True Sight - March 23

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm [120], 121, 122, 123; PM Psalm 124, 125, 126, [127]; Jer. 25:8-17; Rom. 10:1-13; John 9:18-41

Today’s Reflection

On Sunday afternoons throughout Lent, a small group of us has been meeting to discuss a collection of poems called The Word in the Wilderness: A Poem a Day for Lent and Easter. Edited by poet Malcolm Guite, who is also a priest in the Church of England, each week’s poems take up a specific theme appropriate for Lent. This past week, the poems chosen were all on the theme of balancing knowledge of the self with knowledge of the world and knowledge of the Divine. To explore this theme, Guite paired excerpts from two long poems, “Nosce Te ipsum (Know Thyself)” by John Davies (a contemporary of Shakespeare) and “In Memoriam” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Poet Laureate of England during the Victorian era).

John Davies wrote his 2,000-line poem (don’t worry, we only read about 125 of them), titled “Know Thyself,” during the reign of Elizabeth I, an era not only of great flourishing in the arts, but also of expanding the boundaries of the known world through both scientific exploration and travel by sea.

            We that acquaint our selves with every Zone

            And pass both Tropics and behold the Poles,

            When we come home, are to our selves unknown,

            And unacquainted still with our own souls.

            We study Speech but others we persuade;

            We leech-craft learn, but others cure with it;

            We interpret laws, which other men have made,

            But read not those which in our hearts are writ.

            Is it because the mind is like the eye,

            Through which it gathers knowledge by degrees—

Whose rays reflect not, but spread outwardly:

Not seeing itself when other things it sees?

Through writing these lines of verse, Davies is working through a timeless human struggle: the struggle to know ourselves. In an age of discovery, when gaining knowledge of the physical world was associated with increased power and influence, Davies’ instinct was to push back through his poetry to reflect on how we are “unacquainted still with our own souls.” As Davies continued to reflect in a later section of this lengthy poem,

            But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought,

Except the sun-beams in the air doe shine:

            So the best soul with her reflecting thought,

            Sees not her self without some light divine.

As Guite reflects, “Davies concludes that we cannot account for the world and ourselves unless we look beyond ourselves to a source, a maker both of ourselves and of the world in which we participate. We must begin by acknowledging the mystery of our own minds; we must cast back upon ourselves what Davies called … ‘our understanding light.’ In so doing, Davies believes, we will encounter another light…. A light that is at once the source of our consciousness and the source of the world of which we are conscious.”

Today’s Gospel passage from John 9 is a continuation of the story of Jesus healing a man born blind by applying a mixture of mud and saliva, and then telling him to go wash in the pool of Siloam. The man did what Jesus said and regained his sight. But then some began to question whether he had ever really been blind to begin with and began to question him about his experience of being healed by Jesus: “So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, ‘Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.’ He answered, ‘I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see’” (John 9: 24-25). This man is confident that what he experienced is true, and he holds onto his faith even while facing great pressure to recant his experience. Jesus then re-enters the scene, finds the man whose sight he restored, and asked him:

‘Do you believe in the Son of Man?’ He answered, ‘And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.’ Jesus said to him, ‘You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.’ He said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshipped him. Jesus said, ‘I came into this world for judgement so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.’ Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, ‘Surely we are not blind, are we?’ Jesus said to them, ‘If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains” (John 9: 35-41).

The people who were questioning this man’s experience were basing their questions merely on knowledge gained in the physical world—they had access only to evidence that could be gathered through their senses.

This whole incident, though, is pointing us all toward a more transcendent knowledge. Jesus is not trying to make a point about losing or gaining one’s physical ability to see. Rather, Jesus is talking more so about the ability to see with the eyes of our heart. Do we have spiritual insight into ourselves and who we are in relationship to God and to our world? When this man regained his physical sight, he also came away with faith and spiritual insight that allowed him to say, “I believe.”

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

In what ways do you feel spiritually unable to see clearly? What practice might you take up—or let go of—that would allow you to see yourself, your life circumstances, and our world through a more transcendent, spiritual point of view?

Daily Challenge

Try reading this week’s poems in Malcolm Guite’s The Word in the Wilderness collection, which share the theme “Prayer that Pierces” (the full poems along with audio of Guite reading them are posted on his blog).

Or, if you are intrigued by the excerpts included in today’s reflection, you can find the texts of last week’s poems by John Davies and Alfred, Lord Tennyson on Guite’s blog, too.

Let us Never be Put to Shame - March 22

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 31; PM Psalm 35; Jer. 24:1-10; Rom. 9:19-33; John 9:1-17

Many moons ago, my work and vocation were as an Episcopal Youth Minister.  I loved almost every part of it.  We played games on Sunday evenings, met on Wednesday nights where we gathered for our own service of worship and our young people would preach and teach.  And many weekends and weeks in the summer were spent on retreats and trips.  Our church had a biannual overseas pilgrimage, an annual beach trip, ski trip, annual mission trip, and several weekend retreats. 

Without reservation, what was always asked of our young people to bring on every trip was their very own Book of Common Prayer.  Most had received one as a gift from Confirmation, just as we give our young people (and adults) at Saint Stephen’s.  At the end of the day, we would sit in a circle, debrief what we had learned, we would share our moments of awe and wonder, and conclude with the service of Compline from the Book of Common Prayer. 

If you are not familiar with Compline, it is part of the Daily Office (we do Morning Prayer and noonday prayer at Saint Stephen’s) and is designed to be read just before bed.  This practice was a part of the early monastic communities, and other traditions might call the service ‘Vespers’.  The service begins on page 127 and takes about six or seven minutes.  It is a lovely way to end the day.

 Like all of the services of the Daily Office, the officiant can select a Psalm.  I would wager, ninety percent of the time, we would read the first five verses of Psalm 31.  This is probably because we didn’t want to read the Psalm that only had two verses nor the option that had way more and five seemed like an appropriate amount of Scripture for people to read.  We hear those verses today and they are some of my absolute favorites.

“In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge;
let me never be put to shame; *
deliver me in your righteousness.

Incline your ear to me; *
make haste to deliver me.

Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe,
for you are my crag and my stronghold; *
for the sake of your Name, lead me and guide me.

Take me out of the net that they have secretly set for me, *
for you are my tower of strength.

Into your hands I commend my spirit, *
for you have redeemed me,
O Lord, O God of truth.”

As I read those today, I am left wondering what the impact of hearing those words would have been over and over and over.  Did hearing words of affirmation and security have an impact on our young people or my own life?  How important could it be for us to hear the security of God’s love to guide us, comfort us, and redeem us?  What is the benefit of knowing this truth and hearing at the end of each day?

I want to shift gears for just a moment.  We have just concluded a powerful series on race and reconciliation at Saint Stephen’s that has brought a number of difficult topics to the table.  This weekend, I read an op-ed by David Brooks in the New York Times on a Christian Vision for Social Justice.  I identified with Brooks as being hungry for a movement that doesn’t “reduce people to simplistic labels or destroy a career over a bad tweet.”  Brooks points to a lot of the storytelling going on in our communities as a healthy model for truth-telling.  And I was thinking of just how painful those stories can be to hear such as the story of Emmitt Till that we have dug into the past two Sundays. 

 For me, the catch seems to be, if we trust God, specifically in the way that the Psalmist does, then we can advocate for love and justice and even reflect in our own role in the brokenness of the world because God promises to protect us, and in the words of Psalm 31, ‘to never let us be put to shame.’  What a hopeful promise!  If we trust in this love and security, I bet it much easier to do the hard work of uncovering experiences and truths in a way that God’s love can break through. But we have to know God is there to guide us and redeem us.  I know it’s uncomfortable work.  Thanks be to God that God will never let us be put to shame.  Amen!

John

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Are there words that you heard over and over in your life that were comforting and helped you move through difficult times?  What about now?

Daily Challenge: Read the piece from David Brooks by clicking here.  Do you find his view more challenging or hopeful?  Why?

Going on a diet - March 20

Today’s Readings: Psalm 33; Jer. 23:9-15; John 6:60-71 

I walked through Panera to pick up a to-go coffee this week and saw two people sitting at a booth. One was a young man who looked to be in high school. The other was a young woman who looked to be post-college. She was helping him with math. As I walked past, I heard her telling him what a logarithm was and how to solve these in algebraic equations. Watching the two of them reminded me of the many years that I tutored people in math and science. I can still recall the look on one teenager's face as I was trying to explain geometric proofs – as if she was saying, “I just cannot do this. It is ridiculous.”

