What is your Reward?

44b449b5fd0fa8480f7734f2b1a6c33a

Every school day at 6:30 AM, I trudge up the stairs to make sure Eliza and Lainey are starting to wake up.  Yesterday, I had more of a lilt in my step as I came through the bedroom door smiling and saying, “Happy Pancake Day!”  They were a bit confused by my excitement, and weren’t quite sure what to make of Pancake Day.  We chatted for a moment about Shrove Tuesday and the practice, at least in the Episcopal Church, of eating pancakes before the beginning of Lent.  I realized in the course of that conversation that I’ve probably eaten pancakes on Shrove Tuesday for each of the last 36 years.  While our girls have been doing it since birth, for them, these habits are still rather new, and in a lot of ways, foreign.

I had a similar experience about two weeks ago when I invited Vonda, our Parish Administrator, to join me for the burning of the palms.  Vonda didn’t grow up in a liturgical tradition, and so, much of what we do around here – from albs, cinctures, stoles, and chasubles, to Shrove Tuesday, Ash Wednesday, and the Easter Triduum – are brand new to her.  We talked a bit about the ways in which the liturgical actions of Palm Sunday help us remember Jesus’ last week, from marching up 12th Avenue waving palm fronds shouting “Hosanna!” to hearing the Passion and crying out “Crucify him!”  I shared with her how we save those palms each year to be burned and ground into ashes that, on Ash Wednesday, get smeared across our foreheads as a reminder of our mortality and a symbol of our penitence – an outward and visible sign of our need for forgiveness and God’s deep desire to forgive.

It is easy, especially for me as a clergy person, to get so used to these symbols and events that I forget what they are really meant to be about.  I can get so caught up in the details of a printer that is acting up, palms that need to be burned, and new fronds that need to be ordered, that the whole season of Lent can turn into one long to-do list.  Before I know it, a season that is meant to be set aside for the intentional work of holiness can just become another season of busy work.  I imagine that clergy aren’t the only ones who are susceptible to this condition.  Cultural LentÔ, with its 2 for six-dollar fast food fish sandwiches and giving-up-chocolate, can become so routine that it loses all of its depth of meaning.

I think this might be what Jesus was on to when he admonished his disciples to beware of practicing their personal piety before others.  To Jesus’ mind, the regular practices of the faithful had become so monotonous as to have lost all real meaning.  Giving alms, prayer, and fasting, the three-legged stool of spirituality for the faithful Jew had become, for some, nothing more than a chance to show off.  Going to the Synagogue was, for some, merely a chance to get their ticket punched, to go through the motions required by the law, and then to go back out into the world as if nothing had really changed.  “When you approach the throne of God just so others will see you, being seen is all the reward you will get,” Jesus says, “But, if you approach the throne of God with humility, penitence, and the desire to be changed, then God, who sees in secret, will reward you with a depth of relationship that is beyond even your wildest imagination.”

In just a minute, Mother Becca will invite us, on behalf of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent.  She will ask us all to take on intentional practices of self-examination, self-denial, and prayer.  As a symbol of our accepting that invitation, an ashen cross will be marked upon our foreheads, not so that everyone can see that we got our Ash Wednesday merit badges, but so that, when you see yourself in the mirror later today, you might remember that the season of Lent is meant to change you.  The practices you take on this season, those done in public and those done in secret, are meant to bring you into a deeper, fuller, richer relationship with God who, Lent also reminds us, sent God the Son into the world, who taught and lived a life of love, compassion, and grace, who was betrayed by one of his closest friends, condemned to death in a sham trial, crucified on a trash heap, died an excruciating death, and was hastily buried in shame on the eve of the sabbath.

The work of a holy Lent is not easy work, but it is of great reward to those who engage it with integrity.  Whether this is your first or your ninety-first Ash Wednesday, I hope you will heed the invitation and spend these next forty days engaging in the practices of holiness and preparing yourself, your body and soul, for the resurrection of Jesus Christ, for the indwelling of the Kingdom of God, and for the resurrection life to which God invites us all.  May your Father who sees in secret reward you richly with grace and mercy this Lent.  Amen.

Advertisements

Finding Good in the Flat Land – a sermon

The Sermon begins at 15:35


Maybe it’s just me, but it seems that post-industrial Americans are pre-disposed against flat land.  Back when we had to rely on agriculture, people coveted long stretches of flat, rich soil, but these days, nobody ever says that they are hoping to vacation in Kansas, Iowa, or central Illinois.  We seem to prefer topography, whether it is the soft, wind-swept dunes of the coast or the majesty of the mountains rising up on the skyline.  This prejudice might explain why we tend to love reading from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s Gospel, but only rarely get any bits of the Sermon on the Plain from Luke.

