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Sermon – Luke 23.33-43, P29, YC, November 20, 2016

23 Wednesday Nov 2016

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Today I have a confession.  I am tired.  After the election two weeks ago, and struggling to understand how vastly different the kingdom of God is from the kingdom of man, I found myself not emboldened, but just tired.  As our country and the world has tried to absorb what America’s decision means, as sides seem to dig in their heels – identifying all sorts of ways in which their side has been right, and as uncertainty, instead of peace, seem to rise, I find myself, quite simply, tired.  I was certainly given some opportunities for redemption.  Our Celebration of a New Ministry filled with me such joy that the evening felt like a redemptive group hug.  While reading the psalms appointed for evening prayer this week, I found several verses full of righteous indignation and a call against enemies.  The words felt cathartic, but later, left me feeling empty, as I know vengeance is not the answer.  Even at our Clergy Conference this week, we took some time to talk about how to navigate the results of the election as leaders of churches.  Though I appreciated the gift of that time from the Bishop, I could tell that most of us were filled with the same uncertainty that everyone else is feeling.  And, like a dutiful priest, I keep trying to stay tuned in to the news so that I am sure we are being relevant – but that, too, makes me tired.

As I turned to our gospel lesson for today, I was hoping for some bit of encouragement – some promise that everything would be okay.  Knowing today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday in the liturgical year whose text should bring into focus the point of a year of journeying with Christ, I had hoped that there would be some sort of rallying text that would invigorate me and shake me out of my emotional and spiritual exhaustion.  But instead, on this day when we honor Christ our King, what is the image we are given?  A beaten, humiliated, ridiculed, discredited, shameful shell of a man, hanging on a cross, defeated in the approaching death.  We do not get Christ risen from the grave today – the ultimate Easter message.  No, today we get Good Friday – our hoped-for Messiah, seemingly defeated on the cross.  Of course, he dies with great dignity, forgiving sinners until the very end, welcoming the repentant even on their last breath, resisting every urge strike back or at least refute the charges against him.  He dies with dignity, but he dies nonetheless.

As we close out this liturgical year and prepare to begin a new year with the season of Advent, I have been thinking a lot about the other version of Christ we will soon be talking about – the Christ Child.  As I meditated on Christ the King, imagining his battered body, whose mother is not far away, I wondered if she too is thinking back to those early days with her infant.  I imagine every mother has some hopes and dreams for whom her child might become.  Maybe they have specific hopes of power and influence for their child.  Certainly, at the very least, they hope their child will be a decent, respectful human being.  But Mary could be tempted to dream much more for her child – shepherds, angels, and wise men told her to expect great things.  I wonder how she sits at that cross, devastated at what had come of her son’s journey.  Of course, her son never really had an overwhelmingly positive journey.  He was run out of towns; people were constantly trying to trick him into saying something incriminating; though those who were healed were often happy, more often, people were upset about Jesus’ healing ministry; and although they had that parade just a few days ago for her son, how quickly they had turned against him.  As she sits at the foot of that cross, I wonder if she is, at the root of her being, just plain tired.

I have often thought it is strange how the cross, and not the empty tomb is our primary Christian symbol.  That we use an instrument of death as our sign for victory is rather odd.  But today we do not just honor Christ’s death on the cross; we honor how he died on the cross.  Even in death Christ our King managed to love his neighbor – even the really bad neighbors.  Even in death, Christ managed to love God – inviting God to forgive even the most hateful behavior.  Even on the cross, Jesus never loses his focus.  Jesus never gets tired.

Just like the kingdom of God is different, so is the king of God.  The people of God never really had a king until they reached the Promised Land.  They saw the neighboring countries with their armies and their admirable kings, and they wanted one for themselves.  That was their first mistake.  God granted them a king to rule over them, but inevitably, the kings, like any humans, were flawed – some more than others.  Hence, there are four books in the Hebrew Scriptures about the kings who ruled and the judges who tried to correct their behavior.  Most of the kings were corrupted by power, money, and greed.  Many abused the people.  Even the most revered king, King David, was a bit of a mess.  But Jesus is not like foreign kings or the kings of Israel.  Jesus’ kingship is different.  He loves the poor and cares for the sick, he sees through the pretenses of the temple and calls for authenticity, he loves deeply and forgives infinitely.[i]  And he never tires of being this kind of king.

For most of us, looking to Jesus as an example of how to rally out of our fatigue and weariness may feel overwhelming to our tired selves.  Instead, I found looking at the repentant thief to be helpful.  You see, the thief was probably tired too.  Anyone who is a thief has been hustling long before he gets caught.  He may have even been caught several times before for more minor offenses.  His arrest this time is different.  There will be no escape.  He will hang on that cross until he dies.  With the cruelty of the cross, and the pain of his body, also shining forth is an overwhelming sense of fatigue.  He too is tired.  Tired of running, tired of hustling, tired of the life that leads one to become a thief.  But even in his deep fatigue, he does something extraordinary.  When the other thief taunts Jesus, the repentant thief lets the other thief have it.  Hanging in agony, he looks outside himself, and refuses to stand for the hypocrisy of the other thief.  He decries the injustice of Jesus’ sentence, he wisely points out his own, as well as the other’s, culpability in sin, and then, without shame looks right at Jesus and asks Jesus to remember him.

Even at our most weary, tired states, when we feel like there is no hope, or when death feels ever present, Jesus invites us to keep shining our light for all to see.[ii]  Our gospel this week is full of people doing just that:  taking their world of hurt, pain, sadness, sorrow, defeat, seeming hopelessness, and turning toward the light.[iii]  Mary and the other women eventually find their light despite their fatigue.  The thief hanging in humiliation and death finds his light.  And Jesus, defeated in the eyes of all but the thief today, keeps shining his light until the bitter end.  Christ our King invites us to do likewise.  Of all people, Jesus understood being tired.  His cry out to God in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane is a prayer of a tired man.  But Jesus stood up that night, all the way to the cross on Calvary and refused to let fatigue be an excuse for a world without love, hope, and forgiveness.  Our king may not look like other kings.  His story may be strange and full of contradictions.  But our king has the power to pull you out of darkness and drag you into the light.  But along the way, he is going to need you to shine your light too.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Christ the King C:  What Kind of King Do You Want?” November 14, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/11/christ-the-king-c-what-kind-of-king-do-you-want/ on November 16, 2016.

