On Spiritual Check-Ins…

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Photo credit: https://www.sjs.edu/blog/understanding-our-worship-liturgy-of-the-eucharist

What we say in our church’s Discovery Class is that if you want to know Episcopalians believe, you need to pay attention to our liturgies.  In our worship, you see the centrality of scripture to our sense of identity (both in the scripture we read and the way scripture is woven into the language of our liturgies), in our profession of the baptismal covenant, in the confession of and forgiveness of our sins, in the gathering at the table for the sustenance we need to go out into the world as Jesus’ disciples and agents of God’s love.  Our liturgies are rich with meaning, purpose, and identity. 

And yet, because we are a liturgical church, sometimes our liturgies can become rote, and we stop paying attention to the meaning behind the familiar words we declare.  That’s why this Sunday our church will be holding what we call an “Instructed Eucharist.”  The worship will follow the normal patterns, but there will be two key differences.  First, a narrator will join us to offer commentary sporadically to help us understand what we are doing every week and what those actions mean.  Second, our bulletins will be annotated – basically like an expert wrote notes in the margins to help us not only understand what different components mean in the liturgy, but also some pondering questions to help grow our faith.  We have offered these instructed eucharists a few times at our church, and we find every time that all of us (even the clergy!) deepen and renew our faith through the experience.

Given that offering, I have two invitations for you.  One, I invite you to watch – either in person or over on our YouTube channel (the service will archive so even if you can’t join in at 10:00 AM EST, you can still join in).  You won’t regret it, I promise!  Two, I invite you to take a moment for that spiritual check-in.  How is your faith life going these days?  Have elements of your practices – your prayer life, your attendance in worship, your connection to community – become stale or rote?  We all have seasons of rich spiritual lives and arid, wandering places in our spiritual journey.  No matter what season you are in, know that you are welcome here.  This Sunday we hope to offer some tools to help you on your way!

Sermon – Acts 1.6-14, E7, YA, May 17, 2026

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One of my favorite videos on YouTube is an experiment by the group called SoulPancake.  They asked six pairs of individuals, in various stages of relationship (from total strangers to a couple who has been married 55 years) to sit in two chairs facing one another, and without speaking, look into one another’s eyes for four minutes.  Four whole minutes.  Imagine four minutes of silent looking into each other’s eyes.  At first the couples seem a bit uncomfortable – initially unsettled by the forced silence, but ultimately jarred by what they quickly realize is deep intimacy.  Slowly over the four minutes the couples settle in, their faces transforming from discomfort to curiosity to deep connection.  You can almost see the sparks of love emerging in their eyes, tension draining from their bodies, and invariable smiles of appreciation spreading across their faces.[i]

When Willie James Jennings writes about the ascension of Jesus, one his primary concerns is that in focusing on the heavens, where Jesus ascends, the disciples will forget to focus on one another, on the stranger in need of witness, and on the presence of God.  Jennings worries that the disciples are looking “into the heavens concerned by absence rather than looking forward to see presence.”[ii]  The text from the Acts of the Apostles tells us of the last earthly day of Jesus’ post-resurrection life.  Jesus gives the disciples a commission and is lifted up into the clouds and whisked away.  The text tells us the disciples do exactly what you might imagine – they stand there, staring at the heavens, staring at the ascended Jesus.  I imagine that standing and staring had several iterations:  there was likely the stunned awe of the moment; there may have been some not wanting to leave for fear of missing what might happen next; there may be some immediate second guessing about what this all means; there may be some Peter-esque desire to preserve the sacred location of the profound moment; there may be a sense deep grief, or conversely a sense of profound joy.  Whatever those disciples are doing, they are not at all doing they are supposed to do.  Hence the men in white robes asking their very basic question, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

This past week the clergy of the Diocese gathered for our spring clergy day.  The speaker for the day was The Rev. Canon Stephanie Spellers, talking about her new book, Church Tomorrow? What the ‘Nones’ and ‘Dones’ Teach Us About the Future of Faith.  Spellers spent the first part of her book and our clergy day talking about the numbers related not just to church decline across denominations and generations, but also the decline of civic membership in general.  Just as church membership has declined, so has membership in all membership-based groups, from the golf club, to service organizations, to fraternal organizations.  But what Spellers ultimately concludes is that we are not to get lost, standing and staring at the data.  Even given the grim data about behavioral changes, the Spirit is inviting us into being the Church on the move, meeting people where they are.

