Every Little Thing's Gonna Be Alright

 Here is a link to the lectionary readings for this week.

Almost nothing that makes any difference can be proved. I can't prove friendship.

If I tried to put friendship to the test, somehow the test itself would queer the friendship. So it is with the goodness of God.

~~Frederick Buechner💛

I love that Luke’s Jesus uses the imagery of a thief breaking in. It’s classic Jesus, flipping the script, scrambling our brains, helping us be more open to the incomprehensible mystery of God.

Luke is a clever one. He commands our attention by stacking together seemingly disparate messages. For example, last week, we met a wealthy individual who felt compelled to build bigger barns to store his abundant produce. Then he finds out he has just one day to live. Isn’t it ironic - don’t you think?

That challenging story was sandwiched between two other mild-by-comparison teachings on faith.

This week, our stack has two main themes: Don’t worry. But be ready. At first glance, they seem oddly unrelated. But maybe not so much.

Remember the classic episode of I Love Lucy in which Ricky, Fred, and Ethel are preparing for when Lucy will leave for the hospital to give birth to the couple’s first child? Committed to staying calm and steady in the moment, Ricky directs a rehearsal with his friends, timing each movement down to the second. Ethel will call the doctor, Fred will get Lucy’s suitcase, and Ricky will make sure his wife and precious cargo get safely into a cab. They complete one more run-through to Ricky’s great satisfaction. Predictably, at that very moment, Lucy breaks in, a pained expression on her face. “Ricky, this is it,” she quietly announces. In that moment, all their planning flies out the window as bodies slam into bodies and chaos ensues. It’s hilarious. Amidst all the drama, the three nearly leave the apartment without Lucy. 

I challenge you to watch this clip with a straight face.

Don’t worry, be ready is the good news pairing we hear from Luke today. Not exactly the Bobby McFerrin hit, Don’t Worry Be Happy. But close. 

More to the point might be Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds. 

You know it, sing it with me: “Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing’s gonna be alright.”

In the passage just prior to the Gospel reading, not included in our lectionary, Jesus offers the disciples some examples of God’s faithfulness. Good reasons not to worry; birds that are fed, lilies that are clothed. Perhaps Luke places this passage here to encourage first-century Christians under Roman occupation to keep the faith. 

For the disciples who had dropped everything to travel to Jerusalem with Jesus, for first-century Christians, and certainly for us today, the world gives us ample reason to worry. We can consider lilies all day long and still toss and turn at night.

What’s a Jesus follower to do? Luke’s Jesus lays it out for us. Sell some stuff. Give things away. Rosemary Quill did that, her daughter told me when they brought her back here to St. Mark’s last month. As she knew her physical life was nearing its end, Rosemary gave things away. She simplified. She allowed her family and friends to serve her. Her family seemed moved and genuinely grateful for the graceful way Rosemary prepared for her death. It was the ultimate act of love. And faith. 

We get a lovely definition of faith in the Epistle to the Hebrews this morning. “Faith, the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Although we skip over some of these verses, the author of Hebrews gives examples of faith from the Hebrew scriptures. This can be helpful for us when our own faith waivers – to look back, to remember when God has been faithful to us in our lives. Even as we say the creed, Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor suggests, we can bolster wavering faith by acknowledging the faith our ancestors have handed down to us. They may not have been perfect, but their faith was hard won.

The Genesis passage is rich. Abram broods over his life. “What’s this all about if I leave here with nothing to show for it?”

 God shows him the stars. “Go ahead, try to count them. So many will be your descendants, so vast, your legacy.”

Abram believed in God, and God believed in Abram. God believes in us, too. Yet still we worry.

Some of us have expressed anxiety about where we will gather for worship during our reconstruction. Some of us are worried we might not survive the “wilderness” time away from this building. While this is a legitimate concern, I am not worried. We will need to lean into all those qualities of discipleship we have been exploring for the past several weeks: qualities like flexibility, persistence, courage, mercy, focus, and trust. We got this.

I wonder, do we trust God as much as God seems to trust us?

How do we cultivate faith that prepares us for God to break in – regardless of where we find ourselves? I think we simply need to get out of the way. To let God flow through us. Which doesn’t ordinarily happen when we’re anxious or fearful.

Not only that, protracted fear and worry can be hard on our physical and mental health. Prayer and Meditation can help. As can singing together in community, a walk in nature, a belly laugh, a chat with a friend, or gazing up at the stars contemplating the vastness of creation. (The Perseid Meteor Shower peaks this week!)

 It might also be helpful to regularly remind one another:

It was by faith that this community, including some beloved souls who are no longer with us, envisioned our future children and grandchildren returning here for worship and fellowship, being baptized here, married, and buried. 

