Caution: Road Underwater - August 4

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

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

In summertime, we see so many rainy afternoons here in Birmingham. These 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 several extremely hot, dry Texas summers.

In the neighborhood where I lived during my first two years here in Cahaba Heights, Meadowlawn Drive and Meadowlawn Park 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 saw happen on Meadowlawn is that the rain starts to pool up, and the drainage is such that the waters quickly start to cover the street and, if it rains heavily for long enough, starts to overflow the creek, too.

The other thing I learned about that 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 old 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 the safe, dry vantage point inside my home, when I would look out and observe the rising waters and the different ways the drivers respond to a flooded-out road, I 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.” We experience 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.

Becky+

Moment for 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?

“Who are you?” – August 2, 2023

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 78:1-39; PM Psalm 78:40-72; Judges 7:1-18; Acts 3:1-11; John 1:19-28

In the first chapter of the gospel according to John, we hear the glorious words, “In the beginning…”, proclaiming a vision of creation with the Divine at its center.

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

He was in the beginning with God.

All things came into being through him,

and without him not one thing came into being. (1:1-3)

Sitting with these lines, I appreciate this genesis story. The Word and God are intermingled from the first moment. God and the Word. All things are birthed through God. Without God, nothing is created.

As I look to what follows, light enters the story.

What has come into being in him was life,

and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness did not overcome it. (1:4-5)

Life is what flows from God. Life and light – warm and inviting to all who are created. That light beckons to us and pierces the darkness. The darkness cannot quench the light and life that emanate from God.

What follows in the gospel of John rests upon those five foundational verses. God and the Word. Creation through God. Light and life. This is the setting into which John the Baptizer walks – clearly proclaiming the message of truth to come. His shouts garner the attention of religious officials – priests and Levites – who come to query John. “Who are you?” they ask. He says, “I am not the Messiah.”

The high holy people are befuddled. John answers in the negative, offering who he is not. The leaders of worship and interpreters of God’s law take another approach, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He answers, “I am not.” The interrogators still have no solid understanding of this odd man or his intentions. “Are you the prophet?” they ask. John answers succinctly, “No.”

At this point, they are frustrated and return to their first question, “Who are you?” They plead for more details. “Let us have an answer for those who sent us.” There are others in power – the Judeans – who are concerned by this upstart baptizing people in the river. The cadre must return with information. Desperate, they ask, “What do you say about yourself?”

John responds, ‘I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”’

John the Baptist responds to them, quoting the prophet Isaiah, who proclaimed truth to the Israelites who were exiled, imprisoned, and often veering from God’s ways. He was quite cagy in his response, answering the religious people’s questions with the words of one of the greatest prophets.

I am reminded of Jesus’ own interrogations near the end of his life when the authorities demand to know who he is. He often answers questions with questions: “Who do you say that I am?”

“Who are you?” is an interesting question. It is broad, and yet intimate. Perhaps the answer is always the same, and yet always in flux. How do we begin to answer this question when we remember who we are through the lens as being created by, for, and through God? And how do we see and understand the identity of those around us, when we remember that without God, not one thing came into being.

Blessings and peace to you this day,

Katherine+

Questions for Self-Reflection and Daily Challenge: 

Spend 10 minutes reflecting on how you answer the question "Who are you?"

As you feel so moved, meet with a friend or loved one to talk about what comes up for you in this question.

The Cost of Listening to Others - July 31

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 Gospel is a difficult one.  Herod buckles to the demands of his daughter Herodias and kills John the baptizer.  It’s a violent and disturbing story, although much of human history is no different.  And while we could certainly explore how our own acquiescing to the demands of others leads can cause suffering and pain in this world, I’d rather offer a different insight. 

I’ve been reading a fascinating book titled Stillness is the Key by Ryan Holiday.  Holiday is a notable historian of ancient philosophy who draws upon ancient wisdom to make sense of our lives today.  He shares profound insight into the decision-making process of people such as Abraham Lincoln who calmed his mind to make a decision to seize Vicksburg in the American Civil War, or John F. Kennedy’s approach to the Bay of Pigs which arguably saved the world from a nuclear catastrophe by learning what is necessary to think about when making decisions.  I love a quote from Thich Nhat Hanh that he uses to illustrate this truth:

“Before we can make deep changes in our lives, we have to look into our diet, our way of consuming.  We have to live in such a way that we stop consuming the things that poison us and intoxicate us.  Then we will have the strength to allow the best in us to arise, and we will no longer be victims of anger, of frustration. (page 36)”

Holiday is exploring how the information that we consume clouds our lives.  Herod is an example of this. He listens to his daughter, and he listens to the critics and those people in his community that he wants to make proud, that he wants to show off his capable leadership skills.  He listens to a bunch of noise that corrupts him as a human being and leads his actions to demonstrate power and violence. 

How much do we allow others to influence our own decision-making, our own nurture and knowledge of God that bears a light within ourselves?  Maybe the harshness of today’s Gospel message is the ultimate cost of peer pressure, as opposed to listening to the still small voice that dwells deep within.

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What are some of the memories that come up when you think of peer pressure? Are there regrets you have from quickly listening to other people instead of a slow and thoughtful discernment process?

Daily Challenge:  Find some time to listen to your body, to your soul, to your own heart.  Find a quiet place, turn off your phone (power down or put on Do not Disturb), shut off your computer, and pray for 15 minutes. 

Beautiful, terrible days - July 28

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+

Moment for 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?

Today’s reflection is drawn from a past sermon; you can find 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.

Just as I am - July 26, 2023

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

In Mark 4, Jesus leaves the crowd where he was telling parables and says to the disciples, “Let us go across to the other side.” They obligingly pile into a nearby vessel. The Apostle Mark describes it this way: “And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him.” The words “just as he was” stuck out to me this morning. Jesus was ferried into the lake just as he was. He did not change clothes. He was not otherwise prepared. They welcomed him just as he was. This tiny phrase got into my head and reminded me of a song.

“Just as I Am” is one of those songs in the hymnal that stretches across the Christian denominations. The lyrics began as a poem, written in 1835 by Charlotte Elliott. She experienced a disabling illness in her early 30s and lived the next 50 years dependent upon others for her care. Cesar Malan was a Swiss minister and Elliott’s spiritual mentor. He encouraged her to channel the frustrations of her physical limitations into lyrical verse through faith in God, so that she could feel peace. Elliott wrote upwards of 150 hymns, with “Just as I Am” her most well-known. While she was in the depths of uselessness and loneliness, she remembered the phrase “Come to Christ just as you are”, words of inspiration from her spiritual director. It was in contemplating these words – and the salvation offered through Jesus Christ – that the text of “Just as I Am” sprang forth.

