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Sermon – Luke 12.13-21, P13, YC, August 3, 2025

27 Wednesday Aug 2025

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One of the last things that happens when you graduate from seminary is the staff from the Church Pension Group comes to talk to you about money management.  They help you understand how retirement funds work for clergy, encourage you to make sure you are doing some additional savings and investment planning, and remind you that, like tithing, how you manage your finances is a witness to your congregation about being good stewards.  Each year, you are encouraged to be a smart investor through email reminders.  We even go to a wellness conference a few times over the course of our ministry to make sure we are tending to our financial wellness in addition to vocational, spiritual, and bodily wellness.  The repeated lesson to clergy is to be good stewards of our financial resources.

You can imagine how your clergy and anyone schooled in financial stewardship hears today’s parable from Jesus.  At first glance, this is a story about smart financial management.  A man has a bumper crop – the land produces so abundantly he cannot fit the excess crops into his current barns.  Knowing the land is fickle, maybe even having taken some notes from our ancestor Joseph who prevented a seven-year famine by stockpiling during a seven-year boon, the man decides he will just have to build a bigger barn to hold all the extra crops.  His actions do not sound that far off from what any investment counselor might tell us to do – store the excess away so that when a rainy day comes, or even when retirement comes, we can still “eat, drink, and be merry.” 

But, like any good parable, there is a plot twist:  the day the newly enlarged barn is finished is the same day the man will die.  All those plans, hopes, and dreams for a secure retirement are gone.  He never gets to enjoy the fruits of his labor.  He never gets to retire in comfort.  He never gets to eat, drink, and be merry.  Our immediate reaction to this tragedy might be to proclaim how life or God is not fair.  But into our protest, Jesus says, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

These last words from Jesus are ones that sting.  Jesus reminds us that being a good steward of our resources means lots of things:  being smart with our money, saving for times of famine, giving to the church, and caring for our neighbor.  But most importantly, being a good steward of our resources is not just about sound financial practices.  Being a good steward of our resources is also about managing our relationship with our money – and more specifically, managing our relationship with God in relation to our money.

Now some of you may be thinking, “Here she goes.  She’s going to tell me how I need to give more money to the church to right my relationship with God.”  The good news is I do not think Jesus is looking for a specific corrective – as if to say, “Do not be like the man with the barns:  give your full ten percent to the church and all will be well.”  No, what Jesus is trying to do is help us see that our relationship with money matters.  Unlike a polite Southerner, Jesus never shies away from talking about money.  He is constantly warning us about the potential of riches to corrupt our relationship with God.  The answer to what the rich man should do may not be specific, but we get some obvious clues about what Jesus means by being rich toward God.

Going back to the story is particularly helpful.  The most obvious thing we see happening in the parable is the wealthy man has become completely self-absorbed and ego-centric.  Listen again to the words of the parable, “And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods.  And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’”  The list is long:  What should I do?  My crops, my barns, my grain, my goods, my soul.  All the words of the wealthy man are self-referential.[i]  Nowhere does he talk to God.  Nowhere does he talk to his family or a trusted friend.  Nowhere does he consult his property manager, or the local priest – the whole conversation is with himself.  Further, he never praises God for the abundance.  He never acknowledges that the land has provided.  He never even considers sharing his abundance.  He is self-interested, self-protecting, and self-centered.  All that focus on the self comes from a relationship with money and with God that is simply out of whack.

So how do we avoid the slippery slope that leads to self-centeredness and greed, luring us to constantly redefine how much is “enough”?  What exactly is being rich toward God?  Jesus tells us the answer to our quandary throughout Luke’s gospel.  As one scholar explains, “Being rich toward God entails using one’s resources for the benefit of one’s neighbor in need, as the Samaritan did (10:25-37).  Being rich toward God includes intentionally listening to Jesus’ word, as Mary did (10:38-42).  Being rich toward God consists of prayerfully trusting that God will provide for the needs of life (11:1-13, 12:22-31).  Being rich toward God involves selling possessions and giving alms as a means of establishing a lasting treasure in heaven (12:32-34).”  In other words, “Life and possessions are a gift of God to be used to advance God’s agenda of care and compassion, precisely for those who lack resources to provide for themselves.”[ii]

I served on a church board many years ago that received a surprise bequest of about 1.3 million dollars.  The bequest came from a woman who had seemed to be of little consequence.  Each year she had probably given the charitable group about $25 a year.  We assumed that was about all she could do.  When the gift came in, we were stunned.  After some prayerful discernment, we elected to put one million into our endowment, to ensure that we could keep helping ministries in our diocese.  But we designated the remaining three hundred thousand for us to try new and innovative ministries – and luckily for us, there was already a proposal on the table that we thought we could not afford:  a food truck that would take food around to the homeless in one of our cities, and maybe even host a social worker and or nurse.  I do not know what sort of life this woman led or how she managed her money.  But even in death, her richness toward God was obvious to us all.