I wonder if that is the same expression some of Jesus’ disciples are giving him in this excerpt from John 6 today. We read that Jesus the teacher has hit a rocky path: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” I can imagine blank looks and muttering among the crowd. The Messiah has been telling his students and followers about spiritual food. Teaching through spoken word and lived action, he reveals mysterious and provocative concepts. Jesus continues, “It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life.” (v. 63) In following him, Jesus offers this holy meal of bread and wine - Body and Blood. In following him, they will be forever nourished. In following him, they will be drawing nearer to God and will receive everlasting life. Jesus’ words register as bizarre to the disciples’ ears, perhaps like how to solve algebraic logarithms or geometric proofs. This teaching is difficult.

In Hebrew 5:11-14, we hear talk of food through the lens of spirituality, as the author is teaching the hearers about their diet at Christians – whether they are drinking milk as those infants who cannot care for themselves, or eating solid food. And in that paradigm, infants are not ready to teach others and are still being prepared for entrance into the full life of the church. They are immature on all counts. Those who eat solid food are mature; they have been washed in the baptismal waters and are living into following Christ by deepening their faith, discerning good from evil, and telling others of their spiritual growth. The voice in Hebrews acknowledges that understanding the mystery of Jesus as God’s son sent into the world to show compassion and mercy, teaching the truth to everyone who will listen…it is a hard topic: “About this we have much to say that is hard to explain, since you have become dull in understanding.” (Hebrews 5:11)

Walking the walk and living the life as a follower of Jesus is not easy. Sometimes we need to go back to the building blocks of metaphorical milk – the basics. Because the teachings of Jesus are difficult. Living a life of love and sacrifice day in and day out is beautiful and demanding. Thankfully, we do not embark on this adventure alone. We have God with us. We have one another. And in community, we hear one voice call out in discovery, “We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” (v. 69)

Let us share in this holy diet of “spirit and life”. Let’s immerse ourselves in scripture. Let’s immerse ourselves in prayer. Let’s ready ourselves to partake of the bread that brings life – and remember that part of being forever nourished is inviting others to share in the holy diet that will never leave us hungry.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What part of Jesus’ teachings feels mysterious and incomprehensible to you today? What part of his teachings bring you into the awe of “spirit and life”?

Daily Challenge

As you partake of worship this weekend, think about the nourishment extended to you in God’s love and the teachings of Jesus – whether you receive the Body of Christ at outdoor church or receive the Good News during Morning Prayer. I offer you this writing of an Italian Catholic bishop, saint, and moral theologian who wrote this prayer for spiritual communion, when physical participation in Eucharist was not possible:

My Jesus, I believe that you are truly present in the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar. I love you above all things, and long for you in my soul. Since I cannot now receive you sacramentally, come at least spiritually into my heart. As though you have already come, I embrace you and unite myself entirely to you; never permit me to be separated from you. Amen.  (St. Alphonsus de Liguori, 1696-1787)

More Than Conquerors - March 19

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95* & 102; PM Psalm 107:1-32; Jer. 23:1-8; Rom. 8:28-39; John 6:52-59

Today’s Reflection

This week, many have reflected on the fact that we are now one year into this continuing time of global pandemic. As we read Paul’s words of encouragement to the Romans today (Romans 8:28-39), we can look back on all the changes and challenges of this past year and feel encouraged that, through it all, we can trust that “all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”

Those words, while encouraging, can also be a bit disconcerting in that, when we are going through a challenging time, we may struggle to see how it is working for our good or for the good of those we love. Paul isn’t saying that we won’t go through hard things—in fact, he acknowledges several very hard things that followers of Christ, across time and place, experience: “hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword.” His point is that, when we do face struggles of many kinds, “It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us” (8:34). When we experience hard things, we can find comfort and strength in knowing that Christ, sitting at the right hand of God, intercedes for us.

One year ago today, March 19, 2020, is a day full of vivid memories of hard things in the life of my family. My daughters’ spring break was the week before, but since I could not take off from work that week, we had sent them off on a plane to Florida, where they would spend the week with my parents. I planned to join them at the end of their time there, and then as the reality of the pandemic set in, the schools extended their break for another week. While flying on a plane was beginning to be seen as a risky endeavor, I decided to fly on to Florida anyway on Monday, March 16, with the plan that we would all return home to Texas at the end of the week.

While it was pleasant to be back in sunny Florida, seeing my parents and revisiting favorite places with my daughters, my hopes for reuniting with friends over lunch or dinner were quickly canceled. We could still enjoy outdoor places, but even a dash into Publix for a few items to take back to my parents’ home was stressful, as people were crowding into stores to stock up as if a hurricane were on the way. Then, the day after arriving in Florida, I learned that I may have been exposed to COVID the day before my trip, and that the person would learn whether or not their illness was COVID sometime later in the week. I decided not to tell my daughters or parents quite yet, as there was nothing I could do to change the fact that I may have already exposed them to it. By that Thursday afternoon (March 19), we learned that I had been exposed to COVID (on March 15) and we would need to quarantine for 14 days—a protocol that seems very familiar to us now, but was still very new to us then.

Meanwhile my husband, who had stayed back in Texas, was enjoying his now-extended spring break by taking motorcycle rides in the Texas countryside, so beautiful in the springtime with the bluebonnets and paintbrush in full bloom. But before I had the chance to give him tell him of our impending quarantine, I received a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize. The man on the phone said he had been riding with Tyler, and that he’d been taken to the nearest hospital. A little while later, a nurse called to say they would be transferring him to a Trauma I hospital a couple hours away. Immediately, I started changing flights to get us back to Texas that night. The surrealness of the situation was heightened as I began receiving messages from the bishops of Texas—not people with whom I’d normally be texting.

As we drove to the airport and awaited flights, my brain finally began connecting the dots between these two different situations—the COVID exposure and the motorcycle accident. When we changed planes in Houston or Dallas (it’s all a blur now), a physician called to update us and confirmed what I suspected—that we would not be allowed in the hospital due to the COVID exposure and our travel. Our friend Radha picked us up in Austin and drove us back to College Station in the dark and rain—only for us to have to spend the night in a hotel down the road, as we couldn’t reach the people with our spare keys and realized we didn’t have one with us. We had rushed home to Texas in the face of a life-or-death situation, only to find ourselves locked out of our home. What a day!

Looking back on that day, I’m sure I said some prayers, but I don’t remember any of them now. I do know that my children were afraid they wouldn’t get to see their dad again, and that I was focused on comforting them and getting us home safely—just putting one foot in front of the other to do what I needed to do to take care of everyone. And we did know that people like my friend Radha and my other seminary classmates, and even +Kai Ryan and +Andy Doyle, were praying for Tyler and for us—and this was comforting to us in those moments.

As Paul wrote, “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? … No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (8:35, 37-39). I like what Michael Gorman, a scholar of Paul’s letters, observes about this language of being more than conquerors: “Paul’s attitude was that those in Christ ‘hyper-conquer’ (Gk. hypernikao) in the midst of suffering because they know God’s love and possess a sure hope as they suffer. Therefore, nothing in all creation… can separate believers from God’s love and purpose in Christ for his children” (Gorman, Apostle of the Crucified Lord, 378). Nothing, not even a global pandemic or a motorcycle accident—or whatever seems to us at the time like the worst possible circumstances—can separate us from the love of Christ. That is a truth we can always hold onto and take comfort in.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Recall a time when you felt overwhelmed by what life was throwing at you. How did you keep going and conquer it? Who offered you support and love? Looking back, can you see the evidence of God’s presence with you more clearly now?

Daily Challenge

To reflect further on how Romans 8 can help us think through the spiritual implications of the pandemic, read this interview with New Testament scholar, N.T. Wright.

Market Day - March 18

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 69:1-23(24-30)31-38; PM Psalm 73 ; Jer. 22:13-23; Rom. 8:12-27; John 6:41-51

In the third grade at my son’s school, they have what is called “Market Day.”  Each student designs and builds something that they can make in bulk and then sell at the school market.  My son, Jack, has made keychains that are attached to Lego figurines.  They are displayed on a festive tree and students can purchase them for $3 dollars of some fake money with the principal’s face on the bill.