By faith, we imagined new spaces for learning, praying, making music, and gathering in exciting new ways. 

By faith, we saw ourselves serving people of all ages, colors, and backgrounds. We imagined an active, growing, flourishing community. And here we are on the cusp of exciting change…

Despite our faith, the pairing of the Genesis story with Luke’s pericope seems to present a bit of a rub. A warning “breaks in” when I encounter the word slave. It’s jarring, right? That word should command our attention. It should, especially in light of the atrocity of so many bodies trafficked in this country and elsewhere. In the ancient world, slaves would keep watch for potential intruders. In Genesis, Abram is concerned that a slave in his household will inherit his estate. 

If we consider Abram’s starry legacy, this gets interesting. Abram believes God’s promise of descendants, as many as the stars, and yet, spoiler alert, Abram doesn’t wait for God. Abram takes matters into his own hands, and his first son is born to a slave. (Isn’t that ironic.) 

Sadly, alongside Abram’s impressive paternity, his legacy would also include abuse of power and the heinous institution of slavery. 

 But here’s the brilliant, subversive thing about the Gospel: Jesus completely flips things, making slaves of those of us who do wait for God to fulfill God’s promises. Slaves with no apparent worldly power – only power that comes from God.  

Which appeals to you more?

In light of this and last week’s Gospel (the foolish rich guy), it might seem worrisome that we are preparing to tear down – to build something bigger. But I’m not worried. I think we’re clear about where our treasure lies and how much is expected of us. Those to whom much is given, much is to be expected.

“Little flock,” you, who are so generous, so rich toward God, you to whom much has been entrusted, you who wisely discern the responsibility before you…If you weren’t just a little bit worried, I’d be worried. 

Still, try your best not to worry. Keep calm and carry on. But do keep your lamps lit, because we never know when God will break in. 

Amen.

Here’s a link to my Spotify playlist for this sermon.

 

This is NOT my Sermon for August 10, 2025

Perhaps because this Gospel passage was on my mind, I wasn’t so surprised when Jesus “broke in” the other day as I was driving along westbound Route 50. While traveling at about 60 miles an hour, I approach an eighteen-wheeler. I generally keep a safe distance between me and big trucks on the highway, so I don’t immediately notice that it is an Anderson Windows truck. Then their slogan catches my eye. On the back of the truck, and in even bigger, bolder letters on the side as I pass on the left, are the words: LOVE THE LIFE YOU SEE. 

Despite our many worries and disappointments, perhaps the secret to contentment in this life is loving precisely what is right in front of us. Thank you, Anderson Windows.

Then, over in the center lane, as I ponder this wisdom, another, smaller truck pulls up next to me and begins to pass me on the left. Catching a quick glimpse of the back of this utility van, I see “Follow me” …to some plumbing company, I think. 

Jesus? That you?

Two songs are on my playlist for this week’s sermon based on this week’s lectionary readings. The first is Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. You know the one…” Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cause every little thing’s gonna be alright.” I’m pretty sure Jesus and Bob Marley are buds up there in heaven. 

“Do not be afraid, little flock,” Jesus says to his students in our Gospel this week, after teaching them to contemplate lilies and sparrows and such. Detach from all the silly worries of the world and don’t worry…bout a thing. 

They (whomever they are) always say we should avoid conversations about religion, but I met a guy the other evening at dinner with Rob, and we did talk about religion, and the world did not end. He was Jewish and a literature and drama teacher at a local private school. Needless to say, we had a lot to talk about. He offered me a couple of sermon ideas, including a fascinating article about the Vatican observatory and a beautiful novel by Samantha Harvey.

Enjoying a relaxing dinner out is awesome. After all Jesus instructs his disciples to relax. But then he tells them to be ready for action. Lamps lit. Full-dress right dress.

Not prepared for battle, though. Prepare to be served. Like a welcoming maître d' who says, "Your table is ready. Come right this way," our server is none other than the God of the cosmos, greeting us at our own door to share an abundance of good things.

The second song I’ve been listening to is from One Republic. Counting Stars is practically the story of Abraham, who is given a vision of his legacy as he looks up at the vast, diverse varieties of lights in the heavens. The reading from Genesis coincides with the Perseid Meteor shower, which is visible in the early morning skies from July to mid-August. I am obsessed with this kind of spectacle and plan to spend at least some time under the stars, marveling at God’s celestial wonders.
.

