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On Seeing Joy…

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in reflection

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abundance, calendar, children, extraordinary, God, Holy Spirit, joy, ordinary, scheduling, soul

Photo credit: https://www.kcresolve.com/blog/why-joy-is-scary

Those who have young children, or are friends with families with children, know that a big part of parenting is running your kids to activities – sports, dance, music, or whatever other passion the kid has (or the parent wants them to have).  The more children there are, the more running and coordinating there seems to be.  When I talk to most parents, that shuttling and coordinating is something that occupies big spaces in their brains and emotional energy – myself included!

These next two weeks, our family is in the thick of that mode of being with our little one.  She has started a fun summer day camp, her dance recital is this weekend (the culmination of a year of work), and next week she gets to do a half-day basketball camp and start summer cello lessons with a beloved teacher.  My normal response to such a load is feeling overwhelmed by the details.  But this week, I have had an odd sense of objectivity about it all.  Over the course of two weeks, this kid will get to experience all the things she loves in life:  play, dance, basketball, music, and relationship.  I have been marveling at how awesome it is to have so many soul-feeding things in such a short span of time.  It is like a concentrated dose of joy-making and I find myself getting to bask in the glow of her happiness.

Watching this special time for her has made me wonder how we are structuring our own busy calendars.  Summer is often a time of special trips and adventures.  But I am not sure what is calling to me is the planning of extraordinary things to fill our hearts.  Instead, what I sense is calling me is to name the extraordinary in the ordinary life I have crafted for myself.  If I value relationships, how are those relationships feeding me right now?  If I value the health of my body, how am tending to my body?  If I feel enlivened when I am rooted in God, how am I connecting with God these days?

I wonder what ways the Holy Spirit is calling you into joy through the abundant gifts surrounding you.  I wonder what beautiful things in your life you have been remiss in giving gratitude for lately.  I wonder if this week, you might take out that planner, or calendar, or set of sticky notes on the fridge, and start reframing those things that feel like obligations as things that God has gifted you for your joy.  I cannot wait to hear where you are finding abundance!

Sermon – John 11.32-44, Isaiah 25.6-9, AS, YB, November 7, 2021

17 Wednesday Nov 2021

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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All Saints Sunday, All Souls Day, death, God, hope, humanity, Jesus, Lazarus, loss, necrology, new life, promise, saint, Sermon, soul, strength, tears, weep

Most Sundays we talk about Jesus’ life and witness and how we can emulate the Son of God.  Many years ago, there was even a campaign with the letters WWJD:  What Would Jesus Do.  But what we rarely talk about is how incredibly hard that ideal is – how hard as everyday humans emulating the Savior, who was both fully human and fully divine, really is.  So, in theory, a day like today should be a relief.  All Saints Sunday is a day we shift gears and talk about emulating people who were fully human.  Of course, that notion is tricky too.  By “saints” the church means those “persons of heroic sanctity, whose deeds were recalled with gratitude by

later generations.”[i]  These are people like St. Francis who shed his every earthly possession and obtained the stigmata, Mother Teresa who nursed this sickest of the sick and poorest of the poor, or even St. Margaret, who slayed her way out of a dragon after being tortured for her faith. 

I think that is why we often conflate All Saints and All Souls Day – the latter being a day when we remember all of those who have died in the hope of the resurrection.  These are the saints or souls who may not have been marked by heroic sanctity, but certainly had an impact on our lives.  These are the moms and dads, the spouses and friends, the children and lovers who may not have always been holy, but certainly taught us about the Christian faith and who we entrusted to the hope of the resurrection as we sat by their deathbeds or mourned their sudden deaths from afar.

We conflate the notion of All Souls Day into All Saints Day because there is something more human about All Souls Day – not only because we can relate to ordinary human life and death, but because the celebration today makes us feel like our humanity can be enough too.  That’s why I love the gospel lesson we get today.  In all the texts about Jesus’ healings, outwitting the challengers, and his ultimate sacrifice for us on the cross, today we get a text about Jesus being very human.  Before the amazing miracle of raising Lazarus from the dead, we are told, very simply, Jesus wept.  Caught up in the grief of his friends Martha and Mary and lost in his own overwhelming sense of loss, Jesus cries; not just a single, artistic tear, but a full-on bout of weeping.  In that solitary moment of grief, Jesus feels deeply, tangibly human.