One might wonder why these two Gospel writers chose different geographic locations for Jesus’ foundational teachings.  New Testament Scholar, Ronald Allen, suggest that Luke uses the location on the “plain” or the “level place” very intentionally.[1]  In prophetic literature, the level places of this world were thought to be the home of death, disgrace, misery, hunger, and mourning.  But the prophets who spoke of God’s great redemption knew that even those level places would one day be redeemed.  In the coming Kingdom of God, no longer will the world be a place of highs and lows, haves and have nots, rich and poor, east coast, west coast, or flyover country.  Rather, the world as God intends it will be flat, all will be made level.  It is the promise of Isaiah, repurposed by John the Baptist, that the highway of God will be made when the valleys are filled in and the rough places made smooth.  On one particular level place, Jesus shared his vision of the great level place that God has been longing to create since Adam and Eve first broke relationship.

Our rare foray into the Sermon on the Plain began last week when Jesus, surrounded by a great crowd of followers from all over Judea, began to preach.  He began his Sermon on the Plain with a series of blessings and woes that essentially turned human expectation on its ear.  This morning, we get part two, which starts with Jesus doing a kind of check in with the crowd.  After that list of blessings and woes – blessed are the poor, woe to you who are laughing, and the like – I’m guessing some in the crowd were already beginning to back away from Jesus.  Looking at them, he says, “Are y’all still listening to me?”  They could certainly hear him, but were they really listening to what he had to say?  The world of Jesus’ time didn’t carry quite so many demands on one’s attention as ours does, but he knew that humans have always struggled to truly listen.

“If any of y’all are still listening to me,” Jesus went on, “I say this, love your enemies.”  I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I want to listen to Jesus on this one.  I’d like to use my prejudice against flat land and ignore a good portion of the Sermon on the Plain, thank you very much.  We’ve had a week to recover from those blessings and woes, but for the crowd gathered on the level place, this is happening in rapid succession.  Right on the heels of “Woe to you when people speak well of you,” Jesus adds, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who abuse you.”  The life to which Jesus is calling the crowd, and all of us, seems to be downright impossible.  At best, we will make ourselves to be doormats for those who want to take advantage of us.  At worst, our faith will be crushed by the impossibility of the demands that Jesus is laying upon our shoulders.  It is as if Jesus didn’t care one bit about the kinds of sermons preachers would someday have to write for late Epiphany, Year C.  Didn’t he say somewhere else that his yoke is easy and his burden is light?

Anyway, the longer I wrestled with this text this week, the more I began to wonder if the impossibility of it all might not be the whole point of the Sermon on the Plain.  The great equalizer for us all is our ability to fall into sin, to build up ourselves, and to fail to live lives that are totally devoted to love of God and love of neighbor.  Back in my old evangelical days, where we would talk more openly about our need for a savior, one of the images that got thrown around to describe the chasm that sin has put between human beings and God was trying to swim the Atlantic Ocean.  If I tried to swim the Atlantic Ocean in one go, I might, might make it a half mile before I drowned.  Ironman Triathlete Shawn Rhodes might make it three or four miles.  A few crazy fools who have swam the English Channel, might make it 20 or more miles, but all of us would fall way short of the 3,716 mile trek.  Zoomed out to view the whole thing, all of our attempts would look quite meager. The same is true of all of our attempts to follow the example of Jesus.  Our attempts, noble as they might be, will inevitably fall woefully short.

We know that no one can live up to the expectations that Jesus lays out in this sermon, but we also know that God desires to bring us all back into right relationship.  It doesn’t make sense then, that God would just leave us out here floundering all on our own.  No, what Jesus lays out here is a case for a relationship with him.  Jesus invites us to trust in him, to follow his example, and to seek a relationship with God who is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked, and merciful to all.  It is, after all, God who sent Jesus here to begin with.  It is by God’s grace that we are invited into relationship and it is with God’s help that we can strive toward the kind of life that Jesus lays out in the Sermon on the Plain.