Lately, I been, I been losin' sleep 
Dreamin' about the things that we could be 
Baby, I been, I been prayin' hard 
Said, "No more countin' dollars, we'll be countin' stars" (ooh, ooh) 
Lately, I been, I been losin' sleep (ooh, ooh) 
Dreamin' about the things that we could be (ooh, ooh) 
But, baby, I been, I been prayin' hard (ooh, ooh) 
Said, "No more countin' dollars, we'll be, we'll be countin' stars" (ooh, ooh)

Still not entirely sure where this sermon is heading, but I will always welcome your suggestions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How to Pray in Troubling Times

Jesus said: 

He who seeks, let him not cease seeking until he finds;

 and when he finds he will be troubled, 

and when he is troubled he will be amazed, 

and he will reign over the All.💛

~~The Gospel of Thomas, Saying 2

 

A duck walks into a restaurant, sits at a table, and asks the waiter if they sell grapes. The waiter says, “No,” so the duck gets up and leaves. The next day, the duck comes back, sits at the same table with the same waiter, and asks if they sell grapes. The waiter says, “No, we do not sell grapes.” So, the duck gets up and leaves. The following day, the duck goes back to the same restaurant, sits at the same table with the same waiter, and once again asks, “Do you have any grapes?” Red in the face, the waiter yells, “No, we don’t sell grapes, and if you ask me again, I will nail your beak to the table!” 

The duck leaves, but the next day he comes back again, sits down at the table, and asks the waiter, “Excuse me, do you sell nails here?” “No, we do not sell nails here,” responds the waiter. “Oh, good,” says the duck. “Then, can you sell me some grapes?”

Persistence. It could be why restaurants still serve grapes.

It’s undoubtedly one of the reasons Christianity still exists.

Think about it, after all the persecutions, heresies, so-called “holy” wars, through schisms and scientific advancements, through Reformation, the Enlightenment, Modernism, Post Modernism, Pluralism - all the isms… here we are in this 150-year-old church on a pretty country corner, with our ancient liturgies and our praise band, with our brazen plans for reconstruction that we might better love and serve the community. Who do we think we are? Who do we think God is? 

You want to know what I think? I think God is amazingly persistent.

God’s persistence is modeled in our Old Testament reading. Hosea remains faithful to his unfaithful wife as God is faithful to his people, Israel. The marriage metaphor in Hosea is disturbing. Perhaps it needs to be. Perhaps to shake us out of our complacency. 

God finds a creative way to garner attention by instructing Hosea to marry a “wife of whoredom.” Hosea’s dysfunctional family situation is emblematic of Israel’s broken covenant with God. It was likely scandalous around 750 BCE when this was written. It’s scandalous today as we continue to struggle with issues of honor and shame and patriarchy. 

There is a lot in the Bible that should disturb us, and yet so often we gloss right over it. There’s an awful lot in the world today that should get our attention and rightly disturb us. 

Lynching for one. 

The Emmett Till Anti-Lynching Act was signed into law on March 29, 2022, establishing lynching as a federal hate crime. As you may know, Emmett Till was the fourteen-year-old boy who was brutally attacked and subsequently lynched in 1955. His killers were acquitted, but his violent death generated attention for the burgeoning civil rights movement. It’s unconscionable that it took so long for this law to be passed. 

And it might surprise some of us to know that lynching still occurs in 2025. Disturbing? I agree.

If not for the faithful diligence and courage of very early civil rights activists like Ida B. Wells, this bill may still be on the table – or worse, tabled altogether. 

Ida B. Wells was persistent. Born to enslaved parents in 1862, Wells raised eight siblings after her parents died early from yellow fever. Discovering she had a gift for writing as a young adult, she began her career as a journalist and activist in her hometown of Memphis, Tennessee. When close friends of hers were lynched in 1892, she drafted an article about the dangerous city of Memphis, prompting a mass exodus of blacks from that city. 

Wells fearlessly spoke truth to power in a time when violence toward black bodies was commonplace. In 1895, she compiled a detailed accounting of lynching statistics in the United States, analyzing the socioeconomic, racial, and cultural dynamics of racially motivated violent acts during that era. 

Persistence is critical to affecting social change, but in our prayer life, persistence is also necessary to get us through dry spells when it seems to us that God has all but gone missing. Candler Professor of Church History, Roberta C. Bondi, is an expert on the Desert Mothers and Fathers, third-century monastics who sought to reignite the contemplative prayer life of Jesus. Bondi writes of a friend suffering through a particularly intractable depression. Even when he prayed, this friend reported that God seemed to be absent. Tempted to quit praying altogether, this man, had learned from the Ammas and Abbas to stick with it, to be persistent. Resisting the inclination to give up, he imagines God saying to him, “All these years, I have protected you from your childhood wounds. I want your wholeness, and so I have stepped aside so that you can seek healing for those wounds.” This marked a turning point in the man’s prayer life, and he began to take active steps toward healing.[1]

We don’t have to become a hermit or a seminary professor to learn how to pray. Jesus lays it out for us beautifully.

