialogue. … Unlike disagreement and conflict, persistent and courageous dialogue does not make headlines, but quietly helps the world to live much better than we imagine.”

Francis’ focus on the need for what he names as “authentic social dialogue” strikes a chord with me not only because this is the subject I spent years exploring through my research and teaching, but also because of what we see unfolding around us in this most contentious of political seasons. If we are to have “generous encounter[s] with others,” Francis argues, we must strive to ensure “there is genuine dialogue and openness to others. Indeed, in a true spirit of dialogue, we grow in our ability to grasp the significance of what others say and do, even if we cannot accept it as our own conviction. In this way, it becomes possible to be frank and open about our beliefs, while continuing to discuss, to seek points of contact, and above all, to work and struggle together.”

In the field of rhetorical studies, we had a concept called “listening rhetoric” that sounds a lot like what Francis is describing. As Wayne Booth defined it, listening rhetoric encompasses “the whole range of communicative arts for reducing misunderstanding by paying full attention to opposing views.” In listening rhetoric, the point of exchanging ideas in dialogue is not to win the other person over to your own way of thinking. Rather, the point is to nurture mutual understanding—and reduce misunderstanding—for its own sake.

Our reading today from Ecclesiasticus (also known as the Book of Sirach), one of the apocryphal wisdom books included in the Septuagint, is written in praise of wisdom: “The root of wisdom—to whom has it been revealed? Her subtleties—who knows them?” Sirach tells us that it is the Lord who created wisdom, “he saw her and took her measure; he poured her out upon all his works… he lavished her upon those who love him.”

As Sirach continues to describe what wisdom looks like, once poured out into those who love the Lord, he moves into a consideration of the way that people who are wise are able to control their emotional responses as well as what words they choose to say and at what moment they choose to say them: “Unjust anger cannot be justified, for anger tips the scales to one’s ruin. Those who are patient stay calm until the right moment, and then cheerfulness comes back to them. They hold back their words until the right moment; then the lips of many tell of their good sense.”

As Christians, it is well that we reflect—especially amidst all the political and social conflict that has been so magnified in 2020—on what our responsibilities are as we participate in public discourse. Whether we are posting comments through social media, writing a letter to the editor, or engaging in personal conversations about current events, we have an obligation to conduct ourselves in a worthy manner, not just in what we say and how we say it, but also in how we listen and remain in dialogue with those with whom we disagree. As our bishops +Kee Sloan and +Glenda Curry emphasized in their word to the diocese earlier this week, we need to “remember who we are and whose we are.”

This Sunday morning, in our adult formation hour, we’ll be exploring this topic further as I will lead a class on “Speaking the Truth in Love: Following Christ in our Public Discourse.” I hope you will consider joining us, whether during the livestream from 9:00-9:50 am on YouTube, or by viewing the recording later whenever it is most convenient for you.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Do you tend to engage in or to avoid discussions about potentially contentious topics? What in your experience has led you to engage or avoid in this way?

Which topics of conversation make it most challenging for you to “stay calm… and hold back your words until the right moment”?

Daily Challenge

Seek out an op-ed column, a podcast, or a speech by someone who has a decidedly different viewpoint from your own and allow yourself to read it and digest it for what it is. Did you learn anything new about that person or their point of view?

Bread for the Journey - October 15

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 18:1-20; PM Psalm 18:21-50; Jonah 3:1-4:11; Acts 27:27-44; Luke 9:18-27

Today’s Reflection

As we’ve been continuing in the Acts of the Apostles the last few days, we have been following Paul and his traveling companions on a circuitous journey around the eastern Mediterranean Sea near Cyprus and Crete. Paul was trying to get to Rome, where he would make his appeal before the Emperor of the Roman Empire. In today’s passage, we find them “drifting across the sea of Adria,” which today we call the Adriatic Sea, the body of water that lies between the eastern coast of Italy and Albania, Bosnia, and Croatia.

Their voyage has not been without troubles. They have gone through storms, thrown cargo overboard to lighten the ship, and run aground. Now they are drifting in the Adriatic and looking for a place to let down their anchors and flee the boat for dry land.

For 14 days, due to the stress of the situation and limited resources, no one had been eating. Imagine going through all of this without food and drink to give them the energy to keep going, and how being hungry and weak would have heightened their feelings of desperation and impatience. So, when it’s time to drop anchor and finally get themselves off the ship, all of this has put the crew of the ship in mind to “kill the prisoners, so that none might swim away and escape.” Paul hasn’t helped the dynamic, stopping to give “I told you so” kind of speeches, reminding everyone how he had received a vision of what would happen but that they chose not to listen to him.

The journey has been long, confusing, and chaotic. All 276 people on the ship have been under stress. They are ready for this long, tumultuous journey to be over. In the hours Luke is describing here in Acts 27: 27-44, as the ship’s crew and passengers are looking toward getting off the ship and attempting once again to get themselves back on dry land, Paul takes a more pastoral stance. He acknowledges their collective hunger and their need for sustenance in order to make it through this trying time: “Just before daybreak, Paul urged all of them to take some food, saying, ‘Today is the fourteenth day that you have been in suspense and remaining without food, have eaten nothing. Therefore I urge you to take some food, for it will help you survive; for none of you will lose a hair from your heads.’ After he had said this, he took bread; and giving thanks to God in the presence of all, he broke it and began to eat. Then all of them were encouraged and took food for themselves (27: 33-36).

We, too, have been on an unexpectedly long and chaotic journey. All the twists and turns of the last seven months have made us stressed out. Often we find that we have less patience with one another. We miss the familiarity of being on solid, familiar ground together—and we are hungry to be in communion with one another again. The last time many congregations across the Episcopal Church, including Saint Stephen’s, took communion together as part of a Sunday worship service was back in early March. And it’s important to acknowledge that going that long without breaking bread together has taken its toll. We have felt isolated and so we feel a hunger to be back in communion together.

This Sunday will be the first time in about 227 days (or 32 weeks) that we will share communion together in the context of a worship service at Saint Stephen’s. It’s an important milestone to be able to come back together as the Body of Christ in this way. With Paul, we can acknowledge that this journey we are on is not nearly over—but we, too, can acknowledge that breaking bread together will help give us the strength and encouragement we need to keep pressing on through all of this in community with one another.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When you find yourself in stressful conditions and feeling impatient with others, what helps you to regain a sense of calm and be more at peace with yourself and those around you.

Daily Challenge

Look for an opportunity this week to offer sustenance to someone who needs some extra strength for their journey—maybe a phone call, a text, a handwritten note, or even a meal will help them get through their week with more of a sense of connection and hopefulness.

Praying in the Belly of a Fish - October 14

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:1-24; PM Psalm 12, 13, 14; Jonah 1:17-2:10; Acts 27:9-26; Luke 9:1-17

Today’s Reflection

When last we left Jonah, he was being thrown into the sea by shipmates who believed that the seas were stormy because Jonah had disobeyed God by sailing with them to Tarshish instead of going to Nineveh, where God wanted him to go. God wasn’t done with Jonah just yet, so he sent a large fish (some say a whale) to the scene at just the right time to rescue Jonah and thereby keep Jonah from drowning in the stormy sea. But Jonah doesn’t end up hitching a ride on the big fish’s back, holding onto its dorsal fin as it delivered him safely back to the shore. That would be too easy. No, Jonah gets swallowed up by the fish, where we are told he spent three days and three nights in its belly.

Of course, it doesn’t really seem possible for a person to live for 72 hours with no fresh air inside a whale’s stomach. But let’s think about what the story is telling us here, reading Jonah’s experience as an allegory for people who are experiencing trouble and who are, on some level, trying to run away from God or from a sense of divine purpose for their lives.

