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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!

On Taking Church Outside…

01 Wednesday Mar 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.cincinnati.com/story/news/2023/02/21/ash-wednesday-2023-why-do-people-wear-ashes-everything-to-know-lent/69927477007/

Once upon a time, I was pretty critical of the concept of “Ashes to Go.”  I worried that by encouraging people to get quick ashes, they would miss the fullness of the liturgy, cheapening the power and importance of what we do on Ash Wednesday.  How could a three minute interaction hold the same power as an hour-long ritual?

This year, I am grateful once again that someone convinced me years ago to try Ashes to Go anyway.  As our church is located in a more suburban area, we do a drive-through ashes experience.  The reasons people stop vary widely.  For some, they do not like to drive at night, so a daytime option fits their schedule.  For others, they have young children and a school night is just too hard to rally for the family.  For others, the reasons are not totally clear, but stories are shared:  about how times are hard for their families, how they haven’t been to church in five years, how they heard about it in the neighborhood and wanted to check it out.  And for others, words fail them, but you see in their eyes how powerful the brief, intimate moment with the sacred means a tremendous amount.

If there are times I wonder if we really need to offer Ashes to Go, every year reminds me of the absolute necessity of meeting people where they are.  In fact, I have been wondering if there are not other ways we can step out of the church walls and meet people where they are.  Surely if something as grim as reminding people they are dust can compel people to drive by for ashes, there must be other ways we can take “liturgy” to the streets.  Ever since the pandemic happened and our parish embraced livestreaming, I have become increasingly aware of the church’s ability to reach people differently – to minister to and offer sacred encounters in all sorts of ways.

As we journey deeper into Lent this year, I invite you to consider where else in your life you can take church with you.  Maybe you can slow down just a bit and listen to the stories of those around you.  Maybe you can reach out to someone who is hurting today.  Or maybe you can share a bit of your own story and how your journey with God is making a difference.  I look forward to hearing how God is showing up outside the church walls this week!

On Ghosts, Goblins, and Community…

03 Thursday Nov 2022

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Photo Credit: https://windows10spotlight.com/images/cd4207053ac7aaa6212c99ef8a230cfb

Sometimes, when parenting children, you tend to operate in a haze.  In trying to harmonize work, family life, and everything else, you can become partially present in the parenting moment.  Halloween can be one of those instances.  In the rush of everyday responsibilities, you need to decorate the house, sweep off the driveway, purchase and prep candy for distribution, ensure your kids have all the costume parts they need (sometimes mending, gluing, pinning them at the last minute, or figuring out how to do their makeup), oh, and find that trick-or-treat bag they want from last year.  There is coordinating with other parents so your kid can walk with their friends, the needed photos, and the constant reminders to say “trick or treat!” and “thank you!” 

Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is always at work, giving us moments of the sacred in even the most hectic secular experiences.  This Monday, I was in that Halloween haze myself, trying to send off my older child, praying she made good choices, and accompanying my younger child, soaking up the chance to enjoy the night with her.  As we made our way from house to house, the sacred was slowly revealed.  I noticed as parents walked with their children, they connected more meaningfully than in our quick hellos at the bus stop and coordinating texts for playdates.  As homeowners emerged from their homes, I watched older adults light up with the chance to interact with children, I saw parents of older children wistfully watch the littles as their older children were too far past this precious time, and I noticed singletons relishing a chance for social interaction.  I was in the midst of community at its finest:  strangers extending hospitality, cross-generation lovingkindness, and deeply felt smiles. 

I know Halloween has pagan roots, and the Church, as it always does, worked to Christianize the day of All Hollows Eve.  We even have some neighbors who do not participate in the ritual of trick-or-treating out of Christian protest.  But when you strip away all the scary characters, fear-inducing movies, and sacrilegious legends, what remains is one of the best of examples of genuine Christian community.  Somehow, political differences fade, generational biases are set aside, and interpersonal anxieties ease, and what remains is an activity that allows for humble, gracious, affirming hospitality and care.

I wonder how we might foster those same sorts of conditions in our Church communities.  My church’s mission is focused on intergenerational ministry.  Sundays often demonstrate those values as intergenerational ministry blooms.  But the experience of trick-or-treating this year has me wondering what more we can do to create space where strangers can enjoy loving, affirming moments of intimacy and care with neighbors.  My prayer is the Holy Spirit works through our busy hazes to reveals those opportunities for all of us.