What Spellers sees now, and the men in white robes saw then, is there is danger in looking up in the heavens into absence as opposed to looking forward to presence.  Alan Hirsch tells us, “the biggest blockage to the next experience of God is often the last experience of God, because we get locked into it.”[iii]  [repeat]  What those men in white knew was that if the disciples stood there lost in themselves or even in the ascended Jesus, they would never get their next experience of God – they would get so locked into the mountaintop experience of Jesus’ ascension, that they would never make their way to the next experience of God – in their case, the great gift of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost.

That is our invitation today.  As we look at the changing nature of social engagement, as we wonder about the how or when we will ever emerge from the great divisions in our country, and even as we dream about what is next for Hickory Neck, a great whispering is happening nearby, saying “why are you standing looking up toward heaven?”  Our invitation instead is to resist letting our next experience of God be our last experience of God.  Our invitation is to gather in in prayer and community, as Jesus instructed the disciples, knowing that the Holy Spirit will do a new thing in all of us.  Our invitation is to walk down the mountain of the ascension and into the valley of witnessing the gospel of Jesus, looking forward not only for the presence of God, but taking time to gaze deeply into the eyes and lives of others.[iv]  This season of unrest and discontent in our time is not a time to be marked by absence, but instead is a time looking forward to see presence.  We can only see that presence if we pull our eyes from heaven and gaze into the sacred we find in one another.  The next experience of God promises to be greater still than our last experience of God.  I can’t wait to hear all about your next experience.  Amen.


[i] Georgia Koch, “How To Connect With Anyone,” SoulPancake, February 12, 2015, as found at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xm-T3HCa618 on May 15, 2026.

[ii] Willie James Jennings, Acts:  Belief:  A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2017), 19-20.

[iii] Alan Hirsch and Rob Kelly, Metanoia: How God Radically Transforms People, Churches, and Organizations From the Inside Out (Cody, Wyoming:  100 Movements Publishing, 2023).

[iv] John S. McClure, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 525.

Sermon – John 14.15-21, E6, YA, May 10, 2026

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One of the funny things about parenting is that you enter into the role with some pretty set ideas about how you will parent.  You have spent a lifetime figuring out what you think is the right and wrong way to do most things, and you imagine that part of your role as a parent is to pass along this hard-earned wisdom.  One of those tidbits of wisdom I had planned to pass along was the importance of expressing remorse in relationships, being able to offer an unqualified “I’m sorry,” whenever needed to maintain an authentically loving relationship.  But once I actually started parenting, I had no idea how challenging that tiny phrase, “I’m sorry,” would be.  I never knew how much of apologies could show so little remorse.  I have witnessed the angry, shouted, “I’m sorry!”s, there have been the resistant, mumbled, “I’m sorry”s, there have been the sarcastic, eye-rolling, “I’m sorry.”s.  And parental requests for our children to “mean it” when they say, “I’m sorry,” are almost comical.  If I’m being honest with myself, how can I or anyone expect anyone else to apologize by force, command, or as a condition for something else?

I think that is what is so strange about today’s lesson from John’s gospel.  Jesus says “If you love me, you will keep my commandments,” and “They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me.”  The commandments Jesus is talking about are those instructions to love God, love self, love neighbor.  In John’s gospel, they are the only commandments Jesus gives.[i]  And who would protest such commandments?  Of course we should all want to love God, love self, and love neighbor.  But there is something strange about the way Jesus presents his command to us – if you love me, you must do these things.  If you love me, you must obey my way.  As lovely as “love” sounds, there is something that harkens to those forced apologies about our text today.  I am pretty sure Jesus is not asking us to love others with a sense of bitterness, resentment, or obligation – and certainly without shouts, mumbling, and eye-rolling.

Some of you may be thinking, “What’s so hard about loving others?  Why would I resist that?”  We do not have to look too far back to see why I think loving others is actually hard work.  If you remember, right at the beginning of the pandemic six years ago, we all pulled together.  People immediately worried about our elders being able to safely procure food and supplies; we pitched in to make sure the hungry were fed with free school lunches and restocked food banks; we sewed face masks (before we had access to medical grade ones) and donated to charities to help protect the vulnerable.  Our collaboration, care, and support of one another was inspiring and invigorating.  But it did not take long for our demons to emerge.  As hard decisions arose about reopening businesses to buttress the economy, making cuts to make ends meet, or laying off employees to help businesses survive, we reverted to our divided, vitriolic ways from before the pandemic, not only disagreeing, but attacking the character, intelligence, and dignity of one another – a habit that has waned very little in the last six years. 

