Blasphemers and exorcists - August 5

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 34; PM Psalm 85, 86
2 Samuel 11:1-27; Acts 19:11-20; Mark 9:2-13

Sam and I loved living in Crestwood North, nestled in an old neighborhood with sidewalks, mature trees, and charming homes lining the roads. We had a 1920s bungalow-style house that Sam was restoring one project at a time. We spent lots of time outside in the yard or on the screened porch, so we got to know the eclectic community of people around us.

I came home one afternoon and Sam had quite a tale to tell. He had been working in the backyard and overheard loud shouts. He walked up the driveway toward the street to see what was happening. Sam saw our neighbor from two doors down – I’ll call him Thomas. At the time, Thomas was probably 35 years old. He was a firefighter, and like Sam, he always had home projects going on. Overall, Thomas was affable, helpful, and always ready to talk.

On this particular day, Sam saw a different side of Thomas, who was in his front yard, shaking his fists in the air, and yelling, “Blasphemers!!” at a small cluster of three or four people who looked to be well-dressed and in their 50s or 60s. The foot-traveling evangelists were walking away quickly from Thomas down the sidewalk. But he did not stop shouting after them that what they were peddling was blasphemy and contrary to God’s word until he was halfway down the street and they had rounded the corner.

I do not count it as coincidence that the Jehovah’s Witnesses did not come to our street or knock on our door again.

I am reminded of that quirky neighborhood tale from a decade ago as I read of the itinerant Jewish exorcists in Acts 19. There were varied practices of faith, mysticism, magic, and idolatry during the days of the early Christian church – which is much of the backdrop when we read the apostle Paul’s letters to the faithful in Ephesus, Corinth, and other hamlets in the Mediterranean. And here, we have this spiritual standoff between the power of God through Jesus and some evil spirits. The brand of faith healing espoused by the seven sons of Sceva could not stand up to the wicked spirit because of one important detail: a lack of full belief in the power and presence of Jesus.

We read that they tried to cast out evil spirits by saying, “I adjure you by the Jesus whom Paul proclaims.” Their spell against the malicious essence is lacking, spiritually and stylistically. The exorcists lead with a first-person perspective: I charge you. Then, they claim Jesus as the source of power. There is a problem, though. The way in which they name Jesus – “whom Paul proclaims” – puts distance between themselves and the power they seek to wield. The seven do not draw near to Jesus…they have no connection to him. And so, their attempts to cast out evil fall flat and backfire upon them.

In the Episcopal Church, exorcism is not something that happens often – as far as I know. Consulting the handy online glossary of the Episcopal Church, I found this: “Exorcist was one of the old minor orders. Originally it designated a person whose liturgical duties included laying hands on catechumens (those preparing for baptism) and energumens (those possessed by unclean spirits). It was later one of the orders through which one passed on the way to priesthood. The Church of England abandoned minor orders at the Reformation, and the Roman Catholic Church suppressed them in 1972. Today an exorcist is a person appointed by the bishop to perform a rite of exorcism. An exorcist is usually but not necessarily a priest.” In seminary, I was not instructed how to do a proper exorcism. Rather, we were instructed to contact our bishop for further help, if such a need arose.

While exorcisms are tricky (and ill advised), if it is a house blessing you are seeking, call your priests. We are here to pray with you and celebrate God filling the spaces in which you live and move and have your being.

Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

Does it ever feel like your prayers are falling flat? What or who draws you near to Jesus again?

Daily Challenge

There is a fine line sometimes between mainstream faiths and the religious movements that fall into grey areas. Think about a group that may leave you squirming or scratching your head about its authenticity. Read a little about that entity. And then, spend ten minutes in prayer and journaling, asking Jesus to be your guide in understanding. Pray that God’s love may fill the lives of all people. Listen for what additional questions come up for you. And stay curious, while grounded in God.

Jellyfish and taking risks – August 4

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:97-120; PM Psalm 81, 82; 2 Samuel 9:1-13; Acts 19:1-10; Mark 8:34-9:1

While on vacation last week, we hit the beach. It was nearly 6pm on a lovely afternoon. While Sam was helping Robinson ride the boogie board in deeper water, Josephine and I were searching for a few more shells as the undulating waves snatched them from our grips. I heard a small person’s voice cry out, “A fish just bit me!!” We turned and it was Robinson, screaming in pain and grabbing his leg. Sam quickly got him out of the water. There was no blood, so I gathered that it was not a fish (or shark) that was the perpetrator of pain. Rather, it was a jellyfish that left its microscopic stingers across his knee and around his calf.

Understandably, our five year old was inconsolable. We did what we could to assuage his symptoms, packed up our stuff, and headed to the car. Josephine tried to distract him with tempting dinner options. Robinson had no nice words to say about the ocean or the mean jellyfish that left whelps on his leg. Furthermore, he said that he would never swim in the ocean again. As a note, this was day three of a five-day trip…and the beach was going to be on our agenda before heading home. I promised him I would not let jellyfish hurt him next time.

On day five, we joined friends at the beach. Their kids went splashing into the waves. The seaweed influx and previous drama of her brother’s jellyfish incident kept older sister Josephine mainly on the shore, happily digging holes and making dribble castles. Robinson took a risk, knowing he had a friend to play with and the assurance of his parents that these kinds of stings were rare. He went back into the waters, staying near parents most of the time. He dove underwater and frolicked about. And then, he began screaming. Loudly. Robinson – now a jellyfish veteran – knew what it was; we saw several floating around us, and we quickly exited the water. Sobbing, he said, “Mom, you promised they would not sting me again.” He took the risk…and while it makes a good tale for this reflection, I am not sure he would report that it was worth it.

In Mark 8, after telling his disciples the not-so-happy future ahead for his ministry – suffering, rejection, execution, and rising again on the third day – Jesus makes a recruitment pitch to the crowds, not shying away from the risks at hand. If they want to follow the Messiah, they must utterly deny their own needs and wants. In essence, they will need to walk around with large planks of wood on their shoulders, the crossbeams hoisted up to make crosses upon which Romans punished and publicly executed rebels and agitators. In essence, they are preparing to die, just by saying yes to accompanying Jesus in ministry.

I imagine the people gathered around this man known to teach, heal, and feed, and I wonder how they respond to his words. Is it silent? Do they trust him? It is a wild proposition, at best. And yet, Jesus – the world’s boldest salesperson – asks the crowd to consider what they would give in exchange for their soul…their breath…their very spirit. It is a hail Mary pass, for sure. And the narrator, in brevity and word economy does not give us the benefit of learning what happened next. Did they take Jesus up on his pitch? We do not know the reactions of the crowd, for Mark moves on to the transfiguration.

Jesus makes a risky proposition, challenging those who will follow him to set aside their own needs in order to serve others. In order to love boldly. He makes a big ask. He knows there may be some big tears ahead. Some are ready, and others need a bit more time. The short-term returns of the world look iffy, to be sure…but the long-term promise of God’s love and redemption brings hope. And as these words persist, we know that some have taken that risk. We do what we can, as Christians 2000 later, to put aside our own needs. Perhaps that looks like taking part in sacrificial giving through tithes to the church. Perhaps that looks like giving up a lunch outing to shop for school supplies or deliver sack lunches for Avondale Ministries. And maybe that looks like going on a pilgrimage into a risky area to share the love of Christ with those who are thirsty and hungry for the Good News.

Be bold, my friends. Let us encourage one another to take a risk with Jesus by our side.

Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

How likely are you to take risks in life? In faith? What must happen to get you there?

What feels like a risk grounded in faith for you today?

Daily Challenge

What is a risk in your spiritual life you have been avoiding? Pray about it. Write yourself a note of encouragement, in the bold technique Jesus used with the crowds in Mark 8. What will it take to convince you to take a risk?

"Who am I, God, that you have brought me thus far?' - August 3

Daily Reflection for Saint Stephen’s

Tuesday, August 3, 2021

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 78:1-39; PM Psalm 78:40-72; 2 Samuel 7:18-29; Acts 18:12-28; Mark 8:22-33

Today’s Reflection

            As I read today’s passage from 2 Samuel 7, I was struck by how poetic David’s prayer sounds, so I ended up taking several lines of it and arranging it as one would lay out lines of verse on a page.

Who am I God?

And what is my house,

that you have brought me thus far?

And what more can I say to you?

For you know me, O God!

Your servant has found courage

to pray this prayer to you:

And now, O Lord God,

you are God, and your words are true,

and you have promised

this good thing to your servant.