[ii] Caroline Lewis, “Who and What is Your King?” November 13, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4754 on November 17, 2016.

[iii] Patrick J. Willson, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 337.

Sermon Luke 21.5-19, Isaiah 65.17-25, P28, YC, November 13, 2016

23 Wednesday Nov 2016

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One of the things you will learn about me as we grow together is that I generally avoid politics in the pulpit.  I avoid talking about politics because one of the blessings of the Episcopal Church is that we represent a wide range of political viewpoints.   Though some would like to categorize our church as liberal because of some of our national Church decisions, our membership is diverse.  Most of the time our diversity is a gift.  Our diversity means that we cannot become an echo chamber, always preaching to the proverbial choir.  We will have differences of opinion, we will argue and debate about how scripture is applied in modern life, and we will be forced to agree to disagree when we come to the table each week.  We are one of the rare denominations who walk that fine line well, and that ability is one of the things I love about the Episcopal Church.

The curse of our diversity means that we will rarely be on the same page about an issue on any given Sunday.  That reality is most glaringly obvious on a Sunday like this one:  the first Sunday after one of the most contentious elections in modern history.  As I step into this pulpit today, I am aware that there are people in this room who feel like we made a good decision on Tuesday – a decisive vote to do business differently on a national level.  I am aware that there are people in this room who are gravely disappointed by the decision we made on Tuesday.  They feel a range of emotions, including sadness, disappointment, hurt, anger, fear, and threat.  I am also aware that there are people in this room who do not put too much credence in what happened Tuesday.  They may have voted, but they did not feel like there were any good options, and so they were resigned to be dissatisfied with whatever the outcome would be.

The trouble with our scripture lessons from Luke and Isaiah today is that they tempt us to conflate what has happened in our political sphere this week with the kingdom of God.  Teaching at the Temple, Jesus predicts the destruction of the Temple.  When asked when this will take place and what the signs will be, Jesus’ answer is dire.  He warns of false prophets; wars and insurrections; nations rising up against each other; earthquakes, famines, and plagues; betrayals by family and friends; and personal arrests and persecutions.  Conversely, Isaiah prophesies of the coming kingdom:  where there will be no weeping or distress; people will live into old age; people will stay on their land and their fruits will prosper; and the wolf and the lamb will feed together.  We could look at these two worlds – the world of destruction and judgment and the world of the peaceful kingdom and easily say, “Well because my candidate won or lost, we will be dealing with either the day of doom or the day of the peaceful kingdom.”  The scripture today tantalizingly tempts us to look at these last five days and say with either dread or joy, “The kingdom of God has come near.”  But I would argue that that kind of conflating is not only false, but also ascribes too much power to humans.

Eight years ago, I voted for Barak Obama.  I remember feeling like he could bring us into a new era.  He talked about hope, and I felt filled with a sense of hope and renewal.  He made a lot of promises, many of which felt in line with what I would call gospel living.  When he took office, I remember holding on to that sense of hope.  I should not have been surprised years later when I became disappointed with some of Obama’s decisions.  My idyllic sense of hope began to deflate, and I remember several people talking about how disappointed they were – as if Obama was a false prophet or failed messiah.  As soon as that rhetoric surfaced, I realized the fatal flaw of my vote of confidence in Obama.  I had placed Obama in the role of Messiah – someone who would bring about the reign of God.  Suddenly, I realized how unfair, and quite frankly, unchristian, that expectation was.  Obama would never be the Messiah I wanted because I already had a Messiah.  No president could ever represent Christ effectively, because we only have one Messiah.  Not until I had that realization was I able to see politics a little differently.  Though I strongly encourage us all to be involved in the political life of our country, and I also strongly encourage us to use our Christian ethics as a moral compass in electing officials, I am also keenly aware that no political servant can ever be a messiah, because every political servant is a flawed human, just like you and me.  Likewise, I am also ever more aware that Jesus was not a Democrat or a Republican, because political parties are made up of flawed human beings with flawed abilities to fully represent the gospel of Jesus Christ.

So where does that leave us?  Are we supposed to step back from political activism if the political system is inherently flawed?  Scholars have debated this issue for centuries.  In their book Resident Aliens, Stanley Hauerwas and Will Willimon argued that Christians should be in the world, but not of the world.  They argued that, “The Confessing church does not take as its primary aim the transformation of the world through the political route of the State.  Instead, [the Church] seeks to transform the world by creating a counterculture of people who live under the reign of Jesus.  In this counterculture ‘people are faithful to their promises, love their enemies, tell the truth, honor the poor, suffer for righteousness, and thereby testify to the amazing community-creating power of God.  The confessing church has no interest in withdrawing from the world, but it is not surprised when its witness evokes hostility from the world’ (46).  In doing so this counterculture church becomes the people of the cross, demonstrating God’s love for the world.  The most ‘effective’ thing the church can do is to become the ‘actual creation of a living, breathing, visible community of faith’ (46) in a hostile world.”[i]

Here is what I know:  the kingdom of man is not like the kingdom of God.  I say that not as an excuse to hide in a bubble, but as a salve for our wounded spirits when we see how far apart the kingdom of man can be from the kingdom of God.  We could leave church today with our hands thrown up in the air, feeling like the two are different and there is nothing we can do to change it.  But that is not what Hauerwas, Willimon, or even Jesus want from us today.  In Jesus’ prediction of doom and personal persecution, Jesus also says something simple and almost comical.  He says, “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”[ii]  Our political system is not perfect.  We are not a perfect country.  We hurt each other and we suffer at the hand of one another.  But that lack of perfection and the presence of hurt is no excuse to not work on bringing about the kingdom of God here on earth.  The prophecy of Isaiah is not some pie-in-the-sky dream about what happens when we die.  The coming of Jesus meant the inbreaking of the kingdom here on earth.  In Christ’s absence, our work is turning this kingdom of man into the kingdom of God.  The vision from Isaiah is just that:  a vision for us to align our steps, and to do our work.  The vision of Isaiah is not a Republican vision or a Democrat vision.  The vision of Isaiah is the vision of God:  of taking “the original creation that the Divine called good,” and “transforming that creation into something new.”[iii]