Sermon – Luke 9.28-36 (37-43), TRS, YC, February 27, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Well, we finally made it.  After a season of epiphanies about Jesus:  from the Magi with gifts, the voice of God at Jesus’ baptism, the water into wine, the fishes bursting from nets, and lessons about life with Jesus from the Sermon on the Plain, we get to the mother of all epiphanies – Transfiguration Sunday.  In this event is everything we need to know about Jesus.  Luke tells us everything starts with prayer – life with Jesus is rooted in prayerful relationship with God.  Then, Jesus’ divinity is revealed as his entire appearance changes, with everything becoming dazzling white.  Moses and Elijah appear, which many argue represents the prophets and the law confirming Jesus’ identity and significance.  We even hear a conversation between the three figures about Jesus’ pending journey to Jerusalem and ultimate departure.  And, as if we needed to know even more about who Jesus is, God comes down in a cloud and says, clear as a bell, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”  We can’t get a lesson more epiphanic than this!

This story in Luke is so dramatic, that the lectionary says we can skip the next seven verses.  If you notice in your bulletin, those verses are in parenthesis.  And if I am really honest, as your preacher, I seriously considered eliminating those verses today.  I wanted to stay on that mountaintop with Peter, John, and James.  I want to be overwhelmed by the majesty of the moment, I want to gobble up the crystal clarity of this event, I want to breathe in the confidence of that comes from knowing this is the Messiah, the answer.  I might even want to build those dwellings or booths Peter is talking about for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah.  This is a mountain of wonder, of joy, of understanding, of specialness, of the sacred.  I want to stay here.

But the text is not having such comfort today.  Nope, in Luke, the very next thing that happens after this rich, shocking, full epiphany and the disciples’ stunned silence, is they go back down the mountain and face another person who needs to be healed.  And this is not a simple request for healing, but a report that the man begged Jesus’ disciples to cast out the demon first, but they could not.  So not only do Jesus and his disciples go back to work, but also we learn that the disciples are not very good at the work.  In other words, they have work to do.

Sometimes, when we are tired and weary – and believe me, we have had a lot of tired and weary in the last two years – in those times we slip into the mode of thinking Church is an “escape from” place.  We face illness, and death, and war, and suffering, and poverty, and discrimination, and persecution, and brokenness every single day of the week, and we just want our mini-Easter on Sundays.  We want to climb a mountain, pray with Jesus, and bask in Jesus’ radiance.  And that is okay.  Luke would not tell us so many times in his gospel that Jesus escapes to pray if Jesus’ praying (and our praying) were not important.  But the danger in thinking of Church as an “escape from” place is that we risk not seeing the brilliance of Jesus in all the other days.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a doctor’s office that serves patients from a broad range of socioeconomic backgrounds.  One such client had arrived for one of the daily walk-in appointments only to be told arriving at 9:00 am meant he had missed the available appointments.  The staff very graciously gave him a list of other places he could try and encouraged him to come back earlier next time.  The client sat there a bit stunned and dejected and I began to avert my eyes to give him some privacy for his grief.  But a minute or so later, an older gentleman came up to him and asked to see the paper the staff had given him.  He proceeded to show the younger man which alternatives were best, and then whispered the secret that although the staff said to come at 7:00 am, the real trick was to arrive by 6:00 am.  The young man’s face slowly relaxed under the loving tutelage of his elder fellow struggler in life.

Luke does not leave us on the mountaintop because Luke knows the danger the artificial divide between the sacred and the secular.  As scholar Debie Thomas warns, “Desperate for the mountain, we miss the God of the valley, the conference room, the pharmacy, the school yard.”[i]  The story of the healing in the valley is the “so what?” of this last grand epiphany story before we head into Lent.  “The story of the transfiguration of Jesus loses its power if [the transfiguration] does not include that moment when Jesus and the disciples come down from the mountain.”  By seeing Jesus differently today, we are enabled to see ourselves and others differently too.[ii]  We are able to see God in an elderly struggling man taking a young struggling man under his wings.  We are able to see God in the way an older child shepherds a younger child to Children’s Chapel.  We are able to see God in our gut-wrenching conversations of the presence of evil in the world and how to navigate war in a way that demonstrates all life is sacred.