Now, therefore, may it please you

to bless the house of your servant,

so that it may continue for ever before you.

For you, O Lord God, have spoken,

and with your blessing shall the house

of your servant be blessed for ever. Amen.

Reading this passage, then arranging these lines into a poem that is also a prayer, puts me in mind to reflect on how far God has brought me, especially over these past five years since I walked away from my comfortable life as a college professor in DeLand, Florida, to start over again in a new city (Austin), doing a new thing (seminary), but also going back to a place I had lived before (Texas) and a role I had played for many years before (student), in order to prepare for this whole new way of life to which God has called me (serving God and his people as a priest).

As my final semester of seminary unfolded in spring 2019, I began to pray more and more that God would lead me to the people and place I was meant to serve—and that we would all recognize each other when the time came. For my first year out of seminary, I was called to be in ministry alongside the people of Saint Thomas in College Station, Texas. It was especially meaningful for me to return to Bryan-College Station, where I had lived and studied for five years (1999-2004), the place where I became both a scholar and a mother—graduating from Texas A&M with my Ph.D. in 2003, the same year we welcomed Olivia to the world. And to return to College Station also felt right in that, on a certain level, it helped me to gain some sense of healing and closure in the wake of my dissertation advisor’s untimely death there in 2013. Returning to College Station in this new role as a priest felt somehow a way to make peace with that loss, as well as to spend a year discerning about next steps in my trajectory from professor to priest in the place where I had, strangely, become both (16 years apart).

And as I pray these poetic lines from 2 Samuel today, even more so they put me in mind to reflect on how far God has brought me (and my family) over this past year since I began my call as your associate rector on August 1, 2020. Being here with you at Saint Stephen’s is the answer to at least several years of discerning prayers. While I loved and cared for the people of Saint Thomas, I began to feel a stirring that God was moving me on—a stirring which began in earnest during the Season of Lent in 2020, as our world went into lockdown. I began having discerning conversations with people whom God put on my heart to talk with, to hear their perspectives and their own stories of discernment. And I began to pray again, daily, that God would make the path ahead clear. I prayed, as a young Samuel did in the temple, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” And I took back up that original prayer, the one I had prayed daily during my last year of seminary, that God would lead me to the community of people I was meant to minister alongside—and that we would recognize each other clearly when the time came.

And then, after my first Holy Week as a priest in the weird new world of virtual services, I awoke on Easter Monday with a very clear sense from God that it was time to act. It felt like the Spirit was moving me on—though where and to what I did not yet know. I just knew that it was time to begin making calls and more actively discerning where God would lead us next. I began speaking with a transition minister in another Diocese, then began to discern with a small parish there who was searching for their next rector. I was open to other possibilities, but so far no others had yet presented themselves—until the day I jumped on the Holy Hikes Zoom meeting, unexpectedly met both John Burruss and Allen Howell, and the rest, as they say, is history. When I read the position description (for Saint Stephen’s associate rector for formation position) the next day, I felt like I was reading about the job I never knew I was searching for—until I saw it, and then I knew it was exactly the kind of community and call that made sense for me, and the kind of priest God had formed me to be. As I discerned with Saint Stephen’s in May and June 2020, it became increasingly clear to me what special people make up this church and that I wanted very much to be a part of this dynamic community.

One year later, I still feel that way—except even more so. Even amidst this crazy, ongoing pandemic, we’ve found ways to worship and learn together, and to take care of each other and our wider community. There is a spirit of creativity and hopefulness in this parish community that confirms for me daily that the grace, mercy, love, and peace of Christ are real—and they are embodied in the ways we live out our faith together as the body of Christ gathered as Saint Stephen’s Episcopal Church. I am so thankful for this first year of getting to know you and serve alongside you—and I look forward to meeting and knowing more of you as our new program year unfolds this fall.

I’m taking some time off this week—time to rest, recharge, and enjoy some travel adventures with my daughters before they go back to school soon. I look forward to returning next week refreshed and renewed, ready to begin year two with you all here at Saint Stephen’s. I look forward to the ways we will worship and learn together, and take care of one another and our community, in the months and years to yet to come.

Like David’s prayer (which we read today in 2 Samuel), I, too, am grateful: grateful that God has brought me safe thus far, grateful that God’s words and promises are true, and grateful that God has blessed me and my house by allowing us to be here with you at Saint Stephen’s.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Looking back on your life so far, what moments stand out to you as ones in which God’s “still, small voice” was speaking to you? What have been moments in your life when you felt the Spirit moving you on to the next step in your personal or professional life? When have you experienced a clear sense that God’s words are true, and that he has good things in store for you—even when you haven’t been clear as to what those would be?

Daily Challenge

Make David’s prayer-poem your own this week. Print it out (or copy and paste it into the notes app on your phone), then commit to pray these words at least once a day throughout this week. Try to give yourself 10-15 minutes for silent meditation after you pray these lines, being open to the stirrings of God’s Spirit in your own life and sense of calling.

Groundhog Day - August 2

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 80; PM Psalm 77, [79]; 2 Samuel 7:1-17; Acts 18:1-11; Mark 8:11-21

One of the classic movies from my time growing up was Groundhog Day, a fantasy movie about a newscaster named Phil, played by Bill Murray, who has to travel to a small town to cover the annual Groundhog Day celebration.  Phil is pretty arrogant and rude, and as he is preparing to leave his news station for a larger market, makes his contempt known for his assignment to travel to the small town of Punxsutawney.   

A terrible winter storm hits the town of Punxsutawney and Phil is forced to spend the night with the very people he despises.  When he wakes up in the morning, he finds that the day is happening just as it did before, unnerving Phil.  Eventually, he realizes his life is stuck in some bizarre time loop where each day repeats, and it is always February 2.   

Now if one was to wake up every day with it always being the same day, I suspect that the trajectory would be similar.  Phil goes from angry to angrier.  Then reckless, irresponsible, depressed, and then at some point, things shift and he begins to take advantage of the situation.  He learns how to play the piano, learns French, and finally towards the end of the movie, this news anchor who has only been in Punxsutawney for one day, knows the stories and lives of everyone in the town, has embraced the community that he once despised, and even fallen in love.  As Hollywood would have it, it is also pretty predictable.  When he finally falls in love and fully embraces the community, the cycle is broken, and February 3 finally arrives.   

 Last Thursday, when I sent the email out with the Bishop’s request to return to wearing masks during worship, I received a response referencing this movie.  I had been pretty frustrated, not necessarily about the mandate itself, but the whole situation we are in, and just that little movie reference, changed my whole perspective.  All I could do was laugh and smile, and wonder.  It feels like we are stuck in our own time loop and I’m ready for the next day when we are freed from this tragic Covid loop of life, but in some ways, on our best days it does feel like we are really working to learn something new, find new ways of being community, communicating, sharing our stories, being compassionate and mission-oriented.  In the words of Winston Churchill, “Never let a good crisis go to waste.”  Are we be given some opportunity to learn how to love more deeply?

Today’s Gospel reading has an element of this same idea.  The disciples have witnessed over and over Jesus doing remarkable things.  He has continued to tell them who he is and yet they do not understand.  How many times must they watch someone being healed, or thousands fed, or received instructions on how to care for others.  Our reading ends with Jesus turning to the disciples and saying, “Do you not yet understand.” 

Flash forward and it will take several more days on repeat before they do.  They have a lot to learn. But they are also the ones responsible for carrying on the mission and vision after Jesus’s death and resurrection.  It’s ok that it took them a long time to figure out, because it means we are given the same opportunity.  Maybe it has something to do with grace.  

Tomorrow might feel like today, or yesterday, or the day before.  But we still get the opportunity to love and learn.  And maybe that is the best opportunity we could ask for.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  How are you different today than you were one year ago?  What have you learned?  How have you changed? 

Daily Challenge:  Pick one thing you would like to learn to do before the diocesan mask mandate is over and begin working towards that.  Some ideas: the basics of a new language, musical instrument, or hobby.  I’ll buy you lunch if you write me to tell me something new that you are going to learn and how it is going to change your life.    

Common Ground - July 31

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 75, 76; PM Psalm 23, 27; 2 Samuel 5:22-6:11; Acts 17:16-34; Mark 8:1-10

Today’s Reflection

In Acts 17, we hear the story of the Apostle Paul’s visit to the city of Athens, a center of learning and culture in the ancient world. For Paul, an educated man who grew up in the city of Tarsus, another center of learning in the ancient world, I imagine he was excited to present his case for Christ to people in Athens. Here, we find Paul being on called to present his ideas at the Council of Areopagus, equal in importance to someone presenting a case before our Supreme Court today. The address Paul gave is considered an excellent public address because of how Paul tailors his argument so perfectly to the Athenian cultural context.