I do not know about you, but that is what I need from Jesus today.  Later in our service we will list the names of the beautiful souls from Hickory Neck who died in the last year – those who made us laugh, sometimes made us angry, who put a smile on our face, and sometimes made us weep.  In the Prayers of the People, we will pray for the over 750,000 people who have died of COVID in the United States, mourning not just their loss, but the loss of our old “normal” and all that this pandemic has taken from us.  We mourn the ways in which many of the funerals we celebrated in the last year cheated us from each other’s presence – a reality that has still not be fully remedied.  In the midst of what has been a time of significant trauma, we need a Savior who weeps with us – and not just for the dear friend who has died, but also for the fact that his raising Lazarus will soon mean his own death.[ii]

That very gift of Jesus’ humanity today is what empowers us to boldly proclaim hope[iii] in the midst of sorrow, in the midst of trauma, in midst of this strange in-between time.  The words of Isaiah remind us of the promise, the promise that, “the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.  And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.  It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.  This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”  On this All Saints Sunday, that is our hope for the week – the promise that the Lord God will wipe away tears – because God’s Son has known our tears – and that we will enjoy that rich feast with our loved ones again.  This in-between time is just that – a time in-between where the promise of new life is a rich promise indeed; one that gives us strength for the not-yet time.  Thanks be to God!


[i] Holy Women, Holy Men:  Celebrating the Saints, (New York:  The Church Pension Fund, 2010),664.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “When Jesus Weeps,” October 28, 2018, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/1999-when-jesus-weeps on November 5, 2021.

[iii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Mourn Loss, Proclaim Faith,” November 1, 2021, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/mourn-loss-proclaim-faith on November 5, 2021.

Sermon – Mark 6.30-34, 53-56, P11, YB, July 22, 2018

25 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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church, desert, disciples, Jesus, ministry, rejuvination, renew, rest, self-care, Sermon, soul, summer, wilderness

When I first read this gospel lesson today, I was pretty excited.  This text is the perfect summer gospel lesson.  Summer is that time when we slow down a bit, we play a little more, we relax a bit more.  The rhythms of life change a bit during the summer, whether we are tied to someone on a school calendar or not.  In fact, one of my favorite collects for summer matches this text perfectly.  The collect “For Good Use of Leisure,” goes like this, “O God, in the course of this busy life, give us times of refreshment and peace; and grant that we may so use our leisure to rebuild our bodies and renew our minds, that our spirits may be opened to the goodness of your creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”[i]

So when Jesus says to the disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while,” I feel a sense of relief and permission – permission to rest from my labors, perhaps even to use summer as a time to rejuvenate, sleep a little more, not work quite so hard on all those committees and deadlines.  When Jesus tells the hard-working disciples to come away and rest, his words become a word of comfort to our weary souls, his words help us envision a Jesus who cares about self-care, and his words even have us dreamily imagining a great desert getaway, perhaps mentally noting to google vacations to Palm Desert after church.

But before we get too excited about the introduction of our story, the rest of the story starts to invade our imaginations.  We are told that on the way to that desert getaway, the people hear about the disciples’ getaway and beat them to the other side of the shore and immediately start asking for more healing.  After more work for weary souls, we are told Jesus and the disciples try to escape again.  But this time, the crowds get even more vigorous – rushing forward to grab their blessings.  So much for a weekend of staying in our PJs and binge watching TV.  And so much for the supportive boss who promotes self-care.  Jesus changes his tune as soon as the crowds show up.  No rest for the weary today!

