A Sweet Spirit in This Place - April 9

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 136; PM Psalm 118 ; Dan. 12:1-4,13; Acts 4:1-12 ; John 16:1-15 

Today’s Reflection

Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. … I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. John 16: 7, 12-14

When Jesus knew that he was approaching his final days, he began saying things meant to prepare his followers, especially the disciples, of what it would be like when he would no longer be with them. Jesus wanted them to know that they would not be left alone, with no direction, but rather that another would be sent to guide them. In John’s Gospel, this someone is referred to as the Advocate and as the Spirit of truth. Elsewhere in Scripture, we know this guiding presence as the Holy Spirit. We acknowledge this Advocate, this Spirit of truth, in our Episcopal liturgy every time we pray in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And yet, this Spirit seems enigmatic and difficult to put into words just what it is and how we can know this holy presence in our lives.

As I was reflecting on how Jesus is telling his friends about the one who is coming, and how he wanted them to know this Advocate and to welcome this Spirit’s presence in their lives, the lyrics of a song I have not heard or sung in many years came to mind:

There’s a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place,

And I know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord.

There are sweet expressions on each face,

And I know you feel the presence of the Lord.

Sweet Holy Spirit, sweet heavenly Dove,

Stay right here with us, filling us with Your love.

And for these blessings, we lift our hearts in praise.

Without a doubt we’ll know that we have been revived

When we shall leave this place.

Akers Music House 1962, renewed by Manna Music 1990.

When I searched online for the lyrics, I stumbled across an article (by Michael Hawn on the United Methodist Church’s Discipleship website) that tells the story of the songwriter, Doris Akers. She composed her first song at age 10, and by age 12 had assembled a jazz band, Dot Akers and Her Swingsters. At 22, she moved from Missouri to Los Angeles to make music her profession, working with some of the top names in Gospel music and eventually forming her own groups, the Akers Singers and later the Sky Pilot Choir, the first interracial Gospel choir in Los Angeles.

The story behind “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” is a story of what happened when, in 1962, Akers and the Sky Pilot Choir were praying together in a practice room before heading in to lead the music in a worship service. As Lindsay Terry learned in an interview with Akers years later: “she said to her singers, 'You are not ready to go in.' She didn’t believe they had prayed enough! They were accustomed to spending time with her in prayer before the service, asking God to bless their songs. She said, 'I feel that prayer is more important than great voices.' They had already prayed, but this particular morning she asked them to pray again, and they did so with renewed fervor” (Stories Behind 50 Gospel Favorites, 2005).

Meanwhile, the pastor of the church was growing impatient, as they couldn’t begin the service until the choir arrived. So, reluctant to end this sweet, Spirit-filled time of prayer, Akers told her choir, “We have to go. I hate to leave this room and I know you hate to leave, but you know we do have to go to the service. But there is such a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place.”

This moment that inspired Akers to compose “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” is one that maybe you can identify with when you reflect back on moments shared together in worship or in fellowship with your friends in Christ. We don’t want the joy of being together in Christ to end, we want it to keep going on forever. The good news is that it can, and it does. While the sweet time spent together in prayer, conversation, service, and worship may end for that moment or that day, these Spirit-filled moments reassure us that we are part of something bigger, something ongoing that binds us all together in the love of Christ.

When I think of gathering with you all here at Saint Stephen’s, whether with hundreds of you in the parking lot for worship on Easter Day or with a few of you in a book group or a meeting on Zoom, I know that there is a sweet, sweet Spirit here at Saint Stephen’s—and we know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When have you seen the “sweet expressions” of the Spirit in your life recently? How did these interactions with sisters and brothers in Christ encourage you in your faith?

Daily Challenge

Listen to a Gospel choir at Saint John’s Hackney sing “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” and carry this song with you in your heart as you go about the rest of your day.

Read Michael Hawn’s full article on Doris Akers and “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” and reflect on how we connect with God and one another through the gift of music.

The Courage to Act - April 8

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 146, 147; PM Psalm 148, 149 ; Ezek. 37:1-14; Acts 3:11-26; John 15:12-27

My Tuesday reading class is working through “The Rebirthing of God” by John Philip Newell.  One of the focuses of Newell’s work is helping the reader to reconnect with compassion.  Newell writes, “a primary feature of the rebirthing of God in our lives, individually and collectively, it to come back into relationship with the true heart of one another and all things.”  Newell continues, “Compassion is about making the connection between the heart of my being and the heart of yours, and following that connection.” 

It is a lovely image to imagine our hearts being connecting with each other and God and living into that connection.  To illustrate his point, Newell draws on the witness of Aung San Suu Kyi, the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991 while under house arrest for her role as the leader of the nonviolent movement for democracy in Myanmar/Burma which is governed by one of the most brutally repressive regimes in the world.  We have seen this with new eyes in the last few weeks as the violence has escalated with yet another military coup. 

Suu Kyi follows a threefold pattern of compassion of having the courage to see, feel and then act.  I am most interested in her ability to act as illustrated in an event on April 5, 1989.  Suu Kyi was planning on speaking at a public event, but the military junta had established a law that forbade more than four people gathering.  As she walked down the road with some of her supporters, six soldiers aimed their weapons at her.  In order to minimize violence, Suu Kyi ordered her companions to wait while she continued to march forward.  As the captain was giving the final countdown to shoot, an Army major standing by countermanded the order allowing Suu Kyi to continue to walk by.  The story of her courage to act spread throughout the country encouraging others and instilling hope among the Burmese people.  Suu Kyi’s connection to the plight over her fellow people allowed her to courageously act. Suu Kyi makes an important point: there is a direct relationship between hope and action.  While hope leads us to act, the action in turn, strengthens hope. 

Today’s Gospel reading is a powerful statement from Jesus when he tells his disciples, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”  This is the love that Jesus had for humanity as he selflessly gave his life for us to find life.  And it is the model of self-emptying and compassion that we are commanded to follow. 