We read in Luke’s account here in Acts 17 that Paul was deeply distressed, because there was a lot of idol worship going on. People were worshipping things that they shouldn’t have been worshipping. We don’t use that language of idol worship so much anymore, but we do see it in our own cultural context: Many people make career their God—or technology, or healthy eating, or exercise, or politics, or so many of the other things we put up on pedestals today.  

Paul was distressed to see that in Athens lots of people were worshipping these idols. He went to the synagogue and there he argued with the devout persons—and he was also out in the marketplace, arguing and debating with people there, too. People were thinking, this man Paul needs to come and talk in front of the Areopagus. They brought him before the Areopagus, where those gathered asked him “May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting?” They wanted to know more, because as they said, “It sounds rather strange to us, so we would like to know what it means.”

Although Paul has a reputation for being too blunt or ‘in your face’ at times (depending which commentaries you read), in this situation Paul did not alienate everyone. He was out there, in the synagogue and in the marketplace, discoursing with people, discussing things that were controversial with people, but the way that he did it didn’t drive them away. Instead, what he was saying and how he was saying it made them more curious—they wanted to continue to hear more from Paul.

Paul goes before this council, the Areopagus, and he says: “’Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’” The point I want to make here about what we can learn from Paul at the Areopagus is this: He observed the culture around him. He did not cut himself off from it. He didn’t identify with it, but he was very familiar with what is going on in the culture so that when he spoke to people who had this different cultural perspective than this own, he was familiar with their practices.

Paul listened to what they were saying, and he looked at their objects of worship so that he could speak meaningfully to them. In other words, through observation and listening he learned about what people on the other side of the issue believed. Paul realized that these idol worshippers were people who were searching for something—they may have searched for it in different ways, but he acknowledged that they shared this concern with him. He found some common ground. He recognized how they were divided: he worshipped God, while they were worshipping idols. But Paul also realized that they, too, were searching for truth, something to give meaning to their lives.

He even showed that he was familiar with their literature and their culture. He quoted their poets: “‘In him we live, and move, and have our being,’ as even some of your own poets have said. ‘For we, too, are his offspring.’” Paul immersed himself in the local culture, different than his own cultural perspective or worldview, and he realized that there was something they had in common. This line, “In him we live, and move, and have our being,” has become important in our own canon of scripture.” Many people don’t realize that Paul, in fact, was quoting these lines from another author in a different cultural tradition.

At the end of his presentation at the Areopagus, one point of contention was whether there was a resurrection of the dead: “When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, ‘We will hear you again about this.’ At that point Paul left them. But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them.” Paul went out there, amid this controversy, and those gathered gave him a hearing. In return, he acknowledged their views, learned about them, and the result was that, while some scoffed, there were plenty of people who said, “You know what, Paul, we would like you to come back. We would like to continue this conversation with you.”

Paul conducted himself in conversation in such a way that it opened the possibility for future conversations to unfold. And there were other people who, because of the way he had presented his ideas, said, “You’ve convinced us, and we will come over to your point of view.” Now that won’t always happen. But the way that Paul had conducted himself in his public discourse with these people with whom he had many differences, it helped them to be open to listening to his point of view.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What do you do to learn more about the perspectives of those who think or believe differently than you do? How comfortable or uncomfortable do you feel when you find yourself in a discussion about a potentially controversial topic? Beyond this story of Paul at the Areopagus, what others passages of scripture inform how you approach your relationships with people with whom you disagree on important issues?

Daily Challenge

Today’s reflection is an excerpt of a Sunday Forum presentation given at Saint Stephen’s in October 2020. You can find the complete video of “Speaking the Truth in Love: Following Jesus in Our Public Discourse” in our Christian Formation archive on the Saint Stephen’s YouTube channel.

Caution: Flooded-Out Road Ahead - July 30

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 69:1-23(24-30)31-38; PM Psalm 73; 2 Samuel 5:1-12; Acts 17:1-15; Mark 7:24-37

Today’s Reflection

This spring and summer we have seen so many rainy afternoons here in Birmingham. The almost daily afternoon thundershowers remind me of Florida, where these downpours are the norm summer after summer. These afternoon rains bring refreshment, cooling things off and keeping all the yards and parks so lush and green throughout the summertime. Rainy afternoons and evenings, while they make it challenging to get in a run at the end of the day, are nonetheless a pleasant change after experiencing four years of extremely hot, dry Texas summers.

All these recent downpours have showed me something new about where I live, which is that my street and the park down the road are prone to flooding. In Florida, the daily afternoon rains do not tend to cause flooding due to the sandy soil, which allows the rain to easily sink down through the ground and trickle down into the Florida aquifer. In contrast, what we see happen on our street here is that the rain starts to pool up, and the drainage in our neighborhood is such that the waters quickly start to cover our street and, if it rains heavily for long enough, starts to overflow the creek that runs behind our house, too.

The other thing I have learned about my street is that many locals use it as a cut-through between two main roads in our area. So, here’s what happens when our street and the park at the end of the street flood and then people come down the street to do their usual cut-through: If they are driving in the direction of the park, they get midway down the street, right around our house, and then if they are looking ahead, they will see that the road is impassible and that they will have to turn around—usually backing up in our driveway and turning back toward where they came from (Green Valley). And for the people who either aren’t looking ahead to see the road is washed out—or who see it and foolishly think their car or truck can make it through all the standing water—inevitably they will get just past our yard and then start to very slowly go into reverse until they get back to our driveway—then they turn around and head back up the road to find some other way to get wherever they need to go. From time to time, someone in a very tall truck (the ones with the giant tires) may manage to make it through—or, as happened last week, someone’s vehicle will be overcome by the water, causing their car to stall out and requiring a tow truck to enter the scene.

From my safe, dry vantage point inside my home, when I look out and observe the rising waters and the different ways the drivers respond to a flooded-out road, I have wondered if all this would be a good analogy for when we encounter unexpected situations in life. In Psalm 69, the psalmist seems to have had a similar idea. We find ourselves calling out to God to save us when “the waters have risen up to [our] neck.” There are moments when we become very consciously aware of how overwhelmed we are by our circumstances: “I am sinking in deep mire, and there is no firm ground for my feet. I have come into deep waters, and the torrent washes over me.” But even in those moments when we see how high the waters are rising, or how we may be sinking into the mire, we can hold onto hope. We have a God whom we can call upon for help, who can direct us to turn around and go back another way—or who can provide a tow truck to help pull us out when do end up getting stalled and stuck.

But as for me, this is my prayer to you, at the time you have set, O Lord: “In your great mercy, O God, answer me with your unfailing help. Save me from the mire; do not let me sink; let me be rescued from those who hate me and out of the deep waters. Let not the torrent of waters wash over me, neither let the deep swallow me up; do not let the Pit shut its mouth upon me. Answer me, O Lord, for your love is kind; in your great compassion, turn to me. –Psalm 69: 15-18

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What life situations have you encountered that felt like flood waters rising up to your neck? What life situations have felt like a muddy, miry pit from which your feet could not get unstuck? Looking back, how did God act to get you safely out of the floodwaters and the mire? What do you learn, as you reflect on these situations later, about your faith and about the faithfulness of God?

Daily Challenge

Psalm 69 is a psalm of lament, the most commonly occurring genre within the Psalter. Learn more in this article on “Psalms of Lament” found on the Bible Odyssey website (an educational resource written and edited by scholars of Biblical history and interpretation).

Jumping to Conclusions - July 29

Today’s Readings AM Psalm [70], 71; PM Psalm 74; 2 Samuel 4:1-12; Acts 16:25-40; Mark 7:1-23:

Many years ago, I had the gift to lead the youth group where I was working on two different pilgrimages to Greece.  Both groups were following in the footsteps of Paul and so we visited not only the communities that Paul wrote letters, but the places he visited and the accounts that we hear so much about in Acts.  Sometimes when I read the stories of Acts, I am transported back into those trips and I see the places that we read about, and I can visualize the setting and the story.

Today is one of those days.  On our 2005 trip, we visited Philippi and stood where we think the prison written about in today’s story from Acts existed.  I remember well the tour guide sure pointing to my left.  “Now this is where the jail cell of Paul and Silas was.”  And then he pointed to my right and showed us where the prison guard was sitting on that evening when the earth shook and the cell doors were unlocked.   

