Tag Archives: creation

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YC, October 5, 2025

15 Wednesday Oct 2025

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Image credit: https://www.instagram.com/p/CF_31K6sogj/

I was talking to a friend recently who had been on a road trip.  She had stopped for gas and was standing by her car when another car pulled up next to her.  A family piled out of the car, followed by the family’s dog.  My friend was paralyzed in place.  The dog looked exactly like her beloved dog Buddy who had passed away four years ago.  Her eyes immediately watered, and even though four years had passed, an ache appeared in her chest that she thought had long ago gone away forever.  “I just really miss that dog,” she explained later – surprising even herself at how her grief lingered.

I have sometimes wondered if our celebration of St. Francis and the Blessing of the Animals is not a little gimmicky.  We even took our celebration on the road yesterday for the first time, offering to bless animals and their owners whom we have never met, who maybe never harken the door of any church, let alone Hickory Neck’s doors.  But as I thought about my friend’s lingering grief over her dog who had passed, and as I have heard countless stories over the years of cats, horses, Guinea pigs, goats, and even chickens who have been a source of joy, companionship, sometimes consternation, but always love, I understand more fully why we commit to blessing animals and their owners, even if on the surface the practice may seem like a gimmick.

We engage in the blessing of animals because of the inspiration that comes from St. Francis of Assisi.  St. Francis is one of the most beloved saints of the Church.  Most of us think of Francis as the patron saint of animals and creation.  When we think of him, we may think of a St. Francis statue in a garden.  We may think of various images of him preaching to birds.   Some of us may even recall that tale where Francis negotiated peace between a village and a wolf that had been terrorizing the town.  His understanding of animals as his brothers and sisters is why we bless animals on his feast day – the creatures that were so dear to him.  That is also why when we say the Eucharistic prayer [at 10:00 am] today, we will use Prayer C – the one that praises, “the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, and the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home.”[i]

At the heart of our blessings yesterday and today is an understanding that St. Francis had mastered and we continue to understand – that we are bound to all of the creation God created – to the earth, to the earth’s animals, and to one another – even the other humans or other creation we may not like.  Jesus reminds us of the nature of that bond today in his words about following him.  In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Those yokes Jesus talks about were used to harness two animals for work.  The yoke allowed the two not just to double their work, but to rely on one another – if one was tired, the other could push harder; and then the weaker one could later support the stronger one.  Yokes, like Jesus’ work, were easy and made 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.  Francis, who was just as known for helping the poor as he was for befriending animals, understood that all humanity is connected.  He learned that 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 but to open our hearts to all.  Francis’ love for the poor and Francis’ love for creatures were not two separate things – they were one in the same. 

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, yoked to those we see as deserving of God’s grace and those who are not.  Our yoked nature allows us to pray [and later sing] 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.”[ii]  We can do the work of St. Francis, blessing animals, humans, and all creation, because of the yoke of Jesus.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

[i] BCP, 370.

[ii] BCP, 833.

On Finding Our Way to Reconciliation…

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

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Photo credit: https://orionmagazine.org/article/this-land-was-made/

This past week, my family was able to visit The Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Alabama.  The museum artfully and comprehensively presents the “history of the destructive violence that shaped our nation, from the slave trade, to the era of Jim Crow and racial terror lynchings, to our current mass incarceration crisis.”  We have made a point as a family to visit various museums focusing on civil rights, but this museum was the first to tie those four actions in history (slavery, segregation, lynchings, and modern incarceration) so intentionally, powerfully, and succinctly. 

One of the more moving sections for our family was a wall of jars of dirt, of varying colored soil.  As we moved closer, we learned the story of the project through the Equal Justice Initiative.  Family members, researchers, and volunteers worked have worked together to trace every known lynching, visit the site, collect dirt in a large jar, and then label the jar with the name of the victim, the date, and the location of the lynching.  Something about the varying colors of soil from around our country, and the sheer volume of jars was mesmerizing – as though you could see the variation in the victims’ stories, while being reminded of the ways the earth bears witness to the sins of her inhabitants.