After this contentious election, I would love to tell you that everything will be okay – that God will magically make things right.  But Jesus tells us today that he needs us to do our work.  When Jesus tells those gathered that they will have the opportunity to testify, he also tells them, “make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.”[iv]  Things will be bad before the kingdom of God reigns over the kingdom of man.  Our political systems are not capable or perhaps even interested in bringing about the reign of God.  That work is ours to do.  But Jesus promises that he will be with us, giving us the words as we work, empowering us to right the ills of this world, strengthening us for work of kingdom making.  And you are in the right place this morning to prepare yourself for that work.  Today and every Sunday we offer you the chance to cry out to God, to confess your own complicity with sin, to learn and be formed into a disciple of Christ, to be strengthened with the holy meal, and then to get back out there in the work of bringing about the kingdom of God.  If you need to linger today a little longer at the altar rail, with your anger or your grief at what happened this week, by all means do it.  If you are emboldened by what happened this week, then take that sense of victory and turn it into kingdom work.  But before you leave today, remember that each of us, in all our diverse opinions and experiences are needed to testify and help each other testify.  We need each other and our Messiah, the Christ.  He will give us the words when the time comes so that we can create a world where the lion and the lamb feast together.  Amen.

[i] Steven Kopp, “Book Summary: Resident Aliens by Stanley Hauerwas,” August 21, 2015, as found at https://slasherpastor.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/book-summary-resident-aliens-by-stanley-hauerwas/ on November 11, 2016.  The page numbers are page citations from Hauerwas and Willimon’s book.

[ii] Luke 21.13.

[iii] Mary Eleanor Johns, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 290.

[iv] Luke 21.14-15.

Working Together to Make it Work

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

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Photo credit:  https://www.indacoriskadvisors.com

Every year our family vacations at a place called, “Memorial House,” in Rehoboth Beach.  The house is owned by the Diocese of Delaware and is an 11-bedroom home used for retreats, meetings, and, in the summer, for family and church vacations.  Each family or individual has a private room, but the dining and living area is shared.  Each day in the summer, a full, hot breakfast and dinner is served buffet-style, and enjoyed at shared tables with the other guests.

This year, our family vacationed with another family with two children.  Joining us were a family with adult children, older couples, and some retired singles.  Our four children were the only children this year, making our eight-person dinner table the most raucous.  I lost count on how many tablecloths we changed, and the broom was never far from hand.  The other mom and I worried a bit that we might be disturbing what could have been a perfectly peaceful vacation for the others.

Luckily, I had two encounters that told a different story.  The first was with a grandmother who talked to us as we were preparing lunches.  She joked with us about how much work she saw us doing.  She confessed that she had already spent one week this summer at the beach with her own family – including children and grandchildren.  But she had done so much work that week that she decided to come to Memorial House so she could have an “actual vacation”!  Another grandmother talked to me at the end of our week.  She pulled me aside and said, “You know, I had forgotten how much work I did as a young mom.  You guys are doing a great job!”

What Memorial House does is a little like what Church does, when Church is at its best.  You see, Church is one of the few places that multiple generations gather to worship, learn, and grow together.  When the Church is at its best, grandmothers distract an inconsolable child when a mom or dad is at her or his wits end.  When Church is at its best, a retiree is teaching children his favorite Bible Stories in dramatic and fun ways.  When Church is at its best, youth know adults who might give them the same answers as their parents, but the youth can hear it better from someone else.  When Church is at its best, we are a multigenerational family, welcoming those from all walks of life, making sure we are all fed, nurtured, and empowered to go out into the world to witness the love of Christ.  This week, I am especially grateful for that gift!

Sermon – Luke 12.49-56, P15, YC, August 14, 2016

17 Wednesday Aug 2016

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I grew up in a house without conflict.  No one ever fought, no one ever yelled, and certainly, no one ever hit.  There may have been disagreements, but they were quickly resolved and our house was restored to peace.  Given that was my experience growing up, I assumed all family handled conflict in hushed, quiet ways.  But then I visited a friend who taught me differently.  I was staying with her family for a few days, and on a car ride to dinner, her mother and father started arguing and were quickly yelling at each other in the front seat.  My eyes bulged and my whole body tensed up.  I immediately thought, “This is the most horrible thing I have ever seen!”  I surreptitiously glanced at my friend to see if she was equally horrified, but she just sat there like it was an everyday occurrence.  But even more strange than the fight was how the family acted later.  There was a bit of quiet after the yelling, but by the time we stopped for dinner, everyone was back to normal.  I, however, could not manage to release the tension in my body, and my mind was racing.  Are they okay?  Is this normal?  Will it happen again?  How do I act now?

I remember after that visit feeling relieved and almost proud.  Clearly my family had the better conflict management system.  Clearly we were more in control of our emotions and cared for each other with tenderness and love.  I let myself believe that lie until my parent’s divorce.  My entire world view about conflict and family and love came apart.  Suddenly my quiet house was not simply quiet.  My quiet house was a conflict avoidant house.  The lack of yelling in my house was not simply a lack of yelling, but was a stuffing of hurt and pain for the sake of pretend peace.  Now, do not get me wrong.  I am not suggested that you all go home and yell at your loved ones.  What I am saying is that no matter what your experience of conflict has been – avoidance, dramatic confrontation, reasoned discussion through disagreement – we have all experienced conflict in our family.