I was transferred back into the story as I read it, imagining Paul and Silas standing just to my left and picturing the guard just to my right.  And I could hear the guard talking to himself as he is threatening his own existence and I found myself shouting out, “don’t do it, Paul and Silas are still here.”  And then the words come from Paul and Silas themselves, and the guard talks himself down from the exceptionally drastic decision he was about to make.   In some ways, it is a story about how easy it is for humans to jump to extreme conclusions before the story is finished. 

Over the past several months, it seems like we live in a period where we too jump to conclusions easily.  Like the prison guard, we assume the absolute worst.  A colleague sends an email that strikes a nerve, a friend or neighbor pushes against your values, a sibling is short the last few times you have called.  We think the absolute worse, apparently something that has been happening for two thousand years. 

And Paul and Silas are still there.  And to sweeten the deal the guard has a conversion experience finding a radically new way of living, now as a person of faith.  Today’s story could be a reminder to be a little more patient when we are caught off guard, to let the story unfold before jumping to conclusions.  Who knows, our lives could be radically changed too.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  When have you jumped to conclusions recently?  When have expected the worse to be surprised in a good way?

Daily Challenge:  Today’s reading could be a reminder of the power of optimism.  Consider ways to be more optimistic today. 

Adverse Waters - July 28

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 72; PM Psalm 119:73-96; 2 Samuel 3:22-39; Acts 16:16-24; Mark 6:47-56

These past few weeks have filled me with joy and gratitude.  As I stood before our congregation making announcements this past week, I said something to the tune of “never taking this opportunity to gather in person for granted again.” Even with meeting in person, we have maintained a steady online presence. While we are more spread out due to keeping four different services each Sunday, our in-person attendance (not including online) almost reached our pre-pandemic summer numbers last Sunday and far exceeded it when including online.  There are new faces, new ministries, and an excitement for how to engage with each other which has been palpable. 

For those reasons, I think subconsciously I have been refusing to acknowledge the public health crisis that is brewing as the number of COVID hospitalizations and deaths begins to spike again.  I optimistically wanted to believe we were on the tail end of the pandemic. Maybe we still are much closer to the end, but I am worried that the waters will be rough for many this fall. 

I also had three pastoral conversations yesterday centered around grief. I am also grateful for these conversations, sacred moments that I treasure more than any meeting or decision that has to be made.  Pandemic or not, people’s lives can reflect the stormy seas where our boats are rocked, and we become much more in tune with uncertainty and survival.  And I am grateful that many in our community will reach out to the church when this happens.

Today’s Gospel has disciples in their own storm, straining their oars against an adverse wind.   That could be its own metaphor for our common life together.  It seems odd that when they see Jesus, they don’t recognize him.  The disciples actually think they see a ghost and instead of being comforted, are terrified.  More of the story takes place before the disciples are at peace.  The wind ceases and yet I wonder why Mark tells us their hearts were hardened.  Had they yet to recognize God in the storm? 

Storms come and go.  For many of us, this pandemic might be the most challenging storm we ever face.  For others it is the loss of a loved one, the challenges of depression and mental illness and raising a family, or the loss of identity and focus.  Life is full of storms. 

But the storms will cease.  And hopefully more often than not, the water will be calm.  One of the profound gifts of our faith is the knowledge that it is God who not only calms the storm, but is there with us in the midst of it.  We, like the disciples, struggle sometimes to see God at work around us.  It’s why we need the reminder in Mark’s Gospel today.  May it open our eyes to recognize God when we struggle the most.  No matter what we are to face in the coming months, I rest better with the reminder that God is with us no matter what.

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Where are you in this cycle of storm and calm waters?  When have you struggled to see God in your midst? Did something change your perspective?  How?  Why?

Daily Challenge:  Find a quiet space and spend three minutes breathing deeply. If you need a prayer, say “Lord Jesus Christ” as you breath in, and “Have, mercy on me.” as you breath out. Think of this as a tool remember God in the storms of life.

Opening Our Hearts to Listening - July 27

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 61, 62; PM Psalm 68:1-20(21-23)24-36; 2 Samuel 3:6-21; Acts 16:6-15; Mark 6:30-46

Today’s Reflection

I’ve written before about the birds who frequent my backyard, especially those who have formed a community that I like to think of as the bird church (since our feeder is shaped like a church, complete with steeple and arched, clear glass windows a lot like the ones we have at Saint Stephen’s). But it’s not just about spending time bird watching—it’s also about spending time bird listening. As those of you who tune in when I lead online Morning Prayer from my backyard deck well know, the birds are joining us for Morning Prayer, too. It’s not so much that people can see the birds in the background, though sometimes one will flit through the scene behind me. Rather, it’s that people can hear the birds’ songs as we read scriptures and pray together, since the birds are especially active at that time of the morning.

Just yesterday, I was reading an article in the New York Times about the joys to be found not only from bird listening, but also in what we learn by using technology to help us know which birds we are listening to. The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, the premiere center for the study of birds, has just released a new version of its Merlin app, which allows you to not only visually identify the birds you see, but also to aurally identify the birds you hear. You download a sound catalog for your region of the country, then press record. The app creates a spectrogram, or a visual record of the different sound patterns. When the app matches this with one of the bird calls in the database, the name and picture of the bird will pop up—and if it hears more than one, a list begins to form of all the bird songs you’re hearing at any given time. When I tried this out yesterday, I realized I was listening to Carolina wrens, American robins, American crows, and Eastern towhees—all just in a one- to two-minute snatch of time. And each time the bird calls again, the name on the list flashes—which begins to teach you which bird call is which. Soon, if I keep listening and spending some time using the app as I listen, I will be able to listen better to the birds around me. I will know whose calls I am hearing—even when I cannot see them to identify them by the colors of their feathers or by the sizes and shapes of their bodies.

In today’s passage from the Acts of the Apostles, listening is an important theme. Listening to the Spirit, Paul and his companions knew that they were not supposed to go to Bithynia. But where were they to go instead? That night, as Paul slept, he dreamt that, “there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.’” The Scripture describes this as a vision. However, this was not just a vision that Paul saw, it was also a vision that required Paul to listen to what God was telling him. And Paul did listen—taking what he saw and heard in his dream so seriously that when he awoke, Paul and his companions “immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.” Because Paul was well practiced in listening to the voice of God, Paul could recognize God’s voice when it called to him, even when it came to him unexpectedly in visions or dreams.

Paul and company journeyed to Macedonia, traveling through the cities of Samothrace and Neopolis before reaching Philippi. Knowing that God wanted them to declare his message among the Philippians, they tried to think of where the people who would be open to hearing them might be gathered. On the Sabbath, they went to a place by the river that “they supposed to be a place of prayer.” Among the women gathered there was “a certain woman named Lydia, a worshipper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul.”

Because Paul listened to God, he knew that he was supposed to go share the Good News of Christ with the people of Macedonia—including the women gathered for prayer at the river that day. And because Lydia listened eagerly when God brought Paul and his companions there to the river, not only she but her whole household decided to seal their belief in God through being baptized together. And, continuing to listen to the stirring of the spirit in her, Lydia invited Paul and his friends to come stay with her at her home.

We don’t know from this passage anything about what message Paul shared by the river that day—but what we do know is that Lydia listened, and that as a result of that holy listening she and her whole household made a commitment to live faithfully in Christ. Thanks be to God!

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What is the difference between hearing and listening? What does it take for you to move from hearing something or someone to listening more deeply for the meaning in what you are hearing? How do you know when what you are listening to is something God wants you to be listening to?

Daily Challenge

You can learn more about the Cornell Lab of Ornithology here and you learn about the Cornell Lab’s free Merlin app (and download it) here.

Dark Stories and Holding on to Hope - July 26

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 56, 57, [58]; PM Psalm 64, 65; 2 Samuel 2:1-11; Acts 15:36-16:5; Mark 6:14-29

Today’s Gospel reading was also read a few weeks ago on a Sunday morning at church.  More than the words of the reading, I can remember the audible gasp from a gentleman on the third row, Celebrant side.  He turned to the person he was worshiping with and said something to the tune of: “Wow, that was dark.”  Or at least that was the gist.  It was loud enough that I could hear from where I sat.  I am sure others heard as well.  And he was right, and said what I think many of us were thinking, at least if we were paying attention. 