As we left the museum, we soberly began talking about impact the museum had on us and what we might like to do differently to be a part of breaking the cycle of violence in our own day.  Inspired by leaders in the closing “Reflection Room,” we realized we all could do something – in our way, in our own place, in our own time.  As a parent, part of my work is exposing my children to the awfulness of our humanity that we do not always discuss – especially recognizing the inherent privilege we have to determine when and how our children know this part of our nation’s story.   But I especially appreciated the invitation to begin wondering where God was uniquely inviting each of us to play a part in the shaping of the future.

I often say the work of racial reconciliation can never be “done” or completed.  Racial reconciliation is lifelong work for us as a country.  But sometimes I worry that the reality that we could never “accomplish” racial reconciliation creates a disincentive to even try – to do anything because it feels so very big.  As we begin a new year, and as we add many resolutions to our plans for 2024, I invite you to pick just one thing you can do to be a part of work of reconciliation – in your own way, your own place, your own time.  God and God’s created order have shown us vividly how far we have to go.  Together, we can find our own place in the history of reconciliation. 

On Children, Questions, and Dignity…

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.adl.org/resources/tools-and-strategies/respecting-dignity-words

We have been having lots of “big” conversations around our house the last couple of weeks.  The first happened when my younger child and I went to shop for our Angel Tree gifts – an annual tradition from our church and the Salvation Army.  Our girls tend to prefer to choose someone their age – perhaps because they feel more equipped to imagine what someone their age wants, or because it helps them feel a sense of camaraderie.  This year, the nine-year old we selected ended up being quite different from the nine-year old in our family.  Though the toys she wanted were familiar, the size of clothing needed made it obvious that the two girls could not be more different.  So, in the middle of a store, I found myself having a deep conversation about genetics, systems of poverty, and the blessed nature of all creation.

Later, the conversation turned heavy again.  Something came across the same nine-year old’s radar about Israel and Palestine, and the barrage of questions were endless and increasingly difficult.  We started with why they were fighting, talked about what each side had done, and what the impact of this war has been.  Eventually we got into the murky waters of the religious backgrounds of the warring sides – careful to talk about the interconnectedness of the Abrahamic faiths.  But then came the gut-punch question, “So, who do we want to win?”  Talking about war and peace, death and destruction, and the biblical complicatedness of the Holy Land was not exactly the conversation I was expecting between school, dinner, and various sports practices.

One of the disadvantages of being a “grown up” is we often think we have things figured out:  capable of complicated thought, educated and experienced, we have seen enough of life to understand its complexities and make judgments based on our learnings.  It is one of the many reasons why I am so grateful for the children in our lives – both my own, but also our community’s children.  As part of their village, our work is to responsibly help them see the complicated, often sinful, nature of humanity, and help them love humanity in all its complexity.  In essence, children help us see why one of the main promises in our baptismal covenant is we will respect the dignity of every human being.

As we bustle around the Advent season, tempted to be too busy to handle anything other than our massive to-do lists, I invite you to slow down.  When we run so fast and when our minds are so occupied, we miss the invitations to respect the dignity of every human being:  from our neighbors impacted by poverty, to the frazzled parent just trying to get their children to school, to the person suffering within their body, to the innocent bystanders of war.  Scripture tells us that each person, when they are at their best or their worst, their strongest or their weakest, their most successful or their most failing, are made in the image of God.  Whether we like them or not, Jesus asks us to respect the dignity of that creation every day.  How might you better respect the dignity of the humans around you today?

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 1, 2023

04 Wednesday Oct 2023

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“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  Whether you are wearied from wrestling your pets this morning (or your kids!), weary from full fall schedules, or weary from illness, anxiety, or bad news, Jesus’ words are words of comfort today.  They remind us of our time of renewal in sabbatical, and we want to cozy into the Gospel words today.