Though we may be tempted to finger-point at the self-centered man of means, Jesus knows that money has the power to corrupt all our relationships with God.  And unfortunately, the consequences are not limited to our relationships with God – our ability to live lives rich toward God impacts our neighbors too.  The good news is we have a community of faith sitting right next to us who can be our support system as we work to turn our hearts and our riches to God.  Now I know we all value being good Southerners, but this time, Jesus is pushing us out of our cultural norms and patterns.  In order to turn our hearts and riches toward God, we are going to need to start talking with our friends about the place of money in our lives and in our relationship with God.  We are going to need to talk about our struggles and failures.  And we are going to need to celebrate our victories and successes.  We are basically going to need to become a giant support group for becoming rich toward God.

Pastor and scholar David Lose tells a story of a “congregation who invited families to not buy any unnecessary new thing for six months in order to break the culturally-induced habit of trying to buy happiness.  But they didn’t just invite people to do this, they formed a culture in which they supported each other.  They read and talked about a common book on abundant life, they kept in touch via small groups and email, they shared where they were succeeding and struggling and what they were learning.  In short, they formed a community so that they could stand against the all-too-human and culturally supported belief that if we just had a little more we’d be happy.”[iii]

I do not know what model or what goals are going to work for each of you.  But I do know that just by our very citizenship in this country, in this time of scarcity thinking and fear mongering, we face more temptation toward greed than in probably any other country.  If we are going to follow Jesus, to avoid a life of self-centeredness, and claim a life of being rich toward God, we are going to need each other.  Whether you want to form a small group or just find a trusted friend, this is the important work Jesus invites us into today.  My guess is that building up a community of support that is rich toward God will create much more opportunities to eat, drink, and be merry, than any bigger barn could ever give us.  Amen.

[i] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 312.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 315.

[iii] David Lose, “What Money Can and Can’t Do,” July 29, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2668 on August 1, 2025.

Sermon – John 16.12-15, TS, YC, June 15, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Most of you know that I grew up the United Methodist Church.  My first meaningful exposure to the Episcopal Church came through an ecumenical mission trip led by the Episcopal Campus minister at my university.  We spent a semester being shaped by Episcopal liturgies, and the community in the rural Honduran village we served was primarily Roman Catholic by tradition.  On one dark night, as we closed a long, physically demanding day in prayer with our team and village members, I watched as a large portion of those gathered crossed themselves at the words, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  My weary, dirty, displaced self suddenly felt the urge to cross myself too.  The urge to cross myself was a longing – a longing that brought up the guilt of what my Methodist teammates might think of me suddenly doing something that was decidedly not Methodist – but also a longing for a physical, tangible way to grab onto God – to feel intimately connected and related to God.  I am not even sure I understood what crossing oneself meant, but there was an aching deep in my chest for an action that could make me feel not only related to the trinitarian God we were all worshiping, but also to the hodgepodge collection of people of faith who had gathered.

Today we celebrate Trinity Sunday – the only Sunday in the whole church year focused on a Christian doctrine as opposed to an event or a piece of scripture.  Each of the three years in the lectionary focused on Trinity Sunday attempts to utilize a piece of scripture that somehow relates to the persons of the Trinity, but because the concept of the Trinity is not explicitly articulated in Holy Scripture, each year we just get a taste of this strange doctrine we all profess, even though most of us, even theologians and scholars over the centuries, struggle to articulate.[i]

Given the lack of a “Trinity 101” text in scripture, I am grateful we get this passage from John’s gospel today.  We are still in the Farewell Address of Jesus – that very long speech in John’s gospel that Jesus makes as the disciples gather for their last supper with Jesus that we have been reading from for weeks.  We know this is the long address that is often circular and convoluted in nature.  In this particular piece of Jesus’ address, he is telling them again about the coming of the Holy Spirit, or the Advocate.  Jesus explains how the coming Holy Spirit will share Jesus’ truth, which is, in fact, truth from God.  In this circular explanation of how the disciples will still experience relationship with God, we see something deeply relational between and among the persons of the Trinity. 

As scholar Debie Thomas explains of this text, we “…see that God is communal.  It’s one thing to say that God values community.  Or that God thinks community is good for us.  It’s altogether another to say that God is community.  That God is relationship, intimacy, connection, and communion.  …God is Relationship, and it is only in relationship that we’ll experience God’s fullness.”[ii]  Perhaps that is what I was longing for that dark night in that rural village – relationship.  I was longing for a deeper relationship with God – but equally profoundly, a relationship with fellow people of faith.  Sure, maybe making the sign of the cross is just a gesture.  But in that moment, the gesture was a physical manifestation of the relationship found in the triune God, and found in Christian community.