This week, our invitation is to take this hour not as an “escape from” but as an “empowerment to” – an empowerment to go out in the world seeing the God of the valley, the God of the medical clinic, the God of the grocery store, the God of the Zoom meeting, and to be agents of God in all those places.  We come from a long line of disciples who were not always good at healing the suffering of this world.  But we enter a season of intentionality in these coming six weeks that will embolden us to keep trying.  We know from this hour of empowerment who Jesus is.  Now we get the chance to show Jesus’ face to others in our everyday lives.  Amen.

[i] Rohr summary about the sacred and the secular and quote from Debie Thomas, “Down from the Mountain” February 19, 2022, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on February 26, 2022.

[ii] Lori Brandt Hale, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 456.

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, YB, October 3, 2021

06 Wednesday Oct 2021

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Occasionally I wander the Hickory Neck property as a way of clearing my head.  I often end up over in the St. Francis Memorial Garden, reveling in the quiet in that remote corner behind the Historic Chapel.  The bucolic scene and the St. Francis statue make me imagine the peaceful walks he took in his journey to commune with God and God’s created order.  The funny thing is our celebrations of St. Francis today are nothing like those peaceful moments.  There is the chaos of the drive-thru, as confused pets worry they are headed toward the dreaded veterinarian or are confused by the people in clerical garb.  There is the hubbub of owners calming pets inside the New Chapel, the curiosity of what unique pets one may see, and the endless giggles and chuckles about unpredictable animals in an enclosed space.  The whole morning is a morning of contrasts.

The contradictions of this day are equally evident in our Gospel lesson.  Our gospel lesson closes with one of our favorite invitations from Jesus, “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you … and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Those words describe a loving, gentle Jesus, who enfolds us in a calm, affirming embrace.  At least, they should.  But if we read the words critically, there is more contrast in them than we might like to admit.  Yes, Jesus taking our heavy burdens and recognizing our weariness is balm for the soul.  But the last time I checked, yokes were not exactly tools for rest.  And even though Jesus promises his yoke is easy, the yoke is still a yoke – a tool for directing, guiding, ensuring productive work is done.  Having listened to the gospels these last weeks, we know this work is anything but light.  In the last few weeks in Mark’s gospel, Jesus told us we would have to take up our cross, suffer, and die; that discipleship would mean being servant of all; and that if our hand or eye were causing us to stumble, we should just cut them off!  That does not really sound like an easy yoke to me!

Part of what we appreciate about St. Francis, and why we celebrate him every year – besides having an excuse to have a day to honor our beloved animals – is St. Francis understood Jesus’ words in a tangible, personal way.  Francis grew up in the life of luxury.  He grew up in a privileged home, lived a life of young adult revelry, and could have easily assumed his father’s wealth in adulthood.  But there were these poor people everywhere he looked around town.[i]  And there was the day everything changed at the church of St. Mary of the Angles[ii], when Francis heard different words from Matthew’s gospel, just a chapter before what we heard today.  Jesus says, “Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons…Take no gold, or silver, or coper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff…”[iii]  For Francis, Jesus’ yoke felt light because the yoke of keeping up appearances, the yoke of ignoring the poor to enjoy your own wealth, the yoke of never feeling like you have enough was indeed a heavy yoke.  The yoke of another way – of the way of Jesus – helped Francis reframe his entire life.

That is what we celebrate too.  St. Francis, in his faith conversion, and in his ability to see the sacred in all of God’s creation, saw the truth of our gospel lesson today.  As one scholar explains, “The proper ordering of our relationship to Father and Son can be deemed ‘light’ and ‘easy’ because an improper relationship to them surely makes for a much harder and more restless life!”[iv]  Whether in the pure love between animals and owners, whether in peaceful moments with God’s creation, or whether in today’s gospel lesson and in Francis’ example, our invitation today is to let go of the hard and restless life and to take up the light burden of Jesus’ easy yoke.  The more we practice taking on that yoke, the more we find work that is meaningful, life-giving, and blessed.  And that is a yoke we can all enjoy!  Amen.

[i] Holy Women, Holy Men:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  Church Publishing, 2010), 622.

[ii] Hilarion Kistner, O.F.M., The Gospels According to Saint Francis (Cincinnati:  Franciscan Media, 2014), 6-7.

[iii] Matthew 10.7-10

[iv] Colin Yuckman, “Commentary on Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30,” July 9, 2017, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-14/commentary-on-matthew-1116-19-25-30-4 on October 1, 2021.

