On Blooms of Hope…

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Photo credit: Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; permission required for reuse

I have written before about how I am not good with plants.  If the term “brown thumb” was invented for anyone, it was likely me.  I have been known to even kill a cactus.  I am so resigned to this reality that when someone gifts me a potted plant, even one with blooms already on it, my immediate reaction is guilt about how short a life the plant can expect in my care.

So, imagine my surprise when a similar gift from last Christmas, a Christmas cactus, began blooming today.  I was so shocked, that I went online to learn about the plant’s blooming practices.  It was in this research that I learned I have been doing everything wrong.  The research says the plant should never be in direct light (it is sitting in the full blast of the sunrise every morning); it says you should only water the plant when the top two inches are dry (I am pretty sure I water it weekly no matter what); and it says the plant should be kept in a cool, humid space (nope, and nope).  So, despite all my mistakes, despite how this plant should likely be dead by now, here this cute plant is blooming for the first time. 

That plant has reminded me of two things today.  First, that plant has reminded me of the ways that God can work for good despite me.  I do not have the gifts, interest, or time to lovingly help plants thrive.  But God has taken my measly offerings – the occasional remembrance to water the plant without any recollection how long ago I watered it last, the guilt that has kept me from throwing the plant away before now, and the half-hearted attempt to at least give the plant sunlight – God has taken these offerings and transformed them not just to survival, but to thriving.  I am humbled by a God who can produce good despite me.

Two, I am also struck by the fact that this plant is just one tiny example of the small goodness that surrounds us all the time.  The last week has been a rough one, especially in a congregation and a community that is very “purple” politically.  Though we are quite civil with one another, emotions have been all over the spectrum and I have been struggling to see where the hope is.  But the truth is hope and goodness have been around me this whole time.  I certainly see hope in this plant who is thriving despite me – and looking quite beautiful, indeed.  I see hope in the ways people are caring for one another – asking how people are really doing, and finding ways to offer solidarity and comfort where possible.  And I see hope as parishioners increase their giving to the church in a time when budgets are stretched and prices are rising.  We could find counter arguments for all those instances – reasons to be wary or suspicious or doubtful.  Or we can choose to notice the blooms opening slowly all around us.  I am not entirely sure what God is doing these days, but I have to tell you, I feel confident that God is here, bringing us comfort and signs of hope.  And that will suffice for today.

Sermon – 1 Kings 17.8-16, P27, YB, November 10, 2024

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On this Consecration Sunday, the day we offer and celebrate our gifts to support the ministry of this beloved community, the lectionary seemingly delivers the perfect text – the widow’s mite.  One might guess the lectionary shapers designed the lectionary just for a day like today – so that the sermon might be a nice a tidy story about how you too might give sacrificially.  But that story – and that sermon – are not our gift today.  After the tumultuous election week we have had, our gift lies with another widow – the widow of Zarephath from the first book of Kings. 

The widow of Zarephath is both a woman and widow, and as you know by now, that makes her doubly vulnerable in Elijah’s day.  In fact, although our translation says she is a widow, the original Hebrew actually adds, “…the word ‘woman’ in apposition before ‘widow.’  Verse 9 could literally be translated as, “Rise and go to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and dwell there.  Look, I have commanded a woman, a widow, to sustain you.”[i]   The widow is also the mother of a child who is dependent upon her, so she has needs beyond her own.  If we read a bit further in Kings, we learn she is not normally poor – even as a widow, she owns a home that is large enough for an upper chamber.[ii]  And, we know she lives in Sidon, which means she is a foreigner, and that she likely worships Baal.

But to fully understand this widow we have step back even further.  The reason Elijah wanders into Sidon needing food is because he is fleeing Queen Jezebel, another Sidonian woman who has convinced King Ahab to build temples to Baal, and who threatens to kill Elijah.  So, we already see two different treatments of Elijah by two different Sidonian women.[iii]  But the other big piece of information is there is a drought in the land – and the lack of water means a threat to life – in fact, any poverty the widow of Zarephath faces is because the drought has dried up the food supply.  But drought also has theological significance in this story.  “…the condition of drought is the result of the Israelite King Ahab’s disobedience.”[iv]  As Old Testament Scholar Ellen Davis explains, “Overall, from a biblical perspective, the sustained fertility and habitability of the earth, or more particularly of the land of Israel, is the best index of the health of the covenant relationship.”[v]  In other words, if there is a drought, the people of God have really messed up!

Now sometimes stories from the Bible feel so foreign, that even with context like we just learned, we do not really feel like we can relate.  But if we really think about the widow of Zarephath and her context today, we find much more relatability than we might like to admit.  We certainly know the reality of people of means suffering financially.  In fact, a recent story from Forbes said that over 75% of Americans are living paycheck to paycheck.[vi]  That’s a lot of folks eking out a living with last bits of grain and oil.  We also know something about fighting about authority and ultimate values – where we put our trust.  I would say the dramatically different reactions to the election this week are a classic example – from people who are relieved by the election results to people who feel so marginalized they do not feel like they can even stay in relationship with their neighbors.  Our church too is living donation to donation – with the annual threat of budget deficits – and is now facing the reality of what being a politically diverse community means – how we will not just respect differences but how we will actively serve Christ as one.  I think we are all too familiar with what being in a theological drought is all about.