So, when we ask, “What’s so hard about loving others?” my response is, “This.  This is what is hard about loving others.  All of this is hard.”  As one scholar puts it, “It is NOT sufficient (or even meaningful) to profess love for Jesus while we hold ourselves apart from our fellow human beings.  To love Jesus is to love others.  All others.  The lover, the friend, the neighbor, the companion.  But also the alien, the stranger, the misfit, and the enemy.  The ones with whom we agree, and the ones with whom we emphatically disagree.  The ones we naturally like, and the ones we don’t.”[ii]  Another scholar pushes us even further, saying, “Authentic love is not passive; [authentic love] is active and demonstrative.”[iii]  Our love of Jesus is only as authentic as our active, demonstrative love of all others.

So, how can we possibly love that way?  The good news is Jesus says we will have help.  Just as Jesus has been an advocate for his disciples – “guiding, teaching, reminding, abiding, witnessing, interceding, comforting,” so they will have the Holy Spirit.  “What they have known in Jesus, and fear losing in Jesus’ impending absence, they will always know in the promise of the [Holy Spirit].”[iv]  What Jesus promises in John’s gospel today is big. 

Now, I know some of us get a little uncomfortable talking about the Holy Spirit – either the Spirit’s presence just seems too amorphous to be of any value, or the Spirit seems to do weird, dramatic things that scare us more than comfort us.  But Jesus is not simply saying the Holy Spirit will be ambiguously hanging around when Jesus is gone.  The Holy Spirit will be, and is, accompanying us.  As scholar Karoline Lewis says, “Accompaniment is not simply having someone beside you.  Accompaniment is not a mere ministry of presence.  Accompaniment means active and assertive abiding—an abiding that enters into places of fear and discomfort, uncertainty, and troubled hearts, and speaks the truth freely.”[v]

This is our good news today.  On those days when loving seems hard, when obeying Jesus’ command to love feels impossible, the Holy Spirit is and will be here to accompany us, to walk with us in fear, discomfort, uncertainty, trouble, and guide us into lives of love.  The Spirit is with us to enable us to be agents of love even when we doubt we can.  That promise today makes the invitation to love as Christ has loved us not only doable, but desirable.  That promise today helps us loosen our grip on resentment, anger, and fear, and open our hands to love and collaboration.  That promise today makes obedience to love feel like a gift.  Thanks be to God.


[i] Debie Thomas, “Love and Obedience,” May 10, 2020, https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2640-love-and-obedience, as found on May 8, 2026.

[ii] Thomas.

[iii] Yung Suk Kim, “Commentary on John 14:15-21,” May 10, 2026, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/sixth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-john-1415-21-7 on May 8, 2026.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “A Time for Accompaniment,” May 10, 2020, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5433, as found on May 8, 2026.

[v] Lewis.

On Redefining Community…

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Photo credit: https://www.army.mil/article/164948/trash_or_treasure_yard_sale_source_of_savings_income_for_soldiers_families

This past weekend, our church held a yard sale.  I was so impressed by our leaders and volunteers, and was excited to see steady traffic at the sale.  I know our parishioners were happy to extend the life of their once beloved items, and shoppers were happy to find items that may become useful to them or their families.  All in all, it was a great event!

As I watched the constant stream of shoppers, I was struck by a contradiction.  You see, the town I live in is relatively small.  Most people share one or two degrees of separation.  Either you know most people, you know someone in common, you’ve casually crossed paths, or you’ve heard of them.  But the vast majority of our shoppers this weekend were unknown to me.  They were a diverse group of people, representing diverse stages of life.  Some brought children and grandchildren, some came with a loved one, and some shopped solo.  Some seemed curious about what they might find, while others seemed like yard sale veterans who knew how to discern value.  But as someone who believes themselves to be fairly connected in the community, I was surprised by how many strangers I met that day.

The experience got me wondering:  how can someone (like a pastor) who is constantly meeting new people in a small-ish town still have a sizeable set of people they do not know?  How often do we assume success (if, say, our goal is to get to know our community well and share Christ’s love widely) when in fact our success is superficial at best?  Has our definition of “wider community” been narrowed to “strangers who are similar to me”? 

I wonder if our invitation is not to sit in the comfort of thinking we know our community, and instead to stretch how we engage our community.  Maybe we need to shop occasionally in places we do not normally shop.  Maybe we need drive in parts of town we do not normally drive.  Maybe we need exchange our normal polite nods for actual words of conversation and connection.  I do not know what the first step is for you, but I look forward to hearing what you choose and where you are having encounters with God in the process.