Jonah is suddenly forced to stay inside for an unknown amount of time. He cannot see where the fish is taking him. He cannot predict whether he will ever be able to get out of the fish’s belly. He just knows that he is probably safer inside this fish’s belly—dark, wet, and isolated as it is—than he would be outside in the stormy sea, or aboard a ship full of desperate shipmates.

And what is there to do, really, trapped inside all day, against his will, alone with his thoughts? As we read today in the second chapter of the book of Jonah, there’s lots of time for Jonah to reflect and to pray. We find Jonah reflecting deeply on how he has ended up in this seemingly hopeless situation. As we hear Jonah praying to Yahweh from the belly of the fish, we hear both a prayer of lament and of hope: “I called to the LORD out of my distress, and he answered me; out of the belly of Sheol I cried, and you heard my voice.”

Jonah is acknowledging here how he is in distress, a situation that feels like the depths of hell, or the most extreme separation from God. Not surprisingly, Jonah—like many of us when we face desperate, stressful situation—points the finger of blame: “You cast me into the deep… and the flood surrounded me.” And then, Jonah turns to describing how he feels, alone in the belly of a fish in the middle of the sea for an as-yet-unknown period of time: “The waters closed in over me; the deep surrounded me; weeds were wrapped around my head.”

But then, just as Jonah is describing how he “went down to the land whose bars closed upon me forever,” his story and his prayer begin to take a hopeful turn: “yet you brought up my life from the Pit, O LORD my God. As my life was ebbing away, I remembered the LORD; and my prayer came to you, in your holy temple.” It was when Jonah remembered that God was still with him, even in this dark, isolated, prison-like place, that he began to recapture a sense of hope, a sense of renewed purpose: “But with the voice of thanksgiving I will sacrifice to you; what I have vowed I will pay. Deliverance belongs to the LORD!” And it is just then, when Jonah makes that turn toward hopefulness and voices his renewed belief that God can deliver him that God, in that very moment, offered him deliverance: “Then the LORD spoke to the fish, and it spewed Jonah out upon the dry land.”

I wonder what we can apply from the allegory of Jonah and the whale to our own current situation. We are continuing to live in a global pandemic. For months, we were all trapped inside our own whales—the places God has given us to be safe from all that is harmful to us out in the world of unseen coronavirus lurking about in people and places that would normally seem familiar and safe to us. Many of us are still spending much more time at home than we normally would—and some of us are continuing to isolate most of the time, to stay safe from the virus.

Like Jonah, with more time isolated and at home, our usual routines upended, we have found that these are conditions that have turned us toward prayer and reflection. We have prayed to God in fear and in lament. But, as with Jonah, these prayers of lament and even blame have the potential to reorient us back toward hopefulness, toward a renewed faith in God’s mercy and deliverance that we can take with us when we finally get out of the belly of this giant covid fish.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

How have you found your prayer life has changed during the pandemic? What have you learned through this time in the belly of the covid fish that you will take with you when we are back on dry land, after the pandemic has passed?

Daily Challenge

Take some time this week to reflect and write down—whether in a journal or on your laptop or even the notes app on your phone—what you have learned about yourself, about others, and about God since March 2020. Put what you write away in a place where you can come back to it later, when the pandemic is in the past.

A God Who Notices Us - October 13

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 5, 6; PM Psalm 10, 11; Jonah 1:1-17a; Acts 26:24-27:8; Luke 8:40-56

Today’s Reflection

Every time we come together to do Morning Prayer, whether during the week or on a Sunday, we affirm the basic tenets of our belief in the Trinity by saying the Apostles’ Creed. This comes after we have done some other things—confessing our sins, receiving God’s forgiveness, reading scripture, and responding to scripture—and just before we say our prayers together. The order of how we do things in the service is, of course, no accident. We build up to affirming what we believe by first grounding ourselves in assurance that we are forgiven, and that God has spoken to us through Holy Scripture.

At that point, we have some basis for saying that we believe in God, the Father Almighty, in Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Spirit when we recite the Apostles’ Creed. The basis for believing in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is being reminded that we matter to God enough for God to hear our confession, to offer us mercy and forgiveness, and to speak to us through the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments alike.

All the scriptures appointed for us in today’s lectionary are tied together with the thread of this question: What is the nature of belief? Psalm 10 shows us a picture of unbelief, what it looks like when people choose not to believe: “The wicked are so proud that they care not for God; their only thought is, ‘God does not matter.’” The psalmist goes on to observe how, “They say in their heart, ‘God has forgotten; he hides his face; he will never notice.”

In painting this picture of unbelief, though, the psalmist is also showing us a picture of the inverse. If not believing in God looks like saying that God doesn’t matter and that God doesn’t think I matter, then believing in God means that I believe that God matters and that God thinks I matter. Defined in this way, belief sounds a lot like a relationship. Someone believes I matter—by remembering I am here, by noticing I exist. I, in return, show that I believe in that someone by remembering they are here, acknowledging that they exist.

So, when we encounter Jonah today, as he has decided not to follow God’s command that he go to Nineveh, we find Jonah has boarded a boat to journey somewhere else, anywhere but Nineveh. But God has noticed that Jonah is heading in the wrong direction and that he knows Jonah is hiding out in the hold of a boat headed elsewhere. God sends a storm to disrupt Jonah’s plans, and then he sends some shipmates who want to know who upset which god—and when they figure out it was Jonah, they dump him overboard. But God is still noticing what is going on with Jonah, and God sends a large fish by at just the right time so that Jonah doesn’t drown in the stormy sea, but rather has a place to be for three days before he gets spit back out and sent on his way. Jonah’s ability to believe in God is renewed when God shows Jonah that he sees him, that he has not forgotten about him, and that he has some plans in store for him.

Likewise, in the encounters that people have with Jesus in today’s Gospel reading from Luke 8, we observe how Jesus notices people and affirms that they matter to him. The woman who has been hemorrhaging for 12 years already believes so much in the potential of Jesus’ healing power that she believes that if she can touch even just the fringe of Jesus’ clothing that she will be healed. In the midst of the swirl and chaos of the crowd that is following alongside Jesus, the woman perhaps thought she could do this without Jesus even noticing. However, that would not be in the nature of a God who notices, a God who cares about each one: “But Jesus said, ‘Someone touched me; for I noticed that power had gone out from me.’ When the woman saw that she could not remain hidden, she came trembling; and falling down before him, she declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed. He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.’”

Jesus noticed that the power has gone out from him and into healing her. And Jesus wanted her to know that it was OK to reach out to him, and to know that her belief—her faith in him and his healing power—is what had made her well. The woman noticed Jesus and what he was doing and believed that it mattered. Jesus noticed that the woman believed him and wanted her to know that he believed in her as well.

As Christians, we believe that God the Father, Son, and Spirit matters. And the God we believe in is a God who remembers we are here, notices us in our times of need, and shows us mercy. The God we believe in is also a God who believes in us.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Think of a time when you felt forgotten, but then someone showed you that they noticed and cared that you were there. How did you feel in that moment of shifting from feeling isolated or unseen to feeling connected and seen? Are there times when you have experienced this same dynamic in your relationship with God?

Daily Challenge

Look around your life this week for an opportunity to notice someone who may be feeling forgotten or unseen. Do something to let this person know that you not only notice them, but that you see who they are and that you value them.