I remember hearing Walter Brueggemann speak to a group of clergy several years ago and he shockingly questioned us Episcopal priests asking how we could so easily say, “the Word of the Lord” and just expect people to respond, “thanks be to God” as if the message was always easy and made sense.  Sometimes there are stories like todays that are startling to hear, and we should probably be more surprised when they pop up, or maybe we aren’t paying that close of attention.

Today’s story is tough.  Herod’s wife manipulates her daughter to demand the assassination of John the Baptist.  Because Herod’s ego is significantly larger than his ethical compass, we end up with the head of John the Baptist being brought to Herod’s daughter on a platter.  It sounds like a scene from The Godfather or Game of Thrones.  You probably wouldn’t be surprised that we used the Old Testament lesson for Children’s Chapel on that Sunday.

Today might be an important reminder that we gather on as Christian community because we know the end of the story.  We are caught up in this life-giving way because we know God’s love is bigger than anything else.  God’s love is bigger than pain, loss, grief, death, and defeat.  But this doesn’t free us from going through difficult and painful moments, especially when motivated by human egos with a lack of an ethical compass.  Sometimes horrible things happen prompting the question, “Where is God in this story or event?”

The story of the beheading of John the Baptist is one such encounter.  Maybe it is stories such as these within the overarching stories of our faith that remind us that the story is not yet finished.  Sometimes the moments are dark but that is not the totality of what we are to experience.  We just have to stick with the story a little longer and God will always shine redemption, hope, and resurrection.  

John+ 

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What are the hardest stories for you to read in the Bible?  What stories do you still struggle with today?  What have been especially challenging moments in your life? 

Daily Challenge:   If you find yourself in an especially challenging period in your life, try journaling about some of your hopes and dreams for what is next.   Write those down on a piece and place in an envelope with instructions to open and read in a year.

Outside the City Gate – July 24

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 55; PM Psalm 138, 139:1-17(18-23); 2 Samuel 1:1-16; Acts 15:22-35; Mark 6:1-13

I am in a Bible study at Saint Stephen’s. This year, we began reading Hebrews in January, and this week, we wrapped up that magnificent letter in the Bible. It has been a joyous journey, delving into the words written as a rousing sermon to ministers in the early days of the Christian church. The crescendo of Hebrews – to me – is found here:

We have an altar from which those who officiate in the tent have no right to eat. For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the high priest as a sacrifice for sin are burned outside the camp. Therefore Jesus also suffered outside the city gate in order to sanctify the people by his own blood. Let us then go to him outside the camp and bear the abuse he endured. For here we have no lasting city, but we are looking for the city that is to come. (Hebrews 13:10-14)

In this pep talk to ministers of this new worshiping body – many of whom used to be Jewish priests – they are being prepared in an odd way. Here’s what I mean: they are being told not just to make sacrifices at the altar and keep laws of the great and living God. There is more: they are called to take those gifts that are offered at the altar and carry them out into the hinterlands, outside of the safety of the walls of the city...away from routines and comfortable spaces. They are to do ministry in places that are foreign and uncertain and perhaps likely to reject the messages imparted.

The early Christian priests are called to go outside the city gate because that is what Jesus did. Jesus ministered inside the walls of the camp, inside the social structures of temples and communities, sharing meals and healing those in need. And then, he went into the far-flung places, where he was less welcome. Where he was seen as a disturbance. Where he was judged as a wing-nut prophet and blasphemer.

Jesus went outside the city gate and was crucified upon a hill. His death was an offering to reconcile us to God. Hebrews 13 states this doctrine of atonement: people are reconciled to God through the sacrificial death of Jesus. Said another way, the Son of God removed the obstacles between us and God. Either way, I feel conflicted by the benevolence and the brutality.

Jesus’ giving of his own blood to the point of death to save others sounds so brutal, doesn’t it? And friends, we can be brutal to one another, too. In our judgements against those who differ from us in creed, culture, or credit line. In our insistence upon our own concept of liberty, love, or livelihood. This insensitivity to one another is not new. It may be increasing in intensity or vigor, yet it is not a new thing. The letter to the Hebrews calls those in ministry to go to Jesus “outside the camp and bear the abuse he endured.” And why? Because as we are God’s, our eyes are to be set upon the city that is to come…and not to place our faith in the city we have right now.

Jesus prepared his friends for ministry in a similar way. He gave them directions as he sent them out in pairs. He told them how to equip themselves and gave them marching orders for when they faced refusal and rejection: “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” (Mark 6:10-11)

The act of shaking off the dust is a symbolic action and a cultural statement of removing all association with someone. Not even a speck of dirt will weigh down the disciples as they move along, proclaiming repentance, casting out demons, and anointing the sick with oil.

I will continue to proclaim God’s love – and I hope you will join me in this effort, as all are invited into the proclamation of the Good News. I hope you will also join me in encouraging all people to show compassion and love for their neighbors in all manners of ways. In getting vaccinated against COVID-19. In wearing a mask in places where large numbers of people gather indoors. In being kind and welcoming to listen to all voices. In caring for those who are ill and ailing. Sometimes we will face refusal and rejection. That will not stop us from sharing the mutual love of God.

Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

Which of your views to which you hold tightly feel like you are going outside of the city gate? Upon what are those views founded? How does that wilderness experience affect those convictions – either diminishing your will or reinforcing it? Where is Jesus for you in this moment?

Daily Challenge

Take a few minutes to read about atonement theology – and do your own research, too! What are you intrigued to learn about? What challenges you? Take a moment to write down some insights, then sit in prayer, meditating about what atonement means for you.

Reaching Out for Jesus - July 23

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 40, 54; PM Psalm 51; 1 Samuel 31:1-13; Acts 15:12-21; Mark 5:21-43

Today’s Reflection

One of my favorite writers and podcasters, Kate Bowler, always signs off by saying, “Have a beautiful, terrible day.” Recently someone asked her:

Why do you keep asking us to have a beautiful, terrible day? WHY TERRIBLE? Why not JUST beautiful?

Well. It came from the thought I kept having when I first got sick: that somehow I could see more, feel more, appreciate more of the wide spectrum of life. And it turns out that there's this perfect quote from pastor and writer, Frederick Buechner, who said: “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.”

Life can be both wonderful and terrible, gorgeous and tragic. These opposites do not cancel each other out.

In theory, I love this Buechner quote—and I love that Kate Bowler is always wishing us a beautiful, terrible day. But in practice, in the moment, it is extremely hard to hold onto this truth: “Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid.” I feel like it’s easier to see the beauty intertwined with the terrible when we look back, with the perspective of not being right in the middle of the beautiful, terrible moment.

As it happens, today’s Gospel passage is also about a beautiful, terrible day. In this passage from Mark 5, we find two intertwined stories of grief and compassion. The passage opens with Jairus asking for Jesus to come quickly to heal his only daughter, a 12-year-old who seems on the verge of dying. Jesus stops what he is doing and starts heading to Jairus’ house. But, as often happens when Jesus is on the way somewhere, Jesus gets interrupted, and he ends up having an encounter with a woman who was seeking healing for herself as someone who had been bleeding continuously for 12 years.

For Jairus and his daughter, the day began as a terrible one with the prospect of a young life, full of promise, being cut short—and the prospect of parents and relatives and friends grieving her loss. The day was also beautiful in the way that Jesus showed compassion on them by coming to them, giving the family dignity in their difficult moment, then tenderly saying, “Little girl, get up!” and then making sure she was fed and that their privacy would be maintained by asking that no one share the details of what had happened.

But in between the bookends of the story of Jairus’ daughter, we also find the story of the woman who was hemorrhaging. This, too, was a beautiful, terrible day for her. It was a terrible day because it was yet another day that this woman had woken up in pain and discomfort and fear, just as she had for 12 years. The bleeding just wouldn’t stop. Nothing she had tried had taken it away. Nevertheless, she held onto the hope that all would take to be healed was to just touch Jesus. She didn’t mean for him to know—and how could he? After all, Jesus was making his way through a crowd, bumping against and being bumped into by all sorts of people as he made his way to Jairus’ house.

But somehow, Jesus felt the healing power go out from him—and he stopped to find out just who had touched him not on accident—but who had touched him because she was hoping for healing And it was a beautiful day because not only did she reach out in faith to Jesus, but it was beautiful because Jesus did not reject her because of this act of faith—rather he turned to her and said, “Your faith has made you well.”