All that is to say that nothing Jesus says about families should be shocking today.  Most of us like the loving, caring, gentle Jesus the best.  We like Jesus being hailed as the Prince of Peace, not hearing Jesus say, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”[i]  That is not the version of Jesus we come to hear about on Sundays.  That is not the version of Jesus we want to read about when our best friend is mad at us, our brother won’t talk to us, or our spouse is thinking about leaving.  That is not the version of Jesus we want the preacher talking about on the Sunday we decided to bring our friend to church.

And normally, I would be right there with you in protest.  I like the Prince of Peace who cares for the poor and downtrodden.  I love the Jesus who tells me not to be afraid and not to worry, especially when the lilies of the field are so well tended by God.  I adore the Jesus who forgives and unites all kinds of people into one.  But all of my protest comes from being someone who used to be pretty conflict avoidant.  That is, until I learned another way.  I will always say that one of the greatest gifts of my time on Long Island was learning how to not only handle conflict, but to really appreciate conflict for all that conflict can do.

For those of you not familiar with the cultural dynamic of Long Island, several things are at play.  First, Long Islanders have a different way of communicating.  They are direct, incisive, and honest.  For a Southerner, their style of communication can feel rude, but over time, said Southerner realizes that all that directness and ability to dive into conflict means you get everything out on the table.  There is no listening for innuendo or passive aggressiveness.  There are no cute phrases that sound nice, but really mean something entirely different.  Instead, you know where people stand, and you go home quite clear about the varying viewpoints.  Of course, that style of communication does not always feel good.  If you have sensitive feelings about criticism, your feelings can and will get hurt.  If you get uncomfortable with heated arguments, you will be challenged to stay calm.  If you prefer niceness over brutal honesty – well, you probably should not live on Long Island.

But here is what I learned and came to love about the beautiful people of Long Island.  They taught me how to listen, even if all I wanted to do was flee the room.  They taught me how to sit through criticism instead of getting defensive.  They taught me how to see conflict not as the ultimate evil, but instead as a critical key to transformation, reconciliation, and restoration.

That is at the heart of Jesus’ message today.  Of course Jesus says that he is going to divide fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in-laws against one another.  What Jesus is teaching about is a radical reordering of the world.[ii]  We heard that proclamation from his mother’s mouth as she sang out the words of the Magnificat earlier in Luke’s gospel, “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[iii]  Mary was not just talking about the enemy Rome.  Many of the Israelites themselves were proud, powerful, and rich.  We in the modern world are the proud, powerful, and rich.  And to us, Jesus shouts, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The good news is that Jesus is not telling us he wants us to fight.  He is not encouraging violence or abuse, or even neglect or pain.  Jesus is simply telling us that his message is going to upset the status quo.  And as people who benefit from the status quo, we are going to have to face our demons and look at our brothers and sisters who are in need and take real stock of ourselves and our lives.  And when we start upsetting the status quo – when we start making women equal to men, when we start treating minorities with dignity and respect, when we start empowering the poor thrive and turn their lives around, we will have friends and family who push back.  We will have people who try to convince us to protect our power rather than share our power.  We will have family who walk away because they cannot face the truth.  All we have to do is look at the church – look at the hundreds of denominations who could not agree on whom could be baptized, what Eucharist means, and whom can be ordained or married.  We are a family divided because Jesus’ love is so revolutionary that we will be divided about how to define his love, how to share his love, and how receive his love.  Jesus does not want us to fight.  But he knows that if we are going to authentically live into the Gospel life, we are going to deal with conflict and we are going to be divided.[iv]

But that is also why Jesus went all the way to the cross.  His death was an effort to transform and redeem our conflict and to help us live fully into the people of peace and love we are invited to be in him.  Jesus knows that we will have to fight.  But he also knows that if we are willing to enter into conflict with an open mind, with listening ears, and a discerning heart, we will become a people who do not avoid conflict, but understand conflict as the purifying fire that burns away the mess of life and leaves behind the fertile ground for creating something new and holy.[v]  So yes, Jesus is still the Prince of Peace, who brings peace upon earth.  But the path there is not a smooth, straight, simple path.  The path there will take us through conflict, tension, and pain.  But the peace that awaits on the other side is more glorious than any community that will sit through passive aggressive avoidance just to maintain a false sense of security.

And just in case you are already feeling weary, wondering where you can muster the strength to survive such a rocky path, our letter to the Hebrews today gives us a clue, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…”[vi]  That group of people you are going to be in conflict with – whether your biological family, or the crazy family you selected as your church home – is the same group of people who have left us an example of how to work our way through conflict.  They have shown us how to survive the race toward peace and reconciliation, reminding us that Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter who gets us there.  We will not get there avoiding conflict.  But we will get there together, holding hands when we disagree, loving each other when we say helpful but painful truths, and rejoicing when we push through to the side of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth.  Amen.

[i] Luke 12.51.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 361.

[iii] Luke 1.51-53.

[iv] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 360, 362.

[v] Elizabeth Palmer, “Living By The Word:  August 14, 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time,” Christian Century, July 26, 2016, as found at http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2016-07/august-14-20th-sunday-ordinary-time on August 11, 2016.

[vi] Hebrews 12.1-2a.

The Power of Love…

14 Thursday Jul 2016

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Love_Sign_VA

Photo credit:  blog.claibornehouse.net/2011/06/yes-virginia-we-are-for-lovers.html

Last week, two very opposite realities collided for me.  On the one hand, I was processing all sorts of anger, grief, frustration, and hopelessness.  In the course of one week, two more African-American men were killed at the hands of police officers, and five police officers were killed in retaliation.  Though each case was different, all I could see was blood and death and racism.  By the end of the week, I was despairing, wondering how we could pull our act together to be able to have open, honest, vulnerable conversations about our own participation in the sin of racism without turning to violence and degradation.

On the other hand, as the reports from Dallas were filling TV screens, I was on my way to a weekend getaway – a vacation planned long ago with some dear friends.  The following days involved sun, sand, food, art, yoga, laughter, and joy.  Part of me felt guilty for having so much fun, but part of my soul really needed that time away.  It was cleansing and restorative, and in some ways, could not be better timed.