Road to Damascus Moments - October 12

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 1, 2, 3; PM Psalm 4, 7; Micah 7:1-7; Acts 26:1-23; Luke 8:26-39

Today’s Reflection

In the Acts passage for today Paul tells Agrippa the story of that fateful day on the Damascus road when he saw the light of God—the day he heard the voice of God calling him to a new way of life in Christ. Ever since then, people use the words “a road to Damascus experience” to talk about defining moments when they experienced a sudden sense of clarity about what they are meant to do in life.

Hearing Paul tell of his actual experience on the road to Damascus makes me wish it could always be that sudden and that clear for us to know when God is shining a light, to know when it is God who is speaking something new into our lives. In my own experience, there is not one, sudden moment that I can point to and say, “Yes, that is when I knew for sure.” But I can point to a series of events in a period of my life when I felt God nudging me to consider something new.

In 2010, we started attending an Episcopal church, a small mission with only 30-something people on a Sunday morning. In 2011, we moved to a different, larger Episcopal church further away. I got involved as a reader and a chalice bearer. And when they offered a confirmation class in 2012, I decided I would see what it was all about. I went on to be confirmed eight years ago this month, in October 2012 (never guessing that the same bishop confirming me then would, seven years later, ordain me a deacon and a priest). But I did sense I was supposed to “do something,” to somehow make more of a commitment to leadership in the church.

One moment in my own, more winding Damascus road came in January 2013. I had recently been confirmed and shortly after that elected to the vestry of my church. At work that fall, I had submitted my tenure and promotion portfolio, and was awaiting my tenure and promotion decision later in the spring 2013 semester. And then one day, before classes began that January, I heard some startling news via a social media post from a grad school friend. My dissertation advisor from Texas A&M had died. We hadn’t stayed in close contact, but regardless of that, when you earn your PhD you are forever connected with the name and reputation of your dissertation advisor—they are your academic parent, so to speak. And what I learned that day was that my advisor, Jim, had not only died, but he had ended his own life on campus at Texas A&M. And so, on the same day I attended my first Diocesan Convention in Orlando, I went straight from there to catch my flight so I could attend his memorial services in College Station.

Back home in Florida, praying and reflecting whenever I went running at my favorite spot in New Smyrna Beach, the words that continued to come into my mind were these: Jim is gone, but I am still here. And this realization, coming as it did alongside my own journey into the Episcopal church—sparked reflection on making the most of my life, and whether I was fully living into (as Westina Matthews says) “what is mine to do.”

And so, after I went on to be awarded tenure and promotion a few months later and enjoyed a long sabbatical for the rest of 2013, this road to Damascus moment is one of the things that helped me to begin to look at things differently. Jim was a well-regarded academic, a full professor at a Research I university, in one of the top departments in our field, who had won the top book award and other accolades in our academic discipline. And, not only that, he was also much loved and well respected by his students and colleagues. Yet even with all that success, he had lost a sense of perspective on what was most important—and, as a result, he had lost hope.

What happened to Jim was a cautionary tale. But happening when it did—just after my confirmation in the Episcopal church and just before my tenure and promotion decision in the university—it sparked my own discernment and, ultimately, my own change toward a different way of life.

Each of us has the potential of experiencing our own road to Damascus, life-changing encounters with God. The question is this: How do we learn to listen in such a way that, when God speaks, we can know that it is God’s still small voice that we are hearing? And, if we do become attuned to God’s voice, will we allow ourselves to learn to listen to it and be changed?

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What is God moving you away from? What is God moving you towards?

Daily Challenge

Commit to sitting in stillness and quietness for at least 15 minutes today—and maybe even every day this week. As you begin this time of contemplation, pray this simple prayer: “Speak Lord, I am listening.” And then do nothing else for 15 minutes—no devices, no books, no tasks. See how experiencing this kind of “listening prayer” may change your experience of God and yourself.

Should I Take Off My Mask - October 10

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 137:1-6(7-9), 144; PM Psalm 104; Micah 5:1-4,10-15; Acts 25:13-27; Luke 8:16-25

When I was in high school and after college as a youth minister, I was really involved in a program in the church called Happening.  This same program has been foundational for many of the young people at Saint Stephen’s.  In West Tennessee, young people would give talks about their faith and every talk was written by the young person except for the first one.  The first talk was passed down year after year and it was about “taking off your mask.”  The premise was that high school students all hide behind an image they have projected upon their friends, teachers, and parents, scared of letting people know who they really are.  The talk, given at the beginning of the weekend was encouragement to take of your mask, be vulnerable, and to know that God loves you.

Over the weekend, friendships were built, and people could be authentic.  They weren’t John the Jock, Anne the Artist, or Theodore the Thespian.  Everyone was a beloved child of God absent of the labels that we feel need to justify our worth.  I was struck in a conversation with a young person this past week who was talking about how much they have enjoyed wearing a (real) mask in high school these past several weeks.  For her, she could avoid the awkwardness of trying to fit in.  The mask provided her freedom not to worry or try to fit in.  In just a few words, she was able to make me remember the challenging and painful parts of growing up, especially high school. And I read today’s Gospel with this image in mind. 

“No one after lighting a lamp hides it under a jar, or puts it under a bed, but puts it on a lampstand, so that those who enter may see the light. For nothing is hidden that will not be disclosed, nor is anything secret that will not become known and come to light” (Luke 8:16-17).  Jesus knows something about how we all have tried to hide who we really are.  How scary to think that everything about us will be exposed!

But maybe this is part of the radicalness of Christianity.  We can be who we are and not who we want others to believe we are.  We don’t have to be afraid.  We can be the insecure, the addict, the depressed, the vulnerable, or the fragile because that is who God has created.  And in owning this, it is casting a light on it. It is God’s work of moving us towards wholeness and healing.  God’s work of resurrection can actually be made manifest.  It doesn’t matter who you are today.  It only matters, who God is calling you to be.   That is radical.

So let’s be free to take off the metaphorical masks.  But for the sake of public health maybe leave the other one on until we are past this darn pandemic.

-John+

Questions for Self-Reflection: What are you scared most about others knowing who you are?  Do you believe that God loves you irregardless? 

Daily Challenge:  Today, think of three labels that you try to project to others about who you are?  They could be simple like active, athletic, smart, confident, well-read, woke, conservative, funny, intelligent, well-known, liberal, or open-minded. 

The Main Event - October 9

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 140, 142; PM Psalm 141, 143:1-11(12); Micah 3:9-4:5; Acts 24:24-25:12; Luke 8:1-15

I thought the first presidential debate was fascinating.  What I found fascinating was not the quality of the answers provided, the tone of the candidates, or even the moderator.  I was intrigued by how the event was set up and marketed as to convey the nature and content of the debate conversation.  You know, “The Main Event: The First Presidential Debate.”     

I have a confession that might surprise you.  There was this brief six-month period towards the end of college where I watched WWE wrestling weekly, although I think it was called WWF at the time. We even purchased some of the Pay-Per-View big events where there would be a series of fights that would lead up to “The Main Event” where we would finally watch Triple H take on The Rock or some other ludicrously named wrestlers.  There would be commentators before getting you prepped for “The Main Event” with a goal of getting everyone all amped up for the big battle.  It was a whole lot of fun and I can’t believe I have let you in on this little secret. 

But it’s a helpful image because this is how I felt before the debate.  Even the music made you feel like you were preparing for two gladiators to duel to the death.  Maybe this is from the cost of having lost sports for several months.  We have turned the presidential debates into a violent sport where we expect a winner and a loser, and we wouldn’t be surprised if Ric Flair shows up with a metal chair (another embarrassing wrestling image). 