Frederick Buechner was right. In our world, beautiful and terrible things will happen. And when they do, and even when we feel afraid, God will show us compassion—which, we in turn, can share with others.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

How do you respond when someone close to you is having a terrible day? How do hope others will respond to you when you are in the midst of your own terrible days? What do we learn from how Jesus responds to those seeking his help and healing in Mark 5?

Daily Challenge

Today’s reflection is drawn from June 27 sermon, in which I reflected on both Lamentations 3 and Mark 5. You can listen to the full sermon here on the Saint Stephen’s YouTube Channel, where you can find an archive of all our sermons from the past year.

If you’re curious to read more from Kate Bowler, or to listen to her podcast, you find much good food for thought and reflection through her website.

Hospitality and Humanity - July 22

Three good friends were sitting around a campfire and arguing about their faith.  As the night went on, the argument became more heated and each one became convinced that their faith was the best.  Of course, a wager was born.  The bet was who could convert a bear.  Well, the first gentleman wandered off into the woods and returned an hour later.  He came limping back, returning with a few scraps and a big grin.  “My friends, I have found a bear, we had a nice conversation, a little pushing and prodding, but I got him down to a stream and I sprinkled him with water.  I am proud to say, that bear is now an Episcopalian!”

The next friend wandered off into the woods to return an hour later.  However, he came hobbling back, somehow supported by two crutches, his arm was in a sling, his head had a bandage, and he was sporting an even larger grin.  “Peace my friends.  I found that bear, and we took a long walk to the lake.   We wrestled for a little while and it took some effort to fully submerge him, but that bear came out of the lake praising Jesus. I am proud to announce that bear is now a Baptist.

The last friend left to find the bear. After a few hours, the other two became worried.  When they can’t find their friend in the woods, one called the hospital to find that their friend had just been admitted.  The doctor encouraged them to come as quickly as possible.  They rushed over warned that they could only see their friend for a moment as he only had the strength to say a few words.  They wandered in, and their friend, with all of his strength and energy let out with a gasp, ”Shalom my friends, the bear is now Jewish.” (I first told this joke in the seminary chapel for my senior sermon in October of 2012.  In fairness, I learned it from a Rabbi of the largest synagogue in my hometown.

I spend a lot of time reflecting on our customs and practices and how people feel welcomed in Christian community. Our staff listened to a podcast interview this week with entrepreneur Danny Meyer about hospitality and humanity. We care about hospitality and our conversation prompted reflection on a couple who was visiting church last Sunday and one of them was overheard saying, “Am I doing this right?”  We worry about boundaries and norms of communities and the potential for people to be seen as outsiders. If you have been around the Episcopal Church for a while, you have probably either heard someone refer to themselves or others as a cradle Episcopalian (or maybe you have referred to yourself this way) as if our longevity in a tradition is a badge of honor.  Don’t worry, I’ve done it too.  The argument about what it means to be a member of the faith is an age-old conversation that still seems so relevant today.  It was certainly relevant in Acts, which shares the story of people coming down to Judea telling Christians they can’t be saved unless there are also circumcised.  (Yes, that’s what I was suggesting happened to the bear if you missed it.) 

We take a lot of pride in our tradition.  I certainly do.  But it might be a helpful reminder to know that the Body of Christ is not the Episcopal Church.  All Christians are in this together.  Really, all of humanity is in this common life together.  Each week, as more and more begin to gather for worship, a reminder of what binds us together might be necessary.  And the Acts of the Apostles remind us that it’s the Holy Spirit.  And we all have it, even the two new people who have no idea about the Book of Common Prayer, or the person who stopped to come in because the church was pretty.   No one is better than the other.  And we all get to use our gift of hospitality to remind each other of that truth. 

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  When have you felt like an outsider in a church community? What made that change?  How has that shaped your own practice of hospitality?

Daily Challenge: Listen to the Podcast about Humanity and Hospitality or just read the notes if you don’t have the time.  Spend time reflecting on your own practice of hospitality.

Faith and the end-times – July 21

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:49-72; PM Psalm 49, [53]; 1 Samuel 25:23-44; Acts 14:19-28; Mark 4:35-41

On Sunday after church, I went to the hospital to administer the consecrated bread and wine from Eucharist to a parishioner. While waiting for authorization to make a pastoral visit, several other people trickled into the waiting area. A couple came into the vestibule. The man and I exchanged pleasantries and then he said something that surprised me: “These sure are the last days…the end times are upon us.”

That phraseology is not in my vernacular. I did not know what to do with that statement and even now, I do not even recall how I responded. As I sit here remembering that encounter, I feel curious and have questions. I wish I had asked him more about that. About what in our time serve as signals to the end of days. And, how he lives differently because of the signs around him. And what he wants younger generations to know and understand. If this man is willing to proclaim that truth to a stranger in a hospital lobby, perhaps he has stories that are compelling and rousing, pointing to God’s movement in his life and the world. It is the sharing of those stories that helps strengthen us in hard times. It is the sharing of those tales of risk, loss, and adversity that help us rely more upon God’s guidance than our own human impulses. It is in sharing stories of faith that we can see God’s faithfulness, even when all is lost.

In Acts 14, the disciples are being persecuted. Paul has been stoned and dragged outside of the city Lystra. Jesus’ followers surround the beaten apostle and he got up again, though the attackers left him for dead. They moved on to the next hamlet to share the Good News. The writer of Acts gives us this detail: “There they strengthened the souls of the disciples and encouraged them to continue in the faith, saying, ‘It is through many persecutions that we must enter the kingdom of God.’” (Acts 14:22) Through the disciples’ witness around the shores of the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas, churches were built up and strengthened. Those trying to follow Jesus were encouraged. In Luke 21:12-19, Jesus had warned his friends that suffering would be a precursor to the kingdom of God. This message was not far off the prophetic, apocalyptic messages in Daniel 11:32-35, in which violence and suffering would accompany the end-time.

Maybe as our eyes are opened through hardship, we realize what is really important and we can name where our convictions lie. We can say with blessed assurance that our hope rests upon God. Not everyone gets to that point, or stays there. There are so many who are downtrodden and have lost hope. So, keep sharing your stories of faith. Keep praying for those who feel left behind by God. And stay curious and connected with those around you.

Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

What do you think of when you hear about the end-times? Does it feel like something real to you? How do you respond?

Daily Challenge

 If talking about the end-times makes you wriggle and writhe, sit in that discomfort. Journal for ten minutes about what comes up for you...what you know, what you don't know, why you push back against it. Then pray for God to be with you in the discomfort, guiding you to insights about what trusting God means in light of the end-times.

The Greatest of All Shrubs - July 20

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 45; PM Psalm 47, 48; 1 Samuel 25:1-22; Acts 14:1-18; Mark 4:21-34

Today’s Reflection

He also said, ‘With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.’ –Mark 4: 30-32

Did you know that mustard plants are considered by many to be weeds? This is because they are plants that, by virtue of their tiny seeds, can spring up easily and spread to places where we may not have planned for them to grow. And when they grow, they really grow. Because of this, many gardeners would say that mustard seeds, and the plants they become, do not belong in the garden. But even the seed of a weed can flourish and become life-giving: a safe place for birds to find food, shade, and a place to nest. In the kingdom of God, boundaries are crossed. Categories come into question. The tiny seed of a weed becomes “the greatest of all shrubs.”

And yet, for an audience steeped in images from the Hebrew scriptures of the great cedars of Lebanon, a mustard shrub evokes a much less grand vision of God’s plans and promises. Perhaps, as scholar Pheme Perkins points out: “Jesus has pulled a swap. God’s creative presence can still provide abundantly for all creatures even in a region without mighty trees. For people who expect God's reign to show itself in mighty deeds, transforming nature and nations, the mustard bush is hardly an appropriate sign. It is just an annual plant, after all, not a great tree sought by pharaohs and kings to adorn palaces and temples.” And yet, because of its smaller scale and more humble reputation, the mustard seed is the most appropriate sign of what it means for us to grow into a kingdom for God.

However, as Jesus well knew, the mustard plant is not great because of its size but rather because of what its branches can provide: shelter and shade. The mustard seed grows from the tiny seed of an often-unwanted plant into a bush whose expansive branches provide for others.