For those of you who have been following along with my blog posts, you know I have been chronicling my experiences at General Convention.  Day after day, something dramatic happened.  But in the jam-packed nine-day schedule, we were given a sabbath – Sunday morning to go wherever we wanted to church.  Sitting in the pews as a priest on a Sunday is glorious and rare gift, and I was particularly excited because I had an old friend that I was going to get to see in their home parish.  But a few weeks before General Convention started we got word that a priest was going to organize a trip and prayer vigil at a detention center for women seeking asylum in the United States – and would use our free Sunday for the event.  Now since today is Sunday and we are about to confess our sins together, I have to confess something to you that I would not normally tell anyone:  my initial reaction to this invitation was resentment.  Instead of getting to sleep in, visit church leisurely with a friend, and get some much needed sabbath time before going back into legislation, I was going to need to get up early, miss time with my friend, and stand in 100-degree Texas heat and feel passionate about yet another social justice issue.  I knew I should probably be excited for the unique experience, and I should probably be preparing a protest sign, and invite other locals to the event; but all I could think on the inside was, “but you promised we could rest a while!”

What I forgot and what the disciples miss are the details of Jesus’ invitation today.  Jesus does not say, “Come away with me to a resort, and get a spa treatment package with the bonus strawberries and champagne.”  Jesus says “come to a deserted place.”  Palm Desert, with its palm trees, mist sprayers to keep you cool, and sparkling swimming pools, is not what Jesus is talking about here. The desert is where Mark’s gospel starts – with John the Baptist eating locust and wild honey, with hardly any clothing for protection.  The desert is where Jesus goes to be tempted by the devil.  The desert is not where you go to escape and catch up on lost sleep.  The desert is where you go to wrestle your demons and find deeper connection to God.[ii]  The desert is a place of self-care:  not the resting, rejuvenating kind, not the binge-watching, escapism kind, but the hard, deep, soul-examining kind of work that is about taking care of the self – just without all the amenities.

When Jesus invites the disciples into the wilderness, he is inviting them to renew themselves for ministry – to reconnect with the initial passion hidden within them, the joy that came from first volunteering to be fishers of people, the thrill of personal invitation to make a difference in the world and see a new age dawning.  So Jesus says, “Want to get renewed about that Outreach Committee Meeting next week?  Go out and have a conversation with a homeless person or swing a hammer on a Habitat house before you go.  Want to stop crunching numbers for that big project?  Go visit with the family who hasn’t been able to eat a hot meal all summer.  Want to put down the newspaper to relieve your compassion fatigue?  Go to the local jail and start hearing the stories of addiction, poverty, and prejudice that keep people in those cells.”

The good news about my compassion fatigue at General Convention is the same friend with whom I had hoped to go to church wanted to go with me to the Detention Center instead of church.  I was fresh out of excuses to not go.  In the blazing Texas sun, with sunblock and extra water bottles, we schlepped her one-year old to the wilderness of Texas.  As soon as we spotted the cold, harsh, former prison walls that were now being used as a “residential facility,” I suspected Jesus was smirking with his “I told you so,” face.  As songs rose up from the crowd of over 1000 Episcopalians, my heart started aching for the stories I could imagine inside those stone walls.  As my friend’s child cooed and chattered, I imagined the women inside who wanted to be with their own babies.  As we prayed, I realized my selfish desire for rest would not have been sated with a brunch and a long nap.  What my soul needed was right there, in that brown, withered field in the hot summer sun.

I do not know what kind of wilderness place you need today.  I do not know where Jesus needs to guide you to help you find the kind of rest your soul needs.  I do not know what kind of deserted place you might be dreading today.  But I invite you to say yes.  I invite you to risk feeling more tired than rejuvenated.  I invite you to open yourself to the deep transformation that can only happen in a place of vulnerability.  The next time Jesus says to you, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while,” just go.  I promise you will get the kind of rest your soul needs.  Amen.

[i] BCP, 825.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, “Letting Go,” July 15, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5198 on July 18, 2018.