On Parenting, Milestones, and Community…

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Photo credit: https://flo.health/being-a-mom/your-baby/growth-and-development/early-walking-babies

When my kids were younger, we delighted in their milestones:  regaining their birthweight, learning to crawl and then walk, eating solid foods, the first real smile, and finally speaking words.  There was a joy in each of those moments, but also a sense that things were okay – that your child was developing in the ways that they were supposed to, and were therefore healthy. 

These days, the milestones are different:  first love interest, first heartbreak, getting a driver’s license, first paycheck, being awarded honors.  I suppose those milestones are markers of healthiness too, and the delight comes just as strongly.  But somehow, these later year milestones are tinged with a hint of coming change.  Before too long our children will launch out into the world and the milestones will be their own to enjoy – celebrated independently of the protective sphere we hosted for so many years.

As I become wistful these days, I think of how God has viewed us over the years.  In Jeremiah 29.11-14, God addresses those who have been exiled from Jerusalem and sent to Babylon.  “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.  Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you.  When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.”

As I recall the ways God’s people have journeyed with God over the years, I suppose the milestones never cease – God is constantly seeking relationship and health for us, in all parts of our lives:  in the young formative years, in the youth of our adulthood, and in those middle and late years; in the darkness and what feels like times of failure; in the joys and in the successes.  God is present in all of it.

I wonder if the work we do that we label as “parenting through milestones,” is work that is not limited to biological children and parents.  Much like God journeys with us, God gifts us with people in our lives – friends, family, neighbors, church members, colleagues, and even strangers – who we can shepherd through milestones too.  Though our culture would have us believe we are independent lone rangers responsible for our own success and happiness, Christians community teaches us that we are much more interconnected and gifted the opportunity to journey with others through all those milestones of life.  I wonder who God is inviting you come close to:  to celebrate, to encourage, to console, and to delight.  We are in this work of life together. 

Sermon – Acts 2.42-47, E4, YA, April 26, 2026

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“The meltdown started with a small thing — a bag of [lollipops].  Rachel Damgen’s four-year-old son wanted one.  She said no.  It was a few years ago, in the middle of the pandemic, when it was not unusual for her to be home alone for an 11-hour stretch with her two young kids. She was struggling with the isolation.  Small obstacles felt outsized…”  That meltdown, where she too ended up crying on the floor, “…was a turning point.  With their extended families far away in other states, she and her husband, Chris Damgen, began asking themselves if there was any way to reconfigure their lives in order to optimize for more support and community.  The answer they found was cohousing.”[i]

According to research, “The cohousing movement started in Denmark in the late 1960’s.  Today [cohousing is] an international movement.”  In the United States there are almost 200 cohousing communities across 36 states.  “Cohousing participants commit themselves to live intentionally in community.  Families live in private housing, but share public spaces, responsibilities, meals, resources, activities, and events.  Shared care for children and the elderly is often part of the mix.  Neighbors collaborate to plan and manage their communities.  Decisions often require consensus.  Cohousing is one response to the lack of social equity that the political scientist Robert Putnam of Harvard documented in his book Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (2000).  Putnam showed how many people today feel disconnected and isolated.  We’ve accumulated what he called a growing ‘social-capital deficit’ that leaves people in our culture longing for a ‘more collectively caring community.’”[ii]

That same collectively caring community is what Luke describes in the lesson from the Acts of the Apostles today.  The scene takes place after the event of Pentecost, when the early church is forming and growing under the leadership of the apostles.  The reading first tells us some very basic tenants of life as a Christian – a new follower of Jesus.  We are told that after they are baptized, they do four things:  they devote themselves to the apostles’ teaching (so, what we might call Bible Study); to fellowship (think about small groups, Men’s Breakfast, or what some Episcopalians call the eighth sacrament, Coffee Hour); the breaking of the bread (for us this is weekly communion, but they also mean the actual sharing of meals after the ritual of communion); and the prayers (this is both the formal and informal prayers that were breathed in and out of daily life).  I imagine all those things sound very familiar and are things you too like about life in Church.

But then comes the twist from Luke that probably made each of you squirm if you were listening.  Luke tells us, “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.  Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.”[iii]  They sold their possessions and goods and distributed the proceeds to all.  Now, I know what you are thinking, “Here we go – here comes the financial ask to the Stewardship Campaign.”  Well, take a deep breath.  That’s not where we’re going.  Well, not totally.

