Apocalypse Now? - October 23

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 31; PM Psalm 35, Ecclus. 11:2-20; Rev. 9:13-21; Luke 10:38-42

Whew! What a wild week through Revelation, if you’ve had the intestinal fortitude to stick with the opening of seals, proclamation of woes, and sounding of trumpets! It’s not lost on me that our lectionary for the Daily Office will keep us reading and reflecting on The Revelation to John for the next couple of weeks, coinciding with the 2020 presidential election crescendo. Are these readings selected as a political commentary? Is this a harbinger of the end times? Is the apocalypse happening?

First, please know that we’ll read these same verses in two years, according to the two-year cycle of Holy Scripture laid out in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. Each year in the weeks leading us up to the close of the church year and the start of Advent, we wander through Revelation. Why? Because Jesus is calling us to repent and turn our eyes to God.

I’m curious about the words we use, and the feelings they evoke. Let’s take the word “apocalypse”. Apocalypse is derived from the Greek word meaning “unveiling” or “disclosure”. As we prepare our hearts and minds for what it means to follow God, the Holy Scriptures invite us into the space to ponder what and who we rely upon – and what we believe God has in store for us. Revelation presents brightly descriptive language and images of God’s judgment upon humanity, relayed to us by John, madman of Patmos.

What images come to mind when you think of apocalypse? What books or movies have you read? In the 1990s, my mom was a proponent for shopping at Sam’s Club. She had three daughters who would plunder the supply of apples, marshmallows, and milk – not together, or in that order! Mom loved to buy in bulk, because it was a bargain. She was a penny pincher, raising us without much financial help from my dad. So, Sam’s Club was a great venue for shopping, and they had a book aisle. Mom would stroll up and down the row, taking stock of new books. She bought Left Behind: A Novel of the Earth’s Last Days and shared it with me once she finished. The premise of the book (and subsequent volumes), as described by Christianity Today, was this: “a premillennial view of the End Times favored by earlier generations of American fundamentalists, in which Christ “raptures” his followers to heaven before a series of apocalyptic events unfold on earth.”

I felt terrified and riveted by the story line. There was fire. There was violence. There was some romance. And I think they drove around in a Hummer? Here’s my confession: I had not read much of Revelation in my upbringing as an Episcopalian. Sunday School taught me stories of Jesus and living into the Ten Commandments…not studying the seven seals and the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. And so today, we are wandering through Revelation, and these words are both fresh and overwhelming.

What is one to make of all of this? Depending on context and circumstances, you and I might come up with different responses. Some of us are more literal, and others are more metaphorical. Here’s what I am choosing to hold fast to today. Many of these visions of destruction are reminders of the Exodus plagues: hail and fire on the earth, fish dying in the river and tainting the waters, darkness upon the Earth. While I want to look for clues of what is to come, what I can do for this very moment is repent for those sins of today. What I can do is rely upon God for comfort, encouragement, and guidance, rather than looking to “idols of gold and silver and bronze and stone and wood” (Rev. 9:20). What I can do is pray without ceasing. And finally, what I can do is turn away from fear and lean into faith in God – one moment at a time.

-- Katherine+

(Want to read more about the Daily Office lectionary? Check out the BCP, beginning on page 934. If it leaves you confused, let one of your clergy know and we’ll talk you through it.)

Questions for Reflection

What words and phrases come to mind when you think of apocalypse?

What are you hoping God will bring to an end? What are you hoping God will renew?

Daily Challenge

God invites us to pay attention to the holy, and not always get tripped up the earthly. Spend ten minutes in silent reflection about what parts of your life God might be asking you to turn around.

Today's Challenge: Living as Good Neighbors - October 22

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 37:1-18; PM Psalm 37:19-42, Ecclus. 10:1-18; Rev. 9:1-12; Luke 10:25-37

“Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there,” says the jingle from an insurance company, informing the audience that they are here for you when you need them. Good neighbors are the best, aren’t they? Our former neighbors are the godparents of one of our kids. We keep in touch with many of the families – some on a weekly basis – who lived on our block in Crestwood. We became extended family for one another. Maybe you have similar stories.

What does a good neighbor do? Loan you a cup of sugar or an egg…help with a tree that fell across the fence…drop off cookies at Christmas…chat at the mailbox at the end of a long day. What about a bad neighbor? The unkempt yard becomes a breeding ground for copperheads, who slither into your yard; their bouts of marital unrest and depression erupt into outdoor shouting matches at midnight; each day brings something new through the revolving door of barking dogs, male suitors, and furniture strewn across the lawn.

I know that the dynamics of neighbors is more fluid than I have offered above, and I do it to make a point. It’s much easier to interact with a neighbor who shows more “good” qualities than “bad” ones, isn’t it? Even the examples I provided are more relational and “neighborly”. And, here’s the but: Jesus is calling us to show compassion and mercy, regardless of how easy our neighbors are to tolerate, or even talk to. Even when our neighbors may feel disdain for us, cheer for a different football team, or support a different candidate for President. In the Parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus is calling us to act in love, not just know the rules about common respect and dignity. We are called to relationship. That is what Jesus modeled, and that is the messy, much harder part.