I guess debates are set up as a competition, but it seems that instead of dialogue and discourse in our country, we have become armature debaters.  We post things on social media with the facts bent to support our truths.  We have missed the target of seeking mutual understanding and replaced that goal with trying to be right.  It feels like we have all given up a willingness that any change or growth could emerge from dialogue because we are too focused on winning.  Welcome to the Main Event.

I was struck in the parable of the sower (Luke 8:1-15) that one of the places that seeds land are on a rocky surface.  Jesus explains that the seed is the Word of God.  The people hear it and appreciate it, but it cannot take root and therefore the word of God withers and dies.  Rocks are tough to change.  By nature, they are inflexible, sometimes immovable.  Roots in soil on the other hand change the nature of the soil it is planted in.  The soil has to be willing to bend and move and flex.

I am an adamant believer that there is no right political party. People of all walks of life with a diversity of opinions create the body of Christ.  But I do think there is something about an ethic and willingness to both be changed and to grow that is necessary for us to grow in our faith.  It even helps our faith become rooted in our identity.   Our openness to change and transformation is critical for the wellbeing of our faith.  I also wonder if this overall ethic, applied in all aspects of our life such as our willingness to engage our sisters and brothers, might also be critical for the wellbeing of the human race.  Let’s not let the Word of God fall on rocky ground.  Maybe, let’s not the words of each other do the same. 

-John

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What opinions of yours have changed over time?  Why?  What caused this change? 

Daily Challenge:  The goal of today is mutual understanding.  Read an article by someone you disagree with, but make the focus to understand why they are writing it and what experiences they have had that have led them to this position.

Still My Soul and Make it Quiet - October 8

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 131, 132, [133]; PM Psalm 134, 135; Micah 3:1-8; Acts 24:1-23; Luke 7:36-50

Over the past month, I have been teaching a class online to people who are learning about the Episcopal Church and the Christian Faith.  This week’s class is titled, “What is Prayer” and we are exploring the breadth and depth of prayer in our tradition.  I start off showing the blessing scene from a classic movie “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby” where Will Farrell gives praise to 8 lb., 6 oz. baby Jesus, swaddled in gold, and follow up with a scene from the blockbuster, Bruce Almighty.  Prayer can take many different shapes and forms!

In Bruce Almighty, Bruce, aka Jim Carrey, complains to God about his luck and by his misfortune is given the chance to play God.  Once Bruce finally owns being God and moves beyond his own selfish motivations, he decides to listen to other people’s prayers.  It is overwhelming to say the least.  There is this scene where his room is fluttered instantly with millions of post-it notes with the concerns of the world.  Bruce realizes that method of categorizing prayers isn’t going to work, and he creates an email system. Poof, and with the voice of AOL, “You have 1,785,459 new prayers.”  He starts answering a few.  As he is now God, his hands move quite quickly.  You can see the glee as the answers fly from his fingers. He hits refresh on the computer and to his surprise, there are now over three million new prayers.  We humans have a lot of prayers.  And it might be impossible to get to them all.

Can you imagine all of the concerns that we as humans carry, especially right now?  I am having more conversations with people about the angst and what will happen in our world and our country.  Everyone is concerned and it seems to be affecting mental health.  Hopefully, the angst is turning into prayer, but it is still overwhelming to consider.  I would guess that God has a few more than three million new prayer requests each day. There is a lot that we carry as human beings when we open our eyes to the suffering of the world and in a time like this, it can feel like a bunch of noise drowning out the voice of God that comes from within us. 

The words of the Psalmist this morning are a reminder and a call for us.   “But I still my soul and make it quiet, like a child upon its mother’s breast; my soul is quieted within me” (Psalm 131:3).  This is not the only place in the place in the Psalter where we hear a similar message.  Psalm 62:5 proclaims, “for you, O Lord, my soul in stillness waits.” 

The image is important.  As a young parent, Anne and I would lay with the kids.  Both of us would often fall asleep with Jack or Bailey, asleep on our chests.   We still had all the worries in the world for them, but their worries were reduced because we were there.  Maybe some of their worries (or baby cries) were transferred upon us.  And they could go and rest. 

I am an advocate for striving for justice and of deepening our empathy to feel the pain and suffering of our fellow sisters and brothers that share this gift of life and earth with us.  But if we are to have faith that Jesus is Lord, and that our lives become extensions of Christ’s love for this world, then how can we learn to rest our worry upon the one we call upon.  In the words of the Psalmist and in this time of angst, and concern, “how can we rest upon our mother’s breast?”

Trust, faith, and hope can allow us to still our souls.  May we lean into that hope in this time of noise and angst.  Let God be the one who holds our prayers and concerns, maybe with a few million post-it notes.

John+ 

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What are you most worried about in the world today?  Do you have any ability to control the outcome of that worry? 

Daily Challenge:  Make a list of what you are most worried about and pray that God shares in holding your concern with you.  It may take a few days of this practice to help make a difference.

Something Bigger or Better? - October 7

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:145-176; PM Psalm 128, 129, 130; Micah 2:1-13; Acts 23:23-35; Luke 7:18-35

I was drawn to the church for the first time on my own in sixth grade.  We had a pretty fun youth group and my friend Warren was a year older and could tell a story that left you wanting more.  He had gone to the Youth group kickoff the year before when he had entered seventh grade.  The group played a game that had everyone wandering the neighborhood with a single task: get something bigger and better.   It was easy.  Each team would start with a paper clip and knock on a random person’s door (this was the old part of town where no one was a stranger and weirdness was welcome) and ask them for something bigger and better.  Warren’s group ended up walking around Midtown with a cool old couch.  I couldn’t wait for that next year!  I wanted to go to youth group and play “Bigger and Better.”  Better yet, I just wanted to go and get an experience that was bigger and better than before.  I was excited for the first time in my life for what the church could offer.

And it did offer something wonderful and it wasn’t at all what I expected.  I think we as people are often drawn to religion for the insight it will lead us to something bigger and better.  We want an experience or a union with the divine that we have yet to find.  We want more. That more might not be physical belongings or wealth, or prestige, but there can be something of the allure to more knowledge, or depth, or connection.   We want a bigger experience.  Sometimes we want to be drawn to the community that will help us with professional connections or surrounds us with people that we aspire to be. 

I wonder if Jesus is prodding this same question when he addresses the disciples, “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind?  What then did you go out to see?  Someone dressed in soft robes?”  Jesus is critical of their motivations.

And then Jesus turns it all upside down.  Tax-collectors are welcome.  The least of these is the greatest.  And John tells us to repent.  This is what we went into the wilderness for?  Repentance and to lose everything we thought was important?

We are reminded today that we are not led into our faith to become bigger or better, but actually quite the opposite. We are invited to be stripped of our pride, our ego, to see ourselves as no better than each other.  We are called to focus on our humility and ego through the act of repentance.  This is what we were invited into the wilderness to find.  We were invited to find God who heals our brokenness, not celebrates our achievements.  Not something bigger or better.  But the irony of the life we find is it calls us into something greater than anything else we could possibly imagine. 

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What are the most important parts of a faith community to you?  How do you hope your life is different?  What are you hoping to find?

Daily Challenge:   What is the wilderness for you?  We might be far away from Lent, but consider the spiritual wilderness that you are being invited into, and make a plan to spend some time there this week.

Where We End Up Might Have Something to do with Where We Begin - October 6

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm [120], 121, 122, 123; PM Psalm 124, 125, 126, [127]; Micah 1:1-9; Acts 23:12-24; Luke 7:1-17

Ten years ago, I led a group of teenagers on our second trip to Greece to follow in the footsteps of our faith.  Part of that trip included daily prayer and we would often pray Psalm 121 which begins, “I lift up my eyes to the hills, from where is my help to come.”  We talked about this as we visited several places where a fortress existed atop a mountain or hill.  Each morning, as the people who lived in the valley looked up, they would know they were safe.  The started the day with a vision of security and hopefulness, and the Psalmist captures this vision.