Professor Willie James Jennings helps break open this radical way of living.  “It is not a new thing,” he says, “that people would offer up their possessions to a noble or religious cause…A different order of sacrifice is being performed here, one that reaches back to the very beginnings of Israel…  A new kind of giving is exposed at this moment, one that binds bodies together as the first reciprocal donation where the followers will give themselves to one another.  The possessions will follow.  What was at stake here was not the giving up of all possessions but the giving up of each one, one by one as the Spirit gave direction, and as the ministry of Jesus made demand.  Thus anything they had that might be used to bring people into sight and sound of the incarnate life, anything they had that might be used to draw people to life together and life itself and away from death and the end of the reign of poverty, hunger, and despair – such things were subject to being given up to God.  The giving is the sole purpose of announcing the reign of the Father’s love through the Son in the hands of communion together with the Spirit.”[iv]  In other words, coming into the life of Jesus and the walk of faith transforms the whole life – how one spends one’s time and how one regards and shares their treasure.  Those newly baptized into the newly forming Christian community were not just declaring faith in Jesus, or joining a Church:  their entire lives and way of being was transformed. 

The Damgen family moved into a cohousing complex in Oregon.  Moving into the community was a game changer – both for their mental health and for the health of their family.  They decided to have a third child because they knew the community would support them.  Rachel described a day where one sick kid had finally fallen asleep when another kid needed to be picked up.  Within five minutes, she found a neighbor who could sit in the home while the sick kid slept so she could run to the school.  Kids and elders play and visit together in the common spaces, pets are enjoyed across family lines, and, as one older widow in the community attests, the community helps conquer loneliness and isolation experienced by many in America.[v]

Now, I’m not saying we all need to move to Oregon or we all need to time travel to those early days with Peter and the apostles.  But what I am saying is being a part of Hickory Neck and being a faithful Christian means not just engaging the practices of learning, fellowship, communion, and prayer.  If we take the life and witness of Jesus seriously, our entire lives are transformed here.  How we regard others, how we regard our possessions, and how we regard our worth is changed.  As Matt Skinner says, “Deep care and concern are unavoidable fruit of Easter faith.”[vi]  When Jesus says in our gospel from John today, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly,”[vii] Jesus gives that abundant life that through the vehicle of the Church and the Holy Spirit.  The shared gifts, the shared community, the shared sense of care and love is abundant in this place because we inherit the fruit of Easter faith.  Our invitation is not to go and do more work to inherit abundance.  Our invitation is to see the abundance all around us, to celebrate and share that abundance, and to invite others into that overflowing abundance with us.  Amen.


[i] Katia Riddle, “How to be not lonely? ‘Cohousing’ is an answer for some people,” December 1, 2024, as found at https://www.npr.org/sections/shots-health-news/2024/11/29/nx-s1-5210688/lonelieness-epidemic-social-isolation-parenting-cohousing on April 25, 2026.

[ii] Dan Clendenin, “Life Together,” April 30, 2017, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/1362-life-together on April 24, 2026.

[iii] Acts 2.46-47a.

[iv] Willie James Jennings, Acts (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2017), 39-40.

[v] Riddle.

[vi] Matthew L. Skinner, Acts:  An Interpretation Bible Commentary (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2025),50.

[vii] John 10.10b.

On Seasons of Discernment…

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Photo credit: https://spiritualmarketingclub.com/apply-spiritual-discernment-in-business/

In my role as pastor and parent, I have recently walked people through all kinds of discernment:  about denominational affiliation or specific church membership, ranking college options, deciding on coursework for the next school year, discerning the right candidate for a job or the right job for a candidate, hunting for a home, pondering the journey of fertility, developing strategic initiatives, exploring new models of ministry, and even casting a vote in a special election.  Discernment across these varying life situations has some commonalities.  People feel a sense of anxiety about making the right choice, they experience the tension of the in-between or the liminal time between one reality and another, they feel the thrill of possibility and the hope of something unexperienced, and they feel a fear of the unknown and the inevitability of change.  There is almost a weightlessness or that tightness of the chest when one unconsciously holds their breath.  An end of discernment is definitive, but the results and the consequences are not always known.

When one is in discernment, there are lots of best practices:  mapping out the pros and cons to methodically sort out the decision, reading about the experience of others, conducting research with people who can testify to their experience or at least be a sounding board, and for those who are religious, lots and lots of prayer.  Part of the reason I am privy to these seasons of discernment for so many people is that I join the process as a companion.  In some instances, I suspect that those who are discerning come with a hope that I will just tell them what to do.  But ultimately, we both know that this kind of discernment really has to lie at the feet of the one deciding – and in my case with a lot of prayer for divine wisdom and inspiration.