The original Aramaic version of The Lord’s Prayer probably read more like a poem. Once translated into Greek, in the book of Matthew, we find a longer form of the prayer tucked in the middle of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Luke’s version is abbreviated and taught to the disciples as they journey toward Jerusalem. The doxology in Matthew was not present in the earliest versions of the Gospel; however, it was in the Didache, a late first or second-century Christian manual. In this text, Christians were taught to pray the Lord’s prayer three times a day.

There is just something about the Lord’s Prayer that gets under our skin. 

According to my seminary professor, prayer, in general, shapes us. When we pray, both privately and publicly, our faith and our belief are reinforced.[2]

We pray to God, our Father, our Abba or Amma, like a loving parent whose name is holy. 

Your kingdom come…I am reminded of that beautiful Taizé chant based on Romans 14:17:

The Kingdom of God is justice and peace,

and joy in the holy spirit.

Come, Lord, and open in us,

The gates of your Kingdom!

This is no throwaway line. It should disturb us. 

Give us our daily bread—enough for this day. 

Forgive us our sins, as we forgive and release those who sin against us. 

Save us from the time of trial. 

Jesus prayed, “Father, remove this cup,” knowing it wasn’t his call. 

Thy will, God’s will, be done. On Earth as in Heaven.

This prayer calls for our radical surrender and persistence. Persistence from the very heart, mind, and soul of Jesus. 

There is a lot these days to be disturbed about. But praying this prayer with persistence can change us.

I have a challenge for us: Keep praying, keep seeking. 

A couple of suggestions: First, I commend to you The Bible Project podcast, especially episodes 412-416, for a comprehensive and fascinating deep dive into the Lord’s Prayer.

Try praying the Lord’s Prayer three times a day, using whichever version you find most compelling. Pray it once, sit with it. Pray it again and be present to what arises. Then pray it one last time. 

Let me know how it goes. Will you?

---

[1] Roberta C. Bondi, To Pray and to Love: Conversations on Prayer with the Early Church (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991).

[2] Leonel L. Mitchell and Ruth A. Meyers, Praying Shapes Believing: A Theological Commentary on the Book of Common Prayer, Revised Edition, with Episcopal Church, Weil Series in Liturgics (New York: Seabury Books, 2016), 350.

 

This is Not My Sermon for July 27, 2025

“For I do not seek to understand in order that I may believe, 

but I believe in order to understand. 

For this also I believe-that unless I believe I shall not understand.”

― St. Anselm💛

In pondering and praying about this week's lectionary readings, I had some questions for the Creator of the Universe, whom I address here as God...

Me: God, great I Am that You are, what is it like to be you? Who are you?

Do you listen to every prayer? How can you possibly?

I mean, we are always asking for something. Sorry, that's a lot at once. 

God: (Laughing sweetly) What is it like to be me? I am not sure anyone has ever asked that, in all these years. The best word for what it's like is whole. I feel whole. Who am I? I wouldn't describe myself as a who. Like I said to Moses, I am that. I am.  I do hear every prayer, and yes, there are many. I hear, and they pass through me. My I am presence processes each prayer as it passes through my being. 

Does that help? That is the best way I can describe it to you. For now.

Me: Thank you. But I gotta ask, does the suffering on Earth impact your…your… beingness? 

God: Yes. You are my children. When you suffer, I feel it - in a way. Not in the way you feel things. I feel it, and that feeling helps determine an appropriate response, which is always for humanity's highest good. 

Me: I gotta be honest, sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Life is hard for so many people here on Earth. I know you know that, but I just feel like I needed to say it.

God: I hear you. It’s all going somewhere, though. I promise you. 

Me: I trust you. I do. You have gotten me through some challenging times. But what’s the purpose of all of this? This creation, I mean. We seem to be out to ruin your creation. And yet you still love us? Forgive me. I have so many questions.

God: That’s just it, my darling one.

Me:  Who me?

God: Yes, you. And that’s the whole point. I love you. I adore you, actually. And I forgive you. I want nothing more than your wholeness. You want to heal? You want to heal the Earth? Start with forgiveness. Forgive yourself first, then forgive others, including me. Forgiveness does not mean staying in abusive relationships, though. You can forgive but not forget, just to be clear.