When we can see that the triune God is community, relationship, intimacy, and connection, something about that convoluted explanation of Jesus begins to click not only about the Trinity, but also about our everyday lives.  If the very nature of God is communal and relational, then our invitation is for our lives to also reflect that triune nature.  That means, when we are here, gathered across differences, across divides, and across diversions, we are doing the sacred work of relationship.  That means when we are out in our community, caring for those in need, using our God-given gifts in our vocations, and loving stranger and loved-one alike, we are doing the sacred work of relationship.  And that means when we following the news to learn more about civic life outside these walls, when we are engaging our political representatives in honest dialogue, and when we are praying for the peace this world needs, we are doing the sacred work of relationship.

That is the beauty of honoring the Trinity today.  Jesus teaches us today that the very nature of God is relational – a relationship that is accessible vertically through our relationship with God.  Jesus also teaches us today that the sacred relationship found among the Trinity is also accessible horizontally through all those made in God’s image – in other words, through every human being God has gifted to us.  Our invitation today is to let that crossing of vertical and horizontal create in us a vehicle of God’s love and grace.[iii]  That longing for relationship is fed here so that you can feed that longing in others.  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Resurrecting the Trinity,” May 23, 2010, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/resurrecting-the-trinity on June 13, 2025.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “The Trinity: So What?” June 9, 2019, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2251-the-trinity-so-what on June 13, 2025.

[iii] David Lose, “Trinity C:  Don’t Mention the Trinity!” May 17, 2019, as found at https://www.davidlose.net/2016/05/trinity-c-shh-dont-mention-the-trinity/ on June 13, 2025.

Sermon – John 17.20-26, E7, YC, June 1, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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One of my favorite biblical scholars is Karoline Lewis.  She is one of the hosts of a preaching podcast I listen to, and through listening to her over the years I have found her to be insightful, funny, passionate, and deeply attuned to where the Word of God meets our daily lives.  Lewis is a New Testament scholar whose expertise is especially in the gospel of John.  In fact, her commentary on the Gospel of John is my go-to commentary anytime I am exploring John’s gospel.          

The irony in my deep appreciation for Karoline Lewis is that her passion and love for the gospel of John is almost in equal balance to my dislike for the gospel of John.  Where she finds deep beauty and meaning in John, I often find a jumble of words that are so repetitive and circular that I get lost.  Even when I have prepared a sermon for and studied a passage of John for the entire week, when I get to the moment of holding that gospel book and proclaiming John, I find myself second guessing myself, “Wait.  Didn’t I just read that sentence?  That sounds like what I just said a second ago – did I repeat a line?” 

Today’s gospel from John is a classic example.  We find ourselves at the end of Jesus’ farewell address to the disciples before his crucifixion and death, and within that address, at the end of his high priestly prayer.  In this prayer, Jesus prays several phrases in that typical Johannine circular language, “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us…so that they maybe be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one..”  The good news is that Lewis and other scholars seem to agree that what Jesus is praying in his circular, convoluted way for is unity.  As scholar William Herzog suggests, “What matters most for John is that the experience of the indwelling remains available to the community, for the unity of the Johannine community is based not on dogma but on a communal experience of indwelling that is analogous to the relationship between Jesus and the Father.  This is what the community witnesses to the world.  Their mission is to keep this experience of faith alive in the community, so that they can offer it to a broken and fractured world.”[i]

Now, while unity is a theme we can get our heads around, unity is a practice we seldom live or experience.  Disunity is our lived experience.  One look at the deep, seemingly irreconcilable differences between political positions would be enough for any of us to understand how fantastical unity sounds.  But disunity is not just in the wider world.  Just this week in Discovery Class we were talking about how theological differences around the sacraments are what created the array of denominational differences within the Christian body – the reason why some of us are not welcome at the communion table in other denominations.  And that does not even address the differences of opinion the various churches hold on the role and place of women, LGBTQ members, and people of color.  But the lack of unity gets even closer to home right here at Hickory Neck.  I have long touted the unity of Hickory Neck across political and theological differences.  The unifying symbol of us of gathering together around the table has instilled in me a deep belief that if we can be one in communion, surely unity is possible in the world.  But even I, in the last six months have wondered if external pressures would prove that our unity is not as a strong as I think. 