So, what happens to this woman widow in Zarephath?  As she faces the ludicrous request of Elijah to feed him when she is literally about to feed her son and herself their last meal before they die of starvation, Elijah says, “Do not be afraid.”  I confess, when I first read those four words this week, “Do not be afraid,” I was pretty upset.  That’s God’s answer to this theological drought we are in?  This hurting, deeply divided, seemingly irreparable place?  Do not be afraid?!?  Now, the good news is I stayed in the text.  As I kept studying, I stumbled on a commentary in which Professor Robert Wall said, “‘Do not be afraid,’ is not meant to comfort one facing death but rather to inspire confidence that [Elijah’s] God keeps promises of salvation made.”[vii]  Elijah’s God keeps promises of salvation made.  And as if to support the good professor’s insight, Elijah goes on to say in the text, “For thus says the LORD the God of Israel:  The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth.”[viii]  God never says the jar will be overflowing or we will have so much we will need a second jug.  But God does say we will have enough.

Those words from Elijah, those words that often introduce an oracle of salvation[ix], are words for us too.  Do not be afraid.  I know those four words may feel impossible for some of us today.  Many of you have already told me about your literal fears:  either your fears about the economy before the election or your fears for your rights and dignity after the election.  But those four words are our promise today – that God keeps promises of salvation made.  Like Elijah promises the widow, so God promises to you today that your jar of meal will not be emptied and your jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth.  So, even in our fears, we make promises to the church about what time, talent, and treasure we can share to ensure our ministries remain vibrant and thriving.  In our fears, we keep coming to church and engaging with neighbors who differ from us more meaningfully than we did before.  In our fears, we trust in our God, no matter what civic leaders are in place.  Because our jar will not be emptied and our jug will not fail, we can trust that we will have enough – enough for ourself, enough for our neighbor, and enough for the church.  We can say yes, just like the widow of Zarephath on the verge of death.  We can say yes.  Do not be afraid.  Amen.


[i] David G. Garber, Jr, “Commentary on 1 Kings 17:8-16,” Working Preacher, November 10, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-32-2/commentary-on-1-kings-178-16-9 on November 8, 2024.

[ii] Denise Dombkowski Hopkins, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word Supplemental Essays, Year B, Batch 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2012), 6.

[iii] Hopkins, 4.

[iv] Garber.

[v] Ellen F. Davis, Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 8, as quoted by Garber.

[vi] Emily Batdorf , “Living Paycheck To Paycheck Statistics 2024,” Forbes Advisor, April 2, 2024 as found at https://www.forbes.com/advisor/banking/living-paycheck-to-paycheck-statistics-2024/?fbclid=IwY2xjawGcVSVleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHSkGQLYo1Mye_ETSWURRZckm0B5EKB226F-g1znt-H6_s6kt5j5eFvxjvw_aem_OKcSGHZduH78GmIJSrYAZw on November 8, 2024.

[vii] Robert W. Wall, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word Supplemental Essays, Year B, Batch 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2012), 3.

[viii] 1 Kings 17.14.

[ix] Ronald J. Allen, “Considering the Text: Week Six, Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Pentecost, 10 November 2024”  Center for Faith and Giving, as found at centerforfaithandgiving.org, 41.

Sermon – John 11.32-44, AS, YB, November 3, 2024

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I imagine if you were to poll a group of priests, most of them would say that one of their favorite liturgies in the Episcopal Church is the burial office – not because of the painful journey of grief and loss that leads to such an office, but because of what the liturgy and its scripture lessons accomplish.  In the midst of personal pain and gut-wrenching bereavement, the Church shows up with scripture lessons that point us toward ultimate things – that remind us of the ultimate source of hope for the faithful:  the promise of resurrection and eternal life.  Grief can upend your entire center, leaving you feeling lost.  But scripture, the burial office liturgy, and our faith are like a tether that hold us steady – that hold us close to Christ when Christ can feel absent.

Our lessons today on this feast of All Saints are all lessons traditionally recommended for a burial office – ones that have given us hope as we have lost spouses, parents, children, friends, and spiritual mentors.  They are lessons that give us hope for that feast of rich food and well-aged wines, where death is swallowed up forever, and God wipes away our tears.  They are lessons that promise that death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.  They are lessons that depict a Jesus deeply disturbed and deeply moved by our suffering. 