But today is not about Jesus blessing times of rest.  Jesus is actually commissioning disciples.  At this point in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus has been describing the way of discipleship:  serving the poor, working for justice, striving for peace.  Jesus tells them the work will be hard and will make the disciples weary.  To those disciples, Jesus offers a way to reach comfort.  Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Now, I do not know how much you know about yokes, but I have been studying up on yokes this past week.  There are actually two kinds of yokes.  Some yokes are meant for one person.  Imagine, if you will, a person hauling water from a well in village, the yoke over her shoulders, while two buckets full of water hang below.  The yoke distributes the weight of the water, but the yoke is not exactly an easy yoke.  The other kind of yoke is meant for two animals – like two oxen working together.  If one ox gets tired, the other pushes a little harder; later the roles may reverse.  A good yoke balances the work between the animals, without chafing or rubbing.  The work is genuinely easier and lighter.

This second kind of yoke is the metaphor Jesus uses to depict discipleship.[i]  Jesus tells them the work of discipleship will be hard and wearisome.  But when yoked to Jesus, the work will feel light.  So often, when we think of disciples as easing suffering, fighting for the poor, struggling for justice, we think we need to solve the worlds’ problems on our own – that we must use our own gifts to make a difference.  We go unyoked, and we feel overwhelmed and disheartened.[ii]  Even when try to do good work:  building beds for kids in need, buying extra food for food collection Sunday, or donating money to events like our Murder Mystery – we can still become discouraged.  When we think we can go at it alone (or maybe even better than others), we do not get relief in Jesus’ yoke. 

St. Francis, who we honor today, knew all about the yoke of Jesus.  Francis came from a wealthy family, had a rambunctious youth, and enjoyed status and privilege.  But one day he encountered some beggars and lepers and everything changed.  Francis renounced his privilege and wealth, took on poverty, and honored the sick, poor, and disenfranchised.  What Francis discovered was his wealthy had become its own burden of sorts.  Once he yoked himself to Jesus, everything changed.  He began to see Jesus in everyone, even birds to which he preached and the animals for whom he advocated.  Francis yoked himself to Jesus and became a faithful steward of God’s creation – so faithful that we bless animals and rejoice in creation ourselves through music and scripture today.

Now, I know you maybe came today to bless your pet, or maybe to remember a beloved pet who showed you what unconditional love really is.  And while that will bring us comfort today, and we do so with love and laughter, we also do something much bigger.  Today we remember all the instances where we have felt love – in animals, in each other, even in Jesus – and we take that love not only as a comfort, but also as a commission.  Today Jesus invites us outside of ourselves – our worries, our woes, our weariness, and put our attention on those who may need love even more than we do. 

Do not get confused.  I am not asking you to add weight to that single yoke, asking you to add more water to your heavy buckets.  I am inviting you to take off the single yoke and step in a double yoke – to yoke yourself to Jesus, yoke yourself to other disciples in this room.  Take on that yoke of Christ because the yoke is easy and light – and will actually free up your burden.  Jesus will give you the comfort, encouragement, and strength you need.  And you will be enabled to stride forward making an impact right here in James City County.  We will do that work together, because the yoke is easy and the burden is light.  Amen.

[i][i] Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1993), 129.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven:  Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 21.

On Not Really Being Alone…

16 Wednesday Aug 2023

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Beehive Trail Iron Rungs, Acadia National Park (Photo credit: Elaine Ho; reuse with permission)

Last week, I finished up my sabbatical on a trip with college friends to Acadia National Park.  Having been friends for over 26 years, and having traveled together, domestically and abroad, we know each other well – each other’s habits, weaknesses, and strengths.  We know who is most likely to get up early for exercise, who you don’t talk to before they’ve had coffee, and who is a total chicken when it comes to anything adventure related.  That last one would be me.  But since we all know how tentative I am, we all know they will push me to try new adventures anyway, and I will say yes – even if I grumble, curse, and sometimes pray my way through the adventures.