As we were carrying his project to school on Tuesday morning, Jack and I were talking.  I kept asking, “well how much did you spend on the Legos?” 

“Dad, leave me alone. It’s fine.” 

“But if you spent more than $3 on each keychain, then the project doesn’t make sense.  The goal is to make money!” 

“Dad, it doesn’t matter what we spent.”  He kept getting more and more frustrated.  “I just have to sell my product!” 

We were both agitated, and finally, I just snapped.  “The goal is to make as much money as possible!” To which he responded.
“No, it’s not! And with the turning of his head implied that we are going to end this conversation now. He can be pretty persuasive. 

And I left Jack at school that morning, worried that maybe he is struggling to understand one of the most basic tenants of free life.  Spend less money than you make!  And then I read Jeremiah less than an hour later to begin preparing for today’s reflection. 

In Jeremiah, the prophet is explicitly critical of the king of Judah.  In today’s passage, the prophet exclaims, “Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness, and his upper rooms by injustice; who makes his neighbors work for nothing, and does not give them their wages.”  Jeremiah continues with his critique of the dishonesty of the king’s leadership.  Notice, that Jeremiah is not critical of people working for him, and Jeremiah is not even critical of the king’s nice things, but he is critical of how he has arrived at where he is.  As a leader, his treatment of those he is responsible for is his ultimate judgment as king and rule, not what is amassed.  His “spacious house with large upper rooms, … paneling it with cedar, and painting it with vermillion” are not what is valued.  He cannot be considered successful if the people around him are not thriving too. 

I still think Jack has a number of things to learn about business, but what if our goal in life is not what we can produce, or the value we can extract from the earth, but instead our care for the people whose lives we touch or empower.  And maybe when we put the focus on how we can care for others, we can still bring home a little profit, but we have started from a much better place.  At least Jeremiah will be happy.  

 John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  How do you value success in life?  What metrics have you used in the past?  How have those been helpful?  Where have they been problematic?  What do you most often overlook?

Daily Challenge:  See if you can make a list of people who depend on you in your life. Identify three tangible ways that you can improve their well-being.   

Bread - March 17

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 101, 109:1-4, 20-30; PM Psalm 119:121-144; Jer. 18:1-11; Rom. 8:1-11; John 6:27-40

“Can I please have some more bread?” piped a sweet child's voice on Sunday morning as Becky, John, and I walked around the parking lot distributing the consecrated bread during Communion. For outdoor worship the last two weeks, we have been using baked loaves of bread for Eucharist -- round, golden brown rolls from the Publix bakery. I noticed this week that some kids (including my two) gathered after the service near the altar to get leftover bread. These young children gather to get their fill of the food that endures for eternal life – the Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.

The image of children beaming with the gift of bread and life lingers upon my heart today as I read John 6. A crowd is searching for Jesus after he feeds them loaves and fish; they are intrigued by the power of this charismatic man. They are curious about the signs and wonders he will perform. The crowd pipes up that their ancestors were nourished in the desert by manna and Jesus responds:

‘Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.’ They said to him, ‘Sir, give us this bread always.’ (v. 32-34)

Jesus guides the crowd to deeper understanding, and they say yes! To what are they assenting? To satisfaction. To acceptance. To wholeness. To comfort. To belief. To salvation. It’s a compelling invitation, isn’t it?

There is a rich and invigorating poem called “Eat Bread and Understand Comfort” by Mary Oliver. It opens with these stanzas:

Eat bread and understand comfort.

Drink water, and understand delight.

Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets

are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds

who are drinking the sweetness, who are

thrillingly gluttonous.

For one thing leads to another.

Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.

Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.

In Oliver’s words, I hear God’s transformative power in Eucharist, opening our eyes to belief, exhilaration, and love. She ends with this line, “Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.”

Mary Oliver gives us the gift of wisdom here. The Bread of Life nourishes us. And as we are filled with belief, we move out into the world to share that love…that hope…that generosity. May God nourish and enrich your life today - and then pass it on!

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What is a comfort food for you?

What does receiving Holy Communion mean to you? How does it change you?

Daily Challenge 

Treat yourself to a moment of comfort and reflection by reading the entirety of Mary Oliver’s poem “Eat Bread and Understand Comfort”. Then, eat a snack that brings you comfort, and read Oliver’s words again. What stands out to you? What do you feel moved to share with someone else?

For the Sake of Your Lives, Rest - March 16

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 97, 99, [100]; PM Psalm 94, [95]; Jer. 17:19-27; Rom. 7:13-25; John 6:16-27

Today’s Reflection

Thus says the Lord: For the sake of your lives, take care that you do not bear a burden on the sabbath day or bring it in by the gates of Jerusalem. And do not carry a burden out of your houses on the sabbath or do any work, but keep the sabbath day holy, as I commanded your ancestors. Yet they did not listen or incline their ear; they stiffened their necks and would not hear or receive instruction. –Jeremiah 17: 21-23

In our multitasking, open 24/7, always plugged-in U.S. cultural context, sabbath-keeping—taking just one full day out of every week to rest—could not be more counter-cultural. Other cultures reinforce the benefits of taking time off much more than U.S. culture does. For instance, European countries require employers to provide employees with at least 20 paid days off—and some mandate 25-30—while the average in the U.S. is only 10, and that is not mandated but varies by employer. Not only do people in the U.S. have less opportunity to take time off from our labors, but many of us do not take off as many days as we could. Forbes magazine reports that “Americans are taking less vacation time than at any point in nearly the last four decades.” In a study called “All Work and No Pay,” researchers concluded that “America’s work martyrs aren’t more successful.” So why do we find it so hard not to take a rest from our labors, even when we can do so with pay?

And then there are those times when life decides we need to rest. This past Sunday afternoon, I received my second COVID-19 vaccine. But then, nine hours later, at 10:45 Sunday night, just as I was hoping to fall asleep, I started to ache, feel chills, and began to sense that I was experiencing side effects of the vaccine, as some people do.

By 1:45 a.m., I still had not fallen asleep. I couldn’t get comfortable and by this point, I was pretty sure I had a fever—and made myself get up to find the thermometer and see if we had any acetaminophen I could take to help some of the symptoms subside, even if temporarily, so that I could finally get some sleep. I did finally fall asleep, but woke up four hours later, just as the medicine was wearing off, and I felt miserable. I couldn’t pull myself up to make my usual cup of tea or to help my children get ready for school—but thankfully they rose to the occasion and managed to get ready with none of the usual help from me. We even managed to get out the door on time.

When I arrived back home to the empty, quiet house, I propped myself up on the loveseat in our living room, stretched my legs out on the ottoman, and that’s where I have been pretty much all day. I realized that it wouldn’t be in my best interest to push myself to go to the office to work today, or even to lead a Bible study group on Zoom. My body was telling me that, though it is a Monday, today would need to be an extra day of rest for me this week. While I did manage to eek out several emails, for the most part I just rested. I turned on the television, falling in and out of sleep, as our beagle snored in a nearby chair. As I told my family when they got home later, you can tell how sick I must be because I slept during the day—which only happens when I am very sick.

Taking a sabbath day—or even just a sick day—not only helps restore our physical health, our emotional wellbeing, and our spiritual balance, but so too can it help us to gain new perspective as we sit things out instead of pushing ourselves to keep going. As Cardinal John Dearden put it so well in his poem, “Prophets of a Future Not Our Own”:

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent
enterprise that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of
saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. …

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an
opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When have you chosen to take some time off to rest? And when have your own circumstances forced you to take a rest? How did taking time for rest and renewal—whether chosen or forced—influence you when you entered back into your usual work and life routines?

Daily Challenge

Read “The Data-Driven Case for More Vacation” in the Harvard Business Review to help you continue to reflect on the importance of rest and time away. And if you enjoyed the excerpt of Cardinal Dearden’s poem above, you can read the full text of “Prophets of a Future Not Our Own.”

Which Miracle do you Believe? - March 15

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 89:1-18; PM Psalm 89:19-52 ; Jer. 16:10-21; Rom. 7:1-12; John 6:1-15

I certainly don’t want to dismiss the incredible power of God.  Each year, I become increasingly aware that there is much that I cannot fathom or even begin to comprehend.  I do believe there are events that stretch our comprehension and can be nothing less than deemed a miracle. I can easily concede that many of the stories in Scripture such as healing and bringing back to life must be true.  If they were not, why would we be telling the story today? 