That is why, for this one time in particular, I am grateful for John’s repetitive circular language.  Jesus’ final words of prayer today are, “I made your name known to them, and will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.”  As one scholar says, “The last word is love.  Jesus does not call for doctrinal unity, organizational unity, or political unity.  So often, Christ’s prayer for his disciples has been used to sanctify those ends, and even to justify the harsh imposition of artificial unity.  Yet this prayer is for unity that grows out of the love of God, received and shared among his followers, leading to an experience of unity in love between Jesus and his followers, and with the one from whom Christ comes.  In moments of communion, surely the debates about the nature of God and humanity, the questions of whether divine grace or human will is the means of unity, all of these must fade away, leaving only the burning vision of a cross and the words, ‘For God so loved the world…’”[ii]

My fear that the unity I have witnessed at Hickory Neck would unravel was perhaps based on the idea that we could humanly will our unity to stay together.  But John’s gospel today reminds me that the only reason we are not unraveling is not because we have willed our unity, but because the love we have found in Jesus – the same triune love experienced within the three persons of the trinity – is what holds us together.  Jesus’ prayer today is not a prayer for those disciples who heard the prayer.  Jesus’ prayer today was for us – the future generations who would exist only through the love that the divine has given us – that circular, sometimes confusing, but ever convincing love in us and through us.  Our work is in that last part – that love going through us.  The love of Jesus for us in this prayer is not just for us – but is the gift that emanates through us out in the world.  As Lewis says of this prayer, “Jesus is no longer in the world.  The incarnation is over.  Jesus has been resurrected.  He ascended to the Father from whence he came.  But we are still in the world.  Jesus’ works are now in our hands, and Jesus is counting on us to be his presence in the wake of his absence.”[iii]  That charge would be daunting if not for Jesus’ prayer of promise – we can be that presence because the love that was in Jesus is now in us, breathing, transforming, and blessing the world through love.  Amen.

[i] William R. Herzog, II, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 545.

[ii] Peter J.B. Carman, “Theological Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 544.

[iii] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014),214.

Sermon – John 18.1-19.43, GF, YC, April 18, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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There is something about Good Friday and the passion narrative from John’s gospel that is gruelingly convicting.  On most days we do a pretty good job of convincing others and ourselves that we are fine – that we are working hard, trying to love and serve others, and be a faithful follower of Christ.  But if we are honest, part of what is so hard about facing Good Friday is that facing Good Friday means facing ourselves – facing our failures, our sinfulness, our lack of ability or even willingness to actually follow Jesus. 

I confess that the last four months, one of my coping mechanisms for facing the state of our country has been to read, listen to, and watch less news.  I was finding that my mental health was getting diminished the more time I spent reading, listening, and watching the news, so I just stopped.  I filled the void with music, or people, or movement, but not with knowledge.  That has been my method of coping, to shut out the ugly, painful, and evil, because the alternative has felt overwhelming – so overwhelming that I can scarcely put together words around my devastation about who and how we have become, especially as people of faith.

But coming here, listening to John’s words, engaging in the Good Friday liturgy feels like the exact opposite.  Listening to that passion narrative feels like standing in an ocean of sinfulness, failures, and all that is not of God, and having waves of devastation hit us over and over and over again.  If we are really listening and really being honest with ourselves, all of the bad of this story is not bad that others do – but bad that we have all done at some point in our lives.  We grieve over Judas because we too at times have thought we knew better than Jesus and took matters into our own betraying hands.  We grieve over Peter because we too have prioritized our survival instinct over faithfulness.  We grieve over Caiaphas because we too have argued our way through the ethics of choosing the lesser of two evils instead of not choosing an evil at all.  We grieve over Pilate, seeing how hard he tried to do the right thing, because we too have caved under peer pressure and fear.  We grieve over the chief priests who are caught up in anger and the desire to remove a thorn from their sides because we too have often wished that someone difficult would just go away.  We grieve over soldiers who follow orders even when they know they are doing wrong, because we too have towed the company line.[i]   

Coming to church on Good Friday is our way of turning the news back on, sitting in the ashes, being fully and honestly ourselves in ways that we rarely do because doing so is painful, vulnerable, and scary.  But doing so also opens us up.  When we allow ourselves to face the fullness of human depravity – the fullness of our own depravity that we try so desperately to hide – we open up a path in the darkness to the light.  We agree to this exercise of turning on the news because we trust that the Church can empower us into another way – can help us find light and life in the ocean of darkness and death. 

When I was training to become a priest, I spent a summer serving as a chaplain in a hospital.  The days were long, and you never knew what situations would be thrown at you – from folks making their way through routine surgeries, to people in the ICU unable to communicate what landed them there, to people holding vigil with a beloved (or dreaded) family member.  I remember one day in particular getting paged up to a floor for someone approaching death.  When I arrived, the nurses told me the family had left for the day, but the patient of the family would likely die in the next hour.  The family lived further than an hour away, and had asked that someone sit with her in their stead.  The nurses had decided I was that someone.  And so, I sat, with someone whose story I did not know, whose faith and piety was unknown to me, and, at that point, with no knowledge of what the moment of death actually looked like.  And so I sat, uncomfortably called to a task I felt completely ill-equipped for, and yet, by my identity as Christian, was called to perform.