I’m inspired by people like Suu Kyi and many others, such as the nurses and doctors who cared for humanity through the last thirteen months.  And I often wonder, how do they have the compassion and courage to act?  Suu Kyi’s example is a reminder that hope strengthens courage which in turn strengthens hope.  This means Jesus’ action of love gives us the hope and strength to act compassionately for the wellbeing of our fellow humankind.  But this kind of compassion requires faith, faith that God’s commandment is meant for you and me.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Who are the people in your life who embody courage?  What enables them to be courageous?  How does your faith impact your actions towards others?

Daily Challenge: Find a quiet place and listen to your heartbeat.  Listen for at least two minutes.  Take a deep breath.  Now consider how your heart can beat can be connected to others.

Resurrection moments - April 7

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 97, 99; PM Psalm 115; Micah 7:7-15; Acts 3:1-10; John 15:1-11   

Somewhere along the way, I was introduced to the music of Don Williams. His wide acclaim in country music had died down by the time I learned of him, though he was known as one of the greats. Called the Gentle Giant, Williams recorded music for more than forty years and also appeared in a handful of Burt Reynolds’ movies. My husband Sam describes his voice as having sweetness from an older time. While Don Williams died in 2017, this morning I am reminded of the song, “I’m Just a Country Boy,” that he recorded in 1977. In the ballad, the man is of little financial means, yet he has a loving heart he wants to share. The refrain he sings is:

“And I'm just a country boy

Money have I none
But I've got silver
In the stars

And gold in morning sun…”

While a big, radiant diamond is seen as the tangible token of promise for one’s beloved, the gift the yearning man can offer to his heart’s desire is the gift of presence in the moment and deep appreciation in living life fully – seeing silver in the stars and gold in the morning sun.

In Acts 3, Peter and John are going to pray. A man who has been physically limited since birth, unable to walk, is routinely brought to the entryway to the temple to beg for alms. Almsgiving was an expectation of faithful Jews, so his presence was a reminder to be generous with those in need. As a beggar laying on the ground, he is far below eye level of passersby and lifts his voice to ask for money. Peter and John stop. Peter tells him, “Look at us.” They make eye contact. Then, Peter says, “I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk.” They clasp right hands, and Peter raises him up. We read that his ankles and feet are immediately strengthened and healed, so that he is “walking and leaping and praising God.” Wonder and awe fill the crowd.

In that moment, all that Peter could give was respect and love to the man in need; then God gave the healing miracle. It was not silver or gold…it was so much more. Much like the feeding miracles Jesus performed, giving bread that provides eternal life, rather than fleeting satisfaction, the answer given to the lame man was different than he expected. The gift of God through Jesus (and his friends) brings not just momentary relief, but resurrection moments.

Let us pray for God to bring us more than relief…let us ask for resurrection. Alleluia!

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection 

When has someone given you a gift you didn’t realize you needed? How have you shared your joy and appreciation?

Can you think of a time when you prayed to God, and the answer was different than you expected – maybe even better than you could imagine?

Daily Challenge 

Make eye contact intentionally this week. If you see someone in need, even if you do not give them currency or food, make eye contact. Say hello. Ask their name, and if you can pray for them.

This is the Way, Walk in It - April 6

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 103; PM Psalm 111, 114 ; Isa. 30:18-21; Acts 2:26-41(42-47); John 14:15-31   

Today’s Reflection

“Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you. … Though the Lord may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself any more, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” –Isaiah 30: 18a, 20-21

Yesterday, my older daughter and I were in downtown Birmingham, and after our appointment we decided to eat lunch nearby. We could drive and be there in about two minutes, or we could walk and be there in about 10 minutes, according to the all-knowing Google Maps app on my phone. Since it was an incredibly beautiful day, we ended up walking, but since we don’t know our way around the neighborhood where we were, we had to be guided by the voice of the GPS and the Google map. At one point, the GPS voice was telling us to turn to the left, but it looked like it wanted us to walk through a parking lot. So, we did, but then there was a wrought iron fence all around the perimeter, with no gate for pedestrians to pass through on the other side—which meant we had to retrace our steps through the parking lot and keep going up the street a bit further before we really needed to turn left. The detour added about five minutes to our walk, which annoyed me because I was getting pretty hungry at that point. But, once we got back onto the sidewalk and made the next turn at the appropriate point, all was well and we were on our way to Dreamland.

We find in the lectionary readings for today scriptures that are focused on being aware of and listening for God’s guiding voice in our lives. In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells his followers that when he is gone, he will not leave them without a guide, rather, “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you” (John 14:16-17). And in Isaiah 30, we are given reassurance that “your Teacher will not hide himself any more. … And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.”

Since yesterday was Easter Monday, a clergy holiday after Holy Week, I ended up going for another walk in the afternoon—this one by myself. It had been a long while since I had hiked out at Red Mountain Park, so I drove out there ready to take a long walk, maybe listen to a podcast as I went. But when I parked and was preparing to walk over to the trailhead, I made a decision: I’m going to leave my phone in the car. I’m not going to keep track of my distance. I’m not going to stop to take photos along the way. I’m not going to listen to a podcast. I’m not going to be tempted to check all the things I am apt to check when I have access to my phone.

What I experienced was two hours of beautiful disconnection from the voices and responsibilities of this world—which meant two hours of beautiful connection with the God who made Red Mountain and who made me, too. Once I turned off the main, entry trail onto my favorite narrow, winding trail through the woods, I did not encounter a single person. It was just me amidst the gorgeous sunlight shining down through the new spring leaves, the only sounds coming from the birds calling, the squirrels rustling, and my shoes on the red clay trail.

I feel most clear and hopeful about what God has in store for us when I make the time for moments like these. It doesn’t always have to be a two-hour hike. Back at home, making time for a moment on the deck to watch the birds and other wildlife who inhabit our backyard, or walking out to be still and listen to the creek that runs behind our yard are other ways I carve away time to step outside of all the other things that claim my time and energy and reconnect with God. Speaking for myself, I need these times of simply being present with God in creation in order to refocus on what is most true and most real.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What places in your life are holy, set apart places where you can be centered and more attuned to what God is saying to you? How can you make more time to set aside the other things that claim your time and energy and just be with God—whether by being still in God’s creation or by moving amidst the rhythms of God’s creation?