This whole concept has been summed up in the theological idea of theosis, or the transforming effect of divine grace.  Saint Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria in the mid-fourth century summed up the idea of theosis quite simply when he wrote, “God became human so that humanity might become like God.”  It is through our relationship with God, being guided by the Holy Spirit to live Christlike lives, that we can even begin to follow the difficult teaching that Jesus espouses in the Sermon on the Plain.  It is only when we find ourselves on a level playing field, all in need of the saving work of Christ, that we can begin to see the world the way God sees it, and live the way Jesus invites us to live.

Now, don’t get me wrong, none of this makes me actually like the Sermon on the Plain, but difficult as it may be, it is a teaching from which we can learn quite a bit about the dream that God has for creation and for each of us.  I may not be scheduling a vacation to central Kansas anytime soon, but this week I gained a bit more of an appreciation for the things that can happen in level places.  I pray that in the days to come, we all might experience the difficult teachings of Jesus as an opportunity to deepen our relationship with God, to trust the Holy Spirit, and to model our lives after the impossible example of Jesus, knowing that even in our feeblest attempts at love, the kingdom of God is made known on earth as it is in heaven.  Amen.

[1] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3960 (Accessed Feb 21, 2019)

Blessings and Woes

As promised on Monday, today I feel compelled to write something coherent about Luke’s version of the beatitudes from Matthew.  As one compares the two sets of teachings, two things come immediately into focus.  First, as I noted on Monday, Luke is much more focused on the nitty gritty, real life stuff.  Second, while Matthew is focused solely on the the “Blessed are you…”s, Luke deals with both the blessing and its opposite woe.

Blessed are you who are poor | Woe to you who are rich
Blessed are you who are hungry | Woe to you who are full
Blessed are you who weep | Woe to you who are laughing
Blessed are you when people hate you | Woe to you when all speak well of you

This parallel structure indicates that Jesus was a really good rhetorical preacher, but it also helps to highlight what Jesus is doing in this scene.  The disciples, to whom Jesus is explicitly speaking, as well as the crowd, which we have to assume is still lingering in the background, would hear these words for Jesus and immediately have their minds taken to the blessings and curses found in Deuteronomy.  On the heels of some pretty pointed teaching about the sabbath in Luke 6:1ff, Jesus seems to be reordering the Law by highlighting its root intention.

In Deuteronomy 28, Moses sets down a list of blessings for those who “fully obey the LORD and follow all the commandments of God.”  Similarly, Moses lays out a list of curses that will fall upon all those who “do not obey the LORD and carefully follow God’s commandments.”  Over time, these blessings and curses had come to be associated with the letter of the law – be eat working on the sabbath or the very particular way in pots must be washed – but here Jesus is harkening the crowd back to their roots.

It isn’t about the letter of the law, but rather the spirit of the law.  The letter of the law has created a world in which there are the poor, the hungry, and those who weep.  The letter of the law, in its current abusive incarnation, has made a class of those who are so rich that they don’t know what to do with themselves, who are so satiated and yet still want more, who look down on those who are less fortunate than themselves and laugh with scorn.  Here, Jesus calls “Horse Hockey” on those who have interpreted the law to their own economic advantage.

a20d6baf1cd9e7786dab18c355d14378

“You may be blessed now,” Jesus intimates, “but if your whole worldview is aimed at filling your barns today, that’s all you’ll ever achieve.  Instead, in the great reversal of the Kingdom, it will be those whose lives were dedicated to others, who found themselves poor and neglected, who were committed to deep relationships who will find themselves blessed.  Oh, and if you think that you can use this teaching to hold other down by some kind of promise of future redemption, you too will find yourself in amongst the woes.”

Vestiges of Rite I

Yesterday marked the twelfth anniversary of my GOE scores and comments arriving by USPS.  I can still remember the power that silly day held over so many of us.  In the two years I studied at VTS before I took the General Ordination Exams, we were all but told to walk on egg shells around the seniors on GOE score day.  These Exams held our futures, and whether we passed or not could mean huge delays in the ordination process.  Of course, by the time January 2007 rolled around, several dioceses had started ordaining folks to the transitional diaconate in the fall semester of their senior year, thereby neutering the power of the GOEs for many.  As I am wont to do, I engaged in some of the anxiety around it all, after all, I wouldn’t be ordained a deacon until after I had successfully graduated from seminary, but I was also keenly away that the GOEs were wearing no clothes.