However, I also don’t believe that many of these stories are at the crux of our faith.  For me, it is not about whether or not God did this or that, but more about our faithfulness and how that reorients our lives.  I think today’s Gospel lesson gives us an interesting experiment to test out.

Imagine this group of five thousand gathered after a long day of travel, seeking out the mysterious Jesus who is beginning to have quite a following. The group gathered is made up of teenagers and adults leaving home in search of something different.  Many of their lives are challenged by poverty or exceptional hard work, illness, and brokenness, some even as much to say despair.  They take what little they have, a few snacks for the road, some figs and bread wrapped up in the garments, and begin the journey to meet this mysterious man. 

When they arrive at the Sea of Galilee, there are five thousand in total.  Many who have been away from home for several days at this point.  Now, two things could have happened at this moment in the story.  When the crowd encounters Jesus, Jesus could either multiply the loaves of bread and the fish so that food is made out of relatively nothing.  Or people could have been so willing to share what was hidden in their garments, the stored-up rations for a few days travel, enough so that everyone who gathered was fed.  Which would be the greater miracle?  People giving up what they need to be secure and safe for the wellbeing of the community?  Or a multiplication magic trick?

I’d argue that both are pretty miraculous, and one seems more plausible than the other, not that it really matters which story is true. But one story has a much bigger impact on our lives today.  Are we waiting for God to multiply what we have so that we have more?  Or are we trusting enough to give up much of what we have for the well-being of the community and believe that there will be enough for everyone?  What about just a little bit more than before? 

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Have you ever experienced something where people shared what they had in a miraculous way?  What was your role in the story? Is it easy for you to share what is yours? 

Daily Challenge: Consider ways of helping your local community.  Here is an easy list of 10 ways to consider.  Also, in March, Saint Stephen’s is collecting for the Lovelady Center.  Read more here.  We also have an ongoing weekly presence in Avondale and you can learn more here.

Anniversary - March 13

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 87, 90; Jer. 13:1-11;  John 8:47-59 

May the graciousness of the Lord our God be upon us; prosper the work of our hands; prosper our handiwork. (Psalm 90:17)

 Today. Today marks the one-year mark of quarantine life at our home. On March 12, 2020, Sam and I talked in the middle of the day while the kids were still in school about what was going on regarding the spread of COVID-19 and what we needed to do. I went to the grocery store and bought dried beans, chicken broth, vegetables, canned items, and other stuff that I cannot begin to recall. The cart was full. I stocked the cabinets and refrigerator for the next couple of weeks. We sat down after the kids had gone to bed, worrying about what we were going to do about COVID-19. The schools had not made announcements about closing, but Sam named his clear concern: we cannot send the kids back to school tomorrow. I agreed. And so, our kids stayed home from school that Friday the 13th of March.

Later that day, in-person worship was suspended diocesan-wide by Bishop Kee. I remember being stunned. How long would it last? Would things go back to normal in a week or so? The words from Psalm 90 come up for me, “So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” (v. 12) Counting the days in COVID-time became part of my monthly mental math; honestly, there were some days I applied my heart to God’s wisdom and other days, I just struggled.

Looking back, I could not have named the myriad of changes of the past year. I never imagined this many deaths would come. I never knew how long a week could feel, and how many ups and downs would be presented. I never anticipated so much anger and resentment would bubble up among family and friends. I never thought I would stop myself from singing along in a public gathering. I never thought I would feel so afraid. “Lord, you have been our refuge” (Ps. 90:1)...the psalmist’s words speak so intimately to the past year.

At the same time, I could not have anticipated the great joy and connection that would grow from this time of isolation and dispersion. I think about the Bible studies that pivoted to meet on ZOOM. Worship transitioned to computer screens – and more frequently, with the Daily Office in the morning and at noon. Communication moved to the written word, as John and I began writing reflections on scripture that were emailed out to people each day. Staff worked from home (many while still parenting children)and got really creative in keeping kids and teens engaged, while remotely caring for the church’s physical plant. The choir figured out ways to grace worship with music, even when they could not gather together in the nave in the seats they had so often inhabited each Sunday morning. Psalm 90 speaks up again, “Satisfy us by your loving-kindness in the morning; so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life.” (v. 14) God’s loving-kindness was surrounding us in all of these adaptations and experiments!

While we have not always seen each other’s faces, we have shared stories. We have shared experiences of loss and fear. We have shared struggles of disappointment and frustration. We have shown one another grace. We have extended olive branches of forgiveness and challenged ourselves to grow in new ways. We have lived into exile, while knowing that God is with us. I hear the clanging of Psalm 90, “Make us glad by the measure of the days that you afflicted us and the years in which we suffered adversity.” (v. 15)

At Saint Stephen’s we continue delivering prayers, flowers, meals, calls, smiles, shawls, prayer bracelets, grief books, cards to those in need. We continue as the church. We continue praising God. The church has not shut its doors; we have simply opened the windows of our hearts and allowed the Holy Spirit to move and breathe in us, prospering the work of our hands (Psalm 90:17) in ways we never could have imagined.

As you reflect on the changes in your life across this year, be gentle with yourself. Know that God’s love for you has not wavered, even if your faith has been rattled. Friends, there is still much grieving to be done for the losses upon our hearts. And, though we grieve, we can still cling to joy and gratitude for God’s grace – and that Jesus is our faithful companion in suffering and heartache.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What has been a hard loss this year? What have you gained? Where is God in these losses and gifts?

Daily Challenge

Reach out to someone that you’ve not been in touch with much in the last year. Invite them to share a story of heartbreak and a story of joy. Ask them what they would change looking back. Ask what they want to keep from the year of isolation. Think about your answers to these questions…and if you have a chance, share!

‘As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives’ - March 12

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95[*] & 88; PM Psalm 91, 92; Jer. 11:1-8,14-20; Rom. 6:1-11; John 8:33-47 

Today’s Reflection

“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.

For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin. For whoever has died is freed from sin. But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.” –Romans 6: 3-8

These words from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans are so timely today, when we will come together at noon to remember the life of our beloved Saint’s Stephen’s parishioner, choir member, pianist, and friend, Anise Morris. Paul’s words give us reassurance on this day, especially, because they remind us of what we believe: “Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (6:4). We believe in a God who loves us so much that he sent his Son to live and die as one of us, and in so doing to conquer death and give us all the promise of eternal life in the presence of God.

We affirm this belief each time we say the Apostles’ Creed: “He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” Jesus suffered and died—as we do. But then something miraculous happened, something which forever changed the way believers in God would believe about what happens after this life: Jesus was resurrected—and ascended into heaven. When Jesus did this, he opened the way for us to do the same.

When we die, we believe that this physical death is not the end for us, or for those we love. Rather, as Paul argues so compellingly, “if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (6:5). As we also affirm each time we say the Apostles’ Creed, we believe in “the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.” Because all who are baptized into Christ Jesus are baptized into his death, likewise all who are baptized into Christ Jesus are baptized into his resurrection, which means we are assured victory over death and the promise of living forever in the presence of God.

Ultimately, Paul argues, “if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him” (6:8). Holding onto our faith in God, our faith that this statement is true, we believe that our friend Anise, who has died with Christ, is now living with Christ—through whom she has life everlasting. This does not mean it is easy for us to accept that Anise is no longer with us, sharing her bright smile, joyous laughter, and musical gifts. It is hard to accept this, and we are right to mourn the loss of her presence in our lives. Nevertheless, in our grief we can also find solace and hope in knowing that we believe in a God who cares for us and cares for Anise, and that in her dying Anise is now walking in the newness of everlasting life in Christ.

In closing, I invite you reflect with me this morning on these words from the Anthem that we say at the very beginning of our Rite II service for the Burial of the Dead (BCP 491):

I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.

Whoever has faith in me shall have life,

even though he die.

And everyone who has life,

and has committed himself to me in faith,

shall not die for ever.

As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives

and that at the last he will stand upon the earth.

After my awaking, he will raise me up;

and in my body I shall see God.

I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him

who is my friend and not a stranger.

—Becky+

Searching for What God has Made - March 11

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm [83] or 42, 43; PM Psalm 85, 86; Jer. 10:11-24; Rom. 5:12-21; John 8:21-32

Last night, our Young Adult Bible study met on zoom to discuss the book of Jonah.  Over the past few weeks, we have tried to take reasonable amounts of Scripture and read bits where we can really get a sense of a story.  I think it’s fun to say that we read an entire book.  We read Ruth two weeks ago and the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew last week. 