So why all this focus on end things?  Why this focus on ultimate things?  For one, as we honor the saints who have gone before on All Saints Sunday, these are lessons that remind us of what the Church has always believed about life, death, and eternal life in Christ.  As we will later recall in the service those souls closer to our own journeys and tie ribbons on the altar rail in their memory, the Church wants us to be ever confident in where those souls are and where we will go too.  And as we reaffirm our baptismal covenant today – that reminder of how in baptism we go down into the baptismal waters and die to self and come up again born anew in Christ, we are reminded that we are a kingdom people, living in resurrection not just in eternal life but in the here and now.

I am especially grateful for this feast of All Saints, on this day of remembering ultimate things, as we head into a week that feels especially weighty and consequential.  Not only are we each feeling our own anxieties and fears about how this presidential election will go (probably not all agreeing about which way would be best), I was also reminded yesterday as I watched the investiture of our new Presiding Bishop Rowe, that the rest of the world joins in our anxiety.  As a primate from South Sudan reminded us, our presidential election this week does not just impact us, but has ripple effects in countries around the world. 

Into this global anxiety, in this conflicted country, commonwealth, and county, we are gifted the same thing the Church gifts us with at every burial and every reminder of the saints:  the reminder of ultimate things.  We are reminded that in celebration and catastrophe, God is with us, wiping away tears.  We are reminded that in victory and defeat, death holds no power over us.  But maybe most importantly, we are reminded in anxiety, in relief, in hope, and in hope vanquished, Jesus is by our side, deeply moved and ever ready to continue showing us God’s glory when God’s glory feels long lost.

Today our lessons and our liturgy are powerful reminders that we have a sacred duty to live into our baptismal covenant.  That may not sound like much of a balm – maybe the command to honor our baptismal covenant feels more like homework than comfort.  But we are never baptized just into comfort.  We are baptized through comfort to live radical lives as Christ’s disciples – where we share the good news of God in Christ, where we gather in weekly worship and communion, where we seek and serve Christ in all persons, and where we strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.

Yes, this time feels so weighty on our shoulders that we feel like we may collapse under the weight of this time.  But the Jesus who weeps for Lazarus is the same Jesus who told us his burden is easy and his yoke is light.  The Jesus who is deeply disturbed is also the Jesus who troubles the water – the waters in which we died in baptism and rose to new life.  The Jesus who walked alongside Martha and Mary is the same Jesus who walks alongside you and me.  Our invitation today is take that baptismal covenant seriously – with the heft of ultimate things like death and resurrection and eternal life.  We stand in those baptismal waters this week, and we invite others to join us.  Those waters are our source of strength this week.  Amen.

Sermon – Mark 10.17-31, P23, YB, October 13, 2024

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As we kickoff stewardship season today, I know what you must be thinking, “Wow!  Jennifer went all-in on scripture this week – she’s really trying to get us to make a big pledge this year!”  And while I would love for you to make a generous pledge this year, you know from how much I complain about the assigned lectionary over the course of the year that I had no part in choosing today’s gospel.  And, if I’m really being honest, if I could choose a passage to kickoff stewardship season, I would not have chosen this text from Mark. 

“Why?” you might ask.  Mark’s story about the wealthy man seems like the perfect tee up for stewardship.  The sermon simply could be, “You heard the words from Jesus directly – sell what you own and give the money away – preferably to your favorite local church.”  But I would not have chosen this text or that sermon – not because this text is so extreme (trust me, I am not asking you to sell everything you own), but because this text goes deeper than money.  Jesus in this text is not just challenging us to be generous givers, Jesus is asking us even bigger questions about salvation and the very nature of our relationship with God.

This story is repeated in all three gospels.  In Luke’s gospel, the man is described as a “ruler,” and in Matthew he is described as “young.”  “But for Mark he is just a regular guy, although with ‘great possessions.’”[i]  In other words, this guy is just like you and me.  Just like you and me, he is trying so very hard to live a faithful life.  Just like you and me, he is already doing the basics – loving his neighbor by following those ten commandments about how we treat one another.  And just like you and me, he is faithfully striving to live a better life – he has sought out this Jesus to learn more and to discover how to order his life so that he can be in right relationship with God.  Jesus gives him, and us, an answer – the way to right that relationship with God – to follow those ten commandments that tell us to both love neighbor and love God – is to right our relationship with money. 

As one scholar explains, “The problem is not wealth per se but our attitude toward [wealth].  As we accumulate riches, we are tempted to trust in our possession and our powers of acquiring them, rather than in God, for our ultimate security and comfort.  Even honestly acquired and generously shared wealth can thus lead to pride.  That is why it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.  It is hard to let go of the immediate basis of our security and comfort – and the more we have, the harder [letting go] gets.”[ii]  And so Jesus gives us today the ultimate spiritual discipline – to untangle our relationship with money from our relationship with God:  to see our material blessings not as a badge of honor for righteous living or hard work, but as a tool for sharing the love of Christ – an instrument to demonstrate our love of God through how we use money.