As I made my way home on Monday, I found myself listening to and seeing stories of reconciliation:  Protestors and counter-protestors hugging; a Police Chief being raw and real about how hard being a police officer is; a surgeon, who worked tirelessly on the same police officers that he, as a black male, fears in daily life.  As I drove home, I passed a rest area that had a simple sign:  LOVE.  I have always loved Virginia’s slogan, “Virginia is for Lovers,” but never have I appreciated how deeply that lesson could go.  Virginia has made a claim on love – the same claim that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ asks us to claim every day.

And in case I did not receive the message clearly enough, I am blessed with two children who have the capacity to show unbounded love.  Hugs, kisses, giggles, and gentle pats on my face were the tangible reminders of what love can do out in the world.  How each of us makes a claim on love will vary.  But traveling through an airport, seeing all the world’s people crammed into one place is a great way to see how broadly and widely we will need to love if we take up the mantle of Christ.  The good news is that the Spirit is already working to empower us to be agents of love.  Our work is to let the Holy Spirit work on us.

Sermon – Lk 9.51-62, Gal 5.1, 13-25, P8, YC, June 26, 2016

29 Wednesday Jun 2016

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Whenever we are in an election year, I find myself wondering how Jesus might fare in a political race.  I mean, he has a pretty awesome platform:  liberation for the poor, forgiveness of debts, healing, even eternal life.  But Jesus would be a modern campaign manager’s nightmare.  I can imagine the harried manager running around in circles after hearing this week’s text.  Just as Jesus is gaining ground and growing his constituency (or as the text calls them, disciples and followers), and just as Jesus is starting to gain prestige with comparisons to other great leaders, like Moses and Elijah, Jesus starts running his campaign into the ground.

We hear the campaign crumbling through four different incidents in our gospel lesson today.  First, we hear the story of how Jesus and his crew need shelter.  The Samaritans refuse them hospitality, and James and John, remembering how the great Elijah brought down fire on his opponents, ask Jesus if they should do the same thing.  Reigning down fire on the enemies would certainly make for great evening news coverage and might even result in a surge in the polls.  But Jesus does nothing of the sort.  Instead, Jesus just ignores the affront and keeps going.  Surely Jesus’ campaign manager would be crushed when his prepared speech about the Samaritans does not see the light of day.

Next, Jesus gets some promising news.  On the campaign trail, someone shouts, “I will follow you wherever you go!”   The campaign manager must be salivating as he hopes to tweet the comment and post the interchange on Vine or Snapchat.  But, then Jesus ruins the whole moment by saying, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  Not exactly the best promotional video for Jesus’ campaign.  Who wants to follow a guy whose response to “I’ll follow you anywhere!” is basically, “If you follow me, get ready to feel ostracized, abandoned, and alone.”?

The day keeps getting worse for the campaign manager.  Two other people are ready to commit their lives to supporting the Jesus campaign.  But instead of joyfully receiving them after they have packed their bags and said goodbye to their families, Jesus crankily says, “Let the dead bury their own dead,” and “No one who puts the hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”  At least the great Elijah showed a little more patience than Jesus in his leadership.  If you remember, when Elijah called Elisha to follow him, he gave him the chance to say goodbye to his family.  But not Jesus.  A new sheriff is in town and he has no patience for other agendas.  I can just imagine the team of writers that the campaign manager would have to assemble to wax Jesus’ words and make them more palatable.  Jesus would be a modern political campaign’s worst nightmare.

The way the text reads today, Jesus comes off as heartless and dismissive.  But if we are really honest, Jesus can come off as heartless and dismissive through much of the gospels.  We like to remember the lovey-dovey stuff about Jesus:  the healings, the tender moments of compassion, or the motivational parables.  But like any good marriage, with all the love that comes from Jesus, we must also take the hard, uncomfortable stuff too.  Yesterday, two of our parishioners got married.  The day was a day for love and joy.  But the day was also a day for honesty and reflection.  You see, the bride and groom had both lost their first spouses to disease and death.  Between them, they have enjoyed over 90 years of happy marriages.  Though both of them are thrilled to have found love and companionship again, they entered their marriage yesterday with the sobriety that can only come when you really know what you are getting into.  I can do all the premarital counseling I want with a young couple getting married for the first time.  But eventually they will have to learn for themselves that marriage is hard and love is even harder.  Love is not all roses and champagne.  Love is working through tough times, making sacrifices, and living with a partner who can sometimes be as cranky as Jesus.

The reason we stay in committed, loving relationships is that we understand the ultimate goal:  to love and care for one another for the long run.  Jesus is probably cranky in our vignettes today because he too has an ultimate goal:  his love for us which leads to the cross.  At the beginning of our story today, the text says, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  This is our cue about Jesus’ seemingly bad mood.  Jesus does not have time for teaching and coddling.  He does not have energy for a leisurely stroll, where he can tell long parables and then explain their meaning.  No, Jesus has turned his face to Jerusalem.  We can hear in that one sentence, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem,” an indicator of Jesus’ demeanor.[i]  I am not sure Jesus would have ever made a savvy politician anyway, but he certainly would not have done so at this point in his ministry.  Where we are in Luke’s gospel is a turning point – a dramatic shift in the narrative.  When Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem, everything else fades away.  He takes on a “singlemindedness of purpose that is prompted by God’s profound love for humanity and all the world.”[ii]

In his epistle to the Galatians we read today, Paul has become a bit cranky too.  The Galatians are fighting and Paul tells them to “stand firm,” or, in other words, to be single-minded in their love for one another.  Paul says, “…through love become slaves to one another.  For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”  As one scholar argues, “Being good at love, …requires a fair share of determination.  Loving another is not the easiest of commitments to make.  Love, it ought not surprise us, is going to require a little crankiness along the way.  Everything that has value does, and love is what has ultimate value for, of course, it is the only thing that lasts.  According to Paul and Jesus, it really is the only commandment, the only thing life is really about.”[iii]