You want to be in relationship with me? You want to take this to a deeper level? That’s really what this is all about. You – seeking me, asking the questions, me responding with love. When you reach out to me, just like you always pick up the phone when one of your kids calls. I will always answer. You just need to get yourself into a space where you are able to hear me, be still and know, as the psalmist writes. Like you’re doing now. You gotta admit, this is kind of cool, isn’t it?

Me: It is. It’s like we’re in conversation. 

But wait, you will do this for everybody?

God: Every single one of you. 

Me: That’s amazing. Just one more question...Where are you exactly? Are you in my mind? In my fingers as I type this…in my heart? I felt like you were with me on my kayak the other day. Was that you? 

God: You ask the good questions. You’re not afraid of the hard questions. I love that about you. What do the scriptures say?

Me: Hmmm…well, we read that you are not in the wind or the earthquake (1 Kings 19:11-18). You are in the burning bush, though (Exodus 3:4). You fill all heaven and Earth (Jer. 23:24). You sit on a throne somewhere up in heaven (Rev. 4:2). You are always with us, even to the end of the age (Mt. 28:20), Jesus told us. 

So, you are not in the destruction, but you are in heaven, and you are also always here with us. In all ways. Have I got that right? It’s hard for me to wrap my brain around.

God: I know it is. But you are doing a great job. Keep on seeking me. Keep asking the good questions. Keep praying. Regular prayer brings us closer. I am always listening, and processing, and loving you more than you can know. Remember the movie E.T.? 

God: I’ll be right here. Let's talk again soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before You're Ready

Photo by Smithsonian.com

💛

“To grow a church preach from the heart,
work for the poor, welcome the stranger, embrace the Spirit.
Laugh more than cry. Fail more than wait. Give more than keep.
Be unexpected love and trust the becoming to God.”
― ~~Steven Charleston, Cloud Walking:: A Spiritual Diary

Have you ever seen this segment on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon? (Music Up)

Thank you, adorable bird family, for the special gifts you left us just outside our front door. 

That’s right, a bird family has taken up residence under the roof of our front porch. This happens every year. 

It can be a little inconvenient to host these families. In an effort to deter them, we’ve tried the spikes. But these resourceful birds are somehow able to construct their nests between them! Some of these nests are engineering marvels, really. This year’s is gorgeous. It’s very tidy with kind of a contemporary feel – mid-century modern maybe.

Inevitably, though, fragments of the nest make their way to the porch floor. (Sigh.) I just sweep them up. There’s also the issue of bird poop.

Despite the mess, we have come to enjoy hosting these guests. Especially now that we have a Ring camera on the porch. We get to watch the parents come and go as they care for their newborns, and as the babies eventually grow and leave the nest. We get to watch them as they spread their wings and take flight for the very first time. It’s thrilling.

One year, a pair of mourning doves arrived. A lovely couple, their comforting coo serenaded us morning and evening, as they made themselves at home under the shelter of our porch. Mourning doves are generally in and out fairly quickly. They can build their nests in just a few hours, lay their eggs, and before you know it, they’re gone. Mourning dove mamas usually lay two eggs per clutch.

One day, I noticed there was only one chick in the nest. Mom was there too. She seemed to be poking and prodding her offspring who may have been starting to show signs of failure to launch. Suddenly, I realized - brilliant - she was defeathering her nest. As mom painstakingly deconstructed the home she had built for her family, one tiny twig at a time, junior showed no signs of leaving. He was a squatter. Finally, there was nothing but a mess of nesting debris scattered about. Baby bird, perched perilously on the edge of a ledge, finally gathered his courage, spread his wings, and left us with a tenuous flutter. 

Sometimes we need a little push. It’s a scary world out there. I get it.

So often we find ourselves waiting for just the right moment. There is no perfect time to have a baby, leave an unhappy workplace, or quit an unhealthy habit.

In a way, Jesus pushes his followers out of their comfort zone, sending them, according to Matthew’s Gospel, to the “Lost Sheep of Israel,” perhaps before they feel entirely ready. First, he sends out the twelve, two by two, with specific instructions – take nothing with you. Talk to no one on the road. Offer your peace at each home. Heal the sick, cast out unclean spirits. If you are rejected, shake the dust off your feet, but let them know in no uncertain terms that the Kingdom of Heaven has come near to them. 

Jesus sends the disciples out like “sheep among wolves.” They must be wise as serpents, but harmless as doves. Luke’s is the only Gospel that includes the sending out of the 70, or 72, depending on which translation you read. Some argue that 70 represents the 70 nations that emerged in Genesis chapter 10. However, in the Greek version of the Hebrew Bible, the Septuagint, there were 72 nations. 

Surprise! The Bible has inconsistencies!