The first verse reads:

Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me,
and that thou bidst me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Elliott began with sacrifice – Jesus’ selfless gift of dying for her (and all of us). It was in his death that invitation was opened to Elliott. Jesus called her to come to him. And she responded, “O Lamb of God, I come, I come.” She moved in the subsequent verses of the song to the sin in her soul, the internal conflict of doubt and fear, her spiritual poverty and physical impairments…and all of that was welcomed, pardoned, cleansed, and relieved by Jesus. All of the barriers and impediments of her life were broken down by Jesus. All of the storms were quelled. What remained was an open path, calling her to our Lord: “Now, to be thine, yea thine alone, O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”

“Just as I Am” was one of evangelist Billy Graham’s favorite songs to play during the close of revivals. It was the signal for people to come forward and make their personal commitment to Christ. Perhaps this sounds deeply familiar to some of you with evangelical Christian roots. Someone remarked to me recently that at their childhood church, “Just as I Am” would be played ad nauseum until someone came forward at the end of the service. As such, the song became a symbol of internal angst and discomfort – in a way not intended by its author!

It is worth noting that this song approaches relationship with Jesus as a one-on-one, personal interaction. There are times when we need to inhabit that individual space, reflecting on living as “God and me”. It is that granular focus that invites us into the context that you and I are known by God, loved by God, called by God. It is that premise that drives our prayers of Jesus holding our loved ones’ hands – or holding our very own hands – guiding us through a time of tumult or fear.

This is different from many of the prayers we say in the Episcopal church. Common prayer is a corporate act, in which we lift our voices and lives together to God. Our worship forms us as the Body of Christ – the many coming together as one. Depending on where we sit and how we are, our prayers may feel more individual or more united. When we sing this song in our Episcopal tradition, remember that Charlotte Elliott’s words are calling you to zoom in on your own faith in the living God, and then zoom out to see the majesty of all that Jesus redeems. This is the invitation to live fully into the promise extended to us by God. And to that, we say together, “Amen!”

Blessings and peace,

Katherine+

Questions for Self-Reflection and Daily Challenge: 

Take a moment to listen to Willie Nelson’s version of “Just as I Am”. Reflect on the ways you feel invited to come to Jesus. What conflicts trip you up? And, for a real challenge, who will you invite to walk alongside you? Consider asking a spiritual director to pray with you about the obstacles to your faith.

Heal me, for I have sinned against you - July 24

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

In the Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church, there is a section called Pastoral Offices – meaning the services that care for people across their lives. You can find the words said at threshold occasions: confirmation, marriage, and even thanksgiving for the birth of a child. And then, there is one called “The Reconciliation of a Penitent”. The BCP says this about the rite for private confession, on page 446:

“The ministry of reconciliation, which has been committed by Christ to his Church, is exercised through the care each Christian has for others, through the common prayer of Christians assembled for public worship, and through the priesthood of the church and its ministers declaring absolution. The Reconciliation of a Penitent is available for all who desire it. It is not restricted to times of sickness. Confessions may be heard anytime and anywhere.”

There are times in our existence when we hit those crises that shake us. It could be the dissolution of a relationship, or retirement, or a move, or a death, or a diagnosis. Whatever the scene, something makes us look at ourselves in the mirror of reality. And the things we see may be disturbing or hard. We wrestle with where we are, and who we are, and how those things of the past keep tangling up our feet and feelings. Perhaps it feels like we have no where to go…but to God.

Walking honestly through the rite of reconciliation with someone (either clergy or trusted layperson) might be a liberating next right step.

When not ready to work through the muck with someone else, we can sit with God and pray the psalms in these low moments, offering words of honesty that address the spectrum of human experience: resentment and hope, exhaustion and faith, emptiness and love.

Take a look at the first four verses of Psalm 41:

1 Happy are they who consider the poor and needy! *
the Lord will deliver them in the time of trouble.

2 The Lord preserves them and keeps them alive,
so that they may be happy in the land; *
he does not hand them over to the will of their enemies.

3 The Lord sustains them on their sickbed *
and ministers to them in their illness.

4 I said, "Lord, be merciful to me; *
heal me, for I have sinned against you."

When we find ourselves in the deepest depths, the psalmist offers us assurance: the Lord delivers us. The Lord delivers us when we pay attention to others in need. We are reminded that we are not the only ones with struggles. And in this company amid the conflicts of life, we find community, care, and protection. The psalmist continues, that God sustains us in our maladies – and in these thresholds, we call out to the Lord to be merciful, and to heal us, as we have sinned against God.

It is a good thing to be honest with God and ourselves about our own spaces of imperfection, disappointment, and hurt. It is not easy. And yet, it can bring healing and reconnection with God and within our own lives.

May God’s reconciling love guide you today,

Katherine+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  

Sit with the Confession of Sin - which you can find on page 360 in the Book of Common Prayer. Or, read through the rite of reconciliation (page 447 in the BCP). 

Then, sit in prayer. What comes up in your heart? Spend some time journaling. If you feel that a follow-up conversation with a member of the clergy would be helpful, please reach out and call the church.

Stepping away from the whirlwind - July 21

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+

Moment for 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?

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

Pause and Breathe – July 19

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

Confession: Sometimes when I sit with scripture, nothing really resonates. Maybe there are distractions in my mind that block my connection, or the content of the excerpt is overly familiar, or the psalmist is wallowing in big, hard feelings – and I just don’t want to go there today. Perhaps this has happened to you when reading the Bible.

Brother Jim Woodrum (from the Society of Saint John the Evangelist in Boston) visited Saint Stephen’s earlier this year. During one of his talks, he shared a technique of slowing down to sit with scripture, to hear and reflect on the words deeply. It is a practice that the brothers of SSJE observe when praying the psalms. At the end of each line, take a pause. Breathe in, as your brain processes what was just voiced. Move to the next line, working through the words. Let’s take psalm 38, appointed for today:

1 O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger; * (pause and breathe)
do not punish me in your wrath. (pause and breathe)

2 For your arrows have already pierced me, * (pause and breathe)
and your hand presses hard upon me. (pause and breathe)

3 There is no health in my flesh, because of your indignation; * (pause and breathe)
there is no soundness in my body, because of my sin. (pause and breathe)

4 For my iniquities overwhelm me; * (pause and breathe)
like a heavy burden they are too much for me to bear. (pause and breathe)

Continue moving through the psalm at an intentional pace. Remember that these words are an ancient prayer to God from faithful voices. Remember that these words speak to a real place in each of us. Remember that the Lord meets us in these heavy spaces with courage and compassion. The practice of taking a pause at the end of each line helps us stay engaged in the content, word by word. By taking a breath, we fill our lungs with oxygen; we have the inspiration from God to move to the next words. And sometimes, they are not easy ones to sit with:

5 My wounds stink and fester * (pause and breathe)
by reason of my foolishness. (pause and breathe)

6 I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; * (pause and breathe)
I go about in mourning all the day long. (pause and breathe)

7 My loins are filled with searing pain; * (pause and breathe)
there is no health in my body. (pause and breathe)

8 I am utterly numb and crushed; * (pause and breathe)
I wail, because of the groaning of my heart. (pause and breathe)

The sentiments of Psalm 38 are of one who is in deep anguish. And there are times we feel awful. The most we can hope for in those moments is a bit of relief, or a kind word from a friend, or a hand holding ours. I hope you will pray Psalm 38 – knowing that it is not always easy or comfortable to sit with Holy Scripture, just as it is not always easy to live this life God has given us. Let us pray for courage and grace to read the Bible, and to live into the darker spaces of our existence. As verse 9 of the psalm says, the Lord already knows the desires within us and our sighs are not hidden from God.