Perhaps the hardest part of discernment is figuring out when you’re done.  In some instances, there is a deadline – a day the application is due, a cutoff for registration, or election day.  Discernment with a deadline is gift.  Though it can feel like more pressure, there is a concrete ending.  Open-ended discernment means self-imposing some guidelines about when you have listened enough, read enough, prayed enough, and worried enough.  There is often too much room for self-doubt and second-guessing.  But even in those instances, decisions still must be made.

I wonder where you are on your own discernment journey.  You may be thinking, “Oh, no big decisions for me.  I just keep living each day.”  But the truth is, we are constantly moving in and out of discernment throughout life.  Opportunities percolate up, invitations arise, diagnoses appear, and the Holy Spirit always seems to be whispering in our ears about what’s next:  a new ministry invitation, a person you can help, a book or a play that can shake up your worldview, or some other thing to keep you on your toes.  Knowing the reality of constant discernment, our invitation is to create habits that buttress our discernment.  That may mean tending relationships that are healthy homes for grace-filled discernment, developing practices for logically sorting through decision points, and, most importantly, nurturing a healthy relationship with the Holy Spirit so that when God is whispering in your ear, you’ve tuned yourself to the right channel to eliminate static.  My prayers are with you as you build your discernment toolbox.  And I can’t wait to hear what the Holy Spirit is doing! 

Sermon – Luke 24.13-35, E3, YA, April 19, 2026

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Today we hear a portion of Luke’s gospel that we usually label as “The Walk to Emmaus.”  The story is one we recall fondly, perhaps because of the comedic aspect of the disciples not recognizing the resurrected Jesus[i], perhaps because we like the gentle way Jesus walks and dines with the unknowing disciples, or perhaps because this story simply confirms that the Lord is risen indeed!  Whatever our reason, when the familiar story starts, our subconscious starts to check out as we say, “Oh, I know this one.  The walk to Emmaus!”

But this year, this passage has been hitting me a little differently.  As Cleopas and the other unnamed disciple walk to Emmaus on the evening of Easter Sunday, having had their hopes for a victorious Messiah be dashed by Jesus’ death, having heard the astounding tale by the women of an empty tomb and angels, and even having some of the men confirm the empty tomb, and they are now spilling their sob story to a foreigner, a stranger, a migrant[ii] – when they utter four words that have been lingering with me all week, “But we had hoped.”  Cleopas says, “But we had hoped that [Jesus] was the one to redeem Israel.”

Every person here is familiar with this road.  “We have walked [this road].  We’ve lost our way on [this road].  We’ve left [this road] and returned to [this road].”[iii] We call the road the walk to Emmaus, but we know this road as the “But we had hoped” road.  We had hoped the cancer wouldn’t return.  We had hoped the marriage counseling would make things better.  We had hoped our son would come home.  We had hoped for that new job or that college acceptance.  We had hoped the addiction or depression would heal.  We had hoped for different election results.  We had hoped for justice and peace.  We had hoped for our faith to survive.[iv]

So, what happens on this “But we had hoped,” road?  Despite the very grim nature of this road, we see two faithful disciples experience a whole lot of grace.  We first see that Jesus walks alongside, encouraging the questions of the disciples.  The disciples had a clear vision of how things were supposed to go with Jesus, and events did not happen in that way.  They are confused, and they have questions.  And although Jesus seems to scold them for not connecting the dots, he does spend time listening with permission.  The next grace we see is that there is space for risky conversations with Jesus.  Cleopas says some pretty risqué things to this migrant, as the Greek is translated.  He critiques the religious authorities of the time, he confesses his desire that the government would have been upended by Jesus, he proclaims that Jesus was the Messiah.  These are treasonous words said as they are fleeing town after their leader has been executed.  They risk the very conversations we avoid like the plague – religion and politics – because they feel safe with Jesus.