Sermon – Matthew 22.34-46, P25, YA, October 25, 2014

30 Thursday Oct 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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Tags

active, commandment, God, heart, Jesus, love, mind, neighbor, passive, Sermon, soul, stewardship

I hear it all the time.  Whether talking to engaged friends or working with a couple in premarital counseling, inevitably the question will come up, “So why do you want to get married?”  And then I get the response, “Well, we’re just so in love.”  Though their googly eyes are endearing and make me somewhat nostalgic for a time long ago, my thought is almost always, “Cute.  I wonder how long that will last.”  Though I try not to squash their mushy moment, eventually we get around to talking about life outside of their love bubble – talking about what happens when they argue, how they will negotiate the in-laws, and who will balance the checkbook.  Those are the times when the warm emotions of love are sometimes difficult, if not impossible, to maintain.  I do not meant to suggest that those warm, fuzzies of love are temporary necessarily; I simply mean that the emotional experience of love is not enough to sustain any relationship – neither those between couples, family, nor friends.  We are right to assume that love is necessary for relationships, but our definition of love has to be much bigger if we are to maintain any kind of meaningful relationships with others.

Sometimes we forget the multilayered meaning of love when we hear passages like the one from our gospel lesson today.  When asked about the greatest commandment, Jesus says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind… and… love your neighbor as yourself.”  These commandments are so familiar to us that we sometimes forget how hard they really sound.  If our definition of love only includes the emotional kind of love that we might call “being in love,” does that mean we need to have googly eyes toward God?  I know very few people who profess to be “in love” with God.  In fact, I am not sure we would even say that we love God.  We might be grateful to God, we may revere God, or we might even be in awe of God.  But I know very few people who would say, “I love God.”  That emotion just feels strange to us.  And yet, Jesus says today, love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.

Now the second commandment is a little easier.  We are used to loving our neighbors – loving people is what we are used to doing.  We love our friends and our family.  But Jesus says to love our neighbor, not just our friends.  Our neighbor includes those grouchy neighbors next door, that kid from school or that guy from work who always pushes your buttons, and most certainly that woman who cut you off while driving.  Our neighbor also includes those neighbors that often go unseen by us: the teen at JFK High School whose family cannot afford clothes and school supplies this year, that family who picked up our produce in Huntington Station through Food Not Bombs, that homeless man who received basic toiletries from St. Ignatius this week, or that Veteran’s family who is struggling to put life back together after returning to Plainview from war.  About these grouchy, mean, and unseen neighbors Jesus says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

When I work with those couples planning weddings, I am grateful when they choose the First Corinthians passage for their wedding, “Love is patient, love is kind…”[i]    I am grateful because then we can talk about what love really is.  We can talk about how love is more than simply a warm feeling or even a passionate desire.  In fact, when scripture talks about love, more often than not the kind of love scripture is talking about is not a passive emotion, but an active mercy.  In scripture, love is not something we feel, but something that we do.  To help us understand the difference, scripture will often translate the word for love as “loving-kindness.”  Love is not a feeling, but a choice:  a choice that we have to make over and over again.  As one person explains, “To love neighbor as oneself is to act toward the other as one would act toward those close to you.  We treat the stranger as well as we treat those that we love emotionally.”[ii]

So what does this active love look like?  For our neighbor, this kind of love is a bit more obvious.  The next time someone is rude to you or unkind to you, instead of reacting to them defensively, perhaps you take a moment to wonder what happened to them in life that made them act this way toward you.  Once you start to wonder about what things make them human and what has hurt them in life, your ability to be angry with them for hurting you lessens a bit.  In my early working days, I worked with a woman who most of the time was pretty pleasant to be around.  But there were times that she lashed out – and when she did I used to be both perplexed and angry.  I eventually started avoiding her altogether when, in a totally different context, someone who knew her shared with me that her father and an ex-husband had been alcoholics and were both abusive.  Suddenly the pieces fell together for me.  She had not known the kind of love that God commands – and I had not loved her as my neighbor.  The next time she snapped at me, her snapping felt less personal and awful – and instead I could see a vulnerable, hurting person who did not know how to love.  When Jesus tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves, this is the kind of shift in thinking Jesus invites.