Daily Challenge

In my Easter Vigil sermon, I preached about how “God made us human beings with brains that not only create and comprehend words, but God also made us with bodies who learn through moving, seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching.” You can listen to the sermon here (sermon begins at 45:50).

We are Witnesses Too - April 5

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 93, 98; PM Psalm 66; Jonah 2:1-9; Acts 2:14,22-32; John 14:1-14

Today is the first Monday in Easter and for these great fifty days, we will be reading from Acts of the Apostles, better known as ‘Acts.’  On this Monday’s reading, Peter looks at the eleven apostles and proclaims Jesus’s resurrection for the very first time.  “Then Jesus God raised up, and of that all of us are witnesses.”  

We Episcopalians are people of the Incarnation.  That means that we too experience the Resurrection of the Lord.  It means, we too get to know Jesus, be witnesses to the resurrection and have the opportunity to go and share that just as Peter did that Monday morning.  I want to share a few words from yesterday’s Easter message that I think are important for all of us to remember.  It’s about what started to happen at Saint Stephen’s (and probably many other faith communities too) around Easter of last year.

And then something happened….  Person after person began turning in recordings of the readings and the prayers for our Sunday worship, coming from each person’s home, or back porch, or garden.  We began the ancient practice of the Daily Office on Facebook.  People, many of you, began praying for each other in the comment sections, and then offering words such as  “amen,” and “Thanks be to God,” or liking, loving, or that cute little care emoji when other people lifted up their concerns. People began calling each other to check on them.  Our church split into 56 groups of 10-12 families.  Our staff began handing out dinners on Wednesday nights.  People began taking communion to parishioners that were spiritually hungry.  Many of you helped a parishioner turn her ministry in Avondale into something that now involves so many others from our community and church. We began teaching online. People began signing up for Inquirer’s class (two of them), for small groups, for different Bible studies.   People began reaching out in love and concern.  More people than we have ever had involved in pastoral care began taking meals and flowers to people in our community in a time of need, sending cards and prayer bracelets with those whom we are praying for.  You built Covid screens in a warming shelter in Woodlawn, while others were writing letters of encouragement to nurses and doctors at UAB West.  Even this week, a few people in our community drove a full U-Haul van of supplies that many of you donated down to Greensboro, Alabama at the same moment that others were preparing bags of goodies and candy for our friends in Avondale. And I know I am only scratching the surface…

In the midst of profound loss and change, something started to feel oddly familiar.  The ancient practices of the church, the call to love our neighbor, the radical witness of loving others, began to be a reminder that even in the midst of turmoil and chaos, God’s love is still changing the world. 

I should have claimed it yesterday, but what was really happening was an awareness of the Risen Christ amongst us.  You all are witnesses to the Risen Christ.  I think we meet him when we love each other and let ourselves be loved by others.  And it’s happening every moment, in our community, in other communities, and beyond.  Thanks be to God! Alleluia, Alleluia.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Where have you seen hope in the last year?  Where have you met Jesus?

Daily Challenge: Invite a friend into something live-giving or hopeful.  Maybe share a reflection, a hopeful Bible passage, or invite a friend to Church.  In the midst of this challenging year, consider how you can help others be a witness of the resurrection too. 

Stillness - April 3

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95** & 88; PM Psalm 27; Job 19:21-27a; Heb. 4:1-16

As the Good Friday service was drawing to a close last night, the sun was setting beneath the hills outside the church. The final hues of light were sinking away, and I felt myself drawn into the darkness of that first night. The end of that day, after Jesus had died. I could feel myself sitting in awe and emptiness, clinging to the last shards of light as the Light of the World slipped away, hanging upon beams of coarse wood. I could feel myself lamenting as darkness rose. The choir was singing the words, "Were you there, when they laid him in the grave?" and I felt the depth and emotional timbre of that mournful hymn. That first Good Friday ended in darkness.

While the sun rose the next day, the Son was still absent. God's hope and promise, instilled by Jesus in his disciples, were floundering in the fear and horror of Good Friday. And so, Holy Saturday is a day of stillness. A day of stunned emptiness. A day of few words -- so you will not have to read much more of mine today. Take note that in the lectionary - the Bible readings - appointed for today, there is no reading from the gospels. We have no words of Jesus' ministry or life, because on this Holy Saturday, the Son of God was in the tomb. In the Apostles' Creed, we profess that Jesus descended to the dead, or hell, to rescue those faithful souls from the bonds of damnation.

This action of salvation stirs the imagination and the soul...and it stirred the spirit of some ancient person of faith in possibly the 2nd century, who penned a work we call "An Ancient Homily on Holy Saturday". When I was in seminary, that was the homily read on this day. I remember standing in the garden outside of the seminary chapel as Dr. Tony Baker led worship that morning and rehearsed those ancient words. I commend them to you, friends.

On this cold morning in April, wherever you find yourself, in stunned silence or in the chaos of another Saturday morning's activities, I pray that you take a moment to reflect on the gravity of this day -- and then arise, for Jesus will not leave us comfortless. We know now that the darkness does not defeat the light. We know now that death is not the end of the story. So while it may be a day of numbness or discomfort, let us lift our eyes in hope. Let us trust that God makes good on the promise of faithfulness. Let us give thanks and find peace in the stillness.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

How hard or easy is it to sit in stillness? What are the distractions? Who could you invite to join you in the stillness and silence?

Daily Challenge

Take a few minutes to read this article about the ancient Holy Saturday homily, its genesis, and see how these words resonate with you today: https://www.unleashthegospel.org/.../an-ancient-homily.../

Peter's Point of View - April 2

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95* & 22; PM Psalm 40:1-14(15-19), 54 ; Gen. 22:1-14; 1 Peter 1:10-20; John 13:36-38

Today’s Reflection

The relationship between Jesus and Simon Peter is one characterized by frustration and misunderstanding tempered by love, mercy, and grace. The reflection I am sharing with you for today, Good Friday, is one written in the imagined voice of Simon Peter, but informed by characterizations of Peter’s and Jesus’ interactions throughout the Gospel accounts.