Jonah is an interesting book, really because it is a story that focuses on the prophet and is not a story calling out the actions and behavior of Israel.  That seems to be the focus of the other prophets in the Bible, like Jeremiah, who we are reading now in Morning Prayer.  The purpose of Jonah is really about the breadth of God’s saving love being far more expansive than Jonah can imagine.  In fact, he is quite mad that God cares more about the Ninevites than his precious little ego (that’s another story worth unpacking).  

One of the people in our study was commenting on the role of the animals in the story.  Obviously, there is a large fish, but when Jonah travels to Nineveh and commands the people to repent, the humans and the animals both put on sackcloth.  My kids have tried on several occasions to dress up our cat, and it didn’t work out in the least.  I can’t imagine a whole town of animals dressed in sackcloth!  And then in the very last passage, the Lord asks Jonah, “And should I not be concerned with … many animals?”  Really God?

We don’t often consider it as such, but I think the book of Jonah is a window into God’s care and inspiration for all that inhabit the earth.  The animals, the land, and the plants all matter.  Last Saturday about two dozen of us gathered for our first Holy Hike of 2021.  We walked together along a trail off of Dunnavant Road.  Kids played on logs that stretched across a beautiful stream.  We all marveled at the magnificent setting for a Saturday morning.  On Sunday, many on our congregation drove on to the beautiful grounds of Saint Stephen’s, alive with hundreds of daffodils planted in 2018 exploding with beauty and color as we gathered as the Body of Christ. 

If I am completely honest with you, I have never worshipped in a parking lot before.  But I did on Sunday, amongst our people and daffodils, and some beautiful music.  I looked out at the trees that separated our church from the neighborhood behind, the large pine trees moving up the hill. They almost danced in the breeze.  On Saturday, we walked along a well-worn trail, taking in the smells of a spring that is about to break through, of buds beginning to give a glimmer of life, and slowing down enough to be filled with awe and wonder.

The prophet Jeremiah draws our attention to God in this way:

“It is he who made the earth by his power,
   who established the world by his wisdom,
   and by his understanding stretched out the heavens.
When he utters his voice, there is a tumult of waters in the heavens,
   and he makes the mist rise from the ends of the earth.
He makes lightnings for the rain,
   and he brings out the wind from his storehouses.”  

And then he points to Israel that has put her trust in all of the false idols.  And I am left wondering what are ours.

We are all search for God and often I wonder if it is in the very idols that we have fashioned with our own hand.  If we are looking for peace, for God’s promise of security and abiding presence, I wonder if we are just a walk away.  Just outside our cubicles, or offices, and or kitchens is a sidewalk or a trail that is waiting to be discovered.  We keep looking to our phones, our email, our work, our productivity, or our shiny new toys as if they are to fill us with awe and wonder.  And all along, it could be as simple as a walk outside and some more daydreaming through a window.  Have a few minutes?  Close this email and go search for something God has made.  It might change your whole perspective. 

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  How much time do you spend in nature?  What was the last meaningful experience outside you had? 

Daily Challenge:  Power your phone off for fifteen minutes and go for a walk outside.

Reconciling Light - March 10

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:97-120; PM Psalm 81, 82; Jer. 8:18-9:6; Rom. 5:1-11; John 8:12-20

An old memory bubbled up as I was going to bed last night. I remembered the first funeral I attended, probably around age eight or nine. We drove to Meridian, Mississippi, in our brown station wagon for the service. My dad’s dad had died suddenly. Meridian was my dad’s birthplace, though he grew up in Alabama after his parents' divorce. He spent summers with his dad and grandfather in Mississippi, helping on a farm. I never met my dad’s dad and I don’t recall hearing stories of him. Knowing now how other familial relationships can function, I look back on the bond between my dad and his father, realizing that there was some type of breakdown in play. Sadly, the rupture was never healed.

This morning I did a little web searching for my paternal grandfather, to learn more information. And then I looked up my dad’s name. My dad died in 1995 – and I only found one web hit that had information about him. It was a synopsis of a legal brief from the Alabama Court of Civil Appeals in 1991 regarding my parents’ divorce, the division of property, and assigning of child support. How surreal it was to read these unemotional accounts that summarize years of tension: “It is the duty of the trial court, which receives conflicting evidence, to resolve the conflict and render a judgment accordingly.” The appellate court upheld previous decisions. My dad lost in his efforts to overturn judgments that he thought were not equitable.

We hear in Psalm 119 today, in praise to God, “O, how I love your law! All the day long it is on my mind.” In John 8, Jesus says, “You judge by human standards; I judge no one.” I sit here pondering family stories and what to do when law and judgment leave us in a space of separation and angst. When our human relationships are worn thin, frayed, or broken, it is hard to get to a space of resolution. Really hard. And when we render judgments upon a situation, rarely do all parties leave with a good taste in their mouths. Rather, we probably have lingering tinges of resentment, frustration, anger.

Jesus came to cast light upon those pockets of pain and chasms of discord. Jesus came to teach and preach broadly in open spaces, where all could hear. Jesus came to open our eyes to truth. He says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” The Son of God is calling us to follow him on a path of faithfulness, compassion, honesty, and reconciliation. It is radical. Paul writes it like this, in his letter to the Romans:

“But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us. Much more surely then, now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” (8:8-10)

I wish the stories in my family experienced more reconciliation in this human life. I wish that there had been more healing between my dad and his family. I wish that there had been more healing occur between my parents, and even between my dad and me. What I know is that God brings healing. God brings hope through the gift of Jesus. As such, we are invited into that grand and obscene gathering of reconciliation. Thanks be to God!

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

When have you felt judged unjustly? How did you respond? How was your voice heard? Who stood beside you in that time of vulnerability and pain? What have you learned?

Daily Challenge

Be attentive to who in your life may be feeling outcast or judged. Spend five minutes praying for God to move your heart into a posture of reconciliation and truth. Listen for a way you can remind that person that Jesus is the light of the world – for all to hear and see. Share a written note, a phone call, or other gift of kindness.

The Overflow of Our Hearts - March 9

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 78:1-39; PM Psalm 78:40-72; Jer. 7:21-34; Rom. 4:13-25; John 7:37-52

Today’s Reflection

On the last day of the festival, the great day, while Jesus was standing there, he cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.”’ Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified.  —John 7: 37-39

As a professor, I had a long course policy statement that preceded the syllabus of what we would read and discuss on which days. Besides the usual policies on academic honesty, accommodations for learning differences, excused absences, and late work, I also included a section at the end the document which I titled, “Good studentship and getting the most out of COMM _____.” The final bullet points in this list of what I recommended as best practices for being a good student were these (through the miracle of saving documents in the cloud, I have copied and pasted these directly from one of my course syllabi).

• Education is a joint effort of professors and students; it is not merely filling your “empty cup” with whatever the professor says. While you certainly should try to learn from your professors, remember that you, ultimately, may be your own greatest teacher.

• Bottom line: Learning requires your time and effort if it is to be meaningful and lasting.

I used this imagery of (not) filling your empty cup to encourage my students to understand that learning is not a one-way process. I did not see teaching as a way of just pouring out my knowledge and experience into the students’ minds. Rather, I wanted students to understand that they, too, brought something valuable to the process of learning. As I wrote then, and still believe now, education is a joint effort. I bring something to the conversation, and you bring something to the conversation, and in so doing we can both learn something from one another and grow together in that experience.

Water imagery is common throughout our Holy Scriptures. Just last week I wrote a reflection on broken cisterns and flowing fountains in response to a passage from the prophet Jeremiah. In today’s Gospel passage from John 7, we hear Jesus offering an invitation for people to come to him and to believe in him, couched in metaphoric language of offering refreshment to those who thirst. Jesus in framing himself as a source of living water, a spring from which those who believe will always be able to turn to sustain their lives.

But just after this, Jesus cites a scripture that says this: “‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.”’ I take this to mean that, just as we are refreshed and sustained by the living waters of Jesus—and, as Jesus was foreshadowing at that time, also by the Holy Spirit—we, in turn, are meant to refresh and sustain others with the overflow of our hearts. When we are sustained by God’s living water, we can then offer life-giving refreshment and sustenance to others.