Our clergy were checking in last week, acknowledging that we have all felt a sense of grounding, joy, and hopefulness in the midst of pandemic.  This doesn’t mean we each haven’t had our moments, but as we listened to a presentation given to clergy, we seemed on the surface to be faring better than most. It hit me just how important reading and reciting morning prayer has been.  Before we read the Psalm appointed for the day, every morning we have recited the Jubilate or the Venite, Psalm 95 or 100.  “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” “Come let us sing to the Lord.” These are often the first words we utter.  “Serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song.”  They are songs of joy and wonder and that is how we begin our day.

I noticed this past week as I read these songs each day, that I felt a joy and song rise up.  It has been six months of this renewed practice, and I am beginning to feel that praying these songs is shaping what I believe and how I view each day.  This doesn’t eradicate the pain and suffering that many are feeling, but it gives a hopeful place to begin.  Praying for hope and joy. Sometimes we need to pray it until we believe it. 

As we move forward in a world in desperate need of love and joy, how can we turn our eyes to the hills for hope?  Maybe it is as simple as beginning intentional about how we begin.  A song of praise and wonder, a thought of gratitude, a smile, a word of comfort, a memory of joy.  Where we end up might have something to do with where we begin. 

- John+ 

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What are the first things that you think about in the morning?  How do you begin your day?  What helps you to get a good start? 

Daily Challenge:  Read the Venite (Psalm 95:1-7) or Jubilate (Psalm 100) today a few times.  Imagine singing it.  Pay attention to how it makes you feel or if your attitude or posture changes.

Trying to Fix Things and Making it Worse - October 5

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 106:1-18; PM Psalm 106:19-48; Hosea 14:1-9; Acts 22:30-23:11; Luke 6:39-49

I had a great sense of accomplishment the other day.  I went to Cahaba Hardware and purchased a universal fill valve replacement for $6.99, drove straight home, and thirty minutes later had a working toilet in our bathroom.   Now, you might not think this is a big deal.  “John, you must be handy and fix things? Right?”  Well, not really. 

A few months ago, our freezer was consistently producing a large sheet of ice on the bottom.  I watched a few YouTube videos and took off the back of the refrigerator and was able to clean out some drain that was clogged.  But the freezer kept messing up.  I watched another video and this time took apart the inside of the freezer.  I grabbed Anne’s hairdryer to speed up the process and before I knew it, I had the inside completely defrosted.  I was feeling accomplished and excited and like I would surely gain some points when Anne got home.  I plugged in the fridge and funny noises started happening.  I went through the process again, and this time, I could not get the power to turn on.  I kept trying but to no avail. 

 A month ago, I tried to fix the washing machine.  I was able to take it apart, convinced by YouTube that the agitator was messed up.  I am not exactly sure if made the problem worse, but let’s just say, we have a new refrigerator and a new washing machine.  Here is the thing: I often try to fix things and, in the end, only exacerbate the situation.  I’m trying to help, but it only makes things worse. 

 I have been asking myself lately when I read something online in a Facebook post or story, what is the point of this post?  Is the person, or if it is me, am I really trying to help by posting this?  Is that the motivation?  And will it actually help? I’ve been wondering if Maybe most of what is shared on social media, while well-intentioned, could be making things worse.

Jesus’s Sermon on the Plain (Luke chapter 6) offers an important question for today, “Can a blind person guide a blind person?”  The parable this passage begins reminds us that we often see the speck in our neighbor’s eye before we notice the log in our own.  We are better at judging others than our own self-reflection which Jesus is quick to condemn.  It’s timely advice.

We are all far too aware of the profound failings of others in our world today.  I keep wondering if the way we are trying to fix it, is only making it worse.  I am reminded in our Gospel that the only person we can change is ourself and I wonder what this approach would look like?  At the very least, maybe our solution should begin by looking inward.

 - John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:

 Do you post on social media?  Have you considered not just your motivation, but what you are hoping to accomplish? 

Daily Challenge:  Take a few moments to consider at least two judgments or beliefs that you hold that could be perceived as hypocritical.  Reflect on these each time today that you find yourself judgmental or critical of others.

The High, Holy Road of Compassion and Restraint - October 3

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 107:33-43, 108:1-6; PM Psalm 33; Hosea 11:1-9; Acts 22:17-29; Luke 6:27-38

The reading from the 11th chapter of Hosea carries the tone and feel of a caring (ideal) parent. What a lovely break from the harsh judgment and imagery we have seen thus far in this book! The people of Israel are not described as lewd or like aimless livestock; rather, they are children. God has a tender and parental countenance while remembering the upbringing of Israel. I imagine sitting on a sofa, nestled close to God, as if a grandparent or beloved aunt or uncle, and listening to the story of my parents when they were children: “I taught Ephraim to walk, I took them up in my arms”; “I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love…I bent down to them and fed them”.

God bends down to be near to us and meet our needs…even lifting us up as infants to God’s own cheek to share closeness and joy. Here, God is approachable and loving, rather than austere and angry. But there is a snag: Israel doesn’t choose to cuddle up close to the Creator. God’s people are “bent on turning away from” the Lord. They don’t know that it is God who has brought them healing and nourishment. They worship other gods. Rather than reflecting the kindness imbued in them, they fight and run amok. Peril is ahead for them, as God anticipates they will return to the captivity of foreign nations like Egypt and Assyria.

Like a parent wrestling with the pain of watching their child plummet into a spiral of destruction from addiction, God says, “How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel?” There is a visceral pain of fear. And then, rather than anger, God chooses the high, holy road of compassion and restraint: “I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.

The love that God has for Israel (and by extension us) is hard to comprehend. It is deep and complex. This passage from Hosea offers a couple of lessons to me this morning…first, God has a tender, strong love for all of creation, including you and me. No matter the bad deeds or wayward ways, God does not give us up. Secondly, God is extending an invitation to learn from this divine care, so that we may show it to others. How can we temper our anger, avoid coming in wrath when faced with opposition? As Jesus taught in the sermon on the plain, “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” I don’t think it is an easy path to follow. And I do believe that as we stumble along the path, God is leading us with cords of human kindness and bands of love.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

When have you responded in anger? How would a response of compassion have changed the dynamic?

When have you been met with kindness when you were expecting wrath?

Daily Challenge

Take a fast from responding in anger. Maybe today isn't the day...but make a plan of how you can take a fast from anger. Choose patience and compassion, and pray for God to prepare your heart for this challenge. 

What living a life for God could look like - October 2

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 102; PM Psalm 107:1-32; Hosea 10:1-15; Acts 21:37-22:16; Luke 6:12-26

We read a portion of Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain during the Daily Office today. Before we get to the more commonly recognized “good stuff”, I am drawn toward how Jesus prepared for that day of teaching and healing. It’s almost as if, when we slow down to pay attention, Jesus is showing us some spiritual disciplines we can try, too. And today, I need some of Jesus’ soul-strengthening exercises. Let’s take a look.

First, Jesus went to the mountain. Higher up on rocks, there would be limited foot traffic and fewer interruptions. Ascending to a mountain was also a long-held action of what people did to get closer to God. Abraham, Moses, and Elijah come immediately to mind. God is known to speak to people upon mountains…they are places to meet the Holy.