Now, I do not know what your relationship with your wealth is.  Growing up, our family did not have very much of it.  We had what we needed, but some of what we needed was gifted by a neighbor dropping off a basket of produce or a bag of hand-me-down clothing.  I knew if I wanted to go to college, I was going to need to earn some scholarships and financial aid.  The challenge with that kind of upbringing is that, as you come into your own, you realize you are now responsible for ensuring you have enough wealth not to need those gifts from neighbors and institutions.  You have to earn that wealth.  And the danger in knowing your earning of wealth is dependent upon your own blood, sweat, and tears is that you begin to think of everything you have as earned by yourself as opposed to being gifted by God – as though the gifts and talents you have were not gifted by God and enable you to then earn the wealth you need to purchase the rewards for your hard work.  And when we read stories like today’s gospel, we start to get a pit in our stomach – that small, nagging, gnawing feeling that we too might walk away grieving if Jesus were to tell us our relationship with money was interfering with our relationship with God.

That small, nagging, gnawing feeling is what leads the disciples to ask, “Who, then, has any chance at all?”  And here is where the grace comes.  Jesus basically says, “No chance at all if you think you can pull it off by yourself.  Every chance in the world if you let God do it.”[iii]  In other words, we can right our relationship with wealth, we can become peoples of generous giving only through God.  Now Jesus is not saying giving generously will not be hard.  What Jesus is saying is, “You can do hard things.” 

Last fall, one of our families had a long conversation during stewardship season.  As a couple, they handle finances independently in some areas and together in others.  Their giving to church was one of those in the areas they handled independently from one another.  After hearing a testimony from a fellow parishioner, they sat down to look at the numbers – and realized their giving didn’t reflect their theology of money.  And so, they decided to make some changes – to right-size their household budget to reflect the deep relationship with God they knew they had but that they weren’t reconciling within their wallets.  That kind of reconciling work was not easy – but their relationship with God and their membership in a faith community helped them know they could do hard things.

 This year, we have already been talking about ultimate things – about measuring what matters in our lives.  You have heard stories from parishioners about what this community means to them, and how they have come to understand that intimate relationship between their relationship with God and their relationship with their wealth.  Even talking about that small, nagging, gnawing feeling was hard for many of them.  But each one of them knew they could do the hard thing because Jesus enabled them to do so.  They knew, through God, all things were possible.  Their testimonies, Jesus’ words today, and our own desires for greater intimacy with God are the tools that enable us to do hard things:  to examine our relationship with wealth, to examine our relationship with God, and to examine our fears and feelings that hold us back from the freedom that comes from trusting in God and not in our own bootstraps.  Jesus is very plain today.  You cannot pull off right relationship by yourself.  But with God – with God, all things are possible.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.


[i] David B. Howell, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 164.

[ii] James J. Thompson, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 166.

[iii] Mark 10.27 as quoted in The Message paraphrase (Eugene H. Patterson, The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language (Colorado Springs:  NavPress, 2002).

On Measuring What Matters…

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Photo credit: https://texasleansixsigma.com/measure-what-matters/

This week we’ve been working intentionally on shifting my daughter’s propensity to complain.  She can have the best of days or afternoons, but at some point in the retelling of what happened, she’ll inevitably find something to complain about – what someone said, what someone did, or how she perceived something.  This week I threatened to start a daily tally of everything that came out of her mouth, putting her words in two columns:  positive things and negative things.  I told her we would see which column won at the end of the day.  I was honestly making an empty threat (who has time to monitor every word that comes out of a kid’s mouth?!?), but something about my threat registered with her.  The next morning, she was all positives – thanking me for mundane things, celebrating small victories, noticing the good.  When I picked her up from school that day, she proclaimed, “Actually, today’s been a really good day!”  We celebrated what a wonderful experience both she and I had had that day, noticing what her intentionality had done.

I’ve been thinking about our experiment and have been recalling all the times I have taken on a discipline of gratitude – all the times I have fallen into the very same patterns as my child.  There have been times when I have used my prayer beads, only praying prayers of thanksgiving instead of petition.  There have been times when I have used my journal to find at least three things at the end of the day for which I can give thanks (some days that was harder than others!).  And there have been times when I have read books or heard testimonies about the powerful transformative practice of gratitude.

These last weeks, gratitude has been challenging to come by.  I have been watching helplessly as countless homes, businesses, churches, roads, and whole towns have been washed away by hurricanes – only to be bracing for the impact of another one today.  I have been praying with friends and community members recovering from freakish events:  being hit by car, road rage gun violence, and random violent targeting.  I have listened to the anxieties of parishioners, completely consumed by worry about the presidential election less than a month away. 