You probably remember learning about the water cycle at some point in your schooling, whether the simple version we learn in elementary school science class or a more complex version in a university-level ecology course. But the basic point is the same: Water is meant to move through the system. Water that stays in one place for too long grows stagnant, and when it does it tends to promote disease and rot rather than health and growth. In contrast, water that moves and flows promotes life. Recall Canticle 10, the Second Song of Isaiah (Isaiah 55: 6-11), which we often pray in together in Morning Prayer:

For as rain and snow fall from the heavens

and return not again, but water the earth,

Bringing forth life and giving growth,

seed for sowing and bread for eating,

So is my word that goes forth from my mouth;

it will not return to me empty;

But it will accomplish that which I have purposed,

and prosper in that for which I sent it (BCP 87).

Rain and snow come down from the sky to water the earth—and when they do, they promote life and growth, “seed for sowing and bread for eating.” The bread then sustains the people who eat it, who then will collect more water to nourish their plants, to produce more food, to sustain more people.

Jesus wanted his followers to be clear that while he is indeed the eternally flowing fountain that renews and sustains us all, he wants us to keep these waters flowing. The overflow of our hearts has the potential, as Isaiah put it, to bring forth life and give growth to our fellow human beings. The life of faith, like education, is “a joint effort” in mutual growth, encouragement, and refreshment.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Imagine ways that “rivers of living water” can flow from your heart and into the lives of others. Reflect on ways to make this metaphoric language into a concrete action.

Daily Challenge

Commit to praying Canticle 10, the Second Song of Isaiah, at least once a day this week as you begin to reflect on how you will seek to bring forth life and give growth to the people in your life.

God dwells in our Care for Others - March 8

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 80; PM Psalm 77, [79] ; Jer. 7:1-15; Rom. 4:1-12; John 7:14-36

Ten years ago, I was in seminary, and I fell in love with the beautiful country and people of Myanmar/Burma. I was part of a group of several students who spent a month visiting different Christian communities in the majestic country located between Thailand, China, and India. The country has especially been on my mind lately as some of the Christians that we met, and became friends with on Facebook, have been sharing their pain and suffering in light of the military coup and the violence that has ensued.
At the end of our journey, we visited the tourist town of Bagan, the ancient city where at one time, over 10,000 temples or pagodas covered the landscape. Today, there are still over 2200 pagodas that paint the landscape with shimmers of gold. It is absolutely breathtaking to climb one of the temples and to watch the sunset reflecting off the other temples emerging from the ground. In the Burmese culture, these temples have an interesting purpose. Many were built as a way of doing something good as a form of atonement in life. Similar to the idea of indulgences, one could build a pagoda as a way of giving back towards the end of life.

One of the more well-known stories that take place in Myanmar/Burma is George Orwell’s Burmese Days. In Orwell’s fictional novel, one of the main characters is a corrupt Burmese police officer named U Po Kyin. Kyin spends his days oppressing his people, destroying their livelihoods, and even murdering the people who get in his way for achieving his own prosperity. This is all with the motivation of one day being able to join the British Country Club, something he believes will be the greatest satisfaction in life. If he can join the club, he will finally have achieved purpose, fame, and status. And while Orwell does a good job of depicting Kyin as a despicable human being, you have to wonder if there is some goodness underneath. Maybe, when he finally joins the British Country Club, he will finally be able to help his own people out. There are certainly other stories out there where people do wrong things with the hope one day of doing something greater than all their evil deeds.

In the story, Kyin’s wife finds herself increasingly frightened by his behavior, and she urges him to changes his evil ways. Kyin insists that all will be well, and promises that before he dies, he will repent of all that he has done and spend his hard-earned money to construct one of the glorious pagodas, thus also helping him to prepare for the next world. Orwell says, “But unfortunately, this was the very point at which his plans went wrong. Only three days after the Governor’s durbar, before so much as a brick of those atoning pagodas had been laid, U Po Kyin was stricken with apoplexy and died without speaking again. There is no armour against fate.”[1]

Jeremiah could have been written with Orwell in mind. Jeremiah is flabbergasted that there exists a beautiful temple, but the people are not cared for. Jeremiah promises that God will dwell with them in the Temple if “they do not oppress the alien, the orphan, or the widow, or shed innocent blood… or go after other gods to [their] own hurt.” I am struck by those last words: ‘other gods to their own hurt.’ I think Jeremiah is claiming that the things we worship that are not God, ultimately lead to our own downfall. Jeremiah believes that how we care for each other impacts our ability to see God in our midst.

And while I wholeheartedly disagree with Orwell as I believe that God’s grace is “armour against fate,” I am struck by Jeremiah’s word, that God dwells where we care for other human beings. Sure, God is everywhere, but maybe we experience God when we care for others – the alien, the orphan, the widow, the addict, the brokenhearted, the person in need.

There are things that are out of our control. Maybe that is fate. Which leads me to my favorite blessing that we often leave church with: “Life is short. We don't have much time to gladden the hearts of those who walk this way with us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” And maybe we will find God in the midst of it.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Have you ever done something wrong to achieve something good?  Did you regret it? 

Daily Challenge:  We often come up with a bucket list in life.  Create a list of five things you would like to do in your life that are entirely about caring, supporting, and lifting up other people. Could you begin living into that vision now?

[1] George Orwell, Burmese Days, (New York: Penguin Books, 1944), 299.

Seeking Sabbath – March 6

Today’s Readings: Psalm 23, 27, Jer. 5:20-31; Rom. 3:19-31; John 7:1-13

Reading Psalm 23 always brings me comfort. My mom worked with me over and over to commit it to memory. I would hold the white leatherbound Bible that had been hers as a child, leafing through the thin, crinkly pages and reciting the phrases: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want…” I could imagine the scene down by the quiet, trickling stream, with shady trees and green soft grass where the Good Shepherd would restore my soul.

Yesterday, I found comfort and stillness in the Lord’s Prayer. Looking back, I realize that I prayed that specific prayer more than seven times: in the Daily Office at morning and noon, at the end of Bible study on Zoom, during a funeral and at the graveside… and this list omits the multiple times I sang along with a recording of Mahalia Jackson’s stirring, live rendition of “The Lord’s Prayer” that closed out a jazz festival in 1958.

In Matthew 6, Jesus teaches his followers to use simple, direct words to pray to God, as God already knows what we need before we ask (v. 8). Each time I revisited this ancient prayer, I followed the pathway in my memory to speak or sing. Different concerns were upon my heart each time, and I noticed that a different word stood out. Hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. On earth as it is in heaven. Daily bread. Forever. Amen. In praying, I felt reconnected to God. I stayed grounded in the moment.

How might the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, or lingering on the words of Psalm 23, bring you to a place of deeper calm this day? After all, today is Saturday – a day of rest for many of us. Our Jewish siblings honor today as Sabbath. Embrace that rhythm today. Fear no evil, for God is with you. Find rest for your soul in the comfort of God’s arms.  You will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What is the first piece of scripture you memorized?

What scripture brings you comfort? Restores your soul? Encourages you to confront a hard situation?

Daily Challenge 

Write the Lord’s Prayer on a piece of paper. Circle the words that mean the most to you today. Pray about where God is calling you to listen, learn, and change. Then, take four minutes to listen to gospel singer Mahalia Jackson’s “The Lord’s Prayer”.

The Desegregated Heart - March 5

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95* 69:1-23(24-30)31-38; PM Psalm 73; Jer. 5:1-9; Rom. 2:25-3:18; John 5:30-47

Today’s Reflection

“Run to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem, look around and take note! Search its squares and see if you can find one person who acts justly and seeks truth—so that I may pardon Jerusalem. Although they say, ‘As the Lord lives’, yet they swear falsely. O Lord, do your eyes not look for truth? You have struck them, but they felt no anguish; you have consumed them, but they refused to take correction. They have made their faces harder than rock; they have refused to turn back.” –Jeremiah 5:1-4

Sarah Patton Boyle was an Episcopal church woman and civil rights activist in the 1950s and 1960s. Raised in the context of a traditional, white Southern family who did not question what she calls “the Southern Code,” her forebears were Confederates of the Virginia planter class. Boyle’s mother, Jane, would remind her throughout her childhood that her own family, the Stringfellows, was amongst the best Virginia families. Boyle’s father, Robert, was an Episcopal priest who not only worked as a regional organizer for the national church, but he also directed a church program meant to support African Americans through education. Boyle recalls, in her memoir The Desegregated Heart, how she grew up with black workers both in her household and on her family’s land. As a young child, she spent much time around these people of color, and they became friends and confidantes in her life. However, as she approached adolescence, her parents enforced the Southern code by not letting her play with or socialize with ‘the help’ once she turned 12 years old; now she was instructed that “it was no longer ‘proper’ for me to be ‘familiar’ with Negroes. Certain rules of adult conduct must now be observed. It was wrong to violate these rules.”

