On Wonder and Worry

Twentieth-century Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel once said, “Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement.” Author Annie Lamott calls this “practicing random acts of wonder.”[1]Wonder, that numinous, breathtaking blend of magic, curiosity, and joy all rolled into one. An amaryllis that suddenly blossoms on Christmas Day, after weeks without water! The text from a friend at the very same moment I think of her. The way the Holy Spirit always comes through when it’s time to write a sermon. The Magi lived it. Star of wonder, star of light… Cultivating wonder is a spiritual practice—a counterbalance to despair and worry.
 

I got to thinking, maybe it’s not just the noun, but also the verb. To wonder, to ponder the truth of something…To wonder is to venture deeper.
There’s a mysterious, ancient Christmas Carol that can perhaps help us practice this.

Coventry Carol is not your typical Christmas carol. It’s dark. It’s the hauntingly beautiful lullaby created and first performed near Coventry Cathedral in England eight hundred or so years ago. We’re unsure about the composer's identity, but the song became popular during the Middle Ages after it was performed in mystery plays, religious dramas based on biblical stories. Somehow, it survived for centuries despite a fire that destroyed the only known copy of the score and changes in the church prohibiting public performances of the song.

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child.
Bye bye, lully, lullay

Annie Lennox has a fierce emotional rendition of the Coventry Carol. There are numerous other, more traditional versions available on your favorite music app. The song is written primarily in a minor key, but with an unexpected major note at the end of the last stanza. Music theory geeks know about modal tonality, a specific arrangement of notes intended to elicit a certain emotion. One can just imagine mothers in Bethlehem, or anywhere else for that matter, holding their babies close; rocking and rocking, synchronizing breath and heartbeat, vocalizing lament to calm their anxiety.

O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This poor young ling for whom we do sing
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

In case you were wondering, Coventry Carol was written about the so-called slaughter of the innocents from Matthew’s gospel. But apparently, there’s no credible historical proof of an actual massacre. However, the ancient historian Josephus affirmed that Herod’s temperament was such that an event like this was altogether possible. Herod was a piece of work, it seems. He was not born Jewish; he married into the faith. Herod was one of those frightening tyrants who would stop at nothing to hold onto power. To be a benevolent “King of the Jews,” ironically, the title given to Jesus by the Magi and later by Pontius Pilate, was far from Herod’s nature, and yet this was his station. Rather than ruling justly, Herod was known to frequently seek political revenge, often resorting to murder, including members of his own family.[2]

Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All young children to slay.

Amidst all the violence, somehow, the world keeps turning. And mothers everywhere, keep rocking and singing.

Catching wind of Herod’s evil plan in a dream, Joseph whisks Mary and Jesus off from Roman-occupied Bethlehem to find safety in Egypt. Crossing the border into Egypt is perhaps a provocative move. You might recall that the other Joseph, the earlier biblical dreamer, was famously enslaved there. Also, curiously, although outside of Herod’s jurisdiction, Egypt was also under Roman control. However, there is ample theological precedent for political asylum in Egypt (for fun, read about Hadad in 1 Kings 11:17). Also, around the time of Jesus’ birth, there was apparently a large Jewish population in Egypt. Perhaps the Holy Family stayed with friends. We might also wonder about the Jewish tradition that claims the boy Jesus may have learned magic during time spent in Egypt.[3]

We might wonder if the author of the Gospel according to Matthew is establishing Jesus as the prophesied Messiah by recapitulating events from the Hebrew scriptures, comparing Jesus to Moses in the Exodus story. Matthew’s Gospel also includes a hyperlink to Hosea: “Out of Egypt I have called my son,” the prophet writes. 

We might wonder how the birth narratives in Luke and Matthew could be so different. Was creative license taken by one or both evangelists? If we consider the violence during the time the gospels were being recorded, decades after Jesus' death and resurrection, it seems plausible that writers may have taken some liberties to reassure anxious followers of the risen Christ. With countless others, we might also wonder whether secret encoded messages may have been tucked into the gospels for those early followers.[4]

Andrea Gibson, the prolific poet and activist who died way too young in July of last year, wrote, “We have to create. It’s the only thing louder than destruction.” 
I wonder what they had in mind when they wrote that.

In the massive World War II bombing campaign known as the Blitz on November 14, 1940, German bombs devastated Coventry, England, including Coventry Cathedral. Several weeks later, on Christmas Day, the BBC broadcast a Christmas service from the rubble of the once-grand cathedral. 
 
According to one BBC article, “Despite the devastation, Provost Richard Howard addressed the Empire from the ruins, speaking of forgiveness and hope… 

The service concluded with the choir singing the Coventry Carol, music as old as the cathedral itself, and a song which now exists alongside it as a symbol of peace and reconciliation born from tragedy.”[5]

That woe is me 

Poor child for thee!

And ever morn and day…

 

I wonder how the Holy Family managed as refugees for those few years in exile before Joseph received the all-clear sign from his angel. 

I wonder if it’s possible that Herod’s slaughter of the innocents was fake news. God, I hope so. I wonder if we are doing absolutely everything we can to protect our babies from unnecessary violence today.

For thy parting

Neither say nor sing

Bye bye lully lullay

 

As we head into Epiphany season this week, I wonder about these kinds of things. Epiphany season is when the church shines a light on the one prophesied about and prayed for: God incarnate with us, one of us, the refugee with no place to lay down his sweet head, whose life would hereafter be in constant danger. There’s a tension here that’s worrisome. And yet, wonder of wonders, a song of love and lament arises out of the ashes of despair and destruction, inviting humanity to pay attention, to listen more closely for the not-so-subtle note of hope and redemption mysteriously encoded into the everyday music of our lives.

Spiritual Practice: Inhale: Keep, Exhale: Wondering

My amaryllis. Isn't she a beauty?

Some Episcopal immigration resources here.

For a terrific podcast about the Coventry Carol, listen here.

And if you cannot get enough of the Wise Men, here’s last year’s sermon.

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[1] Mirabai Starr, Ordinary Mysticism: Your Life as Sacred Ground, First edition. (New York, NY: Harper One, 2024), 70.

[2] Andrew McGowan, “A Christmas Version 2025: The Flight into Egypt (and Luke’s Nativity, and John’s Prologue),” Substack newsletter, Andrew’s Version, December 23, 2025, https://abmcg.substack.com/p/a-christmas-version-2025-the-flight.

 

[3] Ben Witherington, III, Matthew (Macon, Georgia: Smyth & Helwys, 2016), bks. 68–74.

 

[4] Elaine H. Pagels, Miracles and Wonder: The Historical Mystery of Jesus, First edition (New York: Doubleday, 2025), 72.

[5] “The Coventry Peace Carol Based on a Biblical Massacre,” December 25, 2025, https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cwyg2lgw14xo.

 

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.