—Becky+

“Who do people say that I am?” Not another question! “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now, but you will follow me afterwards.” Not another riddle! Seriously, this constant speaking in riddles and parables is beginning to wear on me. I am more of a direct, get-to-the-point kind of person. While I collect my thoughts, some of my fellow disciples are playing along, taking the question as Jesus wanting to take the temperature of popular opinion. “Who do people say that I am?” Well, some think you’re John the Baptizer, others Elijah, others say you’re one of the prophets. 

Clearly, though, Jesus is fishing for something more, as comes through more clearly to everyone when he reframes his question in the way that I figured he meant all along: “But who do you say that I am?” Since I had already been mulling it over, anticipating where Jesus was headed with all this, without missing a beat I answered, “You are the Messiah.” I was expecting or hoping for a response from Jesus along the lines of, “Well said, my good and faithful Peter—you are the Rock on which my church will be built.” But I should have known better than to expect a pat on the back. Instead, he shut me down, cold, ordering that none of us should tell anyone beyond our group about who he really is. At least I can have the satisfaction of knowing that I was right, though.  

As I was standing there, the fact that he does not want word to get out that he is the Messiah begins to sink in more deeply. If Jesus wants us to keep this to ourselves, this must mean that he truly is the Messiah—our long-awaited savior who has come to establish his kingdom and begin his reign. Maybe once Jesus is finally ready to reveal it, maybe then things will finally get easier for us—enough of moving from place to place. Once Jesus begins his reign, maybe then I can finally be just a fisher of men instead of a part-time fisher of men and a part-time fisher of, um, fish. 

However, what came out of Jesus’ mouth next quickly put all those hopes of an easier future in grave doubt. Instead of sharing with us about his future glory and a more peaceful, prosperous life for us, his disciples, Jesus began to say things that turned all my expectations upside down: “the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” This is ridiculous! I know the conditions have been harsh—not enough to eat, always looking for the next place he can stay for a while, turned away by people in his own hometown, even by his family. I get that he and the elders, chief priests, and scribes are going to keep butting heads—but be killed for it? I don’t think that they would ever take their conflicts with Jesus that far. Maybe they’ll ban him from the synagogues, or tell him he cannot read Torah anymore in the assembly. And I don’t even know what to make of the “and after three days rise again” part.  

After the part about predicting he would be killed, I started tuning out. Enough is enough, I thought. So I called Jesus off to the side, so that the rest of the disciples would not hear or try to interrupt. I told Jesus, “Look, I know things have been getting more difficult for us lately, and especially for you, but please don’t say you’re going to end up dead. Like I said, I believe you’re the Messiah—that means God is going to protect you, his angels will not allow any harm come to you, because you have to live in order to reign and be our savior.” 

At that point, Jesus looked more exasperated than I had ever seen him—and he’s been really exasperated with us on occasion, like when we didn’t believe there would be enough food for the crowds. But this time, Jesus was beyond exasperated—he was angry to the point of looking like I was truly making him suffer. Instead of just privately chastising me, he calls every one else in the group over and says to me, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Honestly, I still didn’t get it. How is wanting Jesus to stay alive and well being like Satan? I get that Jesus felt like I was stepping out of line—he is the teacher and I am the follower after all. If he wanted to call me out on that, fine. But saying that I have my mind more on human things couldn’t be further from the truth—I walked away from my business, my family, my town to follow Jesus. At that moment, I felt like asking, “What more do you want from me?” Looking back, I can see that Jesus was correcting me because he loved me—I only wish I had realized that in that moment. 

A little later, when a new crowd formed to hear Jesus teach, Jesus decided to make it very clear what more he expected from me—and from all of his followers: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?” Taking up a cross—there he is again, talking about being killed. But now he is extending that to all of us, too. I’ve seen people carrying their cross on the way to their own death by crucifixion, and I’ve heard what a gruesome, painful death that is at the hands of the Romans. I pray that this is just another one of Jesus’ stories with a deeper meaning that is not literally true because, if I am honest, I don’t know if I have enough faith to take up a cross and lose my life—even for Jesus’ sake.  

Even though I don’t like to think it is true, I am starting to believe that maybe Jesus is preparing us for how his life will end. But I don’t yet see how this all fits together—Jesus dying, then being raised up a few days later, and us having to take up a cross and lose our lives, too. I hope Jesus, with all his riddles, rhetorical questions, and parables will make this clearer for us soon. It is so hard to follow when you don’t know where you are being led. I know Jesus gets so worn down by our lack of faith and our continual misunderstanding of his purposes. I hope one day I will see more clearly and have a strong enough faith to learn how to follow Jesus along the way with more faith and humility. 

Questions for Self-Reflection

As you listen to the Passion Narrative later today, read and chanted in our Good Friday services at 12 noon and 6:30 today, try to imagine the events that unfolded from the vantage points of some of the different people mentioned in the story. How could someone’s position relative to Jesus—be it a disciple or a family member, a political or religious authority figure, or someone more on the margins of society—change their sense both of who Jesus was to them personally and of his significance for the whole world?

Daily Challenge

To reflect more deeply on the varying relationships people of different social positions had with Jesus, view (or re-view) our Sunday Forums from January on Jesus’ Social Network.

The Common Cup - April 1

Today’s Lessons: AM Psalm 102; PM Psalm 142, 143; Jer. 20:7-11; 1 Cor. 10:14-17, 11:27-32; John 17:1-11(12-26)

Welcome to the third installment of lessons from “Love is the Way” by Bishop Michael Curry.  I thought after Monday’s reflection, I would stop quoting our presiding bishop, but his book is just so good, that I keep returning his words.  Especially after reading today’s lesson from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians.  If you have yet to read Bishop Curry’s book yet, I encourage you to pick up a copy today. 

It might not surprise you that Curry is a child of a pastor.  His father was an Episcopal priest in Buffalo, New York, and his father came from a long line of Baptist preachers.  When Curry’s mother and father were dating, Curry’s mother took his father to an Episcopal church in Chicago.  When they visited, there were only a few Black parishioners in the pews.  Curry writes that when it came time to come forward for communion, his father was both amazed and dubious.  There was only one chalice on the altar, and this was the 1940s.   