Though both Jesus and Paul sound cranky and harsh today, I do not think they are either.  Why Paul asserts that the Galatians stand firm and why Jesus condemns those who put their hand to the plow and then look back is because both of them know our tendencies.  “Perhaps Jesus recognizes our tendency to put off the moments in time that might actually make a difference in what we say about him.  Perhaps Jesus sees that we come with ready excuses to defer our proclamation because we think we need to be in a better place, a better time, a time when the stars align so as to make our experience of the Gospel the perfect it was never meant to be.  Perhaps Jesus simply says stop making excuses and start imagining experiences that invite ‘let’s see what happens’ instead of ‘I need all my stuff figured out.’”[iv]

That is what happens when we really love one another.  We do not worry how savvy our political campaign is.  Instead we worry about what really matters – our call to love one another as Christ loves us.  Once we start doing that, party affiliation and grandstanding matter very little.  In fact, politics becomes a lot easier when we use the Jesus standard of love.  When we single-mindedly focus on love, our actions fall less into one political party or another of this world, but instead fall into focus on the kingdom of God.

Now, like our newlyweds will you tell, loving our neighbor is not easy.  Love as a political campaign will be frustrating and at times will make us quite cranky.  But by focusing on love, we allow ourselves to let go of all the extraneous stuff of life and focus single-mindedly on God’s purpose for us.  Sorting priorities becomes easier, caring for one another becomes more satisfying, and living into our purpose in this life comes more naturally.  Perhaps that would be the slogan that Jesus’ campaign manager would eke out of all Jesus’ interactions today:  All we need is love.  Amen.

[i] Elaine A. Heath, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 190.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 195.

[iii] Stacy Sauls, “Cranky Jesus,” June 30, 2013, as found at http://day1.org/4897-the_cranky_jesus on June 23, 2016.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “Every Moment Counts,” June 19, 2016, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4679 on June 22, 2016.

Looking for Love…

22 Wednesday Jun 2016

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IMG_1797One of the things you may not know about me is that I am terrible with plants.  Though many people have a green thumb, I am a textbook example of a brown thumb.  My instincts and habits are terrible.  Either I water the plant too much or not enough.  I never know how much sun is enough.  I am lucky if a plant lasts more than a month in my house.  If I am really honest, most of my plants suffer from neglect.  I just get too busy and by the time I remember the plant, the plant is past the point of redemption.  One of my former parishioners was convinced she could convert me to a green thumb.  She even regularly put plants on our front porch – right near the water spigot.  I am sure she mourned many a plant on my behalf.

IMG_1794There is, however, one exception to this rule.  It was a plant given to us as a wedding present almost fifteen years ago.  Of course, when we received it, my immediate thought was, “Great!  There goes another plant in the trash!”  But much to my surprise, the plant was hearty.  No matter how long I forgot to water it, it managed to forgive me and perk back up when watered.  No matter how many new places I took it, it kept on going.  I jokingly started referring to the plant as our “love plant.”  It was a reminder of our special day, and like a loving marriage, it held together through thick and thin.

But during our most recent move, I pretty much killed our love plant.  I left the plant in the car.  It was not that warm in April, so I figured it would be okay there.  But I think our love plant just got scorched over the several-day move.  I had never seen the plant look like it did.  Normally the leaves naturally fell off when it was getting thirsty (my number one sign to water it!!).  But these leaves just shriveled and refused to fall or separate from the stem.  One stem seemed salvageable, but the other was totally gone – shriveled and dry.  I was devastated – not only for the plant that lasted almost 15 years with me, but also because of the significance the love plant had assumed.  What did its death mean?  Was it a sign about my marriage?!?IMG_1795

I refused to throw the plant away.  It just broke my heart too much.  So it sat on a window sill and I just let it be a sad reminder of my failure.  But then last week, something incredible happened.  At the bottom of the “barely alive” stem of the plant appeared new foliage.  I almost cried.  The plant has never gotten new foliage at the bottom – only at the top.  I don’t know what it means or if they will just fade too, but the joy I felt for those new little guys was overwhelming.  And then, today, I noticed some new foliage on the “dead” stem too. IMG_1796

I do not know if there is any real symbolism in the new growth, but I have to imagine there is.  My husband and I have started new jobs, our kids have begun new schools, and we have begun a new phase of our life.  Almost fifteen years later, love continues to find new ways to grow in our marriage, even on days when it feels like the love is dried up.  That kind of faithfulness is the same faithfulness we see in God’s hesed, or loving-kindness, for all of us.  Even when we feel like God’s love has abandoned us, we find new springs of life bubbling up where we least expect it.  Today, I encourage you to look for the new growth in your life.  Where is love sneaking in and gifting you with joy?

Sermon – I Kings 19.1-15a, P7, YC, June 19, 2016

22 Wednesday Jun 2016

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Last Sunday, after the parish picnic, I found out about the tragedy in Orlando.  When the youth and I gathered for Holy Eucharist that night, we lifted up our prayers for the victims and their families.  Being able to name the tragedy in the context of Eucharist was comforting, but by the time I got home and poured over news coverage, I found myself bereft.  I was not in shock, for this kind of tragedy has honestly become commonplace in our country.  I think I wanted to be in shock or at least surprised.  But instead, I felt a sense of familiarity and coldness.  I realized that my psyche has become desensitized to this sort of tragedy.  Instead of feeling sad, I just felt numb.  I felt powerless, with nothing to do but be resigned to the fact that this is the way our life is now.  Nothing can change.  Mass murder is normal – whether by a religious radical, a mentally unstable person, a racist, or a disillusioned teen.  Mass death is normal – whether LGBT brothers and sisters, people going to the movies, African-Americans worshiping, or children attending school.  All I could comprehend in my numbness was the fight, the outrage, and the compassion draining out of me.