Jesus’ intention in going away was to pray. The whole night long, he prayed to God. I imagine that as an intimate conversation between Jesus and God: Jesus rehearsing psalms, praising Yahweh; asking for guidance, as Jesus seeks what is to come. I imagine Jesus praying to God on behalf of those in need, who are sick, dying, and despondent; then, Jesus asking God to use him as needed, and to protect him. I imagine God filling Jesus with a sense of grounding and love, so that he is prepared and open for what comes next.

At the break of day, empowered through a night of prayer, Jesus got organized before setting out. He gathered his disciples and named 12 of his followers as apostles…not just to follow him, but to go on missions to spread the Good News far and wide. Jesus knew that he could not do the work of turning hearts and minds alone. Jesus empowered his followers for next steps, and their on-the-job training of healing and teaching began.

Jesus and his followers walked toward a flat place, perhaps less rocky and perilous, where a large crowd had gathered. The people sought inspiration, assurance, and healing. They were hungry for relief and hope. They were hurting from prejudice and hate. Luke writes that they all wanted to touch Jesus, and that divine power flowed from him and brought healing to all in attendance.

God’s grace did not stop there. At the plain, where people from inland and coastal areas of Israel gathered, Jesus did more than attend to the matters of their bodies. He imparted words of comfort and wisdom to build up their minds. He modeled for the disciples, apostles, and the crowd that healing and relief take multiple forms. Jesus added depth to the experience. It wasn’t just a sermon. It wasn’t just a miraculous healing event. Words and actions fused together to honor the dignity and deepen the faith and life of those who were there. In this sermon, Jesus intimated that one’s poverty did not disqualify them from receiving divine or earthly care, and that one’s wealth was to be leveraged through a practice of deep generosity. And why? So that they, too, would show others what living a life for God could look like.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What spiritual practice do you need to find quiet for today?

What words or events have brought you healing and relief? What words have you shared with others that affirmed their dignity?

Daily Challenge

Spend 20 minutes, finding space apart from distraction and hubbub today. Go to God for conversation and preparation for what is ahead for you. Then, reach out to a friend and ask them to help you share God’s love – pray, talk, errands, etc.

Voices Who Tell the Story – October 1

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 105:1-22; PM Psalm 105:23-45; Hosea 5:8-6:6; Acts 21:27-36; Luke 6:1-11

I have a faint memory of listening to a cassette tape recording of my mom’s grandmother telling tales of growing up at the end of the 1800s. The sound quality was crackly, and her voice was nearly as thin as my recollection. Sitting here at my home office desk reflecting on scripture this morning, I felt this nudge to dig deeper. At the back of the top drawer, there was a plastic baggie that had been in my mom’s desk. I kept it across our moves. Just now, I looked more closely at the contents.

The very tape I was remembering, and three others, are now stacked in front of me. The one of my memory is marked with my grandfather’s handwriting: “Lessie Clay and Miss Carey Hotchkiss, 3/28/1971, MJ and I were recording their conversation at Miss Carey’s house in Sunday nite (sic)”. Lessie was the hired help who raised my mom and her brothers. Lessie’s family was Black, and her family had served my family for several generations, before and after slavery was ended. Miss Carey was the mother of my grandmother Martha Jane (MJ). What rests upon my desk right now is a grey cassette tape. But even more, it holds the voices who tell the story. While I have no concrete memories of the contents, I can guess. Some were stories of joy, and others were stories of hardship and loss.

We hear the story of God’s people retold in Psalm 105 today. It is not in a crackly voice, but in a refined tone that has been sung and proclaimed for generations and generations. Walter Bruggemann wrote that this psalm offers the Exodus story through the point of view of a song of harmony between God and the people. The Lord has been “mindful of his covenant” (v. 8). “He let no one oppress them” (v. 14). “The Lord made his people exceeding fruitful.” (v. 24). This type of historical psalm reframes the story and, in its retelling, our identity as people of God continues to be formed. Our understanding grows. Brueggemann describes this as “a powerfully present past” which compels us to continue retelling the history, in order to connect generations across time and space to the God who is at the center. What we experience in Psalm 105 today is the continuation of relationship between a people and their God in an ongoing, open-ended conversation.

I invite you to lift your voice to praise God and “remember the marvels he has done” (v. 5), and know that the conversation continues, in times and tones of harmony or conflict. Think about what voices have participated in the past. For whose voices will you listen? What voices are missing? Who is waiting to hear your voice retell the story of God, who is at the center?

-- Katherine+

Sources:

• Walter Brueggemann, Abiding Astonishment: Psalms, modernity and the making of history, 1991, John Knox Press.

• Silvia Purdie, www.conversations.net.nz.

Questions for Reflection

What are the stories in your family that tell of relationship? Promises kept or broken? Surprises? Surrender? Blessing? 

Where do you spot the action of God in your family life?
 

Daily Challenge

The voice we hear in psalm 106 is a different voice; there is bitterness and conflict. Read Psalms 105 and 106 as companion historical psalms and note how tone affects the story told. Make a decision about the tone you’ll take when telling your story today.

Jesus the Lighthouse: Our "Candle on the Water" - September 30

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 101, 109:1-4, 20-30; PM Psalm 119:121-144; Hosea 4:11-19; Acts 21:15-26; Luke 5:27-39

Jesus became sought after as a healer and teacher, and yet in today’s passage from Luke, he broke bread with social pariahs – tax collectors. Tax collectors and their contemporaries were known to take advantage of the poor and did the bidding of the Roman imperial establishment. Complicated, right? The scholars of Jewish law, who took great offense at the actions of tax collectors like Levi, questioned Jesus: Why are you dining with those sinners (who break ancient Jewish law by collecting interest and overcharging our people)? Jesus answered like this: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.” (5:31-32) The Son of Man loves sinners, as he sees potential for each one to turn their life around and steer in the direction of God’s law, love, and peace.

As Jesus leaned in to healing what ailed and endangered the people of Israel in the Ancient Near East, I am reminded of the image of a lighthouse upon the shoreline of Maine. My childhood friend Brooke married outside of Portland, Maine about 15 years ago. It was late summer and an absolutely lovely setting to spend a few days. While there, we stopped at the oldest lighthouse in the state, built in the late 1700s. Lighthouses don’t pepper the pristine shores of our own Emerald Coast in the Gulf of Mexico, for they are not for show, but for function. When illuminated, lighthouses signal watercraft to look out and turn around…to move away from the light.

The coastline – like sin – is dangerous. The tides push ships toward the rocky crags hiding beneath the surface, and in times of storms and darkness, it is a struggle to stay centered upon the path of safety. It’s a tender balance to navigate, finding just the right distance between the assurance of land and the unpredictability of big water. And so, it is the lighthouse that has historically helped sailors veer away from danger. The towering light illumines their path and points to peril. Crews watch for the light, and then move away from it.

Jesus, as the light of the world, points us toward hope (and away from imminent danger). That is why Jesus drew near to Levi, the tax collectors, and other sinners. He was pointing them toward the Way. When we answer the call, sometimes that means doing what Levi did: drop everything and follow Jesus. Following Jesus can look like other ways of changing course in our lives, too. Maybe in 2020, Jesus the Good Shepherd (and illuminated lighthouse) is guiding us toward saying yes to spending time with a family member who is exhausting. Perhaps it is pursuing a new line of work, or a job in another area of town. Or, going to therapy to address a problem that is not resolving on its own.