So, Curry’s father hung back as his mother went forward wondering if the priest would really offer her the same cup that everyone else was using. “He held his breath as my mother sipped.  And as the cup was passed, the next person did drink. And the next. And the next. And the next.” Curry continues in quoting his father, “Any church in which Blacks and Whites drink out of the same cup knows something about the Gospel that I want to be a part of.”  And it was that invitation that led Curry to join the Episcopal Church blazing the path for his son to later be an Episcopal priest, bishop, and now the figurehead and spokesperson of our faith tradition.

The chalice is a powerful thing.  Prior to Covid, I often would hear how one of the defining reasons people have found such a home at Saint Stephen’s is through the invitation to communion.  At Saint Stephen’s, we recite a prayer from the Christian community in Iona, Scotland as an invitation to communion.  It is not something that comes from our Episcopal tradition.  It is as follows:

“This is the table, not of the Church, but of the Lord.  It is made ready for those who love him and for those who want to love him more. So come, you who have much faith and you who have little, you who have been here often and you who have not been here long, you who have tried to follow and you who have failed.  Come, because it is the Lord who invites you.  It is his will that those who want him should meet him here.”

I have missed so much the power of the chalice to bind us together. I feel a real thirst for the Eucharist, and yet we have returned to having Holy Eucharist at Saint Stephen’s with bread only.  Part of my reasoning for not distributing wine is because it can’t be done from a common cup.  And yet the invitation to participate in communion is the most welcoming act we can offer at Saint Stephen’s.  All are welcome and we say and mean it with conviction.  We unabashedly practice open communion.    

In our reading today, Paul warns us about idols.  I wonder if there is an element of even suggesting that we can idolize communion in itself.  We want that which nourishes us, but what we are really called to is sharing in the Body of Christ.  It is not communion in itself that nourishes us but being united as the Body of Christ.  This is an important distinction.  We are nourished because we are united.  Because you and I, and the fellow over there, and the person in need, and the crazy uncle, and the preacher down the street, can be nourished by seeing our dependence on each other, and even more by recognizing the gifts of each other. 

Yes, I want the wine.  But today, may we be reminded that we need each other even more. And if that means holding off for a little while longer, then I’m game.   

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  How does Communion or the Holy Eucharist nourish your life and faith?  Have you fasted from communion during Covid-19?  Have you signed up to receive it in the home?  Has your abstaining caused you to reflect on the role that Sacraments play in your life?

Daily Challenge:  Order a copy of “Love is the Way” to read.  Here is a link to purchase it from Amazon.  If cost is a concern, I will purchase a copy for you.

Deeply troubled - March 31

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 55; PM Psalm 74; Jer. 17:5-10, 14-17; Phil. 4:1-13; John 12:27-36  

‘Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—“Father, save me from this hour”? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.’ Then a voice came from heaven, ‘I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.’ (John 12:27-28)

Years ago, a friend named Owen confided in me regarding his struggle with the darkness. He wrestled with the heaviness that was forever on his soul. He bore the weight of that ever-present reality as a shroud upon his existence. Now, don’t get me wrong…he was a funny and engaging person, with a biting wit and brilliant mind. As many of us do, portions of his public persona were manufactured to shield himself and avert the eyes of others from seeing the darkness stirring within him. When I looked in his eyes, there were moments I could see the sadness weighing on him.

This reading from John 12 brings memories of that time back to me. As Jesus says, “Now my soul is troubled,” I see images in my mind of my friend Owen pondering, pleading, and plodding through the sludge of despair, wracked with conflict while still having to put one foot in front of the other. I wonder what my friend’s prayers were like at that time? Did he ask of God, “Father, save me from this hour”? (I surely have prayed something along those lines in times of hardship and pain.)

Jesus, being the Messiah, resists that request and takes that heavy yoke upon his own shoulders. Jesus, being the son of God, turns away from his own soul-stirring angst and calls out, “Father, glorify your name.” Jesus does this in order to bring wonder and hope and salvation – unquenchable light to the world.

We cannot fix the struggles our friends and loved ones have with the darkness. We cannot change all of the things that bring us concern and trouble. What we can do is listen – without judgment – when someone we care about needs to talk. What we can do is pray for those who those who are downtrodden in spirit. What we can do is lift up the words of Jesus imparted in John’s gospel today, “The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.” (12:35-36)

With God’s help, let us drink deeply those words of hope and inspiration. Let us walk in the light, so that the darkness will not overtake us. Let us believe in the light – so that as we wander through the depths of Holy Week, we know that we are on the path, becoming children of light through the resurrection of Jesus.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What troubles your soul? Where do you feel that discomfort stirring in your body?  

How do you respond when you are deeply troubled? What lesson does Jesus have for you in John 12 today?

Daily Challenge

Get immersed with this scripture from John 12:27-26 through a method called Gospel Contemplation. Focus your heart and mind. Read the passage through twice, allowing the details to be magnified. Then, sit and close your eyes. Imagine what you see, taste, hear, feel, smell. Where are you in this episode of Jesus’ encounters? Let your imagination wander into this ancient encounter. Talk directly to Jesus, sharing yourself with him. What do you hear him saying to you?

The Most Unlikely Priest - March 30

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 6, 12; PM Psalm 94 ;  Jer. 15:10-21; Phil. 3:15-21; John 12:20-26  

Today’s Reflection

During Lent and Holy Week, we spend much time reflecting on how Jesus emptied himself for our sake. This idea of self-emptying (Gk. kenosis), is one of the cornerstone beliefs of the Christian faith. As we hear Jesus tell Andrew and Philip in today’s Gospel passage from John 12: “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (John 12: 24-25).

Just as Jesus, in order to fulfill God’s plan, had to give up his human life in order that we could gain eternal life, so, too, are we called to sacrifice something of ourselves for the greater good. For the wheat to bear much fruit, it must first be buried in the soil for a while before a new shoot of life will sprout forth, thereby allowing more wheat to grow and more people to be fed. This all sounds very noble, but in practice what does it look like when “those who love their life lose it”? Here’s how this principle of “those who love their life will lose it” bore itself out in one person’s life story.