The third grace comes as Jesus reframes the disciples’ trauma.  Jesus listens openly to what the disciples describe, and then he patiently walks them through a biblical exegesis about what, who, and how the Messiah is to be according to the prophets and scripture.  Jesus honors their trauma, and then reframes their trauma in light of the Holy Spirit.  And the fourth and final grace of the “But we had hoped,” road is the intimacy of a meal.  This is not necessarily a Eucharistic feast – just a meal of blessed bread, broken and shared, and then eaten in the intimate way that one did in those days, reclined much more closely than we might in our modern sensibilities of personal space.[v]

Two scholars speak truth into this abundance of grace.  Professor Margaret Aymer argues, “Luke’s story reminds us that our relationship with the resurrected Christ is a relationship of long walks, risky conversations, reframed traumas, and quiet dinners—an intimate relationship between Christ and the church, of words shared and bread broken.”[vi]  Now you may still be thinking, “But we had hoped.”  Scholar Debie Thomas acknowledges, “Yes, we had.  Of course we had.  So very many things are different right now than we had hoped they’d be.  And yet.  The stranger who is the Savior still meets us on the lonely road to Emmaus.  The guest who becomes our host still nourishes us with Presence, Word, and Bread.  So keep walking.  Keep telling the story,” and having risky conversations.  “Keep honoring the stranger.”  Keep returning to scripture.  “Keep attending to your burning heart.  Christ is risen.  He is no less risen on the road to Emmaus than he is anywhere else.  So look for him.  Listen for him.  And when he lingers at your door, honoring your freedom, but yearning to feed you, say what he longs to hear:  Stay with me.”[vii]  Amen.


[i] Amy-Jill Levine and Ben Witherington III, The Gospel of Luke (New York:  Cambridge University Press, 2018), 658.

[ii] Margaret Aymer, “Commentary on Luke 24:13-35,” April 19, 2026, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-luke-2413-35-11 on April 17, 2026.

[iii] Debie Thomas, “But We Had Hoped,” Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022), 194.

[iv] Idea described by Thomas, 194.

[v] Aymer.

[vi] Aymer.

[vii] Thomas, 197.

On the Blessing and Curse of Church…

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Photo credit: https://www.guitarhabits.com/how-to-play-guitar-with-a-band-or-group/

I was listening to a podcast recently where a couple of singer-songwriters were being interviewed.  When talking about the creative process of bringing together artists to create music, one musician described the experience as, “something really communal and almost like church, but for people that want to come together in a way that feels inclusive and safe for all.”[i] 

I understood what the artist was saying, completely.  The church for so many people has been a place of hurt – whether due to an experience around someone’s sexual orientation or gender expression, whether due to a divorce (either personally or watching the church handle the divorce of one’s parents), whether with the way hard conversations were had – with a sense of rigidity and judgment or with an openness to wonder and question.  I know the church has been a place of hurt because so many people have talked to me as a priest about their own resistance to Church because of that hurt.

But despite all my understanding and knowledge about how many times the Church has been the source of curse instead of blessing, the throw-away comparison of the music community this artist had experienced to the experience of Church hit like a gut punch.  Her qualification of Church not being a place that feels safe and inclusive for all hurt my soul so much that I literally felt the wind being knocked out of me. 

Perhaps the comment hurt so much because whereas this singer-songwriter found the Church lacking and found what Church is supposed to be somewhere else, I have spent a lifetime trying to find churches that strive to actually be what Church is supposed to be like – and certainly as a priest, I have tried to shape communities into being that kind of community.  I love being in a place that despite being pretty diverse politically and theologically, can happily celebrate the renewal of vows by a lesbian couple who has found a sense of home and purpose there; where former members of other denominations find a sense of welcome and acceptance that their former church withheld; a church who seeks out the liturgical leadership of young people, whether transgendered, neurodivergent, or just young, because they are some of our best leaders; where retired members show up at the sporting events, dance recitals, or theater performances of younger members; where parishioners with protest pins on their lapels kneel next to parishioners with bumper stickers of opposing viewpoints. 

I never want to minimize the hurt or victimization that people have experienced by the hand of the Church.  And even if I personally did not commit a heinous act of hatred, judgment, or exclusion, I know part of my work is atoning for the sin of the Church universal.  My prayer this week is that those who have only experienced exclusion and a lack of safety in churches might find their way to churches who strive to live another way – to live the love of Jesus fully and authentically.  And it is my prayer that for those of us striving to live in that other way that we remain humble about whether we have actually achieved that safety and inclusivity and keep remembering not the way of church politics, but the way of Jesus. 