Later in life, when she became a civil rights advocate, a central thread in Boyle’s pro-integration argument was the idea that people can change—whether the change is from silent, passive support to more public, active support, or from holding onto racist misconceptions to getting to know who people really are through personal interactions. As Boyle reconnected with the Episcopal faith of her youth as an adult in the late 1940s, through worship and involvement at St. Paul’s in Charlottesville, her spiritual renewal laid the groundwork for a conversion in how she saw herself in relationship to her fellow humans—especially when it came to race. 

Boyle’s main example of conversion toward integration is her own life story, told in descriptive detail and with much reflection in The Desegregated Heart. The spiritual element is woven throughout her memoir, but it is especially evident in chapter 14, “Once to Every Man and Nation.” In it, Boyle tells of her moment of decision in May 1951, not quite a year after Gregory Swanson, an African American man, filed for admission to Virginia Law, recalling, “I knew I must decide, definitely and finally, whether or not I would fight in the … battle for equality,” describing it as different than her less deeply thought initial decision to act in 1950. She recalled listing her various qualifications for being ready to fight this battle, such as her noble family heritage, lack of fear, persistence, and writing ability. Coming in at number five of her list, “(though had I been confronted with its placement, I would have insisted that it was first) was my faith.” As Boyle elaborated, “I believed that if you did what was right to the best of your ability you would receive all help necessary from Above. … I saw myself as mediator, peacemaker…, restorer of the Southern Utopia of heart- and soul-satisfying interracial relationships, but on a higher plane than before.” She took as her motto the Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, which she often used to conclude her public talks, especially to religious organizations and churches. 

Looking back, Boyle described herself as “naïve as an infant bunny in my theology and in my hopes,” but she resolved to move forward, making her “decision on a Friday night… and all day Saturday I was sick within. The Southern code muttered in my ear… I no longer believed in it but I could still hear its voice—and I knew others believed. I was haunted by the feeling that I was being catapulted into outer space, far from all that I had known.” When she went to her church the next day. The words of the last stanza of the processional hymn eased her mind, “Earth shall be fair, and all her people one: Nor till that hour shall God’s whole will be done.”

Later in the service, the hymn just before the sermon was one whose words, written by James Russell Lowell, “sounded as though it had been conceived and phrased for me personally at this moment in my life: ‘Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide… for the good or evil side.’” The rector’s sermon that day made Boyle feel “as if he were counseling me alone,” as he preached that “whenever you chose what seems to you the highest course, you have made the right decision, so you shouldn’t fear that later developments might prove it otherwise.” When Sarah Patton Boyle left church that Sunday, her conversion not only to integration but to the cause of civil rights activism was complete: “When the service was over, I left the church with all my doubts wiped away. They never returned… Always I have had with me the thread of comfort that I chose rightly at the crossroads of 1951.”

—Becky+

A Prayer Attributed to St. Francis of Assisi

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

Questions for Self-Reflection

Looking back, in what ways do you see that your heart and mind been converted over the course of your life? In what ways would you like to see God continue to change your outlook and your relationships with your fellow human beings?

Daily Challenge

Commit to praying the prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi through the remainder of Lent, asking God to make you an instrument of his peace and show you what role you may have in the ongoing work of reconciliation.

Love is a Verb - March 4

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm [70], 71; PM Psalm 74; Jer. 4:9-10,19-28; Rom. 2:12-24; John 5:19-29

My Tuesday book group is reading “Love is the Way: Holding on to Hope in Troubling Times” by the Bishop of the Episcopal Church, The Most Rev. Michael Curry. The book tells of Curry’s life, the impact of his family and his faith, and offers a profound exploration of the radical way of love. In the first few chapters, he tells the story of the tragic death of his mother when he was a young boy. Shortly after, one of the members of his father’s faith community in Buffalo, New York, showed up at the house and begin asking what she could do. She was only there to drop off a neighbor’s child, but she stayed and was involved in their life for many years. She was an embodiment of love. Curry reflects how in many ways she gave up her life to help save his family becoming a surrogate mother and taking care of the many needs of the family from ironing clothes to caring for children. What he came to realize was love was not just a sentiment felt, but an action put into practice of the selflessly giving of all that way have. In this case, it was necessary to nurture and sustain Curry’s family in such a troubling and challenging time. As Curry says, “love is a verb.”

One of the more interesting ideas that Curry explores is his suggestion that the opposite of love is not hate, but selfishness. He asserts that if love is an action that benefits the other, if love is always looking outward, “to the good of the other, then its opposite isn’t hate… It’s a life completely centered on the self.” When I think of hatred, it seems so impossible to drive from our world, but maybe out of foolishness, selfishness seems manageable. Maybe because we are usually aware of our own selfishness and most people long to give of ourselves in a way that is meaningful and life-giving. What is then necessary is intention and thoughtfulness around the actions we take. We have to recognize that we have an opportunity to love, and we are called to it!

I’ve been reflecting a lot this past week on the purpose of a faith community. I am torn with the great paradox of this past year that will be played out this coming Sunday as we gather in person and outside for the first time in a few months, and probably in the largest way since March 15, 2020. This very action is so hopeful and yet it will also happen with our community grappling with the loss of life in our midst. The more I reflect, I can’t imagine a more hopeful and important opportunity to gather. See the reason we gather as church is to be reminded that we are indeed the Body of Christ. And that as we gather, we come to know that Jesus’s outstretched arms on the cross reach out to each of us, extending to the far ends of our human existence. It is in community that we come to know that nothing, not life, nor death, can separate us from the love of God. We come to know life and life eternal through the self-sacrificing care we offer each other and through the love and commitment to walk this journey of life together.

Our Gospel this morning captures this. This passage in John equates the reception of eternal life to believe in Jesus Christ. When we think of belief, we should be stirred up to consider, if we believe in Jesus, what we are really proclaiming is God’s act of self-giving on the cross, of a life that is fully lived for the care and love of others. This love can’t be reduced to some sentiment that simply affirms a truth, but a way of being and love that transforms the world. This love is an action verb.

As we continue in our response to need, in our care for one another, today’s Gospel offers us a reminder – eternal life is the gift that God has given us, and we can experience it now and always when we believe in God. This belief changes the way we love in this world. This belief causes us to love. A simple action verb that changes everything.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Who are the people in your life who selflessly give of themselves?  In what ways do you do this?  And when does selfishness creep in?

Daily Challenge: Do one action that is out of your comfort zone to support someone else and selfless give of your time, talent, or treasure.

Leave the Judging to God – March 3

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 72; PM Psalm 119:73-96; Jer. 3:6-18; Rom. 1:28-2:11; John 5:1-18

“Therefore you have no excuse, whoever you are, when you judge others; for in passing judgement on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, are doing the very same things.” Romans 2:1

Mind your own little red wagon.

That was a phrase my mom would throw my way as a teenager, as I would insert myself into the matters and situations of others in our household. I would “pile on” in censuring one (or both) of my sisters for their behavior, even as Mom was offering correction or guidance. Being four years older, I had many more years of experience and wisdom which differentiated me from those smaller people in our house…or so I thought. In reality, I was just as prone to error (or shall I say sin) as my siblings. In cultivating the fallacy of my superiority, couched as helping others reach their own peak of perfection, I was being haughty and saw myself as above reproach. Therefore, in those times when corrected for my own missteps and lapses in kindness, planning, or respect, I felt gutted and off center. I would recoil in denial, reel in embarrassment, and eventually, return with remorse.