This year’s adventure was hiking the Beehive Loop Trail – a trail with a steep mountain cliff, boulders, exposed ledges, and iron rungs.  We’ve done hikes before, and I’m relatively fit, but this was definitely a difficulty I have never tried and would certainly not have tried of my own volition.  But this is what we do, and so off I went.  I knew the trail was no joke when the first part of the “trail” was actually just a path of small boulders to navigate over.  As we made our way up, I could see the views were going to be amazing.  But I stopped when I got to the first real set of iron rungs.  After a few deep breaths, some encouraging words whispered in my ear, I grabbed the first rung.  As I scanned for where to place my feet, I could see worn footholds from thousands of hikers before me.  As we walked along ledges, the skinny tree trunks I used as handholds were smooth from those same thousands of hikers who had grabbed them before me.  When the hikers in front of us were moving slowly and we just had to stand on narrow ledges waiting for our turn, I hugged the rock cliff beside us. 

Nature’s handrails, Beehive Trail, Acadia National Park (Photo credit: Elizabeth Shows Caffey; reuse with permission)

During that hike, I slowly realized the reason I say yes to these challenging women is not because I’m avoiding conflict or caving to peer pressure.  I say yes because I am never alone in my yes.  Whether it is my amazing friend who refuses to bound ahead because she knows that if I slip or start to panic, she will catch me and encourage me ever so gently.  Whether it is the guidance of travelers before me who have left their wisdom behind.  Whether it is in God’s creation herself who stands strong when we need her.  So, as I mutter the reminder, “I love these women…” like it’s both a curse and a blessing, I am reminding myself I am not alone.  When I sigh in profound gratitude, “Thank you, tree,” I am reminding myself that God has not left me comfortless.  When I watch out-of-shape elders, and seemingly too young youngsters, being cheered on and reaching the top, I am reminded that none of us is alone. 

I wonder what challenges you are facing today that feel like a challenge you are facing alone.  I could have faced that mountain ledge or those crazy iron rungs and thought, “I am utterly alone in this.  Only I can take each step, ascend each level.  This is my battle to face.”  But just as I was never alone – and not just with my three other friends, but with countless generations of hikers, and centuries old formations of God’s creation, we are not alone in the challenges we face either.  How many times have we cried out to God for help, only to find a friend or stranger unexpectedly accompanying us?  Sometimes that worn foothold is hard to notice in the face of panic.  Sometimes the smoothness of that tree trunk is barely noticeable because we are gripping so hard or trying to move forward so quickly.  But God is with us, giving us companions for the journey.  We are not alone.

Sabbatical Journey…On Spacious Skies

07 Friday Jul 2023

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Oh beautiful, for spacious skies

For amber waves of grain

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain

Grand Teton National Park (reuse with permission only)

Our last couple of days on our cross-country journey are mostly comprised of driving – seeing more states and the scenery of this country.  On days like today, when I literally see amber waves of grain, and I have already seen purple mountain majesties, I am once again reminded of part of why we did this trip:  to see the beauty of God’s creation in its many forms.  Today we drove on a road lined with trees – something we have not done in weeks.  Some days the vistas were all in hues of reds, oranges, and browns.  Other days were vivid greens.  On other days we could see nothing but blue skies.

In the Book of Common Prayer there is a collect for joy in God’s creation.  It says, “O heavenly Father, who hast filled the world with beauty:  Open our eyes to behold thy gracious hand in all thy works; that, rejoicing in thy whole creation, we may learn to serve thee with gladness; for the sake of him through whom all things were made, thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.”[i]  This trip has been one that has certainly opened my eyes to see God at work in God’s creation.  It has been a feast for the eyes, and no matter how many pictures I snap, I will never capture the true beauty of this gift God has given us.

Today, I invite you to take a look at God’s creation around you.  Certainly, traveling thousands of miles around the country will inspire you, but so can pausing at a flower bed, gazing at an old, wizened tree, or taking in some clouds or stars.  Watching a world of beauty whirl around you – something entirely not man-made – may give you the gift of perspective, humility, and joy.  God has great plans for you, and gifts you beauty everyday!

[i] Book of Common Prayer, 814.