On Clearing the Way…

29 Wednesday Sep 2021

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Photo credit: https://stock.adobe.com/search?k=stack%20of%20paper%20on%20desk

Last week, I finally took on the task of clearing my desk.  In general, I am a “stacks” kind of person when it comes to organization.  I stack papers on my desk when I am done with them.  The stacks can get quite large, but I also know enough about the stacks that I can find papers if I need them.  Eventually, when the stacks get a little too big, I take a day and go through the whole assortment of stacks, tossing things or filing them when necessary.  But even though I love the satisfaction of the clean desk, the stack method is never really eliminated.

My periodic purging of the stacks normally works fine.  But when you’ve been through eighteen months of a pandemic and were super busy before the pandemic hit, let’s just say my stacks had gotten taller than my head when I was seated at my desk.  Because I had precious little time in the office in the last eighteen months, giving up a whole day or at least half a day purging seemed like a luxury I could not afford.  And so, week after week, I would promise myself, “Maybe next week…”

Sometimes, I think our relationship with God is a lot like that – especially during this pandemic.  Maybe we have prayer books we like, devotionals on our nightstand, or even a little prayer station at home with items like prayer beads or inspirational photos or trinkets.  But the survival patterns we have developed during this pandemic have meant the normal things that helped us feel close to God – the physical things or even the people from church we have not seen in eighteen months – have been absent for too long.  Maybe we have even made those same promises to ourselves, “Maybe next week…”

I wonder what that “thing” is for you:  What have you been putting off during this pandemic because you could not let it be a priority like it once was?  Maybe it has been taking care of yourself physically or emotionally, maybe it has been caring for others in ways that bring you joy, or maybe it has been connecting to a church community.  Whatever the “thing” is for you, maybe this week is the week when you take a deep breath, drop the things that have seemed essential until now, and give yourself a moment to take care of yourself – in ways that maybe seem luxurious, but in the end, might just be sacred necessities.

On the Sacred and Bus Stops…

08 Wednesday Sep 2021

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Photo credit: https://www.longislandpress.com/2019/12/13/school-bus-stop-arm-cameras-coming-soon-to-long-island/

For years now, I have walked my children to the school bus stop.  It has been precious time – holding hands, talking about expectations and hopes for the day, noticing nature’s wonders, playing games while we wait.  We have goodbye rituals too:  the four instructions they get everyday (have fun, be kind, learn lots, and do your best), waving and making heart signs from the bus, waiting until the bus pulls away.  They are rituals that are often taken for granted as the day’s to-do list creeps into one’s mind.  But when one pays attention, one realizes these are sacred rituals.

As you can imagine, the transition to the new rituals of Middle School has been a bit rough.  I am still allowed to drive my child to the bus stop, but definitely not allowed to get out of the car.  We still talk about hopes and expectations, except when a friend finally shows up and becomes the priority.  We are in that journey to adulthood where my child’s primary influences are changing from me to her peers:  and this is good and holy too. 

And so, I am creating new practices for myself.  When my child leaves the safe space of the car and boards the bus with twenty other kids, I have been surprised to find myself praying.  Praying for my own child, certainly:  that she will be safe from this pandemic, that she will cultivate friendships that are life-giving, that she will be inspired by the gift of learning.  But as I watch the other children board the bus, I find myself praying for them too:  for the ways in which Middle School can be so brutal, for the struggles at home they may be experiencing, for the pressures they face as they define their identity.  I even pray for the bus driver, and the ways in which he is the guardian of our children, even if only for a couple of hours a day.

I imagine there are opportunities for expanding prayer for all of us in everyday life.  Where have you found yourself worryingly praying for a loved one?  Who in their immediate field can you pray for too:  their coworkers, teammates, doctors and nurses?  Who are the shepherds who need your prayers too:  their bosses, coaches, ministers?  This week, in your prayers, I invite you to let your prayers expand – fan out a little further than the immediate concern on your heart.  Observe how your fanning prayers expand something inside of you too:  a larger worldview, a bit more compassion, a lot more empathy.  Then, maybe add an action:  send a note to someone, make a phone call, send a text.  I would love to hear how your expanding prayers and actions help expand your experiences with the sacred.

On Baptisms, Babies, and Blessings…

16 Wednesday Jun 2021

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Photo credit: Kim Edwards; reuse with permission only

I was never really a baby person:  I did not do much babysitting as an adolescent; except for my little brother, there were not a lot of babies around me growing up; and I was just never all that jazzed about babies.  They seemed delicate, loud, messy, and mysterious.  I never had maternal urges in early adulthood, and my friends found constant amusement in any scenario where the question arose about who should take care of a baby in a pinch – obviously, the baby should not come my way.  But the time my husband and I were engaged, we were not even sure we wanted to have children.