Luke, however, is consistent with Jesus’ rather unusual, very specific instructions: take no purse, no bag, no sandals. 

Does this give anyone else anxiety? Those 70 (or 72) disciples, many of whom were likely women, were thrust into a deeply vulnerable position. Jesus sends them out in a state of utter dependency. Sure, they’re sent to spread the good news; they are likely up for that, but Geez Louise, discipleship is hard!

(Music up) Thank you, Barbra Streisand, for 'people who need people, cause they’re the luckiest people…' 

But are they? Just ask the young man in the grocery store, short on enough cash to buy baby formula for his newborn. Ask the unhoused, LGBTQ, people of color, immigrants, senior citizens, someone with a chronic health problem, a victim of domestic violence …Vulnerability is no picnic. It’s not always easy to be on the receiving end of someone else’s hospitality. 

But, God knows, a vulnerable experience can teach us empathy. Literally, God knows.

Grassroots, one of the outreach programs supported by St. Mark’s, is acutely aware of the daily challenges faced by some of our more vulnerable neighbors. Howard County’s primary homeless shelter, Grassroots, provided beds for 547 people last year. In December, thanks to the generosity of several local congregations like ours, Grassroots added twenty more beds to its Cold Weather Shelter Program, increasing its capacity by 40 percent. 

St. Mark’s also supports the Grassroots Crisis Center by supplying meals for more than fifty people on the second Friday of every month. The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. 

Do you feel called to this ministry? For more information about Grassroots, please contact our own Cynthia Scourtis. She can point you in the right direction.

Sometimes we need that little push or encouragement to start the next thing, even before we feel ready. Some of theHebrew prophets, including Moses, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, expressed deep feelings of inadequacy before accepting their call. 

Way back when, before I answered a call to vocational ministry (trust me, that phone rang for a long time), way back then, there was my first solo Lay Eucharistic Visitation. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Trained well by Deacon Diane Fadely, I felt mostly prepared. Still, I was anxious about that first visit. 

I must have looked scared because I recall our rector giving me some specific directions. “Give them communion, but don’t stay too long,” she told me. This dear soul was in the final stages of Alzheimer’s, and although her memory seemed to be gone, she was somehow able to say the Lord’s Prayer. Afterwards, I felt satisfied with the visit. And I reported back as much when I returned the communion kit to the church. Our priest was not impressed. There were plenty more people who needed a visit.  

Anyone who answers a call to Lay Eucharistic Ministry will find that it feels great doing this work. But that’s not the point. It’s about the peace of God moving from soul to soul. It is in this flow that Episcopal Priest and contemplative Cynthia Bourgeault calls the imaginal realm, that the Kingdom of Heaven comes near. Jesus understands this and wants his disciples to experience it too. 

An early Church Father, Bishop Irenaeus, wrote that Jesus became like us so that we might become like Him. Remember the Wedding at Cana? You may recall that Jesus was unsure about the timing of his first miracle. It was his mama who gave him the push he needed, and suddenly, good wine-the very best wine-was flowing freely. 

That wine is the joy of God, the peace of God, the merciful love of God, and the mystery of the Holy Spirit flowing through us and among us when we are brave enough to live fully into our discipleship. Friends, we are called to bring Shalom, Peace, the love of Christ to others in many different ways, large and small. And sometimes this might require that we start before we are ready. 

If you need a little push, we’ve got you. One of the many benefits of belonging to a loving community of faith like this one is we will push you out of your comfort zone. And you will never go it alone. No thank you note necessary.

Amen.

Here's a link to the video

July Yoga

This is Not My Sermon

💛 
God grant me the serenity 
to accept the things I cannot change, 
the courage to change what I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

This week, as I prayed and pondered about the most important message for this congregation at this time, everything I came up with seemed to fall short. What is in these readings that could possibly inspire an already amazing congregation? This is not exactly me avoiding my exegesis. It’s a simple statement of fact. However, I admit, I might have a problem.

If I’m gonna make this Curacy thing work, I need to simplify my sermon prep process. Yes, I took homiletics (preaching) classes in seminary. Yes, I know the proper steps to take to write a decent sermon with a concise and clear message. Simply stated, problem is, I have Sermon Prep FOMO. Trust me, it’s a thing.

I cast such a wide net when I am working on a sermon; I drag in so many different possibilities, that often I simply cannot decide where to begin. Here are a few of my habitual practices. Sometimes, I create a Spotify playlist with songs that reflect some of the themes of the weekly scripture readings. I look for signs. I will ponder the meaning of the lightning bug that landed on a commentary, researching the spiritual meaning of fireflies. (No surprise, they bring light to dark places, signify change, creativity, and spiritual growth. The way their light shines through them, making them both luminescent and transparent, could indicate heart connections.)  