An Englishman named Justin tells of how he first came to faith in Christ while he was a student at Trinity College, Cambridge. Later, when this man became a husband and father, his family became more involved in church after the death of their infant daughter in a car accident. Going through that trauma drew Justin and his wife Caroline to a renewed closeness with God. At the time, this young man was working as an executive in the oil industry, a career in which he had achieved success and financial security for over a decade. He was extremely comfortable in his profession and lifestyle and eventually began serving as a lay pastoral leader at Holy Trinity Brompton in London. After serving in that role for a while, he began to sense that still small voice, that nudge of the Holy Spirit.

The man recalls how, “something in me said this is what you should be doing.” So, with some trepidation, he began putting one foot in front of the other to find out which path that holy voice or nudge was leading him to follow. As he recalls, “I was in a great church, and I was loving my job, things were going quite well. But we had this sense, Caroline and I had this sense, that God was calling us—calling me to ordination, us as a family—into that life. And I was really very hopeful that they would turn me down.”

When he got to ACAM (a ministry discernment event), the last interview of the three days was with a bishop who was running the panel. The Bishop asked him, “Why do you want to be ordained?” To which Justin replied, “I don’t.” Looking baffled the bishop asked, “What are you doing here?” The young man thought, “That’s a reasonable question.” So, he said, “I can’t get away from it.” The bishop then queried, “What will you do if we turn you down?” Justin’s response was, again, not what the bishop expected: “I’ll go back to London and take my wife out for the best meal I can afford …to celebrate.” This perplexing answer seemed to cause the bishop even more frustration, as evidenced by his summation of Justin as a potential candidate for ministry: “I’ve interviewed more than a thousand people for ordination and I can tell you, that you don’t come in in the top thousand.”

Looking back, Justin recalls being relieved to hear this. As it turns out, he ended up being delayed for one more year in his discernment process. He felt uncertain about making this major turn in his life, toward walking down this new path on which God was leading him—losing his very comfortable life as an oil executive and a lay leader at a church he loved, losing this familiar chapter of his life for the sake of loving God and all God’s people. But, eventually, Justin Welby started walking down the path appointed for him—one that ended up with someone who at first was deemed ill-qualified and very unlikely to be a priest becoming, as we now know, Archbishop of Canterbury, the spiritual leader not only of the Church of England but of our worldwide Anglican Communion.

Two years ago, I had the chance to hear Justin Welby share this story with a small group of seminarians and other discerners gathered in the choir room of a church in Dallas. Though I had heard the story before, it was very powerful to be reminded by him, in person, of the importance of saying yes. When told that he would have to continue to discern for another year, Justin Welby could have just quit. He could have turned around and gone back to his life as before—happily. Instead, he chose to follow Jesus: “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honour” (John 12:26).

Of course, very few end up being called to be Archbishop of Canterbury—but we are all called to follow to wherever Jesus leads us to serve. As Welby says, “Everyone has a vocation. Everyone is called to be a Christian disciple wherever they are.”

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What is the “grain of wheat” in your life that could be buried in the ground so that, at just the right time, something new can sprout up, grow, and begin to bear fruit?

Daily Challenge

Listen to Nicky Gumbel, vicar of Holy Trinity Brompton, interview Archbishop Justin Welby about his life story and his perspectives on the Christian faith.

God's Motif of Resurrection - March 29

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 51:1-18(19-20); PM Psalm 69:1-23; Jer. 12:1-16; Phil. 3:1-14; John 12:9-19

“So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.” I am not sure I have paid much attention to this little bit before.  We spend so much of Holy Week, and on our faith in general focusing on the death of Jesus Christ.  But here the same people who are conspiring to put to death Jesus, are conspiring to put to death Lazarus as well.  And I am left wondering why.  Lazarus has not blasphemed by calling himself God.  No, Lazarus only draws attention to Jesus’ ability to breathe life into our world.

On Tuesday, my book group will have our final discussion on “Love is the Way” by Bishop Michael Curry.  Curry’s book is about the power of love which can transform broken systems and imperfect people.  Probably the most touching story for me to read was Bishop Curry’s own transformation through a relationship with a drug dealer and gang member who he met when he was a priest in Baltimore. 

Curry gives the name Eddie to this man who shows up one day asking to get out of the life he is living.  Curry confesses his skepticism and his strong dislike for the person he was counseling.   In fairness, Curry’s congregation had to live daily with the consequences of drugs and violence such as officiating the funerals for young men who met violent endings to their lives. 

After several meetings in Curry’s office, Eddie finally asked a question about God when he said, “Tell me about Jesus.”  And it hit Bishop Curry that after all of this time spent with Eddie, he had never once brought Jesus into the conversation.  And this is a man who seems like he can’t go a minute without talking about God’s love through Jesus Christ. Curry had been trying to help Eddie his life, and he wished him well, but it was in the question that Curry realized, he had yet to see him as more than just another drug dealer.  He had yet to see Eddie with life and possibility and the hope of the Resurrection. 

Curry continues to tell the story of how together they dive deep into the faith, studying for weeks, until finally, Eddie chooses to be baptized, making a public profession to renounce Satan and to turn to Jesus Christ.  Curry writes about the moment when he anoints Eddie with oil, “Never before had I trembled or felt myself tearing up during baptism, but I did that day.  Never before had I looked into eyes gazing at me with such intensity.”  The Holy Spirit touched more than one life that day.

I share Curry’s story, but it isn’t unique to him.  I’ve answered the phone more times than I can imagine, met with people in my office, listening to more and more stories asking for help and assistance, and more often than not, finding myself frustrated by the life decisions others have made that have led them to me that day.  I’ve been judgmental more than I want to admit. 

So, I’m back at Lazarus, and I am wondering not only if the religious leaders are frustrated that Lazarus is back stirring up trouble for the community, but they want to deny Jesus’s ability to give life and value to Lazarus again. Maybe it is easier to wish him dead than to give credence to his life. Lazarus is no longer dead, much to the dismay of the religious leaders.

We are people of the resurrection.  This means to see possibility and life where others have given up, even to the point where others would find it much easier to keep things as they are already perceived.  What in your life needs to be explored with new eyes to see things as Jesus might, naming life where others have missed the opportunity?  Isn’t that what we really celebrate this coming weekend?  God’s motif of resurrection? 

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Are there people or groups of people that you find it easier to be overly judgmental towards?  What are your experiences and beliefs that could contribute to that response?