May God’s peace be upon you this day,

Katherine+

Questions for Self-Reflection:

Sitting with this reflection and Psalm 38, what is hard for you to face today? Where do you need God's courage or encouragement?

Daily Challenge: 

Read about the life and ministry of Macrina of Caesarea - and how she helped shaped the lives of her brothers, who became foundational voices in the forming of the Church.

Family Dynamics - July 17

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 25; PM Psalm 9, 15
1 Samuel 18:5-16,27b-30; Acts 11:19-30; Mark 1:29-45

As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them. (Mark 1:29-21)

The gospel from Mark appointed for today in the Daily Office opens in this way: right in the middle of layers of family dynamics. There were two sets of fishermen brothers in the company of Jesus: Simon and Andrew, and James and John. Jesus offered to Simon and Andrew, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” They dropped their fishing nets and joined Jesus. A little distance further, Jesus saw James and John in their boat repairing fishing nets, along with their dad Zebedee and some other hired workers. He called the brothers to join him. They climbed out of the boat, walked to shore, and followed Jesus.

The band of five walked to Capernaum, a community on the Sea of Galilee. They went to the synagogue and Jesus began to teach in the town’s gathering space. It was the Sabbath, so we infer that there was some manner of worship happening. A man afflicted with an unclean spirit interrupted, crying out and calling Jesus by name. The newly recruited teams of brothers watched as Jesus commanded, “Be silent, and come out of him!” The man began convulsing and groaning loudly as the unclean spirit left his body. The crowd was awed by the scene and by the power demonstrated by Jesus.

Still filled with adrenaline from the synagogue episode, they walk over to Simon and Andrew’s house. The five men entered the home. Simon’s mother-in-law is there and ill, lying in bed with a fever.

As Mark narrates this scene, he does not expound more on what Simon’s wife’s mother’s name is, whether this is her permanent home, who else may have been attending to her in her illness, or how long she has been afflicted.

Jesus approached the woman, held her hand, and woke her up. The fever broke. It left her body. She was relieved from her sick disposition! She got out of bed and began attending to Jesus and the four disciples.

We hear about the disciples leaving their families to follow Jesus, and as a priest with a family, I do wonder about the effects of ministry upon those who called the disciples husband, brother, uncle, dad, son. This vignette from Mark shows us a glimpse at the grace and compassion that Jesus showed to his followers’ families, and all who surrounded him.

Family dynamics are not easy. Jesus dwells with us in those spaces, holds our hand, and wakes us up, so that we can be present with those who know, love, and need us.

May God’s peace be upon you this day,

Katherine+

Questions for Self-Reflection:

Who do you pray that Jesus will be present with today? Who in your life needs to experience the compassionate healing of the Teacher? Offer that prayer to God.

'Like a dove' - July 14

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 16, 17; PM Psalm 22; 1 Samuel 17:17-30; Acts 10:34-48; Mark 1:1-13

Today’s Reflection

“In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’” –Mark 1: 9-11

I’ve always found birds both comforting and fascinating. Their songs bring me a sense of joy and peace. Their fluttering and gliding about the yard, eating seeds, finding worms, splashing around in water, reminds me always of the ways God provides for even the birds of the air. Birds’ interactions with one another often remind me by analogy of the ways in which we people can interact with one another—there’s enough seed for everyone, and different kinds of birds can all come and find sustenance together around the same feeder. In my childhood home, one of my bedroom windows looked out onto a small patio, from which hanging pots hung down from the eaves. I still remember the mother dove who once decided to make a nest for her eggs in one of these potted plants, just outside my window, and I recall watching with expectation for when the dove eggs would hatch.

So, it’s not surprising that when I made my first visit to the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin back in 2016, I noticed the doves. Maybe birds are not what everyone notices when they visit a seminary campus, but the doves’ presence there was very striking to me. The seminary campus is quite small, a cloister of two-story, limestone-covered buildings gathered roughly in a circle facing inward toward an open area called the Motte (which is a term specific to the Southwest for a grove of trees). The trees in the Motte are all oak trees, many of which are beautiful old live oak trees that have been there since the Rather House (now the seminary administration building) was a family home in the old days of Austin.

In our Judeo-Christian heritage, doves have long played an important role in the relationship between God and people. When the earth flooded and Noah took his family and the animals into the ark, he sent a dove out to see if it would return; when the dove returned with a sprig of olive leaves in its beak, Noah saw it as a sign that the waters were receding. In the Song of Solomon, doves are used in this love poem as a way of describing the beauty of the beloved. Throughout the Scriptures, doves are frequently mentioned as the sacrifice that people of meager means, like Joseph and Mary, could afford to bring to the temple.

And so, when we read in Mark’s Gospel that at the baptism of Jesus the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus “like a dove,” we are not surprised to read of the Spirit being described in this way. If you’ve ever watched doves, you know that they flutter their wings in a particular way as they hover down to a particular landing spot. This seems to be what Mark was getting at when he uses the image of the dove to describe the Holy Spirit descending on Jesus as he rose forth from the waters of the Jordan.

In the quiet of that first evening at the seminary, and again in other quiet moments on that campus visit, I noticed the sounds of doves calling in these oak trees. The acoustics of the stone buildings arranged around the Motte amplified their calls. As one who was there as part of an intense period of discernment, and as one who has long looked for and listened for God in nature, I found a sense of God’s peace and holiness in the sounds of those doves. It felt like confirmation, in a way, that this would be a peaceful and holy place to be formed for ministry. Later, when my family moved there for seminary, we put out a feeder to attract these same doves to the little tree that shaded our front porch. And as I went about my seminary life those three years, I always stopped to listen when I heard the doves continue to call out to one another—and, maybe, also to me.