This Sunday, our church will kick of stewardship season, as we ponder what really matters in our lives.  As we have already been reflecting this year, we are a community blessed with abundance.  We could certainly go down the road of scarcity, detailing all the things we are longing for or missing.  But instead, we are entering an intentional time of noticing:  noticing the abundance around us, noticing the blessings that embrace us, noticing the goodness and love of God in our lives.  I am looking forward to the gift of a season of gratitude – of celebrating the good and honoring the abundance of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  I am hopeful that each day in this stewardship season, we can begin to turn our hearts from pain, and find the way, even if in something miniscule, to be able to say, “Actually, today’s been a really good day!”  I invite you to join us in the celebration of what matters!

On Looking for Helpers…

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Photo credit: https://www.power-grid.com/der-grid-edge/electric-vehicles/midamerican-rolls-out-three-all-electric-utility-bucket-trucks/#gref

Last week I was on retreat in western North Carolina.  We were east enough that Hurricane Helene mostly dealt us wind and rain, and we only lost power and water for about seven hours.  But as we prepared to return home, the news was trickling in that the impact further west was bad – inconceivably devastating.  As I headed east making my way home, signs indicated the highway I was traveling was completely closed in the other direction and that all travel to western North Carolina was forbidden.

On the sobering home drive, as I contemplated all who were suffering and how mostly unscathed I was, a familiar sight appeared:  a line of electric company trucks driving westward.  Having grown up mostly in NC and having been on Long Island during Superstorm Sandy, I felt that familiar overwhelming sense of relief when you see those trucks after a storm.  Help was on the way.  Trucks with their workers from all over the place were dropping everything in their lives to offer up the gifts God gave them to help others.  I knew those in western North Carolina would feel a similar palpable relief to see those glorious white trucks, and I offered a prayer of thanksgiving. 

Fred Rogers used to say, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers.  You will always find people who are helping.’”  No matter how much we bemoan our divisions and the political toxicity in our country, it is the helpers that give me hope.  That line of white trucks was a reminder to me that goodness is all around us, even when hopelessness feels like it may drown us. 

I wonder what signs of hope you might be able to spy this week – what glimmers of light are breaking through the clouds if you open your eyes.  Or perhaps the Holy Spirit is beckoning you to be a helper – to be one of those signs of hopefulness in the ways that only you can.  I cannot wait to hear the stories of how God is showing up and birthing hope.

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YB, September 29, 2024

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Today we honor the life and witness of St. Francis of Assisi.  St. Francis is well-known and beloved for myriad reasons.  Primarily, people tend to appreciate two things about him: his commitment to living in solidarity with the poor, which included dramatically stripping his clothing off, begging for food, and supporting the most needy; and, his affinity for the creatures of God, with stories of preaching to birds, negotiating with a violent wolf to make peace with the local town, and generally valuing the beasts of the earth.  But what we rarely talk about is the stigmata of St. Francis – those marks corresponding to the ones left on Jesus’ body by the crucifixion said to have been impressed by divine favor on devoted followers of Christ.

Here’s what we know about St. Francis’ stigmata.  He was praying on the Feast of the Cross, which falls on September 14.  His prayer that day to Jesus was that he might feel in his body and soul the pain that Jesus felt in the Passion.  But he also prayed to feel in equal measure the excessive love that Jesus felt that allowed him to endure pain for us.  We are told that in his intense prayer session, he saw a vision, and when he emerged, he had what looked like piercings in his hands and feet – or, stigmata.[i]  Now I don’t know how you feel about the existence of stigmata on certain saints, but I’ve always thought it was a little, well, weird – and even more heretical, maybe even unbelievable.

So, why, on this Sunday when all we want to do is bless and celebrate animals or remember the poor, do we need to talk about stigmata?  Believe me or not, there is actually a deep correlation with today’s gospel lesson.  Today, Jesus talks about yokes – those tools used to harness two animals for work.  The yoke allows the two not just to double their work, but to rely on one another – if one is tired, the other can push harder; and then the weaker one can later support the stronger one.  Yokes, like Jesus’ work, are easy and make the burden light. 

But beyond the mechanics of a good yoke, the yoke is also a good metaphor for how we see the gospel.  Being yoked to another makes you connected.  And once you are connected, and see how dependent upon one another you are, you begin to see how that connection extends beyond the two of you – that your yoked interconnection is a microcosm of the connectedness of all of God’s creation.  When Francis prayed fervently to both feel Jesus’ deepest physical pain as well as Jesus’ excessive outpouring of love, his resulting stigmata left a physical reminder of the ways in which, even in pain or great love, we are connected to one another.