Daily Challenge:  Make a list of three people who could be considered Lazarus in this story.  Consider one way of naming the life, hope, and resurrection in one of those people as a way of sharing in our Christian support and witness.

Stormy weather - March 27

Today’s Readings: Psalm 137:1-6, 144; Jer. 31:27-34; Rom. 11:25-36; John 11:28-44

O Lord, what are we that you should care for us?
mere mortals that you should think of us?

We are like a puff of wind;
our days are like a passing shadow.

Bow your heavens, O Lord, and come down;
touch the mountains, and they shall smoke.

Hurl the lightning and scatter them;
shoot out your arrows and rout them.

Stretch out your hand from on high;
rescue me and deliver me from the great waters,
from the hand of foreign peoples         (Psalm 144:3-7)

After the springtime severe storms of the past ten days, this psalm calls out and strikes me in a more profound way. The weather radio went off Thursday in the early afternoon. Sam and I were watching James Spann, the meteorologist on one of our local channels. If there is severe weather coming your way, you want Spann calling the shots as he sees them on the radar. Sporting a dress shirt and suspenders, he can look at a map and name the localest of the local hubs. For example, while tracking storm circulation and citing cloud-to-ground lightning strikes, Spann could also help you geolocate the site by saying, “at this corner, there is that mom-and-pop gas station that used to be a Conoco, but now is a Speedway, just across from Hester’s Table, that serves a mean barbeque plate.” Amusement at the weather forecaster’s entertainment ended when the sirens blared through our neighborhood and we saw that the severe weather polygon included our neighborhood.

As we sat hunkered down in our crawlspace, with kids cuddled up in blankets, with stuffed animals and Legos, with two dogs a cat roaming around us, life felt beautiful and fragile. I don’t always think of my own existence in terms of the latter, and on Thursday, I definitely felt vulnerable. The psalmist writes in Psalm 144 of being “like a puff of wind” and time “like a passing shadow” – fleeting, at the whim of nature. Reading of God coming down from the heavens to touch the mountains feels terrifying after seeing the storm damage of Oak Mountain, Roebuck Springs, and Eagle Point, among others in the Birmingham area. Hale County and other spots around the state were damaged as well. The lyrical language of hurling lightning bolts and scattering the people rings all too true as I remember how a friend texted me about her brother driving on the interstate and with one of Thursday’s tornados in his rearview mirror.

We are like a puff of wind, and our days are like a passing shadow. Let us lift our faces to God and open our eyes to how fragile our lives truly are. Let us lift our voices to say thank you that we are cared for by the Lord, whether we sustained damage or missed the brunt of a fierce tornado. Let us lift our hearts to the God who rescues us and delivers us from the great waters. And then, let us offer our whole selves to God – singing songs of deliverance, resilience, and faithfulness, and extending a healing, helping hand to those who have endured losses this week.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

How do you respond when faced with your mortality? And then, what do you do next? Tell someone? Ignore it? Laugh? Cry? Reflect and pray?

Daily Challenge 

Psalm 144 speaks of God as training our hands to respond to needs around us – though couched in the language of war in the psalm. How might your hands be needed in response to the needs of our community this weekend, and into the future. Research some ways you can lend your hands (or your help) to those who are struggling. Then, share your findings with a friend, inviting them to help, too.

A Gift of Love - March 26

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95* & 22; PM Psalm 141, 143:1-11(12); Jer. 29:1,4-13; Rom. 11:13-24;  John 12:1-10

Today’s Reflection

“Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’” –John 12: 3-8

In Lent, we hear much talk about what people are giving up. In this penitential season, the scriptures often point us toward the theme of sacrifice. As we are turning our hearts to reflect on Christ’s sacrifice for us, today’s scriptures require us to reflect on what we can give up or sacrifice. We are called not only to give up, but we are also called on to take up something new. Christ gave himself up for us, a fragrant sacrifice, so that we could have something new—new, resurrected life in him.

Let’s consider what is distinctive in John’s version of the story of Mary anointing Jesus at Bethany (versus the versions told in other Gospels):

1) Mary anointed his feet (instead of his head).

2) She used her hair.

3) The aroma filled the whole house (in contrast with Lazarus’ stench).

In addition, it’s important to notice that this anointing took place in his friends’ home not long after Lazarus was raised from the dead. It’s also important to notice that this anointing was done by a woman, Mary, who was his friend. Mary recognized Jesus was doing a new thing, so she responded in a new way.

Jesus was doing a new thing in the way that he, as both fully God and fully human, was breaking into our world and offering people a new way of encountering God. Mary, recognizing he was doing a new thing, anointed him in a new way. Meanwhile, Judas, defender of the status quo/the old thing, did not recognize Jesus’ new thing. So, we are called to cast aside or move away the old things, things that are passing away. We are called to take up or move toward something new. Like Mary, we are called to pour out what we had been holding onto that was precious so that God may anoint something new in us and through us as we take God’s love out into the people we encounter in our lives and in the world around us.

Five years ago this spring, I was at a very important point in my discernment process. That spring, I found out that the Commission on Ministry and the bishop in my Diocese had approved me to move forward with formation for the priesthood. I had also discerned that I should attend the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, which my bishop had also approved.

During Lent that year, one Sunday I heard a sermon on the woman with the nard. I went back to listen to the sermon from that day, and one of the things our rector, Charlie, preached on that Fifth Sunday of Lent 2016 was this: Mary was “the only person described as loving Jesus... the only one given that distinction in the Gospels. Two great commandments: to love the LORD your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your strength. All. … She recognized that Jesus’ feet were the most beautiful feet, because they had had brought the Good News.”

A couple months later, early in the summer, I had to visit the vestry meeting to ask them to sign a form in support of my postulancy. At that point, I had given my notice at Stetson—notice that I was walking away from my tenure (lifetime job security), which I had earned just three years earlier. We had put our house on the market, a house which when we bought it that we thought we would live for decades to come. Knowing all of this, one of the vestry members asked me whether I was sure that I wanted to do this, whether I thought it was wise to give all this up to go to seminary. Because of course, on paper, this was not safe. This was not wise. And I totally understand that perspective—in fact, in many ways, I kind of agree with it.