Becky+

Moment for Reflection

What reminds you of the presence of the Holy Spirit at work in your life and in the world around you? A gentle breeze? A gusty wind? A cleansing rain? The waves of the ocean? The flickering of a candle’s flame? A roaring fire? The sounds of doves? The voice of a friend?

See and read about one visual representation of Christ’s baptism in the Visual Commentary on Scripture. You can also use the search feature on this web site to explore how other artists have used doves in visual interpretations of scripture over the centuries.

God is in the grieving on our hearts – July 12

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:1-24; PM Psalm 12, 13, 14
1 Samuel 16:1-13; Acts 10:1-16; Luke 24:12-35

The LORD said to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul?” (1 Samuel 16:1) That direct and holy question grabbed me this morning. God is in the grieving on our hearts.

In this text appointed for today, Samuel the prophet is heartbroken that King Saul has disobeyed God’s command. To fully follow the story, let’s go back one chapter. As 1 Samuel 15 tells it, the LORD said to Saul through Samuel: “I will punish the Amalekites for what they did in opposing the Israelites when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and attack Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have; do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.” (v. 2-3). Saul plotted an attack, and with his troops they swiftly defeated the Amalekites. However, he spared the king and they salvaged the best of the livestock and all the other valuable things.

When Samuel met up with King Saul the next morning, Saul said to him, “May you be blessed by the LORD; I have carried out the command of the LORD.” In the background, Samuel heard commotion – the pastoral sounds of bleating sheep and lowing cattle – and asked Saul. Only then did the king divulge what Samuel already knew from God, that his people saved the most worthwhile livestock from the Amalekites and planned to sacrifice them to God.

Whether he bought Saul’s story or not, Samuel offered a poetic retort of wisdom, “Has the LORD as great delight in burnt-offering and sacrifices, as in obedience to the voice of the LORD? Surely, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed than the fat of rams. For rebellion is no less a sin than divination, and stubbornness is like iniquity and idolatry. Because you have rejected the word of the LORD, he has also rejected you from being king.”

Contrite, Saul tried to explain and defend himself. “I have sinned; for I have transgressed the commandment of the LORD and your words, because I feared the people and obeyed their voice.” Samuel knew that he must part ways with him, for Saul chose to bend to the people, rather than to stand up with and for God.

God anointed Saul through Samuel’s hands to be king over Israel. Samuel rooted for Saul and prayed for him. And then, when disappointment came, it was Samuel who brought closure to the saga at the end of chapter 15. While Saul spared the Amalekite king, Samuel followed God’s direction and “hewed Agag in pieces before the LORD in Gilgal.” (v. 33)

Samuel grieved. He grieved the loss of promise in king over Israel, the loss of life by his own hands, the loss of relationship with Saul. Bitter tears trickled down his cheeks and splashed on the ground. God was with Samuel in the pain and darkness. And God is with us in those moments of utter disappointment and disillusionment.

Perhaps there is a question someone will ask this week that reminds you or me of a space of grieving and loss. Maybe we keep looking back on the brokenness or push against what life today is like in a different paradigm we did not want or choose. There is no quick solution. Samuel knew that. God knows that…even when it is complicated, messy, and maybe feels unspeakable.

It is good for each of us to have someone to talk to about that honest part of our lived experience. With God’s grace, help, and courage, we can find ways to be present for all of today.

May God’s peace be upon you,

Katherine+

Temple Torn in Two: July 10

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 1, 2, 3; PM Psalm 4, 7; 1 Samuel 15:1-3,7-23; Acts 9:19b-31; Luke 23:44-56a

The curtain of the temple was torn in two. It sounds like a big deal. A curtain, torn in two. You get the impression that the curtain was part of the design of the temple, meaning it had been there for over 500 years. Maybe the curtain had been replaced, maybe not. But families, individuals, and sojourners had looked at that curtain (or one like it) for over half a millennium. That’s older than the United States. That’s about the length of time since Europeans first arrived in North America. A curtain that people had seen as the backdrop to their worship of God, the Holy of Holies, torn in two.

What would it mean to you to lose something that had been at the core of your identity for longer than we can comprehend? It’s hard to imagine. We are not immune to change. The loss of a loved one who we have spent the majority of our lives caring for and being cared for, the sudden change of everything we have known. Or the loss of what was important. A church closes, a town shudders, a business dissolves. A curtain is torn in two.

In today’s reading, the temple is torn before Jesus’s death, a different story than Matthew and Mark.  Regardless, the place that people had worshiped for most of their shared collective memory was changing. 

Sound familiar. While many of us still get to worship in vibrant settings, it’s hard to ignore that the church is not what it used to be, a hard truth for those of us who love the institution and have found so much life and hope in it.  

The curtain was torn in two, and a few years later the whole temple was destroyed. What was found in its place was the life and resurrection of Jesus Christ, a hope that people had not expected nor could really comprehend. And yet, the destruction of the temple gave birth to a whole new understanding of God, contained in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. 

Can we too be faithful to believe that God is always up to something new? The curtain was torn in two and what came next was so much more beautiful. What is in store for the institutions, systems, and experiences that we find torn in two, too?

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection: What could the temple be a metaphor for in your own life? How does hope help you transcend loss?

Struck by Holy Lightning - July 7

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 140, 142; PM Psalm 141, 143:1-11(12); 1 Samuel 13:19-14:15; Acts 9:1-9; Luke 23:26-31

Today’s Reflection

The story of Saul’s conversion is so dramatic that now, when people have a similarly life-altering, perspective-changing experience we might say they had a “road to Damascus” experience. A total 180-degree change in purpose and life direction. Paul was a zealous persecutor of “any who belonged to the Way,” which is how Luke refers to the earliest Christians. He had just asked for a letter allowing him to go bring any Christ followers in Damascus to Jerusalem to answer for their faith.

Saul was on his way to go persecute more Christians when God decided it was time for Saul to hear from him directly and thereby have his whole life’s purpose changed. The way God went about this was not just spiritual but also physical, making it impossible for Saul and his companions to ignore: “a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice.” God used something that could be seen and felt and heard, things Saul and his companions could physically sense, to make sure they listened to the message he had for them: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” When Saul asked who was speaking, the reply he received was this: “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up, enter the city and you will be told what you are to do.”

Not only was the way of getting Saul’s attention dramatic—something akin to being struck by holy lightning—but the message was dramatic as well. It’s not just that Saul was persecuting followers of the Way of Jesus, but in so doing Saul was persecuting Jesus himself. If the church is the body of Christ, then it makes sense if you persecute the church then you are extension persecuting Jesus himself. This sounds reminiscent of Jesus’s earlier admonition, “Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.”