In that horrible ocean of Good Friday, there is light in our darkness.  Despite all those faithful people who failed Jesus so horrifically and fully, four people hold vigil.  They show up.  They stay.  And, eventually, by doing exactly what you are doing today – sitting in the inconceivable darkness of Good Friday – they see a glimpse of light.  Three Mary’s (Mary, Jesus’ mother, Mary wife of Clopas and sister of Mary, and Mary Magdalene) and the beloved disciple stand near the cross.  They do not protest, they do not fight, they do scheme.  They hold vigil by Jesus, facing the evil of the crucifixion of the Messiah, and they stay.  They do not run away, they do not cover their ears or eyes, the do not try to mask the ugly in something pretty.  They bear witness together, gathering at the foot of Jesus’ cross, staying fully open to the awfulness of the cross.

In that moment of gathering – of not really doing something other than being present – something transformative happens.  Jesus says some of the words we label as the Last Words of Jesus.  Jesus says to his mom, “Woman, here is your son.”  And then he says to the beloved disciple, “Here is your mother.”  What commentators say about these words is that Jesus created the new family unit with these words.  Now, I get a little skittish when we call church communities families because families are so incredibly complicated and the term “family” can be so loaded – often with negative connotations.  Instead, I might say that, in his abandonment and death on the cross, Jesus creates a path of light – a way to find companionship, community, and Christ – through relationships with Jesus at the center.  Peter Gomes describes the moment beautifully.  He says, “…what we find…is Jesus redefining the concept of family:  What it is, who belongs, and what it does.  It should not surprise us that here on the cross…he now reorganizes human affections.  He redefines human relationships, creates a new family, and in the center of it is to be the remembrance of him.  This is a family that is made not by blood, not by the old way, but by love and care:  that is the new way.”[ii]

On the one hand, this new definition of our relationships is beautiful in and of itself, and perhaps that beauty can sooth all the grief we talked about surrounding this scene.  And, on the other hand, there is a charge in this gift, in this path of light.  For months I have been trying to figure out what the call to us as Christians is at this time – especially for the “family” or “community” here at Hickory Neck that is so diverse in its political expression.  What unites us, that community that we have formed for centuries gathering around the common table is found in this moment in Good Friday.  In the turmoil and divisiveness of this time, Jesus reminds us that we are obligated to one another.  We are parents and children.  We are lovers and loved.  Even, and especially, with those people with whom we have no blood connection to – we are bound to one another in Christ.  And it matters when members of our gifted community are being persecuted, are being made afraid, are being made “other” – are essentially being booted out of our community of love.  In this turbulent time, we cannot run off, we cannot avoid, we cannot seek the lesser of evils.  We can gather at the cross and bear witness – bear witness to the encompassing love of Christ and the community to whom we are now obligated to love too.  In a world where we may feel like there is no way, Jesus breathes words of love and life into every one of us – words that cannot be contained in our own lungs and hearts and souls.

I do not know where this path of light in the darkness will take us.  I do not know how Jesus is calling you to be mother or father or son or daughter.  I do know that even in the darkest of days, Jesus sees light in you.  Jesus sees goodness in you.  Jesus see possibility in you.  And if we have nothing left to celebrate, we can walk out of here today commissioned in love and light.  Amen.

[i] Jim Green Somerville, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 300, 302.

[ii] Peter J. Gomes, The Preaching of the Passion:  The Seven Last Words from the Cross (Cincinnati:  Forward Movement Publications, 2002), 32

Sermon – Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21, AW, YC, March 5, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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If I were to say to you that there are two services that attract the most non-members each year, which two services would you guess?  Christmas and Easter?  In part, you could be right – there are definitely a lot of guests at Christmas and Easter.  But proportionately, when talking members and non-members, I notice we get more guests at Blue Christmas and Ash Wednesday – especially if we include Ashes to Go in our Ash Wednesday count. 