In some ways, loving our neighbor is a tangible task we can imagine assuming.  But loving God still feels a little foreign, let alone loving God with all our heart, mind, and soul.  Luckily, God leads by example.  Our stories of God tell us of how, time and again, God chooses God’s people, makes covenants with them, forgives them, and invites them into relationship again. God’s love for God’s people is not an emotion, but an action.  Just recently we reheard the Exodus stories of how as soon as the people get out of bondage, they complain about not having food, not having water, and feeling separated from their creature comforts.  We heard again about how when God takes too long with Moses up on the mountain, they quickly revert to worshiping a golden calf.  And yet God keeps providing for, caring for, and loving them.  This is our model for how we are to love God too.  “We can love with our heart: through generosity to God’s people.  We can love with our soul: by worshiping God and praying for our neighbors and ourselves.  And we can love with our minds: studying God’s Word and letting it correct us, enlighten us, and send us out in loving action to the world.”[iii]

As we continue to prayerfully walk the way through this stewardship season, I first wondered whether this lesson really had anything to say about stewardship.  But as I thought about loving God and neighbor, I realized that is what stewardship is really all about.  Like love, stewardship is not something we feel or think about – stewardship is something we do.  When we make a financial pledge or contribution, we are expressing to God our gratitude for our blessings.  We take money from our pockets – money that certainly could be used for a hundred other things we want or need – and we instead give that money to God.  This is our full-bodied way of loving God with our heart, soul, and mind.  And, when the church uses that money for educating our children, serving our neighbors in need, and sharing the Gospel in our community, the church helps us to love our neighbor through our money too.  Jesus is certainly inviting us to change our feelings about God and our neighbor – but Jesus is also inviting us to change our actions toward God and neighbor.  That is what love is.

Next week, you will have the chance to act on that love.  We will process our pledge cards forward, as a symbolic gesture of our financial commitment to the work and ministry of St. Margaret’s.  We commit to funding the worship, which helps us love God with our soul.  We commit to funding the outreach and evangelism, which helps us love God with heart.  We commit to funding education and formation, which helps us love God with our minds.  And we commit to funding a ministry that enables us to not only love God, but to love our neighbor as ourselves.  I cannot think of a better way to invest our money than to invest our money in love.  Amen.

[i] 1 Corinthians 13.1-13.

[ii] Clayton Schmit, “Matthew 22:34-46 Commentary,” 2011, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1063 on October 21, 2014.

[iii] Schmit.

Soul food…

06 Wednesday Mar 2013

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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fed, food, Jesus, Lent, lenten discipline, soul, spiritual

IMG_1397This year my Lenten discipline has been a lot more ambiguous than in years past.  I have been working on being attentive and more present in my life and in my ministry.  Like I said, ambiguous.  But in some ways, the practice has been quite a blessing.  Instead of busying myself with a practice or suffering through giving something up (and probably complaining about either), this year I have been able to step back and see what is working and what really is not.

The wonderful thing about this practice is the ways in which I see that I am being fed.  At our parish, we have had a series of speakers to prepare us for the construction of a community garden that could feed our neighbors in need.  The speakers have been an incredible blessing to me, showing me the simple ways that we can use our vast property for good, but also the ways that we can be a part of some really incredible ministries that are already thriving.

I also just returned from a great conference that fed me much more than I expected.  So many times in the Episcopal Church we get downhearted about the future of the Church and its leaders.  But I just spent time with about twenty of the Church’s leaders and I was blown away by their passion, intelligence, humility, and enthusiasm.  As opposed to a gathering of competitors (Episcopal priests have a tendency to do this from time to time…), it became a gathering of people truly wanting to learn from one another, to celebrate successes, and learn from failures.  I have not been this hopeful for the Church in a while.  For that I am grateful.

Another source of nourishment this Lent has been the practice of following Lent Madness.  In the first couple of match-ups, I found myself getting indignant when my saints “lost.”  But as the weeks have past, I have found I am worrying less about how many I “win” and how much I am learning.  Last weekend, I was worshiping with a Diocesan group and the lessons for the liturgy were from the feast day of Chad of Litchfield.  Imagine how excited I was to immediately know his story before the Bishop was able to explain it to us.  What was once yet another competition has become a great source of nourishment for me in this Lent.

I hope you are finding sources of nourishment this Lent.  I hope your practices are teaching you something about your relationship with Christ or at least inviting you back into relationship with Christ.  During this season of Lent – a season often marked by fasting – I hope your journey is full of filling nourishment for the soul.

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