Sabbatical Journey…On Sabbaticals within Sabbaticals

30 Friday Jun 2023

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Time for S’mores! (Reuse with permission)

If you are following this blog, you may have noticed that our family’s version of sabbatical is not really about rest.  Our sabbatical is more about getting out of your comfort zone, seeing the beauty of God’s creation, and making amazing memories.  But even sabbatical adventurers sometimes need a day of rest.  One of our crew was not feeling 100% today, so we left him behind and saw just a morning’s worth of the national park we wanted to visit instead of a whole day.  Seeing him have some down time made us realize maybe we all needed a little down time.  So instead of making memories out in the wild, we made memories resting in our lovely hotel.  It wasn’t dreamy or romantic, but it was very much lifegiving.

I was thinking how hard it is for all of us to give ourselves rest.  Our weekends are often a break from the work week or school week, but we want to enjoy them so much we often overly jam pack them – with sports commitments, attending events, meeting up with friends, or just getting out and about town.  Somehow rest on the weekend feels like wasting the weekend.  Part of my own sabbatical and my parish’s sabbatical was not necessarily scheduling a bunch of naps, but about creating space outside of the normal pace of life to reconnect – with God, with one another, with ourselves.

If you are not a part of our parish’s sabbatical (although if you are local, feel free to join any of the fun events found HERE), perhaps you can make this summer about finding mini sabbatical times too.  Maybe that means making space for prayer, finding your way to a church service (either in person or online), or taking on a spiritual practice.  Maybe it means engaging in an activity that helps you connect with God in a way that you haven’t tried before.  Or maybe it means taking a deep breath and really seeing the goodness all around you.  I promise, you’ll be grateful for the energizing your “sabbatical” can create!

Sabbatical Journey…On Seeing through Song

28 Wednesday Jun 2023

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Chapel of the Transfiguration, Episcopal, Grand Teton National Park (reuse with permission only)

After a day of exploring the magnificent Grand Tetons, seeing beautiful waterfalls, peaceful lakes and rivers, we closed the day with a covered wagon dinner and show.  I had been pondering the beauty of this day, when the western quartet closed the show with the old hymn, “How Great Thou Art.”  If you are not familiar with the hymn, the lyrics are:

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works Thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy pow’r thru-out the universe displayed!

Chorus
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When thru the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze,

Repeat Chorus

I could not have asked for a better summary of this day.  As I saw the enormity of the mountains, I stood I awesome wonder.  As I listened to a different familiar hymn being played in rustic chapel, I remember thinking I could look at the views all day from that beautiful space.  As I watched the calm lake, I marveled at the reflection of God’s creation.  As I heard the roar of waterfalls, I felt in my chest the way that God’s love sometimes roaringly overpowers me.  And as the mist of the falls kissed my face, I remember thinking, “My God, how great thou art!”

Sometimes words fail me, especially when encountering so much of God’s inspiring creation.  So often, the artistry of song has helped me shape words my mouth could not.  Tonight, singing that song “How Great Thou Art,” with the help of guitars and a fiddle, I knew immediately those were the words I could not articulate all day.  Other times, sacred songs have come to me in sorrow, in anxiety, and in longing.  I hardly ever choose the songs.  And sometimes I must sit in silence for a long while before the songs pop into my head.  In these times, the songs feel like gifts from God, who knows I need a way to express the inexpressible.

What songs are you longing to hear?  I would love to hear how the Holy Spirit has flitted through your longing heart and given you a song.       

Sabbatical Journey…on Finding Awesomeness

22 Thursday Jun 2023

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O Lord, how manifold are thy works!  In wisdom hast thou made them all:  the earth is full of thy riches.  Psalm 104.24

Grand Canyon South Rim (photo by Simone Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only)

Today is the day of my sabbatical I have been most eagerly anticipating.  Today we saw the Grand Canyon.  I had heard many testimonies about the Grand Canyon:  that it is the definition of “awesome,” that pictures cannot do it justice, that it is beyond description.  Quite frankly, the hype made me a bit nervous, because I did not want the reality of my experience to be less than all those things.  And because I have been longing to see the Grand Canyon for as long as I can remember, today started with a lot of nervous energy.