Perhaps another example may help.  “Ramakrishna was a mystic who lived in India over a hundred years ago.  One day, as he was walking through the marketplace, he saw a servant boy being whipped by his master.  As he watched that boy being whipped, welts appeared on Ramakrishna’s own body.”  We are told that, “This suggests that this man had such a strong feeling for this boy that he could identify with him in the sufferings that he was enduring.”[ii]  Furthermore, “Like Ramakrishna, who was so at one with God that he could walk through the marketplace and become one with God’s creations, especially this poor servant, Francis so identified with the suffering of Jesus that he took on the wounds himself.”[iii]

What we see in Francis’ stigmata and even in the experience of the mystic Ramakrishna is that when we are living faithfully, we begin to see that we are yoked to one another.  We slowly begin to see all of humanity is connected.  And the more we spend time seeing the humanity in others – especially the humanity in those we would rather not – then we start to see that our interconnectedness extends even further – to God’s creation, to God’s creatures, to the cosmos.  If we open our hearts to one, we cannot help to open our hearts to all.  Francis’ love for the poor, Francis’ love for creatures, and even Francis’ stigmata are not disconnected – they are one in the same. 

In Psalm 148, a psalm sometimes read or sung on St. Francis’ feast day, we hear an invitation to all of God’s creation:  Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars;  Wild beasts and all cattle, creeping things and winged birds; Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the world; Young men and maidens, old and young together.[iv]  We bless animals today because Francis reminded us how all of God’s creation is worthy of love and is interconnected.  But the invitation for us today is not just to love on cute dogs, cats, hamsters, and horses.  The invitation for us is to start claiming our yoked nature – yoked to those we love, yoked to our political opponents, yoked to those who have different ethics and values than ourselves, yoked to parents who make different parenting decisions, yoked to those with different skin color or sexual orientation or gender identity, yoked to those we see as deserving of God’s grace and those who are not.  Our yoked nature allows us to pray the Prayer of St. Francis from our Prayer Book:  “Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”[v]  We can do the work of St. Francis because of the yoke of Jesus.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.


[i] Hilarion Kistner, O.F.M., The Gospels According to Saint Francis (Cincinnati:  Franciscan Media, 2014), 88-91.

[ii] Kistner, 87-88.

[iii] Kistner, 92.

[iv] Psalm 148.9-12.

[v] BCP, 833.

Sermon – Proverbs 31.10-31, P20, YB, September 22, 2024

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As the presidential election approaches in just about six weeks, I have spoken with many of you about a rising sense of anxiety and despair.  One of the things I have noticed about the last three presidential elections is that we have kind of gotten lost – so caught up in big personalities and dramatic events that we have lost sight of one core question in elections:  what do we need in a president to create a just country that reflects the priority of love.

Since I always tell our community that I do not preach politics – just Jesus – I thought I would turn to scripture this week for guidance.  I started with the daily office.  On Wednesday, I came across Psalm 72.  The psalm begins, “Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son.  May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice.  May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.”  “Yes,” I thought, “This is the president we need.  After all this debate and controversy, this is the kind of president I want.”  Then I kept reading.  The more I read about this noble king, the more the king sounded a lot like Jesus.  Finally, a truth seeped through – this year, as I am considering my choice for President, I have not been looking for an actual person.  I have been looking for a savior; and that is not fair to any human being.  Any person running for president is going to be flawed.  And we already have a Savior – we do not need another one. 

Then I turned to our Old Testament lesson for today: the so-called “capable woman” from Proverbs.  I spent some time with this text when I was writing my thesis in seminary, so I am always drawn to this familiar text.  But the more I read about this woman this time, the more inadequate I felt.  She makes clothes, rises before dawn to feed her family, manages a staff, purchases a field, and plants a vineyard by herself.  She in an entrepreneur, selling her wares for good money.  She cares for the poor, and is a wise teacher.  She does all this and is happy.  As a priest, mother of two, and a wife, I feel woefully inadequate next to the capable woman.  In fact, in Hebrew, the word to describe her is not really “capable” per se.  The word, hayil, is a word that means much more than capable.  Hayil is primarily used in the Old Testament to describe men of great power, valor, and strength.  Hayil is a term for powerful warriors.  In fact, this Proverbs woman and Ruth are the only women in the Old Testament to earn the title normally reserved for men.  The Proverbs woman is not just capable; she is a woman of strength and power.  She is a superwoman. 

The challenge with these two images – the righteous king and the powerful woman – is that neither of these labels feels attainable.  For women, the Proverbs woman of power is especially loaded.  Many of us long to be a woman of hayil.  We want to be a woman who can do everything – work outside the home, manage our finances, care for a home and family, maintain a healthy relationship with God, have power and honor in our lives.  This is the challenge of the modern woman – society is opening doors for us to do everything – to work, to raise a family, to be successful.  But the reality is that we either kill ourselves trying to do everything, or we feel horribly guilty for our many failures.  Unlike celebrities, who seem to manage family, fame, and face with ease, we feel overwhelmed and woefully inadequate.  In fact, as I was pondering preaching this text this week, I stumbled across a quote from one seminary professor.  She writes, “Many of you will conclude this text is too much a minefield and steer clear, with good reason.”[i] 

Of course, today is not just a sermon for the women in our community.  Men often feel the same sense of being overwhelmed by trying to do everything.  Forget the kingly imagery from the Psalm.  There is often pressure for men to be financially stable, and if you have a family, to provide for them.  There is now an expectation that men play a role in the rearing of children and doing housework, being involved in the community, and caring for the upkeep of your home.  As I have read parenting magazines over the years, I have seen story after story of men trying to navigate the modern family’s expectations of playing both traditional and nontraditional male roles.  And for the man and woman running for President, expecting a “just king” or a “capable woman” places incredibly unfair expectations on either candidate.