God's economy is based on reversals or incongruities. The weak become strong. The poor become rich. A little child shall lead them. So, it makes sense that when God tells us about how we can expand his kingdom on earth, that he tells us to go about it in a different way than many earthly leaders would. It’s not about making earthly empires great and gaining power over other people. Rather, growing from a tiny seed into “the greatest of all shrubs” is about growing into a plant--or a church, or a community, or a culture—that is in fact an ecosystem, one which provides sustenance and shelter to a diversity of living things. As scholar Suzanne Henderson observes, “Where the seeds of God’s kingdom do take root, they grow with abandon even alongside the plants that wither or seeds that disappear. Like the mustard bush, the kingdom will overtake its surroundings (4:30–32), but it does so organically and offers hospitable shade to ‘the birds of the air.’”

So, how can we build God’s kingdom now? Growth and new life require changes in state. A seed ruptures open whenever a new plant begins to germinate. A tall plant or tree requires pruning. A plant cutting must first form its own new roots in water before it can be transplanted into the soil and begin to grow. The question we must consider is this: Are we willing to be tiny mustard seeds with the determination to grow into the greatest of shrubs—even when we grow within the boundaries of a garden in which we may at first be seen as just another weed? 

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

In what kinds of circumstances or situations do you feel (or have you felt) especially small? Have you ever experienced a time when you entered a situation (be it a room, an event, a task, or a role) feeling very small but over time ended up growing into it?

Daily Challenge

You can read more about mustard plants in the context of the ancient Near East in this article on the Old Dominion University Bible Plants web site, where you can also read up on all other sorts of plants mentioned in Scripture.

Parable of the Sower - July 19

Today’s Lessons: AM Psalm 41, 52; PM Psalm 44; 1 Samuel 24:1-22; Acts 13:44-52; Mark 4:1-20

Just last week, I was commenting about how it finally felt like summer and now we are accelerating way too fast towards the fullness of the fall.  Our family is planning to put a large calendar on the left side of our refrigerator to help us keep up with everyone’s schedules.  I’m guessing we are making up for last year filling the school year with cello and banjo lessons, travel soccer, ballet, girl scouts, cheer, and choir.  I seriously wonder how it is all going to work.

In today’s Gospel lesson, we hear the familiar parable of the sower.  One image is of grain that falls among the thorns and the thorns sprout up and choke the grain, keeping it from growing.  One of the more provocative ideas I have heard in reference to this Scripture was a sermon fifteen years ago or so from a priest in East Tennessee that suggested that thorns might be all the really good stuff that we fill our schedules with each year.  The preacher was talking about the same dilemma I am cautiously considering.  Funny how things haven’t really changed.

Over the past year and a half, many have commented how the forced opportunity to slow down has been a gift in their own life. Activities were postponed, camps canceled, and soccer games were missed.  We wouldn’t have asked for it in a million years, and I am grateful for those moments of enjoying a family meal that would have been a practice, of working on a few more puzzles, of knowing my neighbors better than I could have imagined. 

I’m not sure how to navigate parenting, how to say no to some of the things that my family has been looking forward to doing.  I’m guessing we are going to go back to pre-pandemic participation in the smorgasbord of child development.  But today’s reading is a reminder to focus on what really matters.  A relationship is more important than making all of the soccer practices.   Cultivating fertile soil for our spiritual growth is not doing more, but instead the quality and intentionality of what we set out to learn and do. There is a big difference.  And I have some work to do.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What are the most meaningful practices in your life?  What are the activities that fill you with joy and purpose? 

Daily Challenge: Is your calendar overbooked?  If it is, open your calendar and find one thing that you can let go of that can help provide some relief in your day-to-day life?  If your calendar is more open, find one thing to add that is meaningful and life-giving.  Some ideas could include scheduling a trip to the Birmingham Art Museum or Botanical Gardens, attending one of the formation opportunities at Saint Stephen’s, or going to lunch with a friend. 

Jesus and the melee - July 17

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 30, 32; PM Psalm 42, 43; 1 Samuel 22:1-23; Acts 13:26-43; Mark 3:19b-35

He writes, “No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness.” He describes it as a kind of suspense—so many habits, so many outcomes, are stopped in mid-air. Made impossible now, because of what has changed—is changing. – Kate Bowler, writing about C.S. Lewis’ book A Grief Observed

My colleague Becky is the first who brought up Kate Bowler to me. I cannot recall exactly what she told me about the author, speaker, and Duke Divinity School professor, but it was enough to encourage me to learn more. During the pandemic Lent of 2021, Bowler put out a livestream video many mornings of Lenten reflections and life’s musings. Watching her speak in vulnerability and of struggle reminded me of the choppy waters of openness the inimitable Brene Brown explores in her works. And so, I now find myself on the “Kate Bowler train” of curiosity into spaces of hardship from which we yearn to flee, yet when times are hard, what we must do is bear it. In Psalm 30 today, the psalmist writes, “Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.” (v. 6) While I really want to get to the joy of the morning, sometimes I must spend the night in tears. I have to feel it and get through it … whatever the hard “it” is.

My eye caught this graphic earlier in the week and it really hit home for me: “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” C.S. Lewis wrote these words in his book A Grief Observed. I have never thought about grief in these terms, and yet I totally get it. There is the dread of experiencing the loss…and the fear of a similar loss happening again. We can find ourselves suspended, restrained, in limbo – all because of our grief and fear. Those are big, big feelings.

I wonder what big feelings Jesus’ friends and family were having in Mark 3, appointed for today. After he has called the twelve disciples to follow him, Jesus goes home and the throngs who have been following him are back. It is so crowded that they cannot even sit down together and eat. We read that Jesus’ family heard – either they got a report about the commotion, or they actually heard the sounds of the gathering. Their response is to restrain Jesus – to retain him and remove him out of the chaos of the crowd. But it gets more complicated than that, for we hear that people are saying Jesus is insane. Astounded. Out of his mind. Then the scribes get their hacks in, asserting that Jesus is possessed by Beelzebub, and through the power of evil, he is casting out the evil in others (as we read about in Mark 3:11).

So, this is more than just a melee…could it be that those closest to Jesus are having a type of intervention with him? What an experience of grief and fear, because of what has changed and what is still changing in their landscape. I wonder how afraid and uneasy Jesus’ followers and family feel in times like this. I wonder, too, how Jesus feels; does he grieve the hard heartedness of the scribes, who are blaspheming the Holy Spirit? Does he understand the intentions of his friends trying to intercede for him?

While C.S. Lewis wrote to illuminate a framework of the grief happening within himself and around him, Jesus does not do that for us. He is in the thick of ministry. He interprets in the moment what needs to be addressed. What we hear from Jesus is a dismissal of the false assertions of his possession by an unclean spirit. We hear a few parables about Satan’s weakness and Jesus’ strength.

Sometimes to get through a hard time, we must cling to the things that are reliable, when the rest of the world is shifting under our feet. Jesus is the strong one, who cannot be taken down. He is with us in our times of being surrounded by a melee, grieving and fearful, knowing that God’s joy and peace, which passes all understanding, will come in the morning.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

“No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.”

How does this statement strike you? What thoughts does it elicit from your experience? Who else might need to hear this bit of insight?

Daily Challenge

Take a few minutes to read as Kate Bowler explores grief and C.S. Lewis’ book A Grief Observed in this link. If you are looking to delve deeper into what grief means through Lewis’ eyes and reflect on your own experiences, I commend this Lewis book and the book study questions to you.

Jesus and the Get-Away Boat - July 16

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 31; PM Psalm 35; 1 Samuel 21:1-15, Acts 13:13-25; Mark 3:7-19a

Today’s Reflection

“Jesus is a character with many and varied traits. What Jesus ‘does’ reveals primarily the extent and nature of his authority from God. What Jesus ‘says’ discloses his understanding of himself as agent of God and his purposes. Both what Jesus does and what he says expresses his values and show his integrity in living up to those values.”

–David Rhoads, Joanna Dewey, and Donald Michie in Mark as Story (Fortress Press, 2012)

Of the four Gospel accounts, two of them (Matthew and Luke) ease into the life of Christ by first telling us of his origins—his ancestors, his birth and childhood—before beginning to detail his baptism and the events of his three years of public ministry. The other two Gospels, Mark and John, immediately bring us into Jesus’ story at the prime of his earthly life, telling us of his baptism upfront and then taking us right into an up-close and personal viewpoint on the intensity of Jesus’ daily work of teaching, preaching, healing, and casting out unclean spirits.

In Mark 3: 7-19, we find Jesus desperately seeking a well-deserved break from this constant whirlwind of activity and attention. Everywhere he goes, people are flocking to him because they have heard the news about what he did or said at his last stop along the way. And critics like the Pharisees and Herodians were taking note of his words and deeds, adding to the pressure building upon Jesus and his disciples, as we saw earlier in Mark 3 after Jesus entered the synagogue and healed the man with the withered hand.