The same thing happens to Elijah in our story today.  If you remember, a couple of weeks ago we heard about how Elijah has been putting Ahab’s practices to shame.  You see, in an effort to keep the political peace, King Ahab agreed to take a foreign wife, Jezebel, and worship her god, Baal, in addition to Yahweh.  The God of Israel is none too pleased, and so Elijah dramatically challenges the prophets of Baal to a duel.  Elijah is full of confidence, taunting, and dramatic flair.  And when Yahweh wins, Elijah slays the entire lot of Baal’s prophets.  But today, Jezebel proclaims she will avenge their deaths, and all of the fight leaves Elijah.  He runs into the wilderness until he cannot run any longer.  He crumbles under a tree, and proclaims that he is done.  He feels that he is all alone.  He asks God to take his life.

We all know the feeling that Elijah has.  Maybe we or a loved one has been fighting cancer.  We go for one last evaluation only to find that things have made a turn for the worse.  Or maybe we have been advocating for a particular political issue and the tide seems to be turning.  But a court decision is made or a vote is cast and the decision or vote does not go our way.  Or we think we have finally seen an addicted friend reach the end of his addictive behavior.  We are relieved to see healthy patterns until we get a late night call about how he has gotten into trouble again.  The fight leaves us.  We no longer feel a sense promise, victory, and confidence.  Instead the darkness settles over us like a fog, and we crumble under a tree and say, “Enough.  I am done, Lord.”

But something seemingly small happens to Elijah in his moment of despair.  The story goes, “Then Elijah lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep.  Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, ‘Get up and eat.’  He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again.  The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, ‘Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.’  He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.”  God gives Elijah food.  No words of encouragement, no pep talk about how things will get better.  God feeds Elijah in the wilderness, in a moment of despair, in a time of darkness.

There is a reason why we have something called “comfort food,” in our culture.  In fact, every culture has some version of comfort food.  Whether the food is a southern mom’s chicken and dumplings or a Jewish grandmother’s matzah ball soup; whether the food is Burmese mohingar, Vietnamese pho, or a New Mexican posole; or whether the comfort food is North Carolina, Memphis, or Texas barbeque, we all have food that brings us back to ourselves.  Somehow the taste of something familiar and rooted in our identity or a fond experience connects to our entire body in a visceral way.  The smell of the food, the flavors that are just right, the warmth filling our bellies, and the happy memories that flood our consciousness allows our entire body to relax.  Whatever has been ailing us – a sore throat, a homesickness, or a broken heart – can be wiped away by that simple, familiar, healing meal.

But comfort food does not just make you feel good.  Comfort food gives you strength:  mends your heart, heals your soul, and emboldens your spirit.  Elijah does not simply eat the food from God and wallow longer at the tree.  Elijah gets up.  He journeys for forty days on the strength from that bread.  His renewed spirit allows him to have a deep conversation with God, where he eventually finds out that he is in fact not alone.[i]  God has not abandoned him.  God has enabled other prophets to stand with him.  God is not done with Elijah yet.  Though God does not expect Elijah to go at it alone, God does expect Elijah to get back in there.[ii]

I am fully aware that we as a community are a diverse group of people with a wide range of political opinions.  My guess is that the violence of Orlando brought out a wide variety of responses to the event and the politicking that has happened since then.  But no matter how you feel about the shooter, the victims, or the instruments of the victims’ death, a week ago, 49 of our brothers and sisters died.  Life is sacred, and that sanctity was snuffed out last week.  And this is not the first time this has happened.  Though the stories behind the shooters, the motives behind the shootings, and the demographics of the victims are different each time, invariably, more life is desecrated.

We learn from Elijah’s story that God knows we need to mourn.  God knows we need to wallow for a time.  God knows that we may feel alone, or powerless, or just plain tired.  That is why God gives us trees in the wilderness.  But eventually, God will send us some comfort food – to soothe our aching heart certainly, but more importantly to strengthen us to continue the journey.  Because whether we feel like we have the inner strength or not, God is calling us to step out of the shade of the tree, and get back on the journey.[iii]

What that means for each of us here may be entirely different.  Certainly our work is to be grounded in prayer – prayers for the victims and their family members, prayers for the shooter, prayers for our nation as we sort out how we will govern ourselves, and prayers for us as we figure out how to be witnesses for Christ in the midst of the chaos.  But prayers are not all we are called to do.  We could do that under a tree or in a cave.  Instead, God sends us comfort food to heal our broken hearts, soothe our wearied souls, and embolden our spirits.

Today, and every Sunday, our comfort food, like Elijah’s, is also in the form of bread.  We call that bread the body of Christ.  That bread has power.  That bread has power to forgive our sinfulness and complicity with sin.  That bread has power to comfort our aches and sorrow.  That bread has the power to make us Christ’s body in the world, witnesses to the love that Jesus taught us about.  We know that our prayers and our consumption of Christ’s body does that for us because the very last thing we do – the very last thing we say – in our worship service is “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”  We do not say, “Have a good week.”  Or “Be at peace.”  We say “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”  How God will use us to love and serve the Lord in the world varies widely.  We all have a variety of vocations that take us to varied and sundry places.  But wherever we find ourselves, God has work for us to do.  Our work is to not only say, “Thanks be to God,” but to mean, “Thanks be to God.”  We thank God for our call to love and serve others.  We thank God for food for the journey.  We thank God for the ways that God does not leave us alone.  We thank God the ways that God will empower us and use us to be agents of love in the world.  So take a little more time today to pray and to mourn.  But then get ready to be sent out into the world to love and serve the Lord.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

[i] Trevor Eppehimer, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 150.

[ii] Haywood Barringer Spangler, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 151.

[iii] Terrance E. Fretheim, “Commentary on 1 Kings 19:1-4[5-7]8-15a,” June 19, 2016 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2876 on June 16, 2016.