So, what do we make of this woman of hayil in Proverbs today?  Like the King in Psalm 72, I wonder if the woman in Proverbs is perhaps not a particular human, but an ideal.  All the practices of the woman of strength are practices that we should strive to embody – we are to be industrious, using the talents that God has given us for the good of ourselves and others.  We are to work hard and to care for the poor and needy.  We are to use our words wisely, and shape the next generation to love kindness and walk humbly with God.  And most of all, we are to fear the Lord.  Fear in this sense is not the kind of fear that cowers from God, but that holds the Lord in awe, marveling at the majesty of God, rooting our lives in that sense of wonder, gratitude, and reverent humility before the Creator.[ii]  But mostly, this text is a reminder that we do not put these expectations just on presidents – these are expectations, or ways of life, for each of us.

The good news is that we do not strive for the ideal of hayil alone.  Perhaps a better image for us today is not a single woman of hayil, but a community of hayil.  This text from Proverbs is not inviting us to be all things to all people, but instead is inviting all men and women to consider together what the tasks of a family, church, or community are, and to consider the ways we can share in those tasks together.[iii]  When we focus on only one woman, we miss that this text encourages us to think about the partnerships between men and women in the work of the community.  This text is not a beautiful hymn to one human woman, but is a lesson about interdependence, partnership, and the contours of community.[iv]

That’s what excites me about Hickory Neck.  We are on a journey to become a woman, a community, of hayil.  I see you using your time, talent, and treasure to help in the ways that you are most gifted.  I see you praying for one another, especially when one of us looks particularly overwhelmed or stressed.  I see you looking beyond our doors about the way we can individually and collectively care for our neighbors in need.  I see you leaning into our creativity to make a path forward in a new reality.  In this moment, Hickory Neck is living as the woman of hayil.

Of course, we still have work to do – we are still accomplishing the ideal as a community.  A priest friend of mine had a set of triplets in her parish.  She knew that the mother could not manage all three alone – one person only has two arms!  So, the priest arranged for a rocking chair in the narthex to help ease the babies’ tempers.  There were older women in the congregation who, within seconds of a cry, would swoop up one of the babies and rock the child in the side aisle, without the mother having to even ask for help.  There were men who caught the crawling babies under pews and returned them to their mother.  And mostly, there were patient parishioners, who would focus through the cries of the children to hear the sermon without complaint.  We too can offer this grace to one another.  Whether there is a parent with a child who could use some help, whether there is a parishioner who needs a hand to get to the communion rail, or whether we offer prayers for someone who we notice is struggling this week, we are a community who can exemplify the holy partnership we see in scripture today.  We can acknowledge that our work is best accomplished together because our shared labor expresses faith, hope, and love in ways that build us up and bring us together.  We can all be that woman of hayil, that superwoman for the wider community, but only if we do the work together.  Amen.


[i] Amy Oden, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-25-2/commentary-on-proverbs-3110-3, September 23, 2012, as found on September 20, 2024. 

[ii] Kathleen M. O’Connor, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 79.

[iii] H. James Hopkins, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 77.

[iv] Hopkins, 79.

On Actively Remembering…

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Photo credit: https://www.history.navy.mil/browse-by-topic/wars-conflicts-and-operations/sept-11-attack.html

The anniversary of September 11, 2001 is always one that hits me in unexpected ways.  For those of us living at the time twenty-three years ago, our experiences that day are as varied as our humanity is varied.  Depending on how close you lived to the three crash sites, whether you lost a loved one or waited long days for them to be found, what your ethnicity is (as those of Middle Eastern heritage had very different experiences that day and in the weeks and months to follow), or what your philosophy of justice was, our reactions to, experiences of, and the aftermath of that tragic day affects us all differently.

Despite those deeply varying differences, one thing always seems to be consistent on this anniversary – we remember.  Maybe we spend time in prayer, or maybe we dedicate some time to silence, or maybe we take a long run, or maybe we burn off steam another way, but all of us in some way or fashion remember.  As you remember this year, I invite your reflection to be active.  There were countless people on that day who did something good for someone else – whether they helped someone out of a burning building, comforted a friend, searched through rubble, helped a stranger search for someone lost, made a meal for someone, or even made the ultimate sacrifice so that others might live.  Use those stories and those memories of goodness that punctuated a day of awfulness to be a force for goodness today – to be an agent of Christ’s love in a world that desperately needs love.  If you’re looking for motivation, you can find stories here.  If you’re looking for a prayer, you can try this resource

Even twenty-three years out, this day carries with it so much weight.  I can’t wait to hear what you do to lighten some of that burden for someone else or yourself.  Today we can be a part of shining Christ’s light in the darkness in our time.