Then in my early thirties, a switch flipped and I realized, in fact, I did want children.  I still was not sure about other babies, but I was excited about my own.  But then a funny thing happened.  I was ordained a deacon when I was about seven months pregnant.  What I did not realize was once you are ordained, you handle babies a lot – in baptisms, in walking moms through pregnancies and births, and even in the receiving line at church.  Once I went through babyhood with my own daughter, and she was no longer at that lovely, innocent stage, I realized my vocation included mothering a lot of other babies.  It has become one of my favorite parts of ministry because it is a glimpse into the wonder and mystery of creation and the grandeur of our God.

So, you can imagine, when this pandemic hit, among the myriad reasons my heart hurt was not being able to interact with babies.  Our church had babies born during the pandemic and it killed me to not be able to welcome the baby at the hospital and give the baby and family their first blessing.  My heart ached to see baby photos on social media and know the babies were growing up without the church surrounding them in love.  But mostly, my arms palpably felt the absence of holding babies, swaying to keep them calm, and smelling their unique baby scent.

As we slowly come out of this pandemic, I am keenly aware of the privilege of holding babies again.  At a recent wedding I tentatively asked a guest, who I did not know, if they would like me to hold their baby to give them a break.  When they quickly passed me the baby, my face lit up.  Last Sunday, when I finally got to hold the baby we had prayed for all during her time in the womb, I was elated.   And as we approach two more baptisms this weekend, I could not be more excited to make those special connections – even though they are not really babies anymore!  One of the blessings of the rise in vaccinations is enjoying the sacred honor of touch, of experiencing vulnerability and innocence, and of redefining the boundaries of family.  This week I give thanks for the abundance of love and joy.  May you all find your own encounters with the holy this week!

On Barriers and Saying Yes…

05 Wednesday May 2021

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Photo credit: https://aleteia.org/2020/03/30/how-laypeople-can-baptize-in-an-emergency/

On Sunday, we heard the story of the Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch.[i]  At one point in the story, the eunuch says, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”  The question is simultaneously wonderful – how amazing to hear someone so inspired by the witness of Jesus that they want to baptized right away – and anxiety-making.  Episcopalians are very clear about our identity and our liturgical ways of doing things.  So certain is our identity, that I could imagine an Episcopalian responding to the eunuch, “Well, we need to sign you up for baptism class, and then find out when the next best baptismal feast day is on the liturgical calendar.  Once we get everything lined up, we’d be thrilled to schedule your baptism!”  Somehow, that response from Philip would not have made for such an enticing story about the power of evangelism and discipleship.

The eunuch’s words were ringing in my ears when I received a similar request recently.  One of our young parishioners lost her godfather to an unexpected death during COVID.  We were all devastated and grieved together.  But a few weeks ago, the family contacted me with a request.  They had already talked as a family about how her godfather would always be her godfather, even from heaven.  But they also wanted to appoint a new earthly godfather who could help their daughter grow in the life of faith.  And so, their question was, “Is there a way you can do that liturgically by Zoom?”

One answer could have been no; we do not have such a liturgy in our Prayer Book.  But the request was so pure and Spirit-led that I knew even a Prayer Book would not want to limit such grace and abundance.  And so, in consultation with some fellow clergy and liturgical resources, including the Book of Common Prayer, we cobbled together a beautiful liturgy.  We prayed for the godfather who had passed and the ways in which he would always be with us.  The godchild formally asked the godfather if he would be willing to be her earthly godfather.  We asked the normal questions we ask in a baptismal liturgy of the godfather, and then we all reaffirmed our Baptismal Covenant and prayed over the new “family” we had created – all via Zoom.  And although we were not in our beloved chapel, we created a profound, intimately sacred space together, where the Holy Spirit blessed us as a community.

When I think about those questions, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” and “Can we designate a new godparent?” these are questions of curiosity and longing.  These are questions inspired by those seeking Christ and wanting a deeper connection to God.  If this pandemic has taught us anything, we have learned the ways in which the Holy Spirit is unbounded and can act – whether in a building, alongside a road, or online.  This week, I invite you to ponder what limits you have placed around your own connection to God – what barriers or rules have hindered your connection to the sacred.  How might you begin lessening your grip to allow room for encounters with the sacred?

[i] Acts 8.26-40