Rather than ramp up the anxiety machine by making the next generation of GOE takers scared to death to talk to me, I immediately blogged my scores, comments and all, because honestly, like any comprehensive professional certification exam, the whole thing is process of market manipulation and hazing, and ain’t nobody got time for that in the church.  Back in those days, scores were 1-5, with anything less than a 3 was considered a failing grade.  The Liturgy and Church Music question my year asked us to compare Eucharistic Prayer 2 from Enriching our Worship to Eucharistic Prayer I from Rite I in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer.  I got a 3 and this was part of the comments, “The limited use of theological terminology inhibits the paper’s capacity to compare and contrast the two prayers.”  So, I guess I answered the question barely, which was enough to pass.

Anyway, my focus in that essay was the basic posture from which the prayer is made.  In EOW, the anthropology is quite high.  We come before God almost in our post-resurrection state.  In contrast, Rite I’s basic anthropology is our sinful wretchedness.  I used to think that EOW missed the boat and Rite I was way more accurate a read of humanity, but over time, I’ve started to realize that depending on they day, sometimes, we might need to be bolstered up in our belovedness rather than weighed down in our brokenness.  That being said, it is helpful to occasionally be reminded that God is God and we are not; that God is good, and by and large, we are not.  Which is why I’m grateful for the collect for Epiphany 6/Proper 1.  This prayer, which dates from the mid-eighth century, is quite clear in where humanity falls on the goodness meter.

O God, the strength of all who put their trust in you: Mercifully accept our prayers; and because in our weakness we can do nothing good without you, give us the help of your grace, that in keeping your commandments we may please you both in will and deed; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

As Marion Hatchett writes in his Commentary on the American Prayer Book,  “The collect reminds us that without the grace of God we can neither will nor do any good thing nor be pleasing to God.”  This certainly doesn’t jive with modern “I’m OK, you’re OK” theology, but let’s face it, that’s got to be ok.  If all we do is good, then there is no need for God.  It doesn’t take too long in the world today to recognize that everyone has fallen short of the glory of God, and that, as Dr. Cox would remind us:

de3a352a836918124d436154655d572f

I’m grateful for the vestiges of Rite I, and for the occasional reminder that no matter how good I might think I am, I, like everyone else, am in need of a savior who can lead me into the goodness that God has planned for me.

Paul’s Logic

If you thought yesterday’s Proper Math was challenging, then you must not have read the New Testament lesson appointed for Epiphany 6C.  Anyone who has done any reading of Paul’s letters can attest to the fact that he could really spin a yarn.  A former Pharisee and a Greek citizen trained in rhetoric, Paul loved to dive into the weeds of logic, and only occasionally came out the other side with something that made any sense.  I even saw recently that someone on Facebook had nominated him at the Patron Saint of dependent clauses.

Paul’s penchant for circular arguments is made all the more difficult when the situation which he is addressing is a complicated one, and boy howdy was the church in Corinth a complicated situation.  Having dealt with arguments over class and privilege, over apostleship and gift, now Paul finds himself face-to-face with a group of Jesus followers who came from a tradition that didn’t believe in the resurrection from the dead.  It is likely that among them were some former Sadducees, a sect within Judaism that didn’t believe in the resurrection of the dead.

971d1abd78eb9d9a750b92e9391a4eb0

What makes Paul’s argument so convoluted is the problem that occurs in most religious arguments – they always begin at a point of presumed certainty, which then requires some kind of mental acrobatics to fit within the logic structure of the other.  The gospel that Paul proclaims is based on the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.  The basic premise of his interlocutors is that there is no resurrection of the dead.  In the world of Venn Diagrams, these are mutually exclusive sets.  How then can Paul prove that Jesus’ resurrection is a real thing to someone who doesn’t believe that resurrection is possible?  Well, you can read Paul’s attempt and see that it ain’t easy.

What I learn from Paul’s mind experiment is that religious discussion must always begin from a place of vulnerability and humility.  Logic is not the way to win a conversation with someone who believes differently than you do.  Winning shouldn’t even be the goal.  Rather, the goal of any encounter with an “other” is to learn and grow yourself.  Conversion is not our main end, that’s God’s work.  Ours is only to tell the story of the Gospel as we have experienced it.

Paul may never convince these former Sadducees that the resurrection is real, but he can certainly share with them the power of his own experience of the resurrected Jesus, from the road to Damascus all the way to imprisonment in Rome.  That’s the crux of evangelism.  Not well crafted apologetics, but a true accounting of the hope in which we, as followers of Jesus Christ, live our lives.