My story is not an exception. It is the human condition. And sadly, childhood judgment only matures and spills into more insidious and pervasive avenues of seeing others as wrong, and seeing ourselves as having the right ways and means of living. On this day in 1819, the U. S. Congress created a federal program to “civilize” Native Americans. The Civilization Fund Act authorized the President, “in every case where he shall judge improvement in the habits and condition of such Indians practicable” to “employ capable persons of good moral character” to introduce to any tribe adjoining a frontier settlement the “arts of civilization.” (read more at the Equal Justice Initiative site) The people who lived upon the lands we now call home were perceived as needing improvement, and the remedy prescribed was the imposition of Christian practices to replace their tribal traditions. Tricky stuff, right? To read about this hard truth from history can leave us feeling conflicted, embarrassed, or even wanting to deny the story in front of us.

The apostle Paul writes to the Romans Christians about how they continue to judge and differentiate themselves from the Greeks. He says that as they are condemning the acts of those who are sinning around them. Paul shows the Christians in Rome the words they have said, “We know that God’s judgment on those who do such things is in accordance with truth.” And yet, he holds their feet to the real truth, that when pointing out other’s faults, the Roman’s sins are still going to be judged by God, too:

“Do you imagine, whoever you are, that when you judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself, you will escape the judgement of God? Or do you despise the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience? Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:3-4)

God’s grace is still present in the judging, as I hear it. God’s correction and guidance in response to our sins is for the molding of our steps, a bending of our hearts back to God – and away from those things that distract and separate us.

Lent is not an easy time. It is a time for looking at the truth about our own lives, our own patterns of sinfulness and pain. And we get to ask God to be with us in those spaces of disappointment and loss. We get to hold fast to Jesus’ words from John 5:17 today: “My Father is still working, and I also am working.”

God is not done with us yet. Let us seek God. Let us follow Jesus’ footsteps. And let us love – not judge – one another.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

When have you felt judged wrongly or misunderstood? How have you responded?

Of what or whom do you hear yourself often being judgmental?

Daily Challenge

Take a fast from being judgmental this week. Pay attention to times you slip into a snarky mode. Say a quick prayer to God asking to make your path straight and full of love.

Flowing Fountains and Cracked Cisterns - March 2

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 61, 62; PM Psalm 68:1-20(21-23)24-36; Jer. 2:1-13; Rom. 1:16-25; John 4:43-54

Today’s Reflection

In the Old Testament passage appointed for today, the LORD says to Jeremiah: “Has a nation changed its gods, even though they are no gods? But my people have changed their glory for something that does not profit. Be appalled, O heavens, at this, be shocked, be utterly desolate, says the LORD, for my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water” (Jer. 2: 11-13). So, why does God see people digging out cisterns for themselves as evil? Digging cisterns for themselves is a metaphor for the all-too-human inclination to trust most in what we can do all by ourselves.

Picture what a cistern is versus what a fountain is. A cistern is a structure meant to collect and store water, usually rainwater. Cisterns are for holding onto water to keep it from evaporating away. The water in a cistern is contained rather than circulated. Also, for a cistern to be effective, it must be waterproof. Even just a slight crack lets water seep out. So, a cistern with cracks cannot do what a cistern is made to do, which is to contain water so people can use it to water the plants and animals from which they get their daily bread.

Cisterns are built on the principle of scarcity. People dug out cisterns for themselves motivated by the fear that there would not be enough water. When we make decisions grounded in the fear of not having enough to go around, we are like the people God is pointing out to Jeremiah, the ones who dug out cisterns for themselves instead of accepting God’s fountain of living water.

In contrast, fountains are built to circulate water, to keep it flowing and they’re usually found in public spaces. When I hear the word “fountain,” I think of “The Fountain,” which is Holler Fountain at Stetson University in Florida, where I went to college and where I later returned to teach. This simple fountain—encircled by columns of sabal palms, red brick walkways, and quaint iron benches—is considered the heart of the campus, located in the middle of the quad, with the library and two of the most historic academic buildings facing out onto it. All the sidewalks in the quad start and end at the fountain, making Holler Fountain the crossroads of campus life.

My office in Elizabeth Hall looked out onto all this. People come and go on the brick sidewalks. They sit on the benches around the fountain, students between classes or visitors taking a break on a stroll around campus. Students strap hammocks between the palm trees or sit on blankets to study in the Florida sunshine, all with a view of the fountain. When I came back to teach there, I would walk my children around the fountain in the stroller, and later watched them ride their bicycles and scooters around it. Each time that I’d go into work, I’d walk through this space to get to my building on the other side of the quad. And sometimes I’d wonder: Why do I feel drawn to this spot so much? Much of it had to do with the fountain—the peaceful sights and sounds of the water, the way it would sparkle on a sunny day. The fountain made me feel full of life.

Fountains keep water flowing and circulating, keeping it fresh and easier to access. Fountains, springs, and wells are places where people come together to share the water—and as they do this they interact and form community. In the ancient Near East, where Jeremiah lived and where Jesus lived, fountains, springs, and wells were community gathering places. People came to draw lifegiving water into vessels that they could carry home for drinking, cooking, or cleaning. Think of all the Bible passages that either take place by a fountain, pool, well, or, spring, or use this imagery—we encounter these places just over 200 times throughout our Holy Scriptures.

So, when God tells Jeremiah how his people have exchanged God’s glory for something that does not profit, he uses the metaphoric language of the fountain of living water and the cracked cisterns people made for themselves to show us something about God’s ways versus our ways. Often, our human ways come from a place of scarcity—we are afraid we won’t have enough to go around, so we’d better be sure to look out for ourselves and for our own first.

But God’s ways are founded on the premise of enough. In Christ, we are enough. And because we have faith that God has provided enough, we are freed up to live in a way that we don’t feel afraid to share what we have with others. When we begin to live like Christ, we will begin to live as if everything we have been given is meant to be shared. God wants us to live as if we have eternal access to an ever-flowing fountain of living water—because we do.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When have you experienced the fountain of God’s abundance in your life? And when have you been tempted to dig a cistern for yourself, but in the end found that it would not hold water?

Daily Challenge

Learn more about wells in the Hebrew Bible by reading this article found on the Bible Odyssey website.

Hope is Contagious - March 1

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 56, 57, [58]; PM Psalm 64, 65; Jer. 1:11-19; Rom. 1:1-15; John 4:27-42

Many years ago, I had a picture of my parents dressed up in a tuxedo and ballroom dress on their way to some fancy party.  Someone in my dad’s office had given him two sets of what I believed were called, “Billy Bob Teeth” and my parents had snuck them in when the photographer was least expecting it.  It was a beautifully ridiculous picture, and as a teenager, one of the first reminders that my parents had fun too!  

When I was in college, I remember showing my first roommate the picture.  Patrick was somewhat gullible, and when he started laughing, my response was, “why are laughing at my parents?” 

“John.  I’m laughing because they are laughing in the picture.”  And he got awkwardly quiet before I let him know that the picture was a ruse and that it was more than okay to laugh at my parents and their fake teeth.  But I have remembered those words all these years later – “I’m laughing because they are laughing.”  Isn’t laughter contagious?  So are joy and optimism.  So are faith and hope. 

There was an article in this week’s Washington Post about the happiest place in medicine is a COVID-vaccination clinic not only for the patients receiving the shots but for the health care workers too.  Many of the people interviewed shared that it has been the most fulfilling experience of their careers to offer hope.  The article rightly connects that administering hope has been its own reward, instilling hope in those who give it.  Because isn’t hope contagious too!

I think Paul understands this when he writes to all of God’s beloved in Rome.  In the opening of the letter to the community gathered in Rome, he begins by remembering the community in his prayers and then asking God that he will be able to finally succeed in visiting them.  Listen to his words in verses 1:11-12: “For I am longing to see you so that I may share with you some spiritual gift to strengthen you— or rather so that we may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith, both yours and mine.” Paul does not just expect to offer hope and faith to this community, but together to be encouraged by each other so much so that they can grow in their faith and love for God.  Paul understands that faith and hope are contagious too. 

I am reminded today just how important it is to help lift each other up with hope and faith.  And here is what Paul’s offers us that can be helpful – not just for the benefit of the other but for our own benefit too.  If we need to experience hope and faith, maybe the place we start is by sharing where we do experience faith and hope with others. 

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Have you had experiences where you have found laughter, joy, hope, optimism, or faith contagious?  What about recently?  Were you the instigator or someone who was caught up in the experience?

Daily Challenge:  Strategically plan today to infuse hope and optimism into a conversation when people are least expecting it.  See if you can make hope grow!