A diamondback turtle scuttled through the grass as I was working on my sermon, and I took a video as she disappeared into the nearby marsh. Naturally, I needed to investigate. Diamondback turtles are currently a vulnerable species in certain areas due in part to overbuilding, which has jeopardized their natural habitats.  

Should I burrow deep into the weeds like my turtle friend or fly higher up like the lightning bug in order to enlighten the folks? There are just way too many choices. Here are some potential options:

We could begin by discussing the discrepancy between some biblical translations of the 70 or 72 that Jesus sent out on a training mission. What is the meaning of the 70? The 72? There’s a lot of speculation, for example, there are seventy nations that sprang from Noah’s family in Genesis 10. Moses took 70 elders up the mountain to meet God in Exodus. The Israelites spent 70 years in captivity in Babylon. There were seventy elders who made up the Sanhedrin, the great tribunal that pressed for Jesus’ arrest. We might even look to Psalm 70, a prayer for deliverance from enemies, which could fit our passage. 

We could do the same thing with the number 72, citing the 72 nations listed in Genesis in the Greek version of the Hebrew Bible, the Septuagint. We could sleuth until the cows come home. And maybe we should, but I’m not sure we need to, really. One thing I’m certain about is that when it comes to the Bible, we’re better off letting go of certainty.

We could examine Jesus’ rather unusual, very specific instructions: take no purse, no bag, no sandals. Stay in one place, eating and drinking whatever is provided. Does this give anyone else a little anxiety? Those disciples are sent out in a vulnerable position, like lambs among wolves to be specific. 

We could discuss the power of vulnerability and its importance to our relationships. We might delve into Brene Brown’s work on how fear of vulnerability can lead to shame, while vulnerability can open us to joy, creativity, belonging, and love.   

We might discuss the work of Baltimore-born civil rights activist, lawyer, and Episcopal priest Pauli Murray, whose feast day is this week. Murray was the first African American female to be ordained a priest. Murray refused to give up a seat on public transportation well before Rosa Parks and went on to impact civil rights and gender equality legislation. Pauli Murray knew how to shake the dust off her feet. Although highly qualified, Murray was rejected by Harvard because of gender. Pauli Murray is a name we should all be familiar with. 

We could explore peace and what it might mean to bring our peace to a household. We may recall the beloved Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh, who taught his students that to offer peace, we must first be peace. Who said, “If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. This is the most basic kind of peace work.” I love that!

With all that's going on in the world, perhaps the message is simple. Maybe inner peace is the best place to start. How can the Church inspire peace in the minds, bodies, and spirits of the souls she serves?

Finally (maybe), I guess we could discuss “Ecclesiology,” the study of the Church and what it means to be a follower of Jesus today in this post-postmodern, post-colonialist, pluralistic world. Dear God, help me decide. 

See what I mean? Please pray for me. 

Stay tuned for Sunday.

Love,

Curate Connie+

No Animals Were Harmed in the Writing of This Sermon

 

As I ascended the stairs of the unremarkable office building, the hollow echo of footsteps on metal intensified my nervousness. Having never attended an AA meeting before, I opened the door and was relieved to find people who were open, friendly, and welcoming. I took a breath and a seat.

I was honored that my uncle, now of blessed memory, had invited me to attend his thirty-year celebration of sobriety. There, among his immediate family and fifty or so grateful people who had been touched by his kindness and support, I was momentarily taken aback. As story after emotional story was shared about how much this man had helped them through their recovery, I developed a whole new appreciation for my uncle. I had grown up knowing about his "problem," about how his family had been hurt by his drinking. And then he got sober. 

We know that when one person changes, it affects the entire family system. Even positive changes, such as sobriety, can really rock the boat.

Not being directly affected by his disease, my uncle and I grew close, sharing a common interest in spirituality. 

Let's be real; none of us is a stranger to addiction or family dysfunction. The Bible is chock-full of it!

After the "No Kings" protests last week, it was enjoyable to revisit the book of Samuel in our Bible study on Wednesday. As you may recall, before Kings like Saul and David, there were Judges. The prophet Samuel appoints his children to be judges, but that doesn't go well. As these things tend to happen, Sam's kids misuse their power. 

The ancient Israelites decide that what they really need is a king. As we all know, one of the problems with kings and large institutions in general is the abuse of power. Despite God's advice to the contrary, Samuel anoints the very tall, good-looking, somewhat reluctant King Saul.

King after king after king, and one violent conflict after another, not to mention rampant marginalization and disenfranchisement of the vulnerable, it's the same sad, repetitive story. It's the same sad, repetitive story. It's the same sad... You get the idea. 