Feeling the weight of this building pressure, Jesus’ instinct (a very good one) was to withdraw with his disciples to the sea. This reminds me of when you or I decide to talk a walk or a run or drive to go get some fresh air, some space to breathe and think and pray in the midst of our own busy lives and stressful situations. But still, even when he tried to take a breather, the crowds continued to follow Jesus—so he told the disciples “to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, so that they would not crush him” (3:9). Doesn’t it sound like Jesus was having the disciples arrange for a get-away car (or in this, a get-away boat) to help whisk them away from all the crowds and the craziness?

From there, Jesus went up the mountain and “called to them those whom he wanted.” Yes, Jesus took the get-away boat so he could go on a mountain retreat with some trusted friends. And not only that, but Jesus decided to do another very smart thing to deal with the mounting pressure of his public life and ministry: He delegated authority so these companions could begin to share with him some of the responsibilities of ministry, specifically the work of preaching and casting out demons. And once Jesus had assembled this team of co-laborers, at the end of the day he did one more, very wise thing: “Then he went home” (3:19).

It can be easy to trick ourselves into believing, even with the best of intentions, that we are what we do and say. But it’s also important to remember that we are more than the sum of our actions, words, or reputations. As Jesus models so well in today’s passage from Mark 3, we are also formed by what decide not to do—moments when we say no to the culture of accomplishment, achievement, and productivity.

In other words, Jesus was able to step away from the whirlwind of activity and attention to find moments to rest, refocus, and just be. Even the Son of God, equally divine and human, needed to arrange for the get-away boat, a retreat up the mountain, and then, when all was said and done, just go home. If we are to follow more faithfully in the footsteps of Jesus, we must remind ourselves (and one another) that sometimes the best thing to do is get in the boat, go up the mountain, and then head home to recharge our souls and reconnect with the people who love us regardless of what things (be they magnificent or mediocre) we may have said or done that day.

—Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

What helps you to recharge and refocus? Where are the happy places or quiet places you choose to go to get away from the craziness and business of daily life? Who are the people you turn to share responsibilities or listen as you process the stress and pressure you may encounter along the way?

Daily Challenge

Commit to carving out a full hour (or two, or three) so that, like Jesus, you can away from your responsibilities of your to-do list and just be the person God created you to be.

We are Made for Love - July 15

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 37:1-18; PM Psalm 37:19-42; 1 Samuel 20:24-42; Acts 13:1-12; Mark 2:23-3:6

I am guessing a few people looked over their shoulders or glanced in their rearview mirrors yesterday.  An accident on I-459 had people taking a detour down Overton Road.  This meant a line of cars from past my house to the church (over 1 mile long).  Needing to get to church, there was no way I was going to drive so I hopped on my mountain bike in my bright red pants and my clericals (black shirt with a white Anglican collar) whizzing by cars on my way to Saint Stephen’s.  I hope some people are asking questions, or at the very least smiling. 

Well, this led me to have to ride my bike home for lunch, probably more than anything because I wanted my car and didn’t want to ride my bike home late on Wednesday evening.  So, I pushed up the hills, and arrived home, sweaty and out of breath. I had lunch and then went to jump in my car, tired from a hot bike ride in pants, clerical collar, and a long sleeve shirt, only to step on one of the dog’s toys and twist my ankle, throwing my can of water, falling to the ground, and letting out some words that my daughter wasn’t too pleased to hear.   As Anne got some ice for my foot, I said to her, “my feet aren’t made for stepping on stupid dog toys.”  She chuckled and I hobbled to the couch to lay down. 

We aren’t made for walking on dog toys, or Legos for that matter.  Our bodies probably aren’t designed for spending more than a few moments outside in the sweltering humidity and heat of Alabama.  Anthropologists claim that we were meant to be leisurely creatures and yet we find the most ridiculous things to occupy our boredom.  I think the Olympics are so exciting because we witness humans doing what is nearly humanly impossible.  We are motivated by humans doing what they weren’t designed to do. 

I think there is an element of this understanding when Mark writes that humans weren’t made for Sabbath.  Left to our devices, we seem to be best at living into two opposite possibilities: not working at all, or working so hard, we leave no room for growth and wellbeing.  Both ends of the spectrum accentuate the same truth: we do know how to care for ourselves or do what is necessary for our own wellbeing.  We need God’s law to remember why we were created, which is not about how hard we can work, or how much we can accomplish in a workday.

This is precisely we have God’s given instruction that even though the creative process is about life-generating work, even though, our purpose is to breathe life, creativity, and love into this world, rest is necessary for the cycle of life.  We need a divine commandment that is counterintuitive to how we want to live to help us thrive and grow.  We need Sabbath. It was made for us. 

Which drives the next point of today’s Scripture: why break one of God’s rules if it was made for us?  We might not have been made for walking on dog toys, or Legos, or riding bikes uphill in 100-degree heat, or any Olympic sport, which should beg the question – what were we made for?  Simple answer: to love each other and God.  Rules are rules.  We have a rule that is to remind us of this.  And these rules are meant to be broken if it is about our more divinely created purpose of caring for each other and pointing us more greatly to our love for God.

We were made to love.  Maybe we were made for love too.  Sometimes we need to be reminded so all that other stuff we think we are doing doesn’t overwhelm the greater reason we are here.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What do you see your primary purpose in life to be?  What do others see it to be?  How much of your vocation or previous vocation is wrapped up in this?  How can you grow in your capacity to love others?

Daily Challenge:  Create one practice that will help you grow in your ability to love.  Consider friends, neighbors, and strangers and pick one thing to do to deepen your ability to love one of these groups.

Come to the party - July 14

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 38; PM Psalm 119:25-48; 1 Samuel 20:1-23; Acts 12:18-25; Mark 2:13-22

Jesus went out again beside the lake; the whole crowd gathered around him, and he taught them. As he was walking along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.

And as he sat at dinner in Levi’s house, many tax-collectors and sinners were also sitting with Jesus and his disciples—for there were many who followed him. (Mark 2:13-15)

This passage from Mark has a lot going on. The narrator advises us of several things at play in this scene: Jesus is by the water. He is surrounded by people. He is teaching them. And then he and the crowd walk past a tax booth staffed by Levi. Jesus says, “Follow me.” Levi does just this. Then, the parade of people break their travel at Levi’s house and have dinner.

As I slow down and envision the scripture coming to life, I have a couple of questions. First is this: there is a tax booth somewhere near the lake. I imagine the booth resembling Lucy’s psychiatric help booth from the Peanuts cartoon, and just on the shoreline (as it is summertime and I have beach on the brain). However, I also imagine the water being a bit away from the city center, so it sounds comical that a tax collection station would be set up remotely – and maybe on a beach?

The second point that stops me short this morning revolves around the shared meal. In truth, this is an impromptu party, where folks just arrive and begin the festivities at Levi’s house, from as much as scripture tells us. Now, perhaps there was more dialogue – like we have in the story of Zaccheus the tax collector (Luke 19:1-10), in which Jesus tells the wealthy chief tax collector that he is coming to his house. Maybe Levi offers his home as a venue along the way. I don’t know about your house, but my abode is not always ready at a moment’s notice to welcome a pop-up dinner gathering. (That being said, it would delight my daughter to no end to have our entire church family come to our house for a party!)

At the heart of this excerpt from Mark, I love the desire for gathering together as community, sharing a meal, and putting aside the differences that keep us apart. Jesus knows that we all need nourishment and inclusion, whether we have been sitting alone or have our peer group to bring us assurance. What a joy and grace it must have been to sit with Jesus and tell stories and listen to one another.

The Messiah challenges us to be vulnerable and be open to receiving the healing love of God. When we are open to receive, our hearts will flutter and we’ll feel that exhilaration and hopefulness that comes with something fresh and joyful – a new vista, a surprising connection, or a brush with angels’ wings. Join me in the joy and trepidation of being vulnerable to need God’s healing today.

-- Katherine+

Questions for Reflection

When have you been surprised by someone who invited you to join them?

Think of a time when you invited someone to come to church or talk about the Bible or prayer. What did you share? What did you learn?

Daily Challenge

 Find a way to sit in stillness today for five minutes. Breathe deeply. Imagine being open and receiving healing from Jesus. Pray for your own needs. Then take time to pray for the needs of others. End in words of gratitude for God.