Here is what I found:  all the things people say about the Grand Canyon are true.  There is a way in which when looking at the vastness of the expanses, the vibrancy of colors, the majesty of shapes, my brain almost felt fuzzy – as though my cognitive abilities could not function to describe what was in front of me.  The first experience was certainly awe – I now understand what that word “awesome” actually means.  The second experience was that fuzzy cognitive dissonance.  But the next experience was what really got me.  As I stared into the magnificence of the Grand Canyon, and marveled at the beauty of God’s creation, I slowly began to understand the enormity of God.  So often I have tried to explain God to those struggling to believe, and looking at this awesome canyon made me realize I can never capture God fully.  And that’s when the waterworks started – my tears of recognition of how vast God is and how incredibly tiny each of us is.

I think my tears were about something else today too.  What is even more overwhelming about the contrast in God’s brilliant magnificence, and my seeming insignificance, is the reality that God also desires to be in relationship with me.  I did not leave the Grand Canyon feeling small.  I left the Grand Canyon feeling humbled and adored.  And what’s more, I think everyone around me could feel that too – as we took turns taking each other’s pictures, as we caught each other gasping or muttering our adoration, as we glimpsed each other’s broad smiles.  There is a sacredness in God’s creation – but that sacredness is in us too.  Sometimes you have to walk to the edge of sacredness to understand your own beloved sacredness. 

So, in case you do not have a trip planned to the Grand Canyon too, or maybe you will never be able to go in your lifetime, I want you to know that our God is magnificently beyond our grasp, and yet ever tangibly present in you and me.  You are made in God’s image, and you are awesome too. 

Father Almighty, wonderful Lord, Wonderous Creator, be ever adored; Wonders of nature sing praises to You, Wonder of wonders – I may praise too!  (prayer found in the South Rim Village of the Grand Canyon)

On Being a Chameleon Traveler…

15 Thursday Jun 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.primerrily.com/post/frontporchparenting

I have been formed in two worlds of travel.  The first world of formation was in my childhood, when travel was mostly for the purpose of visiting family.  There were two primary experiences on those trips.  The first was what we called, “visiting,” where people gathered in living rooms or on porches and just talked and caught up for hours.  Kids weren’t really entertained – just expected to participate in the conversation.  The second activity was playing cards and table games – hours and hours of games. 

The second world of formation emerged when I married into a family with a very different expression of travel.  Travel for my newfound family was about seeing things, getting out and doing things, and trying new experiences.  We certainly talked as much as my family of origin, but usually en route to somewhere.  Activities were often planned months in advance, and schedules were part and parcel of travel.  Consequently, after almost twenty-two years of marriage, I have become a chameleon:  just as happy to sit and visit and play games as I am to get out and see the world.

Photo credit: https://www.cnbc.com/select/how-to-save-on-travel/

So, when I convinced four seminary friends to join me for a sabbatical getaway over a year ago, I did not think about the fact that the five of us had never traveled together.  Only in the weeks leading up to our trip did that realization hit me.  In which world of travel were these friends formed?  Did we need an itinerary?  Did I need to pack some games?  How in the world do you pack for a trip when you don’t know what kind of travelers you are traveling with?!?

When I planned my sabbatical, I did not realize how much my plans reflected my chameleon travel nature.  This past week with friends was certainly the “visiting” kind.  I didn’t see any of the local sites (except the amazing beach!).  But I heard stories untold over the last several years of pandemic, recalled inside jokes, played new games, and laughed – a lot!  Next week, I embark on the other world of travel in which I have been formed:  seeing parts of our country I have longed to see and experiencing new adventures.  Of course, we’ll have plenty of time in the car to “visit” – whether we want to or not!  Somehow, I am unintentionally getting the best of both worlds of travel.

One of my learnings from sabbatical is that my different modes of travel are teaching me about being open to the joys of God’s creation in whatever modes of storytelling God presents.  I suspect seeing new sights and the breadth of God’s creation out west will be just as lifegiving as sitting around a game table with longtime friends.  There is a sacred fullness to this time that is filling my tank for ministry.  My prayer is that you are able to see the variety of ways God is filling your tank too these days!