Nothing changes if nothing changes…

Our stories can paralyze us, holding us captive if we don't bring them above the line into conscious awareness, as Joseph Campbell was known to say. If we're not careful, our stories can paralyze entire cultures. 

As he'd done so many times during those horrible years at the height of the AIDS crisis, the hospice chaplain sat with yet another young gay man, a practicing Buddhist named Matthew, who, like many others, had been ostracized and demonized and abandoned to die alone and afraid. Frustrated that nothing he said or did seemed to comfort Matthew in his final painful, feverish hours of life, the exhausted chaplain prayed for guidance. Around 2:00 a.m., a woman bustles into the hospital room, mop and bucket in hand. As she cleans, she notices the small plastic figurine of Jesus, surrounded by lambs and little children, that the desperate chaplain had placed on Matthew's windowsill as a gesture of last resort. In a thick accent, the woman exclaims, "Merciful Jesus! If His kindness is here, then everything is going to be alright!" At that moment, a peaceful smile spread across Matthew's face as he turned his gaze toward the woman and Jesus. 

Throughout the long arc of Biblical history, God works in and through the unlikeliest of people, reorienting us again and again toward justice, compassion, and the healing power of love, to the impossible kind of world only a tiny, helpless immigrant baby born to an unwed teenage mother could begin to help us imagine. 

As it was in the beginning…following Jesus is still the ultimate act of resistance. To follow Jesus is to claim, as Paul writes, that we are "all one" – male, female, Jew and Greek, slave and free. This aspirational vision of Christian community sets aside binaries, boundaries, borders, and boxes that pigeonhole us into seemingly inescapable and limiting categories. One commentator writes: "For Paul, this trans-binary practice of in-Christness is the litmus test of the new creation." 

All too often, though, we, the institutional church, forget who we are; the institutional church being something of a necessary evil that, paradoxically, holds the dream of God and, at the same time, rejects it, writes theologian Verna Dosier. [1] Frederick Buechner suggests that the AA  model, with its simple philosophy of truth-telling and support, is one to emulate. With no buildings, they meet wherever they can. AA is free and open to everyone, everywhere.[2]

The Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, all tell the story of a demoniac, a man so broken, so disenfranchised that he lives naked among the dead. He's an outcast, utterly disposable, invisible, save for some unruly public outbursts.

It's not difficult to find parallels in today's world. 

Jesus and the disciples have crossed the Sea of Galilee to the opposite shore—the land of the Gerasenes, Gentile territory. It's been a bit of a rough boat ride, but Jesus has a way of calming stormy seas.

When he encounters the crazed man, it's the demons with whom Jesus has a chat. Jesus asks for a name, which in Greek translates more like, "Who are you? Who are you really?" No match for the Son of God, the demons beg for mercy. Jesus permits the "legions" (a Roman military reference, perhaps?) to enter into a nearby herd of pigs.

Sidenote: According to Pigpedia.com, the Ancient Romans thought pigs to be symbols of intelligence and prosperity. According to this (questionable but entertaining) source, they revered the animal so much that Roman soldiers would carry small pig figurines into battle for luck. 

Theologically, this story is rich: it encompasses ancient purity culture, Jewish dietary restrictions, the waters of creation, eschatology—the study of endings (sorry, pigs!) —and perhaps even a suggestion of baptism. We could unpack this passage for days. 

What I'm curious about is how the man was received by his community after his healing. What old stories did his community cling to? What Christian values are at stake here? Compassion, hospitality, humility, forgiveness? Respect for human dignity, integrity, and moral courage? These are values that many institutions eschew in favor of more worldly values, such as money and power.

This Gospel story should raise questions for any community of faith. Who are we really?  How are we called to be church in this moment?

What values are we committed to? What changes might come about through the practice of a fearless moral inventory? 

Does that sound familiar? It should. It's the fourth step of Alcoholics Anonymous. In the fifth, we admit our shortcomings to God, ourselves, and one another. We name our demons. (Remember, demons are goners in the presence of Christ.) And miracles happen in the presence of a healthy Community of Love. 

After that, according to the twelve steps, we're ready to have our demons exorcised, ready to work together toward a new and improved version of ourselves, rebuilt on a solid foundation of loving kindness. And as anyone in recovery knows, the work never ends. 

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[1] Verna J. Dozier, The Dream of God: A Call to Return (New York, N.Y.: Church Pub., 2006), 91.

[2] Frederick Buechner, Beyond Words: Daily Readings in the ABC’s of Faith, 1st ed. (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2004), 14.