In Living Buddha, Living Christ, Thich Nhat Hanh writes about following the path that Jesus proclaimed. It was a call to “true relationship with God” through practicing the actions the Son of God exhibited. The truth of Jesus’ teaching was (and is) dynamic; it is the reality of life. (p. 55-56) Disciples of Jesus were not challenged to memorize the Law; rather, they practiced living as Jesus did, and when ready, the followers of Jesus spread out and practiced healing, feeding, and loving their neighbors of every ilk. We are called to participate in this reality, too.

Thich Nhat Hanh wraps up a reflection with these words, which strike me as quite relevant to the challenge of loving our neighbors as ourselves:

When we understand and practice deeply the life and teaching of Buddha or the life and teachings of Jesus, we penetrate the door and enter the abode of the living Buddha and the living Christ, and life eternal presents itself to us. (p. 56)

The lawyer in Luke 10 is seeking to inherit eternal life. Jesus invites each of us, as we test and question God, to accept the gift of eternal life given to us – and in accepting it, we get to live in love, act in love, do in love. Take a risk: get out of your head and get immersed in life today.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What is a characteristic of a good neighbor that you wish you could do?

When have you avoided being neighborly, and what would you change?

Daily Challenge

Think of someone who is an “extra grace required” person, who causes you to have to dig deep to engage with them. It could be someone known to you, or it could be a neighbor you don’t know. Pray for that person. Show an act of compassion or mercy. Invite God to open your eyes to that neighbor in a new way.

Warning: Don't be a 'don'tist'! - October 21

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 38; PM Psalm 119:25-48, Ecclus. 7:4-14; Rev. 8:1-13; Luke 10:17-24

A woman named Louise was the caregiver for her father-in-law Art. One day after lunch, Louise advised Art to brush his teeth, as he had a dental appointment to address a broken tooth. Normally, the mental decline due to dementia would have swept away Art’s recollection, but on this day, he was sharp. He rattled off reasons against going to the dentist: “If the dentist wants my teeth cleaned, he can clean them himself…My teeth are fine; I don’t want the dentist grinding down my perfectly good teeth.” His final objection as they neared the office was this: “A dentist should be called a ‘don’t’ist,’ because I don’t want to go.”

Ecclesiasticus is full of negativity today, isn’t it? Almost every line begins with “do not”. That’s a lot of don’t. There is a time when having a message delivered in the negative form is useful, and there are other times when we tune out the warning. Rather than brushing aside these choppy tidbits of negative directives, let’s take a challenge: what of this rarely read piece of our Holy Scripture from the Apocrypha calls us to grow and do?

Let’s look first at public office. Ambition for public prestige can be dangerous, as we hear in the opening verses appointed for today:

“Do not seek from the Lord high office, or the seat of honor from the king.

Do not assert your righteousness before the Lord, or display your wisdom before the king.

Do not seek to become a judge, or you may be unable to root out injustice; you may be partial to the powerful, and so mar your integrity.” (v. 4-7)

We are in the final two weeks before the 2020 presidential election and in the midst of confirmation hearings for a Supreme Court Justice nominee. How are we called to grow and be in these words of wisdom? I hear a call to lean into humility when serving in roles of authority...whether as CEO of a business, or the parent-on-duty during dinner time. I wonder…what openness and understanding awaits us in being modest.

Secondly, prayer. The writer offers wisdom about how we present ourselves to God:

“Do not grow weary when you pray;
   do not neglect to give alms.

Do not babble in the assembly of the elders,
   and do not repeat yourself when you pray.” (v. 10, 14)

We find ourselves seven months into pandemic and societal change. People are losing loved ones to disease. Financial security is tenuous for many. Maybe we wonder if our prayers to God are being heard. How are we called to grow and be in these words of wisdom? Perhaps it is a call to simplicity and honesty when we pray. I also offer the wisdom Mary Oliver, in her poem “Praying”:

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Friends, as you face another day, mull over these tidbits of wisdom: Care for your teeth and those around you. Be humble as you serve. Be honest as you pray. Be loving as you live.

-- Katherine+

(Acknowledgement: The vignette shared is from a book by Louise Carey called The Hedge People: How I Kept My Sanity and Sense of Humor as an Alzheimer’s Caregiver.)

Questions for Reflection

When hearing “do not” or “never do this”, do you follow the direction, or challenge it?

Are you more likely to offer directives, or open-ended invitations?

Daily Challenge

Listen to the words you use today. When are you saying phrases in a negative way? Be attentive to your tone and choose to turn your words and your mind into a more positive, open mindset. Write down reflections on how this felt – was it hard to do? Easy to try? What did you learn about yourself? Tell a friend this week about your experiment.

Tough skin, tender heart – October 20

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 26, 28; PM Psalm 36, 39; Ecclus. 6:5-17; Rev. 7:9-17; Luke 10:1-16

It’s hard to experience pushback and rejection. Jesus prepares his disciples for it in the 10th chapter of Luke today. The technique imparted by the Son of God is not so much grounded in anger management, but in building emotional resilience. “If any share in peace, peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you.” In essence, nothing is lost. Jesus continues with the work that can be done: when people welcome you, “eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’” This is the work that the seventy are to pair off to go accomplish. They are to spread the news. The way it is received is more about the ears and lives of the hearers. When met with negativity, Jesus imparts another coping mechanism for his followers who are going out to proclaim the Truth: when entering a village that does not offer shelter or food, or hear your message, say, “Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you.”