These days, it can be hard to imagine God speaking to us in as dramatic of ways as Jesus spoke to Saul on the road to Damascus that day. But God is always speaking to us, always wanting us to be aware of his daily presence in our lives and wanting us to really listen for how God is moving in us and in the people and world around us. Maybe we will not literally hear the sound of Jesus’ voice in as plain of a way as Saul did, but if we orient our lives toward God through prayer, scripture, worship, time with other believers, and time in God’s creation, we will find that God still speaks to us as we make these spaces for holy listening and holy conversation a central part of our lives.

Speaking for myself, some of the most life-altering, perspective-changing experiences I have had tend to come through turning points in my health, relationships, or professional life. Seven years ago, I began to have some significant health problems that came on rather suddenly. I wasn’t struck down by heavenly light, but through a noticeable change in how I felt physically and not being able to do as much physically as I was used to being able to do.

This experience has had a long-lasting impact of my relationships with God and others. These physical changes in me made me less able to do everything for myself—and thereby made it necessary for me physically to stop and consciously ask for help from God and others. My sense of what was possible, what was necessary, and what was important was changed through this time of physical illness, and the ongoing implications for my health. This time of being ‘struck down’ physically seven years ago also coincided with a shift in me spiritually, which ultimately led me on a path on which God changed the course of my whole life and vocation through calling me to serve God and God’s people as a priest.

When we face our own “road to Damascus” moments, how will we get up and move forward even when at first, like Saul, we still cannot see the path for ourselves? Saul needed his friends to help him get up and lead him toward sustenance in that moment. We need each other to discern our next steps and make sure we make it to the next place down the road safely.

Becky+

Moment for Reflection

In your prayer time today, set aside some time to reflect on how you have seen and felt God working in your life this past year. Thank God for specific people who have taken the time to reach out to you or your family. Ask God to place someone on your heart who you should reach out to today, someone who needs an extra word of reassurance or maybe even a helping hand.

Welcome to the faith! - July 5

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:145-176; PM Psalm 128, 129, 130
1 Samuel 12:1-6,16-25; Acts 8:14-25; Luke 23:1-12

In the reading from Acts 8 appointed for this morning, the Good News of God in Christ continues to spread far and wide. The people of Samaria receive the word of God. This is big news.

Samaria is the region sandwiched between Galilee to the north and Judea to the south. This was a non-Jewish people – descended from the remnant of the northern tribes that were left behind in the Babylonian exile (circa 586 BCE), experiencing their own loss and struggle. There was generational animosity between Jews and Samaritans. Through his ministry and teaching, Jesus tried to break down some of those barriers. Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan comes to mind. The Samaritan woman who was at the well in the middle of the day - and Jesus asked her for a drink of water.

And today, we read of Peter and John going north from Jerusalem to worship with and minister to the Samaritans who have accepted God's word - for Philip the Evangelist had been proclaiming the life and legacy of Christ to them, bringing healing and joy (v. 6-8). Women and men of the region were been baptized, though only in the name of the Lord Jesus (v. 12, 16).

As the Holy Spirit had descended on Pentecost and each of the apostles was filled with the power to lay hands on people and pass along the Holy Spirit, Peter and John shared this upgraded way of initiating the Samaritans into the fold of the Way of Jesus. Filled with Word and healed by the Spirit, these new converts continued to share in the life of faith.

I love this part of today's New Testament scripture. It reminds me of something that happened this week. My seven year old bought a toy with his own money. He was so proud. He carried the little yellow stuffed animal around, introducing it to the spaces of our house and the ways we conduct life. Yesterday he said, "Mom, Pichu (the Pokemon toy's name), is a part of our family now. He needs a blessing!" Robinson handed me the eight-inch tall plush toy. We both made the sign of the cross on the toy's forehead.

How do we welcome the new ones in our fold into the Christian tradition and life? Perhaps you are new to Saint Stephen's and want to make sure you are a full part of how we live and move and have our being. Interested in baptism? Confirmation? Or maybe you just want to talk with a priest to wade through some sticky parts of your faith and doubt? The clergy of Saint Stephen's are here for you -- to celebrate, to pray, to lay hands upon your head. For we do all this with God's help and love, so that the joy of Christ may spread further and further in this world.

Blessings to you this day,

Katherine+

Question for Self-Reflection: 

What rituals help you feel more connected or at home - whether at home, in worship, or in an unfamiliar place?

Own worse critic? - July 3

Today’s Scripture:  AM Psalm 106:1-18; PM Psalm 106:19-48; 1 Samuel 10:17-27; Acts 7:44-8:1a; Luke 22:52-62

‘Have you come out with swords and clubs as if I were a bandit?’ This simple question is what Jesus asks the chief priests, the religious leaders who have sought his arrest. His question raises two considerations for us as readers. First, Jesus understands the chief priests view him as a criminal. Second, they are attacking him in a violent manner. They do not view him as an equal, nor do they try other tactics in their assault on Jesus. 

Peter denies his role in this unfolding situation, an invitation for us to see ourselves in the story in the role of Peter. It sounds like a more Lenten reading, focusing on our own complicity in the story. We certainly have waged swords and clubs on things we see as bandits in our life.

A person recently told me about a picture received from a friend as a text message, followed by a text asking them not to post it online because they were worried it made them look too large. We wage wars with swords and clubs on ourselves too. Maybe we have made something the bandit that’s not at all.

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Do you see yourself more as your own biggest supporter or largest critic? 

Casserole-worthy Struggles

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 88; PM Psalm 91, 92; 1 Samuel 3:1-21; Acts 2:37-47; Luke 21:5-19

Today’s Reflection

The Psalms appointed for today provide us a study in contrasts. In Psalm 88, we hear strong notes of desperation and hopelessness—one of many songs of lament included amongst the Psalter. But then Psalm 91 comes across as a song of encouragement—a prayer admonishing the one addressed that God will remain with them, no matter what troubles may be encountered. Then we find in Psalm 92 a song of thankfulness, acknowledging God’s steadfast presence through all things, the good and the not-so-good times, even in the downright bad times. This is one of the things I love most about the Psalms—they capture so beautifully and so accurately the wide array of moods and states of mind we will experience throughout our lives.

We all go through different moods and states of mind. Many things factor into how we feel mentally, emotionally, and physically on a given day. Some of how we feel is situational—what is happening in the world around us—whether in our home, our social life, our work life, or out in our community and the wider world.

During the recent global Covid-19 pandemic, people experienced the stresses of isolation, changes in work-life balance, not to mention the traumas of severe illness and even the death of loved ones. Then, over this past year, we here at Saint Stephen’s experienced gun violence in our church building, with the ensuing, ongoing trauma and all the ways this trauma impacts our daily lives. Living in a world of constantly changing conditions takes its own toll, and each of us will be impacted in distinctive ways. Going through these two very different kinds of trauma, we are necessarily changed on some levels in how we see ourselves, our world, and how we respond to the people and situations we encounter moving forward.