Proper Math

If I’m honest, and who would care enough to lie about such things, I much prefer Luke’s Blessings and Woes to Matthew’s Beatitudes.  I think it has to do with the visceral nature of Luke’s version of some of Jesus’ most famous teaching.  Rather than the poor in spirit being blessed, we hear from Jesus that it is, in fact, the poor who are blessed, the hungry who will be fed, and those who mourn will find themselves overcome with laughter.  If the Kingdom of God is about some kind of grand reversal, then these moves from one fully relatable state of being to its opposite helps me visualize something that is otherwise way beyond my ability to comprehend.  What’s frustrating to me is that we so rarely get to hear Luke’s version of the Blessings and Woes.

I like to consider myself something of a rubrical snob.  I think clergy should learn to read italics, if only to know what rules they are violating as the illusion of common prayer slowly fades into the mist alongside apostolic succession and Dom Gregory Dix.  I have to admit, however, that my understanding of the liturgical calendar and its partner in crime, the Lectionary, is less than adequate.

bcf

Epiphany 6, Year C, the only time when Luke 6:17-26 is appointed for the Sunday readings, is something of a lectionary anomaly.  Let’s look at the proper math.  Epiphany 6 is also known as Proper 1, but according to the rubrics on 158, Proper 1 is never actually read on a Sunday, but rather, it informs the lessons used for a celebration of the Eucharist that occur during the week following the Day of Pentecost, and even then, only if Pentecost falls on or before May 14th.  If Pentecost occurs between May 15 and May 26, there is no chance that Epiphany 6 or Proper 1 are read at all.  Only if Easter falls on or April 10 will we have the chance to read Epiphany 6, and to get Luke 6, it also has to be Year C which begins on Advent 1 of the year before a year that is divisible by 3.  Got that?

I’ve lost most you by now, I’m sure.  Please check back later this week for some real content for preaching.  Suffice it to say for now, that I’m going to savor Luke’s Blessings and Woes because by my math, I have no idea when we’ll get to hear them again.

Spontaneous Volunteerism

The sermon begins at about the 15 minute mark.


My older half-brother, Ed, served in the United States Air Force for more than thirty-two years.  He was active in both Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom and was awarded several medals and commendations.  Ed is quite a bit older than I am, so we really only see each other at major family events like weddings, funerals, and graduations.  I remember one time listening to Ed talk about his time in the military, I think from when he was stationed at Ramstein Air Base in Germany.  He was talking about the lessons life in the Air Force had taught him, one of which was “when they ask for volunteers, always raise your hand.”  “At worst,” he said, “you’ll have to wash a truck, but you might get to go home.  No matter what, it is better than sitting around.”

I can’t help but wonder if Simon Peter subscribed to a similar life philosophy.  I like to joke about Peter’s impetuous nature.  He certainly was of the “ready, shoot, aim” school of ministry.  He was always ready to say or do something, whether it made any sense or not.  In reading our Gospel lesson for this morning, however, I’m beginning to think that this style was cultivated in him by Jesus from the beginning?  What if Jesus chose Peter precisely because he was always ready to raise his hand and volunteer?  In fact, between the story of Jesus calling his first disciples in Luke and the calling of the Prophet Isaiah in our Old Testament lesson, it seems as though God rather enjoys working with those who are ready to jump into service without quite knowing what that service will actually look like.

In the lesson from Isaiah, we hear God’s initial call to the prophet.  It is a majestic scene, in which Isaiah actually comes face-to-face with the Lord God Almighty, an event thought to be so holy that it would cause any human being to die instantly.  There, standing before the throne of God, hearing a voice so powerful that the very foundations of the earth shook beneath him, Isaiah was so keenly aware of his unworthiness that he cried out to God, “Woe to me!”  Even after an angel touched a live coal taken from the altar of God directly to Isaiah’s lips, he was eager to answer God’s call with, “Here am I; send me!”  Now, I don’t know how familiar you are with Isaiah’s work, but lessons from his book have been the Daily Office readings of late, and let me tell you, he had no idea what he was signing up for.  His stinging words of rebuke to the leaders of Israel brought him significant hardship, and yet, Isaiah stood firm, answering again and again God’s call to proclaim judgement.

You are likely more familiar with the trials and tribulations of Peter, who in our story for today makes his first appearance in Luke’s Gospel.  We find Simon Peter tired after a long and frustrating night of not catching fish on the Sea of Galilee.  He and his companions were doing the work that you have to do at the end of a day of fishing – work that is a lot more fun when there is the promise of fresh fish when it is over.  The only thing on Simon Peter’s mind at that moment was going home and going to bed.  Tomorrow night was already coming quickly, and rest was the order of the day.  That is, until a commotion rose up around them.  Jesus had been preaching further down the shore, when suddenly, the crowd was upon them.  As Peter looked up from his net, he was just in time to see Jesus stepping over the gunwale of his boat.