Even with wisdom and techniques for coping, rejection is painful, as it involves some breakdown in relationship. When I finally said yes to follow God’s call to seek ordination, I left behind a 15-year career in public health and wellness. I called to tell a long-time friend that I was quitting my job, selling our house, and moving my family to Texas to attend seminary, and eventually become a priest. (Granted, this is a bit of a bombshell to relate on a long-distance phone call.) On the other end of the phone, there was first silence, then uncertainty, and finally, words of discouragement: “You don’t want to do this…This isn’t a good idea…I just don’t see this working out for you.” I felt stunned. Frozen.

If I had it in my sightline, having this reading from Luke might have helped fill that space of surprise and hurt, building my resilience. What also comes up for me in reading this passage is the reimagined Serenity Prayer in Resurrection Matters: Church Renewal for Creation’s Sake by Nurya Love Parish:

“God grant me the wisdom to know what I can change, the courage to act for good despite my fears, and the serenity to accept what I can neither change nor influence.” (45)

I love Parish’s invitation to embrace prayer-driven action first, assessing what we can change. Next, have courage to do the hard work. Then, serenity and acceptance of difficulty follow after all other options are exhausted. Dusting off our feet is a last resort, when nothing else can be done. Jesus prepares his followers like this, too. We are being sent out to labor for the Kingdom of God. We being are sent out, emotionally vulnerable and spiritually strong. When facing criticism, I cling to the mantra of the late Rachel Held Evans: “tough skin, tender heart.”

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

Think of a time when you were rejected or dismissed. How did you respond?

Remember a time when you were the one criticizing someone. What would you change and what would you do again?

Daily Challenge

Through the lens of Luke 10, remember a time in your life when you want to wipe the dust from your feet, leaving behind rejection. Write down three things you have learned from that experience. Give thanks to God for your strength and your vulnerability. 

Sealed with a Sense of Calm – October 19

Today’s Readings:  AM Psalm 25; PM Psalm 9, 15; Ecclus. 4:20-5:7; Rev. 7:1-8; Luke 9:51-62 

It’s been just over two years since Bonnie died. Reading Revelation today took me back to the first time I met her.

Bonnie loved the mid-week healing Eucharist at her church. It was a staple of her week and was something that she and her husband Mark often would attend together. By the fall of 2017, Bonnie’s cancer had worsened. The experimental treatments sought across the country were not working. Her immune system was compromised. Bonnie battled severe bouts of nausea and pain, therefore she was mainly homebound. As she missed the time of healing prayer, she asked if a priest could visit her at home.

Though strangers, Bonnie gently welcomed me into her circle. She told me about her disease. She shared with me stories of the past and present: meeting her husband when they were abroad as children of deployed military families, pursuing her education and career, raising their children, and the arrival of her first grandchild. Bonnie talked about her hopes for healing and the fears that hung over her.

Though I did not have a communion box with me, I did have an oil stock – a brass container with consecrated healing oil – in my purse. Bonnie’s face lighted up, “Oh, that would be just perfect!” We prayed, and I anointed her with oil. She exhaled and smiled steadily, saying, “Thank you.” Her simple words of gratitude hung in the air. Receiving the shiny ‘t’-shaped cross on her forehead brought Bonnie peace. That mark – an outward manifestation of faith – gave her a sense of calm and gratitude in a tumultuous season. She died the next year, surrounded by her family.

There is impending chaos in the apocalyptic excerpt from Revelation appointed in our Daily Office lectionary today. The angel ascending from the rising sun advises the other four angels to mark the servants of the Lord with a seal on their forehead. Those who are marked with the seal of that same living God will be set apart and protected from destruction. What imagery to be reminded of during 2020, right?

There are all kinds of marks that we bear, telling stories of wounds and mistakes, loves lost and found again. Some are more visible than others. Some, like tattoos, we choose for ourselves, and others are scars, imposed upon us against our will. These marks are windows into our brokenness, and they are glimpses at our redemption.

After baptism in the Episcopal Church, a priest or bishop uses chrism, a special oil that has been blessed, and makes the sign of a cross on the newly baptized person’s forehead, saying that they are sealed by the power of the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. It’s an outward demonstration of a spiritual experience. That mark is a gentle branding that we are servants of God. It is a mark of grace and peace. It serves as a reminder to the forces of destruction around us, indicating who we are and whose we are.

May you be sealed with a sense of calm this day.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What do you know of your baptism?

What reconnects you with a sense of peace and joy?

Daily Challenge

Visualize the mark of a cross being placed upon your forehead. Trace the movement of those perpendicular lines. Reflect on what it means to be a servant of God. Being sealed and protected as on of God’s own, what bold step of faith could you take today? Spend 10 minutes journaling, and then write down one action you will take to live into your baptismal identity.

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.