But not everything about our emotional and mental state is explained by outside, situational factors. Our internal physiology also should be considered. Mental health can also be influenced through experiencing trauma at some point in life (even long ago), or through our genetic predisposition, or due to changes in brain function (whether permanent or temporary) due to injury, illness, aging, and so on.

As a priest, I wonder sometimes how all the above—these environmental and physiological factors—interact with and influence how a person experiences a sense of connection with God. Recently, I read a book called Darkness is My Only Companion: A Christian Response to Mental Illness by Katherine Greene-McCreight, an Episcopal priest and theologian affiliated with Yale Divinity School. Greene-McCreight found herself dealing first with post-partum depression and later was diagnosed as having bipolar disorder, for which she has been hospitalized on occasion and continues treatment for through both medication and talk therapy. So, all that is to say, she’s not writing about the intersection of mental health and Christian faith from some abstract, theological perspective—this is her life, and as such her life has informed her vocations as priest and theologian. She titled her book Darkness in My Only Companion inspired by these lines from Psalm 88 we read today:

But as for me, O Lord, I cry to you for help;
in the morning my prayer comes before you.
Lord, why have you rejected me?
why have you hidden your face from me?
Ever since my youth, I have been wretched and at the point of death;
I have borne your terrors with a troubled mind.
Your blazing anger has swept over me;
your terrors have destroyed me;
They surround me all day long like a flood;
they encompass me on every side.
My friend and my neighbor you have put away from me,
and darkness is my only companion.  (Psalm 88: 14-19)

As Steve Moore, a parishioner here at Saint Stephen’s has said regarding both substance use issues and mental health issues, these are the life circumstances for which people are not usually offering to bring over a casserole—or any of the other usual ways we show tangible support for people who are struggling with their physical health. What I know of this subject comes from firsthand experience over the years of knowing and supporting those who experience life with mental illness. Knowing and supporting them has given me a special appreciation for the challenges they face—and for the challenge for us in the church to acknowledge what is often treated as shameful both in the church and in the wider culture.

Psalm 88 captures so well that sense of isolation and not being understood that are experienced by people in a number of challenging life situations—whether due to grieving a loved one, facing a life-threatening physical illness, being socially ostracized, or dealing with depression or another mental health challenge. But we also find in Psalms 91 a clear reminder of the hope and comfort that God holds out to us all, especially at those times when the light of hope is shining only very dimly somewhere out there in the distance:

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High,
abides under the shadow of the Almighty.
He shall say to the Lord,
“You are my refuge and my stronghold,
my God in whom I put my trust.”
He shall deliver you from the snare of the hunter
and from the deadly pestilence.
He shall cover you with his pinions,
and you shall find refuge under his wings;
his faithfulness shall be a shield and buckler.

For he shall give his angels charge over you,
to keep you in all your ways.
They shall bear you in their hands,
lest you dash your foot against a stone. (Psalm 91: 1-4, 11-12)

Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Which lines of Psalm 88 resonate most with you? What challenging time in life does this Psalm bring to mind for you? Which lines from Psalm 91 do you find most comforting?

Daily Challenge

Consider reading Katherine Greene-McCreight’s book Darkness is My Only Companion: A Christian Response to Mental Illness. Or consider reading Christian ethicist and theologian Stanley Hauerwas’ book, Hannah’s Child: A Theologian’s Memoir, which includes his reflections on being married to a spouse who struggled with mental illness.

A Mother's Love and Sacrifice - June 21

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:97-120; PM Psalm 81, 82; 1 Samuel 2:12-26; Acts 2:1-21; Luke 20:27-40

Today’s Reflection

Samuel was ministering before the Lord, a boy wearing a linen ephod. His mother used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year, when she went up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice. Then Eli would bless Elkanah and his wife, and say, ‘May the Lord repay you with children by this woman for the gift that she made to the Lord’; and then they would return to their home. And the Lord took note of Hannah; she conceived and bore three sons and two daughters. And the boy Samuel grew up in the presence of the Lord. —1 Samuel 2: 18-21

Many of you are familiar with the story of Samuel, who as a young boy, maybe a teenager, heard a voice which turned out to be the voice of God. But Samuel is not the only one who heard God’s call in this story. Other people had to have faith and listen to God’s voice in order to lay the foundation that made it possible for Samuel to do the same when his own time came.

Samuel’s mother Hannah was married to Elkanah, who also had another wife, Peninnah, with whom he had sons and daughters. Hannah, too, desperately wanted to have children, but year after year no child came to Hannah and her husband. Setting aside that he had two wives, since that was culturally acceptable back then, other than that, Elkinah seems to have been a good husband. He gave Hannah “a double portion because he loved her, though the LORD had closed her womb.” Peninnah flouted her abundance of children, causing Hannah great sadness and frustration. Elkanah, for all his understanding, couldn’t fully understand Hannah’s grief: “Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?” In other words, why aren’t I enough?

But Hannah believed deep in her heart that she was meant to have a child, meant to be a mother. She felt called to it. So she kept praying at Shiloh and kept asking God to hear her and send her a son. And she made a promise—if you give me a son, I will dedicate him to you and the service of your temple. As she prayed so intently, the priest Eli heard her as “she poured out her soul before the LORD.” She explained to Eli that she was praying so intently because of “my great anxiety and vexation.” Eli responded with kindness and offered Hannah some hope: “Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.”

Fast forward and we learn that God granted Hannah and Elkanah the son Hannah had hoped for, a son they named Samuel. And once Samuel was weaned, probably 3 to 4 years old in those times, Hannah brought Samuel to serve alongside Eli in the temple. We get a sense of her great attachment to Samuel, and how heart-wrenching it was for her to give him up to the Lord, that she would visit him every year and bring him a new little robe, ensuring that he would have a tangible sign of being clothed and covered in his mother’s love.

In order for Samuel to exist, and to be there in the temple apprenticed to Eli, his mother Hannah first had to be listening to God’s voice stirring in her, helping her to stay close to God and keep holding on to hope that God had something better in store for her, that she was not destined to stay mired in hopelessness. Hannah had faith that God heard her. And Hannah had faith that God would watch over her son and that he was meant to serve God and his people for his whole life. She had to have faith and be listening to God in order for so many other things to be set into motion for so many other people.

Becky+

Questions for Self-Reflection

Who is someone who has been faithful to pray for you, whether over the course of many years or during a particular phase or season of your life? Who is someone who has made great sacrifices for you, whose care for you changed the course of your life?