So what about Blue Christmas or Ash Wednesday is so appealing to someone who doesn’t regularly attend church?  Having just been a part of Ashes to Go in our parking lot with lots of guests, I think there is something very real, honest, and vulnerable about services on Ash Wednesday that do not always happen on a Sunday or especially on festivals like Christmas and Easter.  On Ash Wednesday, the church gives us permission to bring our real, broken, hurting, mortal selves to a space, to acknowledge our fragility and hurt, and to bless the fullness of our selves – the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

Now to some, this may feel a little too self-centered.  As we impose ashes, the choir will chant from Psalm 51 tonight:  “Wash me through and through from my wickedness and cleanse me from my sin.  For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.  Against you only have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight.  And so you are justified when you speak and upright in your judgment.”  Perhaps that is the appeal of this day – the opportunity to take a moment for the self and really ponder where we are with God and this life.  Those ashes will be grittily spread on my forehead, the penitence and fasting are my work to do, and death is mine alone to face.  Everything about today is about my own journey with God.

Stephen and I were just debating about this reality for Lent in general.  We are making plans for Holy Week and we have a service with gospel songs and meditations.  I was excited about the possibility of the service and Stephen quipped, “It’s a little self-centered, don’t you think?  What about worrying about others and the rest of the world?!?”  The truth is, the season of Lent that we start today and end on Good Friday is sort of a both-and experience.  This is a season we are called into self-examination and repentance.  AND, this is also a season where we examine the sinfulness in the world in which we are complicit.

That both-and experience is what Jesus was worried about in our gospel lesson today.  Jesus talks a great deal about personal piety and not showing off in front of others – to not to let others seeing you give alms, pray, or fast.  But as I studied Matthew again this year, I reread something that brought me up short.  All those warnings Jesus makes, “Beware of practicing your piety before others…whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet…when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites…whenever you fast, do not look dismal…”, all of those warnings are not in the singular.  They are actually in the plural.[i]  So the words are more like, beware of practicing you all’s piety.  Or maybe in southern speak, “when all ya’ll pray…” Jesus is not criticizing or singling out you or you or me.  Jesus is singling out the community of the faithful.

That may sound like semantics, but there is something quite dramatic about Jesus speaking in the plural versus the singular.  Every week in Sunday services, we confess our sins.  But we confess them communally.  Communal confession is an extraordinary event.  While we may feel lost or despondent about our inability to live in the light of Christ as individuals, when we communally confess, a room of voices is saying with you, “Me too!”

One of the things I grieved during the pandemic was our inability to gather in person.  I loved that we had and continue to have an online community – especially for our homebound, our busy members, or for those meeting Hickory Neck for the first time.  But our necessary isolation during the pandemic naturally led to a pattern of looking inward – sometimes so much so that we forgot we are not alone – that there is a whole community of faith who is walking this journey with us and struggling just as we are.  There is something quite powerful about listening to the voices of the 7-year-old next to the 77-year-old – the person who looks so put together next to the person who is clearly struggling – the dad with children next to the widow – all confessing together.  Week in and week out, those myriad voices remind us we are not alone.

Tonight’s service very much calls us into reflection and repentance.  But our invitation tonight as we enter Lent is to remember that the act of reconciliation and redemption does not only happen alone.  We all are invited into a holy Lent.  We all are invited into prayer, fasting, and alms giving.  We all are invited to remember we are dust.  In person, online, and hybrid together, we are not only invited into solo, parallel journeys.  But also, our journeys are strengthened and made possible through the companionship of community.  You are not alone.  We are in this together – all y’all.  And Jesus lights the way for us all.  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, as described on the podcast, “Sermon Brainwave:  #889: Ash Wednesday –Rebroadcast from February 22, 2023,” February 25, 2025, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/889-ash-wednesday-rebroadcast-from-february-22-2023 on March 4, 2025.

On Ashes and Dust…

05 Wednesday Mar 2025

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Phot credit: https://www.yamaha.com/en/musical_instrument_guide/pipeorgan/maintenance/

Last year our parish was donated a new pipe organ.  We have been eagerly waiting for the deconstruction of our current organ and the installation of the new one.  The time has finally come, we said a prayer of blessing on the current organ, and we have been waiting and watching as the process begins.  Ideally this wouldn’t be staring just days before Ash Wednesday, but I suppose there is no “perfect” time to deconstruct your worship space.

Knowing we are in a liminal time of deconstruction and reconstruction, I had not thoroughly thought through the impact this time would have on our experience of Ash Wednesday.  But walking into the Chapel this morning, seeing the pipes mostly gone, and the guts of our current organ exposed, I was hit by a sadness I couldn’t quite place.  Almost 20 years of music from that organ has filled our worship space, countless talented individuals have made the organ sing, and even more moments of sacred encounters with God have happened through that instrument.  Seeing the organ exposed today did something that left me unsettled. 

Photo credit: https://annkroeker.com/2011/03/09/there-back-again-my-first-ash-wednesday/

When I necessarily turned my attention to preparing for tonight’s Ashes to Go and Ash Wednesday service, I realized what was so unsettling.  Ash Wednesday is all about reminding us of our mortality, our finitude, and our vulnerability before God.  When those gritty ashes are scraped across my forehead and I am told that I will return to dust, that texture and those words linger with me.  So too, as that organ case sits gaping and open, with dust motes floating in the air, our worship space has suddenly become the perfect metaphor for entering a Holy Lent.