Whatever repentance Jesus is calling you to steer toward, I invite you to take heart. Breathe in deeply. Breathe out. Know that you are not alone, and you are God’s dearly beloved. Jesus loves you, a sinner. Jesus sees potential in you, to turn your life around and steer in the direction of God’s love and peace. I am praying for you along this journey. Please pray for me as well.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

Who has been a lighthouse in your life, guiding you to turn away from sin and danger? What sins and stumbling blocks along the shoreline are diminishing the fullness of God’s joy for you today? How might you change course?

Daily Challenge

Big changes are like big waves: overwhelming. Focus on one little change today that draws you closer to God. For example, if you journal, spend one more minute reflecting on God’s revelation in your life. Or, when you pray, spend one more minute holding space for the Holy Spirit to move and empower you. Or perhaps, make one extra phone call to someone you know needs to see the light of Christ.  

We have seen strange things today – September 29

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 97, 99, [100]; PM Psalm 94, [95]; Hosea 4:1-10; Acts 21:1-14; Luke 5:12-26

Faith healers mystify me. As a teen, scanning for something to watch on TV, I would linger on the Christian channel TBN and watch the ministers talking to the camera. Jan Crouch, the woman with the big pinkish, greyish wigs, would weep as she talked about her love for Jesus. Benny Hinn would lay hands on people upon a stage of a crowded auditorium and those seeking healing would fall backwards, overcome in the moment. If viewers at home wanted their own healings to happen, or if they wanted to give so that God’s blessings would become more fruitful in their own lives, we could call the toll-free number scrolling across the bottom of the page. I wondered a couple of times what would happen if I called to ask for prayer, and what I would pray for. My mom would walk into the room and ask, “Why are you watching that stuff?” I would shrug and change the channel, but sometimes I would go back, just to keep watching how these interactions of charismatic Christians seeking healing would unfold. The people featured were so visibly moved by their worship experiences, and it was drastically different from my upbringing in the Episcopal church.

This morning, we read of Jesus healing those seeking restoration. Word of Jesus’ power spreads widely, for there were many ailments plaguing people. A paralyzed man is lowered through the roof, in order to present him for healing in front of Jesus. The scene unfurls here in a way that diverges from my recollection of TV evangelism. First, Jesus sees the faith of those helping the man. They truly believe that bringing this incapacitated man to see the healer is necessary, regardless of crowd or hurdle. Then, because of their faith, Jesus addresses the one upon the cot: “Friend, your sins are forgiven you.” The experts of the law of Moses (scribes and Pharisees) in the gathering begin muttering that Jesus – there to heal with the power of the Lord – says this blasphemous statement, claiming God’s power of forgiveness for his own. (As a technical note, what Jesus says is not blasphemy. Blaspheming God’s name means cursing God’s name (Leviticus 24:15). Understanding of blasphemy expanded to include speaking sacrilegiously about God.)

Jesus names the tension at hand, asking those who question, “Which is easier: forgiving sins or healing someone who cannot walk?” The healer and rabbi then turns to the paralyzed man, commanding him to stand up, take his cot, and go home. And that is what he does – praising God the whole way. The crowd goes wild with their own shouts of joy for God’s power made manifest in this space. The scene closes with bystanders saying, “We have seen strange things today.”

Reflecting on this story, I find myself wondering, “Wait – what was the man seeking? What type of healing did he need? He didn’t talk about being addled by sin. Wasn’t his body unable to move?” People of various faiths – from ancient times and into present day – have attributed aspects of physical illness as side effects of sin or wrongdoing. I have felt nauseous and a deep pang in my gut when I know I have done something wrong, or overwhelmed with a headache when stress is bearing heavily upon me. Let me be clear: this is not an assertion that every physical ailment is directly tied to sin.

This story holds up for me today that sometimes those sins which weigh us down spiritually take a toll on the health of our bodies. I don’t know what burdens weigh upon you right now. What I do know is that Jesus is waiting for you. So, go to Jesus for healing, forgiveness, and hope. Cast all of your cares upon his loving arms. And if you cannot get there yourself, keep some good friends around you to help you along the way.  

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

When have you heard of or witnessed a miracle? How do sins and stressors weigh you down, and would it really take a miracle to bring you relief?

Daily Challenge

Spend some time reflecting on what sins are heavy upon your heart. Pray with specific intention the Confession, and ask that God forgive you – and then work to truly let that burden go. Need more help with this? Contact one of your priests for support or guidance.

A bit of a fixer-upper - September 28

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 89:1-18; PM Psalm 89:19-52; Hosea 2:14-23; Acts 20:17-38; Luke 5:1-11

There was one holiday weekend when the kitchen sink malfunctioned and, instead of flowing down the drain, water poured out of the side of the house and onto the driveway. According to the plumber, Sam and I had two options: pull out the kitchen cabinetry to access the pipes or take off a portion of the vinyl siding so that the plumber could fix the faulty drain system from the outside.

While I longed for a renovated kitchen, that improvement (and inconvenience) was not in the budget. The plumbing was a relatively quick fix but addressing the exterior of the house was a different story. In its earlier days, wood siding surely added to the 1925 bungalow’s charm. If we took off one part of the vinyl siding, would we have to take it all off? To remove the vinyl meant revealing what lay beneath it, dealing with whatever we found, and investing time and resources to restore the exterior of our house.

I felt terrified. Sam stood there, waiting. Okay, yes! We agreed to take off the vinyl, and started prying. Beneath the grey sturdy plastic sheets were some horrified roaches and well-preserved wood siding in surprisingly good condition! Taking the plunge into home restoration became a many-month endeavor. Sam did the work himself, replacing boards, priming and painting our house. At its conclusion, we felt hope and satisfaction as we admired the restoration!

There is another type of restoration in Hosea 2 today, requiring more than lumber and paint. Israel had attributed the bounty of her crops to the influence and favor of Baal, one of the Canaanite gods. Israel was unfaithful to the Lord. We read of that infidelity and punishment, cast in the light of a metaphorical marriage between a strong male (God) and the promiscuous female (Israel). Our excerpt omits the references to whoring, nakedness, and punishment; we hear what follows the anger: “I will now allure her…and speak tenderly to her.” There is restoration of joy and peace. There is hopefulness of a deep relationship rekindled between Israel and God, with closeness and covenant, leaving behind Baals and betrayal. What does that restoration look like? Relying on the Lord, moving away from violence, and living in righteousness and justice, steadfast love and mercy (v. 18-19). In this restoration of relationship, blessing is also promised: the Lord will send gifts from the earth of grain, wine, and oil.

As I reflect on Hosea, I wonder how this time of physical separation has been a season of restoration…and not in an easy sense of the word. To restore, we must take inventory of where we are before moving forward. We have been staring at walls, reminded of our loneliness, fear, and division. We have been mourning what we have lost or let go. We have been facing the hard concerns of depression and addiction, more apparent in prolonged stress. As in Hosea, we’ve been in the Valley of Achor (Trouble), and God promises to make it a door of hope. The promise is still there. God will have pity on us, even when we feel we are beyond compassion. God will reclaim us in our indignance, saying, “You are my people,” and we will say joyously, “You are my God”.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What troubles bring you concern today, around you and inside yourself? What signs of hope do you see?

Daily Challenge

What in your life needs restoration? Name one flaw to take to God in prayer and write it down. Spend five minutes in silence. Repeat the phrase “You are my God” when you find your mind wandering. Listen for God to reveal truth, hope, and next steps in faithful living.

Stuck in a Moment - September 26

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 87, 90; PM Psalm 136; Hosea 1:1-2:1; Acts 20:1-16; Luke 4:38-44

Today’s Reflection

“So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” –Psalm 90:12

Over the years, I recall my mother telling me on at least several occasions, “Don’t wish your life away.” I take this piece of wisdom to be meant to remind me to live in the present, to appreciate what I have and what I am now, rather than always looking to the next big moment, whatever that may be.