Daily Challenge

Learn more of what Bible scholars know about Hannah in this article by Ruth Fidler, posted on Bible Odyssey.

Do you Worry about the Future? June 19

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 80; PM Psalm 77, [79]; 1 Samuel 1:1-20; Acts 1:1-14; Luke 20:9-19

Fourteen years ago this summer, Anne and I traveled to Northern Spain to walk sections of the Camino de Santiago. I had taken the youth from the Church of the Holy Communion in Memphis, Tennessee the summer before and I was eager to go back with more time and freedom at my disposal. This time, we did things a little differently. While I made train reservations and hotel reservations in Santiago, we did not book our places to stay along the path. Instead, we trusted in the system of hostels along the path, finding a place to stay at the end of each day.

Anne and I approached our pilgrimage in two very different ways. I found myself anxious that the beds would fill up and so I pushed our trip at a faster pace than we should have, often walking a pace or two ahead of Anne. This story has become a running joke in our family. Anne who was comfortable enjoying the moment, and me rushing ahead to the finish line often missing out on the beautiful gift of just being on the journey in the first place, approaching life in two very different ways.

While intuitively I knew that the pilgrimage is really about the journey and not the destination, my own anxiety kept me from living into this reality.  Today’s Epistle is the beginning of the book of Acts. It begins with Jesus’ ascension into heaven. The apostles are gathered around and they are concerned about when the Lord will restore God’s kingdom. Jesus reminds them, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” Not surprisingly, they have a tough time living into this vision.  Some of the epistles address this, their belief that Jesus is coming back and so they fail to be witnesses to the ends of the earth.

Anxiety about the future has always existed. And yet Jesus’s word to his friends in Acts is a timeless reminder that our job is not to worry about the future, but for us to be witnesses to God’s love. The question for each of us is “Do we trust in the words of Jesus enough to let go of our desire to know the future?” No matter what happens tomorrow, we can still be witnesses to God’s love, hope, and resurrection.

Faithfully,

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  Does anxiety about the future affect your life?  How can prayer and faith change that?

 Daily Challenge:  Consider the Serenity Prayer as source of help. 

One Year Ago - June 16

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 69:1-23(24-30)31-38; PM Psalm 73; Ecclus. 45:6-16; 2 Cor. 12:11-21; Luke 19:41-48

Today’s Reflection

“Save me, O God, for the waters have risen up to my neck. 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. I have grown weary with my crying; my throat is inflamed; my eyes have failed from looking for my God.” Psalm 69: 1-4

A year ago today, I was not here in Birmingham. I was in London, doing a study course called Learning from London with Bexley-Seabury Seminary. I love London, with its beautiful architecture, gorgeous gardens and parks, outstanding museums, and an incredibly diverse population of residents and visitors from around the world. And I love Learning from London—I so much enjoyed that immersion experience as a seminary student in 2018 that I wanted to do it again as a priest in 2022.

I’d had a very tough summer personally in 2021, so I was determined that in 2022 I would have a much better summer—and that I’d start it off right by going back to England. And I was excited for the chance to be inspired again by all the innovative ways churches in the Diocese of London are connecting with their communities. I had high hopes of returning to Saint Stephen’s with ideas and energy for opening our doors and our hearts to our neighbors in new and creative ways.

That Thursday, June 16, we had another long day out and about around London—visiting churches from the Sir Christopher Wren-designed St. James, Piccadilly in Soho to the brand-new St. Francis at the Engine Room in Tottenham Hale in East London. As I scroll back through the photographs from that day on my phone, I see blue skies and bright colors and memories of an unusually hot June day traipsing around this massive city with clergy colleagues from around the U.S. and Canada.

The last photo from that day is of a particularly fancy drink I had (a peach bergamot negroni in a lavender-encrusted glass that really was photo worthy). I ordered this negroni (the first time I’d ever had one) at an Italian restaurant called Amalfi in Soho. A few of us headed back to that part of town as I was on a mission to go back to Liberty of London to get another couple metres of fabric for some clergy dresses I’d been planning to have made by Watts & Co. (I’d been to Liberty to buy fabric the day before, but learned I hadn’t bought enough.) I convinced a few classmates to go with me to that neighborhood, and I’d just run down the street to get the fabric while they enjoyed their drinks and appetizers. Our course professor and two other classmates ended up joining us there later, and we lingered over wine and dinner for probably three hours or more. A perfect end to our day.

So we returned much later than usual to the Highbury Centre where we were staying. I hadn’t been asleep for long, and was sleeping especially soundly, when my phone (which I had on the bed beside my head as an alarm clock) started to ring. I woke up feeling confused for a second, who would be calling so late—and surprised that my ringer was actually on, because I keep it on silent 99% of the time. I picked it up, looked at it, noted the time (1:20 something), and was very surprised to see that it was Lisa Schroeder from our church. In my very groggy state, I answered and asked Lisa if she remembered that I was in London. She did know, and said that she was calling to see if I had heard anything about a shooting at Saint Stephen’s.

A friend of hers, who had been a part of our book group sometimes, had called Lisa to see if she knew what was going on. As I talked with Lisa, and began to wake up and try to make sense of what I was hearing, I pictured that maybe there had been some sort of incident in the back parking lot. As I spoke with Lisa, I told her I would try to find out what was going on. As soon as I went to al.com, I saw the lead story—with pictures of police cars by the entrance to our church and blocking off Crosshaven—and my heart sank.

I began to try to get in touch with my colleagues, and at some point in the wee hours had a brief, convoluted conversation or two with John, who was an hour or so ahead of me in Greece. I got online and watched as Brad Landry from All Saints led an impromptu prayer service on Facebook, and later caught part of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s prayers for us. I saw pictures of people gathered to pray in the Publix parking lot. I heard that some people from the Parish Hall had made their way to the apartments across the street. Things started to seem both more real and more surreal.

I couldn’t go back to sleep. The sun comes up early in England in the summer, around 4:30 a.m. Around 6 something, I decided to walk up to the coffee shop by the Highbury Islington tube station to get some fresh air and some much-needed caffeine. At that point I’d had no in-person contact with anyone aside from the person who sold me my coffee. But as it happens, I had made plans by text the evening before to meet Josiah and Katie Rengers (fellow priests here in Birmingham) for breakfast that morning, Friday, June 17. We had figured out the day before that we were all staying at the same place there in London, but they were leaving that day to go to Wales. I had texted Josiah a link to the al.com story so they would know about it before we met. I appreciated the hug from Josiah that morning, and having a familiar face and voice there as I had my first real conversation about it all. In those first moments talking with Josiah, with the help of some caffeine, I began trying to make sense of what had happened to these dearly loved parishioners who had just been trying to share a simple evening of fellowship together in our Parish Hall.