“Can you put out a bit so that the crowd can hear me?” Jesus asked.

“Get your own dang boat,” might have been my reply, but that’s not what Simon Peter did.  Impulsive Peter hopped in and pushed off.  As he sat there at the feet of Jesus, something seems to have clicked in Simon’s mind.  The message of the Kingdom of God coming near spoke to a deep longing that Simon Peter might not have even known he had.  Who knows how long he sat there as Jesus taught the crowds, but when he was done, Peter once again looked up at Jesus just in time to be put to work.

“Head out to the deep water and throw out your nets for a catch,” Jesus suggests.

This time, Peter pushes back just a bit, “Master, we fished all night long and didn’t catch thing.”  His retort didn’t stick however, as he quickly changes course, “but if you say so, I’ll give it a try.”  Peter threw his net over the side of the boat, not knowing what was going to happen next.  This Jesus character promised him a catch, but he didn’t say what kind.  Was he hoping just for enough to feed himself?  Did he want to feed the crowd that had gathered or the entire Village of Capernaum.  Peter didn’t know, and thanks to his spontaneous streak, Peter didn’t seem to care either.  Out went the nets and the haul of fish was so enormous that it threatened to sink both his boat and the one James and John had brought out to help.[1]

Peter’s response to this miraculous scene is not unlike Isaiah’s response to seeing the throne of God.  Immediately, he fell to his knees and worshipped Jesus in fear and trembling.  “Go away from me, O Lord, for a I am a sinful man.”  Again, just like it was for Isaiah, God won’t let Peter off quite so easily.  From Isaiah’s “whom shall I send,” to Peter’s “Don’t be afraid, from now on, you will be catching people,” in both cases the response was the same – they dropped everything and followed God’s call, with no idea what was going to happen next.

I am not like Isaiah, nor like Peter.  I don’t have a spontaneous bone in my body.  I hate surprises, and I almost always have a plan.  Following God, however, often means throwing the plan out the window, raising your hand, and saying, “here I am God, what do you need?”  In October of last year, in the midst of all the amazing things we have going on here at Christ Church, a crowd arrived on our doorstep.  We have named them the Cloister Community, but that just a fancy church euphemism for people who are experiencing homelessness and find themselves sleeping in our Cloister.  At first, I didn’t really know what to do.  I mean, we all knew that folks have been sleeping out there for years, but all of a sudden, they were visible.  It is as if I looked up from cleaning my nets one day and suddenly saw a whole group of people that I had never seen before.  It was a rocky start.  People, personal belongings, blankets, pallets, bikes, and even shopping carts seemed to multiply by the day. I’ll admit that my initial reaction was to push back against this change, to fear for our beautiful campus, and to want to shoo them away.  Something kept that from happening; probably the influence of Deacon Kellie, Mother Becca, and other lay leaders who would soon develop into a group called Sacred Conversations that is devoted to praying for our Cloister Community and seeking ways to help them move on to long-term, sustainable housing solutions.

After a painfully slow six weeks or so, in December, we published a set of community expectations, and for the past eight weeks, we’ve been working daily to help ensure those expectations are being met, building relationships, and generally following the Peter model of ministry – ready, fire, aim.  It hasn’t always been pretty.  There have been unintended consequences both good and bad, but we are making progress toward our goal of providing a safe, temporary place for those experiencing homelessness to sleep.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  I wish we had a grand plan.  I wish there was a flow-chart I could post in my office, but it seems that God’s ways are not my ways.  All God asks is for you to raise your hand and volunteer.  Slowly but surely, the rest will be revealed.

If you want to raise your hand and say “here am I; send me,” come pray with us on the porch, Mondays at 4pm or join our Sacred Conversations meetings on Wednesdays at 4 in the Conference Room.  Jesus loves to make use of Peters and Isaiahs who are flexible and spontaneous, just as he loves to make use of me, a planner and organizer.  I don’t know what will come of this latest invitation to walk with our neighbors; but as my brother would say following Jesus brings a whole lot more blessing than sitting around.  Amen.

[1] I am grateful to Lauren Dow Wegner for her imagery. https://www.christiancentury.org/article/living-word/february-10-epiphany-5c-luke-51-11-isaiah-61-8-9-13 (accessed 1/5/19)