For us human beings, it can be hard to live in the present. One of the attributes of God that I find myself most fascinated with and most in need of embracing more fully in my own life is that divine sense of time. God has always been, always is, and always will be. God’s transcending of time is reflected in the divine name, I AM. Those two short words that make of God’s name, I AM, are very comforting. No matter what is going on in my life or your life or in the world beyond ourselves, it’s very grounding to remember: God is.

And as much as we might be tempted to debate the finer points about who God is and what God’s role has been in history and is in the present and future, when it comes down to it, what can re-center us in that holy relationship between the divine and the human is the realization that God was, is, and will always be.

Psalm 90 is woven together with the threads of the language of time. We read of how God has existed before all creation, “Before the mountains were brought forth, or the land and the earth were born, from age to age you are God” (v. 2). What follows are a several very mystical sounding verses that remind us humans that God’s understanding of time exists on a plane which we cannot fully understand, a divine scope that makes our human lives seem like just a moment: “For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past and like a watch in the night. You sweep us away like a dream; we fade away suddenly like the grass. In the morning it is green and flourishes; in the evening it is dried up and withered” (vv. 4-7).

As the psalmist continues to ruminate about how our human sense of time intersects with the divine sense of time, he comes to this moment of clarity: “The span of our life is seventy years, perhaps in strength even eighty; yet the sum of them is but labor and sorrow, for they pass away quickly and we are gone” (v. 10). In other words, we have these 70 or 80 years—maybe more, maybe less—to live out the purposes that God has given each one of us from before we were born. On one level, you can look at these years as “but labor and sorrow.” If you look back on your life—or if you look forward on it, for that matter—with an eye toward all the hours spent in work or hardship, then that is the meaning you will attach to your life. As the Irish band U2 philosophizes in their 2001 song, “Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of”:

You’ve got to get yourself together
You’ve got stuck in a moment and now you can’t get out of it
Don’t say that later will be better now
You’re stuck in a moment and you can’t get out of it

And if the night runs over
And if the day won’t last
And if your way should falter
Along the stony pass
It’s just a moment
This time will pass

U2 wrote this song as they struggled with grief at the passing of their fellow musician Michael Hutchence (of the band INXS), who had died by suicide. Bono reflects that he wrote the song to articulate what he wished he had said to his friend, Michael, when he was stuck in a moment that he didn’t think he could get out of. Sometimes our limited human understanding of time, combined with particularly harsh circumstances, can make a person lose their sense of time and the will to keep living. U2 is reminding us in this song, as the psalmist does in Psalm 90, that “it’s just a moment—this time will pass.”

But if we get back to the divine understanding of time, and God’s point of view on our human lifespans, then it is possible to have a more hopeful perspective on the meaning of all our minutes, hours, days, and years. As the psalmist prays, “teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom” (v. 12).

From that point on in Psalm 90, the psalmist’s perspective changes toward one more focused on living in and being satisfied with each new day that God has given us: “Satisfy us by your loving-kindness in the morning; so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life” (v. 15). Each day God’s mercies are new. As we start each new day, no matter what troubles we may have encountered in days past, in each new day we can find hopefulness in this: that God loves us, God made us, and our hope in God transcends all else that was, is, or will be.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When you get stuck in a moment, what helps you to get unstuck and regain perspective that this, too, shall pass?

Daily Challenge

Attempt to make it one hour, or one morning, or even a whole day without checking to see what time it is. This may mean you have to put away any devices on which you would be tempted to check the time. How does living an hour, a morning, or a day without references to man-made measures of time change your experience of living in the now?

There Your Heart Will Be Also - September 25

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 88; PM Psalm 91, 92; Esther 8:1-8,15-17; Acts 19:21-41; Luke 4:31-37 

Today’s Reflection

A year ago, I heard about a book whose premise intrigued me. The premise is that people in our contemporary U.S. culture, though they are worshipping in church much less, are in fact just as religious as ever—they’re just religious about secular pursuits. Instead of practicing faith by being part of a church community, many people are putting their faith in healthy eating, or in exercise regimes, or in devotion to a political candidate or party, or to being super-attentive parents, or just to being frenetically busy, successful people. The book is called Seculosity and it’s by David Zahl, director of Mockingbird Ministries and an Episcopal lay preacher in Charlottesville, Virginia. (I was all set to lead a book discussion about it during Lent 2020 but then—well, 2020 happened, we entered a time of quarantine, and we never made it past the first chapter of the book. Maybe we’ll try it again in 2021!)

In his book, Zahl argues that chief among the things people get drawn into worshipping (instead of God) is being busy—he calls this the seculosity of busy-ness. His point is not new, but rather a new version of an old idea—along the lines of Max Weber’s thesis about the Protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism. Another term for this devotion to being busy is “performancism,” which Zahl explains as “the assumption, usually unspoken, that there is no distinction between what we do and who we are. … What makes you lovable, indeed what makes your life worth living, is your performance at X, Y, or Z. Performancism holds that if you are not doing enough, or doing enough well, [then] you are not enough” (Zahl 6).

Dave Zahl offers several very compelling examples of what this performancism looks like, this feeling that our sense of self-worth comes from being busy and getting stuff done—and the material wealth or status we may accrue as a result. As Zahl reflects, “For an increasing amount of the population, … to be alive in the twenty-first century is to wonder privately how much longer you can keep feeding the beast before you keel over. The very phrase feed the beast could not be more apt. It conjures the image of a ravenously hungry creature whose appetite demands satiation, lest it carve out its pound of flesh. It brings to mind a prowling monster that can be momentarily appeased but never fully satisfied. A life of feeding the beast recasts our activities, and the rewards they bring, as momentary offerings on the anxious altar of Enough” (6).

I see some things in common between how Zahl describes our contemporary U.S. context in Seculosity with how Luke describes Ephesus in Acts 19: 21-41. It’s a chaotic scene, a cultural clash caused by conflicting values. “No little disturbance broke out” because Paul had come on the scene in Ephesus and he began raising questions about what Ephesians were worshipping, which was the goddess Artemis and idols of her. Now, it was common for Paul to come into a city and question the cultural status quo. But in Ephesus at that time, it made a certain silversmith named Demetrius really angry, because he saw how Paul was successful in getting so many people to reconsider what or who they should be worshipping.

Demetrius was angry because when people started worshipping idols less and worshipping Jesus more, his business as a silversmith who made Artemis idols was suffering. Demetrius successfully convinced thousands of people to become enraged because he tapped into their fear of both economic and cultural change, as he persuaded them: “Men, you know we get our wealth from this business [of making idols]. … And there is danger that this trade of ours may come into disrepute but also that the temple of the great goddess Artemis will be scorned” (Acts 19: 25, 27). Demetrius found someone to blame for his financial problems, and he was ready to spark others into a riot—even if they didn’t all quite know what it was they were supposed to be up-in-arms about: “The city was filled with the confusion… Meanwhile, some were shouting one thing, some another; for the assembly was in confusion, and most of them did not know why they had come together” (Acts 19: 29, 32).

As we look around at the state of things in the United States and the world today, and at our own lives, it’s interesting to consider how we spend our time and our money, and to what we devote our energy and our attention. As we hear Jesus tell us in his Sermon on the Mount, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Looking at how you spend your time, money, and energy, what competes with God for your devotion?

Daily Challenge

Consider a tangible way that you can change how you spend your time, money, and energy this week, this month, or in the year to come that better reflects what you value and who you worship.