After breakfast with the Rengers, I gathered with the Learning from London group for morning prayers, and felt the warmth and love of these new friends as they prayed for all the people of Saint Stephen’s that day. I gave them my regrets that I could not join them for the last day of church site visits, then went back upstairs to my little room to try to figure out what I could write as the Daily Reflection for that Friday. I had brought my iPad, and so I sat there at my little desk overlooking the street asking God to show me what to say (and he did).

After I queued up my Daily Reflection in Constant Contact and our website, I thought: what else can I do? I had a very clear sense that my task was to construct a list of everyone who had been at the Boomers dinner and begin to try to send them texts and leave them voice mails. Later that day, I began to hear back from some of them. I remember very clearly conversations I had with a few, and texts with others. Talking with them and hearing their voices helped me know better how to pray. Mainly, I wanted to make sure they heard my voice and hear me tell them that I was praying for them and that I love them.

At that point, it was approaching midday in London (and still in the wee hours of June 17 back home). I had emailed Fiona to see if she’d be OK with my doing our online Morning Prayer on Facebook that day, which in London would be at 2:30 p.m. Since I had a few hours until then, I decided that I would do something to get me out in the fresh air and the light of day for a while—take the tube across town to the neighborhood of Westminster Abbey to deliver my fabric to Watts & Co.

I put on my black clergy dress (the only one I’d brought with me) on that very hot London day (up to 95 degrees that day), and rushed off across town. I know it may sound like a frivolous thing to do on such a somber day, but I couldn’t go back to sleep, I didn’t want to sit around and get sucked into further despair, and (as I’ve told a few of you) I wasn’t going to let that jerk (the shooter) keep me from ordering my dresses.

I made it to Watts & Co., placed my order and left them my fabrics, and began to try to quickly make my way back toward the tube station by Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. I got back on the tube with no problems and made it back over to Highbury Islington. But as I looked at the time, I began to panic. I was going to be cutting it really close to get back to the Highbury Centre to do Morning Prayer at 2:30. I started to walk very fast, and then at the end was running through the streets of Highbury to get back into my accommodations with only minutes to spare.

I decided I’d lead Morning Prayer from one of the common areas downstairs, and ended up in this room with emerald green walls and a clock on the wall behind me. I quickly pulled over a small table, set up my iPad, and hoped that the Internet connection and Facebook Live would cooperate. I was sweating from rushing across London in the 95-degree heat as I began the livestream. Not only did it feel surreal to be doing Morning Prayer from London, and with no sleep, but also I felt a bit anxious about being sure to pray in ways that protected the privacy of the families not to mention striking the right tones of mourning and community and even forgiveness. As I led the prayers, hundreds of people from all around the United States and the world—including some familiar names of seminary classmates—commented to let us know they were praying with and for us in real-time.

I remember as I heard from people back home, some were concerned that I was all alone to deal with the devastating news of what was happening back at Saint Stephen’s. But what I want you all to know is that I never felt alone. Not only did I receive so many texts from home, but what are the chances that not one but two other priests from our Diocese would be staying in the very same lodging as me—and that we’d had plans to meet that morning. Then, when I rejoined my Learning from London cohort that night for dinner, I was surrounded by priests and future priests who couldn’t have been more supportive. I stepped out of dinner to take a call from Kathy Graham, who had recently joined our staff, and felt comforted to hear her voice. At some point, I joined an emergency staff meeting via Zoom, but I am not sure what day or time that was.

And as I finished my time in London that weekend (looking toward flying back to the U.S. on that Monday), I worshipped that Sunday, June 19 at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, whose priest Sam had spoken at Saint Stephen’s and at our Diocesan Convention just a few months earlier. When he heard of the shooting here, Sam offered to meet with me after church that day, to be a sounding board as I began to process all that happened—and all that would be awaiting me back in Birmingham. That Sunday afternoon, Sam also began to help me think through how I would preach what might be the most important sermon I’d ever given that following Sunday, June 26. I’m grateful to Sam for coming to speak and preach at Saint Stephen’s a few months later, in October, to help all of us continue to process what happened—as well as for his kind words in support of the anthology of essays written by parishioners and staff about their own June 16 experiences.

As long as this remembrance is, I know I’ve likely left some important moments out. But I am glad that I can finally write down and reflect on these memories as we mark this one-year anniversary of all that unfolded on June 16, 2022 at Saint Stephen’s. Thanks for reading and remembering with me.

Becky+

Moment for Reflection

Click here to read the Daily Reflection (“Hearts Broken Open”) I wrote on June 17, 2022.

Click here to listen to my sermon from June 26, 2022, “Lingering in the Ruins and Picking Up the Mantle.”

Teachers of the Earth - June 14

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 72; PM Psalm 119:73-96; Deut. 31:30-32:14; 2 Cor. 11:21b-33; Luke 19:11-27

1 Give ear, O heavens, and I will speak;

   let the earth hear the words of my mouth.

2 May my teaching drop like the rain,

   my speech condense like the dew;

like gentle rain on grass,

   like showers on new growth.

3 For I will proclaim the name of the Lord;

   ascribe greatness to our God!

We were walking along the Cahaba River in Helena a few weeks ago with a group on one of the church’s monthly Holy Hikes. As we often do on these hikes, instead of preaching, we invite people to share what they have seen on the hike that stands out. I had noticed that the ferns were stretching out, as if they were singing this beautiful song, making a joyful noise unto the Lord. 

We often look to nature to glean a deeper understanding of God.  I’ve heard many times from many people this idea that people find God in nature. I’ve had similar experiences glancing at the vast night sky or being engulfed in an old-growth forest where I begin to just get a glimpse of the immeasurable expanse of creation. We learn about God, about Resurrection, about life, and care through the created world.  

Our passage from Deuteronomy offers us a different perspective, one frankly that I haven’t really considered before – the earthy might learn from us. “Give ear, O heavens… let the earth hear the words of my mouth.” The author then continues to use what the author has learned from creation. “May my teaching drop like the rain, my speech condense like the dew.”  Here the author is pivoting back and using how creation has informed the author's understanding of God.  But I can’t ignore the idea that the earth will hear the teaching too. 

What are we teaching the earth by our blatant disregard for the earth’s health? What does this teach the earth about the sacredness of God and God’s intention in creation? What if we taught the earth like we teach our children, through care and patience, and intention? Maybe it’s silly to consider but we certainly have a relationship with the earth and healthy relationships are mutual. What can we offer back to what has given us everything?  Praise, care, and love seem a good place to start.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection:  What has the earth learned from you recently?  How can you give back to the earth that we are in relationship with?  

Daily Challenge:  Spend time outside today, time you wouldn’t have spent.