Sermon – Proverbs 22.1-2, 8-9, 22-23, P18, YB, September 8, 2024

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Many of us grew up with parents or grandparents who were always trying to instill wisdom.  “A penny saved is a penny earned.”  Or, “The early bird gets the worm.” Or one that overlaps with faith, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  I think the hope has been to create mantras that will remind us to be good human beings.  In a lot of ways, that is what we do in baptism.  Certainly, the main purpose of baptism is to welcome people into the community of faith.  But every baptism is also an educational moment – an identity-making moment.  The liturgy of baptism (and especially the renewal of our baptismal covenant which we will do later today) is chock full of wisdom about how to live faithfully as a Christian:  continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers;  resist evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord; proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself; and strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.  The baptismal covenant may not be as catchy or memorable as those phrases your grandparent used, but they do the same thing:  teach us something about being people of faith.

That is what our lesson from Proverbs is doing today too.  Truthfully, many of those proverbial sayings we learned from our elders come from scripture or even the book of Proverbs directly.[i]  Today’s lesson from Proverbs is all about wealth.  Now I know what you are thinking, we just baptized a little baby – why in the world do we need to talk to them about money?  Besides, isn’t that a little uncouth?  Much as we polite southerners might not like to admit it, Holy Scripture always has a lot to say about money.  For Jesus, money was the topic he talked about the most in Scripture.  But Jesus comes from a long line of people and scriptures that talk about wealth.  He was probably shaped just like we were by elders trying to give us wisdom.  But before you get too squeamish, just remember that talking about wealth is not just a concern about personal behavior or morality.  In the instance of our lesson from Proverbs, talking about wealth helps us understand how to live in community – how to be a people of faith together.[ii]

Let’s take a deeper dive with these verses today (feel free to go back to your bulletin as we read along).  The first verse talks about how a good name is much more valuable than great riches.  Now that does not mean we need to literally pick good names for our children – although Nathan, who was baptized earlier, is a beautiful name (quite biblical, actually!).  But what the original Hebrew means by “good name” is “good reputation.”[iii]  In other words, people need to know that you are a decent human being more than they need to know you have high levels of wealth.  In the second verse, the proverb goes even deeper, suggesting that whether we are rich or poor (or somewhere in between) we are all equally loved by God.  We are all beloved children of God.  Now if our equally beloved status is true, and how we treat others matters most, then our main job in life is to care for one another.  If we happen to be wealthy, we are encouraged to share our wealth.  As a community, we share our resources to support the work of ministry – verses eight and nine as well as 22 and 23 tell us how important our care for one another is.  That right prioritizing with wealth and community puts us in right relationship with God.  And Lord knows, Nathan, or any newly baptized, is going to need to navigate that reality in their lifetimes. 

That is what baptism does.  Baptism helps us remember first and foremost what we want to teach the newly baptized.  Whether the baptized is an adult or an infant we will communally raise, we want people like Nathan to know what being a person of faith is, and how that identity impacts the whole of our lives – from our weekly gathering in worship, to our caring for the poor, to the ways we steward our own resources. 

Secondly, baptism reminds us as a community what we need to remember.  Just because we were baptized once, or have reaffirmed our baptisms multiple times, that does not mean we have mastered faithful discipleship.  Even in our baptismal covenant, we do not say, “if we fall into sin,” we say, “whenever we fall into sin.”  Being a person of faith means working at being faithful over and over again – always with the help of fellow people on the journey, but certainly the work is ongoing.

That is why today, in addition to celebrating our baptism, we are also turning our hearts again to the topic of stewardship.  As we kickoff another program year, we are reminded that generosity is at the heart of faithful living.  Verse nine that we read today says, “Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.”  Generosity, as one scholar explains, is “here imagined as sharing bread with the poor; that is, sharing those things that are necessary for a safe life.  In the ancient context, ‘sharing bread’ is not just dropping money in a cup, but is an expression of solidarity.  Those who share what they need for life (bread) find that they will have what they need for life.”[iv]   Our invitation today, as water is sprinkled on all our heads, is to consider how we might embrace a generous life – how we might, recognizing our blessedness, share our bread with others.  For when we live generously, we find we have all that we need for life.  Amen.


[i] Susan T. Henry-Crowe, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 26.

[ii] Stephen C. Johnson, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 27.

[iii] Megan Fullerton Strollo, “Commentary on Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23,” September 8, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-23-2/commentary-on-proverbs-221-2-8-9-22-23-6 on September 4, 2024.

[iv] Ronald J. Allen, “Considering the Text:  Week 4, Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, 8 September 2024” Center for Faith and Giving, as found at centerforfaithandgiving.org, 27.