[i] Maren Morris, “Brandi Carlile:  Good Hang with Amy Poehler,” March 31, 2026, as found at https://podcasts.musixmatch.com/podcast/good-hang-with-amy-poehler-01jktbqakmf0anjvx2tz394fjv/episode/brandi-carlile-01kn1tcfzgdg73vb0jhswns3xs on April 15, 2026

Sermon – Matthew 28.1-10, ED, YA, April 5, 2026

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In the Episcopal Church we have this tradition of not saying the word “Alleluia” during Lent.  As someone who grew up in the Methodist Church, I was surprised to learn in my first Lent that we don’t sing songs that have the “a word” in them for six weeks, we eliminate liturgical responses that usually contain alleluias, and even our psalms for those six weeks do not contain the forbidden alleluias.  For some churches, they offer a ceremony for the children where they “bury the alleluias” – collecting written versions of the word around the tables at Shrove Tuesday and sealing them away in a box until Easter Day.  I’ve even had families who needed a funeral during Lent who asked if we needed to avoid any music or parts of the liturgy that say alleluia.  And while the answer is, “No, a burial is an Easter celebration,” you can see how ingrained the practice is for those in the Episcopal Church.

Given that taboo, you can imagine how liberating singing, saying, and shouting our alleluias are today.  We have fasted from that word of praise – the word that literally means “Praise the Lord!” – for six weeks.  And now we get to feast on alleluias.  We sing them – a LOT!  We say them in their normal places.  We add them in at the dismissal.  And in some settings, we even ring little bells every time an alleluia is shared.  If we have buried our alleluias, the kids release them with gusto.  This is a day of true celebration and joy.

While for some of us, the alleluias are what we came for:  we came to celebrate Easter, we came to gather with our family and friends and take pictures to remember the day, we came to jump off the Easter feasts we will enjoy later today, we came to be encouraged in a season that for many has been quite discouraging.  We want the alleluias, the egg hunts, the Cadbury eggs, the feast.  Meanwhile, for others, uttering those words of celebration – those alleluias – feels a bit…harder.  We really only need ten minutes of reading the news to know that this is no time in the world for celebration.  We only need ten minutes on social media to see the bickering and us-versus-them discourse to know that an alleluia is not going to wipe away our deep, deep divisions.  We only need ten minutes to recount all the people in our lives, and maybe in our own selves, that are suffering, dealing with a new diagnosis or a loss, who are missing loved ones or a broken relationship, to know that alleluias almost feel inappropriate. 

So how do we receive the gift of an alleluia today or even wholeheartedly shout those alleluias with such torn hearts and spirits?  Well, I like to go back to the text from Matthew’s gospel today.  We learn first that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary do not come to the tomb in joy – they do not come with flowers, with celebration clothing, or even with celebration words.  They come in grief.  They come to mourn.  As scholar Rolf Jacobson says, “The two Marys approach the tomb, expecting to see the tomb – the final resting place of Christ, the last sad chapter in his once promising story, the closing scene in the saddest story ever told.”[i]  So right off the bat, the Marys give us permission to come with all our stuff – our grief, our loss, our anger, our sense of helplessness. 

But perhaps even more encouraging from the text today is what the Marys do after the tremendously, shockingly good news.  We are told, “…they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy…”[ii]  I love that the text suggests that these two emotions – fear and joy – while contrasting, are also tremendously compatible.[iii]  The Marys are tremendously joyful.  They have learned that what awaits is not the saddest story ever told, but a story that ends with joy – with alleluias!  Jesus is risen.  The tomb is empty.  Death does not have the final say.  Alleluia, indeed.

And the women go in fear.  Their alleluias do not negate their fear, do not wipe away all that has been.  They have questions, they have lingering grief for what might have been, they do not know what an empty tomb really means for their everyday life.  Scholar Richard Dietrich describes the two Mary’s fear and joy, “They are altogether too full:  they are afraid for joy.  It is the kind of feeling we have when we fall in love, when we witness the birth of a child, when we lean over the rim of the Grand Canyon, joyous and fearful at the same time.  The women are running, afraid for joy…”[iv]

And that to me is the greatest gift of Easter.  We do not leave here with the sugary promise that the empty tomb makes life roses and sunshine.  We do leave here with an assurance that everything in the world that is hurting our heart will be just fine.  We do not leave here with all the answers about what will happen next in our world, even if we know what comes next in Matthew’s gospel.  But what we do leave here with is permission to be full of joy with our fear.  We leave here with a commission to share the Good News of the empty tomb with people cowering in fear elsewhere.  We leave here with a word lingering on our lips that lets us be gloriously afraid for joy.  Alleluia!  Christ is Risen.  The Lord is risen indeed.  Alleluia!  Amen.


[i] Rolf Jacobson, “Commentary on Matthew 28:1-10,” April 24, 2011, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-281-10-2 on April 1, 2026.

[ii] Matthew 28.8.

[iii] Matt Skinner, “Commentary on Matthew 28:1-10,” April 5, 2026, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-281-10-14 on April 1, 2026.

[iv] Richard S. Dietrich, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 351.