Homily – Luke 7.37-8.3, P6, YC, June 12, 2016

15 Wednesday Jun 2016

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Most of you know that before I went off to seminary, I worked with a Habitat for Humanity affiliate.  My time at Habitat taught me a lot about politics, about motivating volunteers, and about organizing people for change.  But some of the more profound lessons came from the homeowners themselves.  The Habitat program includes sending homeowners to financial counseling so that once they purchase the home they are financially stable enough to stay in the home.  I remember getting feedback from one of our financial counselors.  You see, in looking at one particular homeowner’s budget, the counselor realized that the homeowner was giving 10% of her income – a tithe – to her church.  The counselor tried to reason with her – that the 10% could really get her out of the hole – even if she only gave 5% to church, the homeowner would be able to manage some of her debt.  But the homeowner refused.  The Lord had gotten her this far – and there was no way she going to stop giving to the church now, she argued.

Our staff conversations were all over the map about the issue.  We wondered what arguments might convince her – the welfare of her children, the parable of the talents, or something else.  We wondered whether her pastor had guilted her into her tithe.  We wondered how much of the issue was cultural, as most of us were of Caucasian descent, while the homeowner was African-American.  While most of respected her decision, and did not pressure her to give up her tithe, what we never talked about was our own practice around giving.  Being people who work in nonprofit, one might argue that we were already big-hearted people.  But our discomfort with and unwillingness to talk about our own financial generosity probably said more than we ever realized.

That is what is so hard about our gospel lesson today.  The sensationalism of the story tempts us to be distracted from the heart of the story.  I mean, what this woman does with Jesus is scandalous on so many levels.  One, she is a known sinner in the community, so she has no place at the table.  Two, she is showing a level of intimacy that makes us uncomfortable even by today’s standards – kneeling by Jesus, crying on his feet, using her long hair to dry his feet, touching him in a vulnerable way.  Three, she shows no sense of shame – she does this in public, in front of everyone, and she, according to Jesus, does all of this because she knows that she is forgiven[i] – she claims her forgiveness boldly like a slap in the face.

But while our minds are filled with visually stimulating, scandalous images, the real story is happening off stage.  The Pharisee, Simon is exposed as a mess.  He disregards conventional hospitality norms, neglecting to offer Jesus water for his feet, a kiss of greeting, and oil for anointing.  He judges the woman (muttering about her known sinfulness).  He judges Jesus (muttering about his claim to prophecy).  He begrudgingly admits that the answer to Jesus’ parable about the forgiven debts is that the one with bigger debts is more grateful than the one with few debts.  To all this commotion, Jesus says, “the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”

This is the turning point in Jesus’ interaction today.  Jesus does not say, “Watch out, Simon, because the one who loves little is forgiven little.”  But rather than render judgment, Jesus instead simply offers a description:  Those who have been forgiven little love very little.”[ii]  Now, it could be that Jesus is not talking about those who are not forgiven, but those who don’t notice their forgiveness.  Or perhaps those who don’t even think they need forgiveness.  If we cannot admit our need, we cannot receive the remedy for our lack, will not experience the gratitude of those who have received, and so are unable to love with abandon.[iii]

If, then, we are people like Jesus says, who need little forgiveness but then risk loving little, what can we do to find a well of gratitude and generosity that goes deep into the soul?  The number one thing we can do is to surround ourselves by people for whom much has been forgiven.  That means not just helping other people or those less fortunate than ourselves, but really getting to know those less fortunate than ourselves.  That means listening to the stories of those whose struggle is not like our own.  That means examining our lives in light of those experiences, and turning our hearts to abundant gratitude too.

I often think back to that experience with the Habitat staff and wonder whether we could have asked each other different questions.  We could have asked each other how much of our own budgets are designated for church giving – and what that says about our priorities.  We could have had longer conversations about what our financial practices say about our lives of faith – where our sweet spot is between trust, responsibility, and faithfulness.  But mostly, we could have trusted the homeowner – perhaps even admired the homeowner.  The implication was that her tithing was foolishness – but perhaps her tithing was extravagant generosity in the face of threat.  Those questions, like the interaction between Jesus and this woman, are going to feel awkward sometimes.  But the tunnel of awkwardness leads to the freedom of abundance.  Amen.

[i] M. Jan Holton, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 144.

[ii] David Lose, “Forgiveness & Gratitude,” June 9, 2013 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2601on June 9, 2016.

[iii] Steven J. Kraftchick, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 143.

With the Eyes of Compassion…

25 Wednesday May 2016

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Heart in the stone fence

Photo credit:  https://jackieleasommers.com/tag/what-does-compassion-to-an-OCD-sufferer-look-like/

As a mother of two girls, I have regularly followed articles and advice columns about “mean girls.”  I avoided meanness like the plague as a child – not necessarily because I was more moral than other kids.  In fact, my avoidance of meanness was more about self-preservation.  I figured if I was never mean to others, then I reduced the risk of someone being mean to me.

Having stayed under the radar, I realize there is a world of “mean girls” that I totally missed.  And I have been surprised at how early some of those tendencies arise in my daughter and her classmates.  There is constant chatter about who is or is no longer one’s best friend.  I am constantly hearing about hurt feelings, someone being mean, or, through inference, hearing when my own daughter seems to be the victim or perpetrator of meanness.  Though I realize we are not even close to the tween and teen years, I see the hints of what is to come.

But last week, I was the chaperone for my daughter’s field trip.  I wondered whether I would see any of that behavior in real time (not just through the stories relayed at bedtime or at the dinner table).  My observations did not lead to any conclusions about my daughter’s experiences.  But what I did see were a bunch of kids who were thrilled to have some attention and affection.  I did not really do much.  I deployed my typical distraction technique of asking lots of questions of the kids.  And before I knew it, I never had an empty hand.  Kids I had never met before wanted to hold my hand and be near me.

As we rode the bus back, my heart was full of sympathy for all the kids.  Though I know they all hurt each other with insults and teasing, at the heart of matter, they are all children of God, who like all of us, long for love.  What made me so grateful about the trip was these kids who sometimes say and do mean things are also kids trying to navigate social systems, kids trying to be tough, and kids who need love.  And if all that is true about kids, how much more so about all of us adults?  This week, I invite you to see those around you with the eyes of compassion – the same eyes with which God sees you.