I wonder what gaping holes Ash Wednesday is exposing for you.  I wonder where your spiritual life is feeling dusty and in need of some care.  As always, you are most welcome to engage at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church for some tending – to find a connection with God that might be missing, to heal some holes that have been exposed for too long, and to find a place of belonging, because, believe me, you are not alone.  Welcome to Lent.

Photo credit: Stephen Trumbull; reuse with permission only

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, December 1, 2024

04 Wednesday Dec 2024

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Many years ago, when my husband and I were driving from our honeymoon in the Outer Banks back home to Delaware, we decided to take the scenic route.  At the time, the idea of a scenic drive sounded romantic.  We were excited to take the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel.  And of course, as newlyweds, we were just excited to have more time together.  But by hour ten, I thought I was going to lose my mind.  I devolved into a whiny mess who could not keep still and who huffed and puffed in frustration.  I kept shifting around and fidgeting in my seat, and I am pretty sure I groaned at some point, “Are we there yet?!?”  Any notion of a romantic journey was lost – all I wanted was to get home immediately.

I feel similarly about Advent.  As a priest well-trained in preaching from the lectionary, I know I am supposed to be appreciative of the intentional ways in which the lectionary shapes, prepares, and teaches us.  But as soon as Advent starts, I struggle not to get overly excited.  I think about the Advent candles, the beautiful blue vestments, and the greenery.  And because I know what is waiting for us on December 24th, I turn into that car-trapped honeymooner, complaining, “Are we there yet?!?”  Since I know a baby is coming, all I want to think about is Mary’s pregnancy, her relationship with Joseph, and the long journey to Bethlehem.  I am not saying I need to celebrate baby Jesus right away, but I at least would like to throw a baby shower or see Mary’s baby bump.

But that is not how Advent is presented to us in the beginning of Advent.  Instead of talking about the first coming of the Christ child, we talk about the second coming of Christ.  Instead of giddy, romantic stories about lovers making it work with an unexpected pregnancy, we get dark, foreboding tales of earthly disorder and destruction.  Instead of happy expectation, we get sober warnings to prepare ourselves and to stand guard.  Normally, I do not mind these texts at the beginning of Advent.  Theologically, I understand the concept of framing the first coming of Christ within the second coming.[i]  I understand that in order to appreciate Christ’s birth I need to remember what his birth means many years later.  I understand the need for a warning about being on guard for the second coming – a reminder that I do not get to enjoy all the fun stuff of Christ’s birth without realizing the significance of Christ’s death and return as well.  But emotionally, I am tired of being on guard.  I am tired of earthly destruction and political tension.  I am tired of feeling like the end is upon us.

That is what is so hard about Advent this year.  We are already on guard this Advent.  With an election that left us deeply divided, wounded, angry, and some scared; with war, death, and upheaval in the holy land we hope to celebrate in four weeks; and with natural disasters wiping out whole towns and transportation systems, we know all too well the reality of living in fear, guardedness, and preparation for the darkness of this world.  And quite frankly, when we come to church, especially in this season of preparing for the Christ Child, the last thing we want to do is dwell on the darkness.  We want some light from Christ too.

Many years ago, there was a film series called the Hunger Games.  For those of you unfamiliar with the series, the movie featured a dystopian future after a failed revolution.  As punishment for revolting against the Capitol, the Capitol designs what is called The Hunger Games – a battle to the death in which two children from each of twelve districts faces one another in an arena.  Not unlike ancient practices in Rome, and yet uncannily familiar to modern times, the residents of the Capitol watch the games with a detached sense of enjoyment as they cheer for their favorites.  In the first film of the series, President Snow talks to the head of the Games about why they have the games and a winner in the first place.  “Hope:” he explains, “It is the only thing stronger than fear.”  He goes on to say, “A little hope is effective.  A lot of hope is dangerous.”  You see, the President wants to keep people oppressed.  He knows that the people need to fear him – but he balances that fear with a tiny bit of hope so that they do not revolt again:  if they can believe that there is hope for a slightly better life while keeping the status quo, then they will strive to stay in line.  But the hope must be managed so that the hope does not liberate people from submission to the Capitol. 