In response, I told them that I was reminded of Charlie’s recent sermon about the woman with the nard. Following Jesus is worthy of the sacrifice of status, of salary, of property—of what is most precious and valuable to us. As hard as I had worked to earn tenure and promotion, and all the benefits and privileges that came along with that, discernment had brought me to a place of being able to walk away. This has not come without hardship or regret about what was left behind. But just as God has poured out himself for us in Christ, sometimes we, too, are called to pour out something of ourselves for God.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

When have you given away or given up something and found others questioning your decision? Did you try to explain your decision? If so, how did you try to help others understand the reason for your gift or sacrifice?

Daily Challenge

Read more about Mary and Martha of Bethany here.

Sharing Joy - March 25

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 131, 132, [133]; PM Psalm 140, 142; Jer. 26:1-16; Rom. 11:1-12; John 10:19-42

I was talking with one of our parishioners yesterday.  She called and shared with me the joy of the first time in eleven and half months, her granddaughter visiting and being able to give her a hug.  Her granddaughter had arrived and as she opened the car door, ran to her and gave her a hug.  She called because she just wanted me to know.  She had experienced joy and had to share it.

I’m still thinking about that phone call, and more importantly, how she wanted me to know.  She wanted me to know that something good had happened and she couldn’t be silent.  And I think she believed that her joy would make me joyful as well. It did!

A few hours later, I talked to another parishioner about an exciting new transition in her professional life and her hopes for Birmingham.  She wanted to share the news, and she wanted me to hear it from her before hearing it from someone else.  She wanted to share her joy and excitement and hope for her own life. 

 You almost get the sense that Paul has stumbled upon some great joy in his letter to the Roman’s and he can’t wait to share it. The editor of the NRSV has added exclamation points throughout this passage.  “By no means!”  “How much more will their full inclusion mean! Salvation has come to the Gentiles.” 

A seminary classmate of mine shared a picture on Facebook recently.  It was of her wearing a T-shirt with a crown of thorns that said, ‘Best Day Ever” as well as her supporting the world’s largest grin.  She is a perpetual optimist.  The shirt had changed, “Good Friday” to “Best Day Ever.”   You couldn’t help but smile with her in the picture.  The photo prompting hopeful conversations on evangelism; a message of hope that was better than just good. 

It might be Lent, but today I am thinking of how we have the ability to lift others up with messages of hope.  It spreads and actually changes the vantage point for the receiver. 

I don’t mean to diminish the challenges that life can throw at each of us, and especially the hard work of living out our faith, but even in the hardest of moments, we still have the Good News to share.  Not only does it fundamentally change our lives, but we get to share that same hope for others.  It could change their lives too.  Salvation has come for all!

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What has brought you joy recently?  How have you shared that with other people?  Was it something you celebrated?  Do you consider yourself evangelical? 

Daily Challenge:  No text messages, or emails allowed… Pick up the phone and call someone to share something meaningful, beautiful, and hopeful for no other reason than to bring joy to their life.

The Good Shepherd - March 24

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:145-176; PM Psalm 128, 129, 130; Jer. 25:30-38; Rom. 10:14-21; John 10:1-18

When serving on the vestry at All Saints’ in Homewood nearly 20 years ago, we had a presentation as part of the meeting. A program was introduced to the church called Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. Stephanie Diethelm guided the group through a teaching module in the children’s ministry curriculum that we were considering for All Saints’. Adults of all ages took off their shoes, sat on the floor, and listened to her tell the story of the Good Shepherd. The lights were dimmed. Her voice was soft. And I felt transfixed. Wow. It was powerful to hear the story of the Good Shepherd retold – and I felt pulled into that setting in a new way. I saw Jesus as the Gate. I could hear him telling us that he lays down his life for the sheep…and that he must bring the other sheep in, too. They listen to his voice.

Today is the anniversary of Óscar Arnulfo Romero’s death. He was a Roman Catholic priest in El Salvador who was outspoken about human rights, and the repeated violations of the rights of the poor and victims of El Salvador’s very acrid and devastating civil war. During his time as archbishop in San Salvador, he was criticized by his country’s government and the Roman Catholic Church. Yet, he kept acting as a shepherd in Jesus’ pasture, tending to the sheep and naming when the sheep were being violated by thieves and bandits. He appealed to the Salvadoran military in a radio broadcast, “No soldier is obliged to obey an order that goes against the law of God. I beseech you. I beg you…In the name of God: ‘Cease the repression!’”

Romero continued celebrating Mass, offering holy food and drink to those at the Table of Jesus. On March 24, 1980, as his arms were spread out and lifted in the orans posture and he was saying the Eucharistic prayer to consecrate the bread and wine upon the altar, Óscar Romero was assassinated with one shot to his heart. Romero’s death focused a worldwide lens upon the need for reform of human rights in El Salvador.

While a priest in the Roman Catholic Church, Romero is one of ten 20th century martyrs memorialized in Westminster Abbey in London. His ministry and mission as a follower of Jesus resonated widely. He was canonized a saint in 2018 by Pope Francis and the wake of his ministry continues to be an inspiration to many around the world.

I remember Óscar Romero when I celebrate the Eucharist, opening and lifting my arms. I remember the vulnerability and strength of this outspoken priest from Central America. I think of the burdens he bore and the sacrifice he made as one of the shepherds for Jesus. Romero laid down his life for the sheep.

In closing, I offer you this prayer found in Lesser Feasts and Fasts 2018 from the Episcopal Church: Almighty God, you called your servant Óscar Romero to be a voice for the voiceless poor, and to give his life as a seed of freedom and a sign of hope: Grant that we, inspired by his sacrifice and the example of the martyrs of El Salvador, may without fear or favor witness to your Word who abides, your Word who is Life, even Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be praise and glory now and for ever. Amen.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

How do you imagine the Good Shepherd caring for you?

For whom do you make sacrifices and offer protection? Who has lifted their voice to defend and protect you?

Daily Challenge 

A quote attributed to Romero is, “Aspire not to have more, but to be more.” Take five minutes to meditate on these words. Listen for where God is calling you to be more today. Write down one action that emerges from your time of reflection.

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.