We could easily live lives of fear when hearing Jesus’ words today about the Second Coming.  We could worry about natural disasters, about violence, and about destruction.  We could hear Jesus’ words about being on guard, being alert at all times, and standing up to raise our heads, and be worried about the burden of constant vigilance.  But Jesus is not trying to scare us into preparation.  Jesus does not want us to live in fear.[ii]  Quite the opposite, Jesus wants to give us a big dose of hope today.  Unlike President Snow, Jesus does not manipulate us by only giving us a small amount of hope.  Though today’s text can feel full of gloom, Jesus, in his weird Jesus way, is actually trying to give a large dose of hope today.  Instead of asking us to cower in fearful anticipation, he is inviting us to stand tall, raise our heads in certainty, and be people of sober, joyful expectation.

In our collect today, we prayed these words, “…give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light…”[iii]  Many of us may question whether we can put on an armor of light in such a despairing world.  Perhaps we worry about being insensitive to the suffering of the world and our communities or maybe we are having a hard time seeing light at all.  But putting on the armor of light is not putting on the armor of denial or dismissiveness.  Putting on the armor of light is an act of seeing and experiencing the deep groaning of our time and proclaiming that God works as an agent of light despite what feels like overwhelming darkness.  By putting on our armor of light, we are acknowledging that “God in Christ is coming because God loves us – because God wants to redeem us.”[iv]  Putting on the armor of light means that despite all that is falling apart in our lives, our communities, and the world around us, we claim hope over despair. 

Now some of us may think that putting on armor is preparing us for battle – that we are going to be dressed for a fight.  But the armor of light is a bit different.  The armor of light requires us to stand tall as beacons of light in the world – much like the lighthouses that line our eastern shores.  Now, I do not mean putting on that armor is a passive act.  In fact, as N.T. Wright explains, our armor is not for an “exciting battle, with adrenalin flowing and banners flying, but the steady tread, of prayer and hope and scripture and sacrament and witness, day by day and week by week.”[v]  Knowing that we are slowly, steadily treading toward Jesus’ return, we need that armor of light more than ever:  to protect us from allowing fear to overcome us, and to remind ourselves of how we are grounded in liberating hope. 

And just in case you are not convinced that you can survive a long, steady tread, the community of faith gathers here every week to witness and wear that armor of light with you.  We are like those freedom fighters from the Civil Rights movement, who steadily marched – from Selma to Montgomery, through the streets of Washington, D.C., and anywhere else where fear was reigning.  Their power was in their numbers, their fortitude, and their hope.  They wore the same armor that we don today.  Yes, we will get to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child soon enough.  But before he comes, when he comes, and after he comes, we will still need to stand up, raise our heads, and be agents of light and hope.  The world needs our light – and so do we.  Amen.

[i] Mariam J. Kamell, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 21.

[ii] David Lose, “Advent 1 C: Stand Up and Raise Your Heads!” November 23, 2015, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/11/advent-1-c-stand-up-and-raise-your-heads/ on November 29, 2024.

[iii] BCP, 211.

[iv] Kathy Beach-Verhey, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 25.

[v] N. T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 260.

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

02 Wednesday Oct 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.

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

11 Wednesday Sep 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.

On the Joy of It Not Being about You…

28 Wednesday Aug 2024

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Photo credit: https://wexnermedical.osu.edu/blog/visit-someone-in-hospital

One of the privileges of the work I do are visitations.  On countless occasions I have visited someone approaching death, someone in the throes of dementia, or someone just bone-weary with illness, and the immediate response when I walk in the door is a huge smile and the lightening of their countenance. 

I am very clear what that reaction is not.  It is not about me:  I have come to understand that the reaction is much more about the collar I wear and associations that collar has with a beloved church community.  It is also not about me bringing God to the room:  God is already there – my presence just sometimes helps people remember that fact.  And the reaction is definitely not about what I bring:  my visit will not physically change the pending death, the continued dementia, or the ongoing suffering – my work is much more about helping the individual find peace and a sense of connection to God in what can feel like a desert.

Despite all the things those smiles and lighter countenances are not, there is still a shared joy in them.  As the parishioner is reminded of God’s grace and love, so am I.  I too take joy in how being a part of a community can make me feel whole.  I too marvel at God’s presence that has gone before me.  I too can receive the peace of Christ in those desert places.  The gift of the visitation is not just for the visited.  The gift is also to the visitor.

I wonder what ways God is inviting you to be that smile and lightened countenance for others.  As schools restart, I see overwhelmed, weary parents, children, and teachers trying to adjust.  As individuals struggle financially, I see the defeated feelings that manifest themselves in hunched body postures and the diminished capacity for hope.  As a caretaker sits through another appointment or misses another engagement, I see a fatigue unlike any other.  To whom is God inviting you, in your daily journey, to be the light of Christ – to be the reminder that God is already there, that a community awaits, and that glimpses of peace can be found?  It is not about you, to be sure.  But you will be blessed as you do the work of blessing too.