12th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 16A

12th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 16A August 23, 2020 This past week, Facebook shared one of my memories with me. It was a post that I had shared five years ago from the brothers of SSJE (the Society of St. John the Evangelist is a Episcopal community of monks in Cambridge, Massachusetts). The post read: “For what am I most thankful today? When was I most fully alive? How did I receive love? How did I give love? Often in these moments, God was catching me: appearing in a surprising form. Stopping to reflect, I now see and say ‘thank you.’”i I shared this quote with my group of seminary friends that meets weekly on Zoom, and I was so touched by their responses. “For what am I most thankful today or this week? When was I most fully alive? How did I receive love? How did I give love?” This has not been a season where I have been closely in touch with my gratitude, and this question from my past served as an important reminder for me of the spiritual practice, the spiritual discipline of gratitude. Also this past week, I read a reflection on our gospel reading for today by the Lutheran pastor David Lose. The gospel reading for this week is the portion of Matthew’s gospel where Peter makes his confession of Jesus as the Messiah, and Jesus recognizes Peter as the rock upon which Jesus will build his church. Neither of them has acted in an obvious way to live into either of those titles in any way that the other could have expected. Peter, in all his fumbling bravado, hasn’t acted like the stalwart rock that Jesus names him; and Jesus hasn’t acted like Peter would have expected a typical Messiah to act. In some ways, I think that they see each other bathed in the light of gratitude, of hopefulness, of possibility. And it is this light that enables them each to have a clarity of vision for each other in this particular moment. David Lose writes that we can celebrate this reading this week, even be grateful for the way that Matthew lifts up Peter’s success, his clarity of vision because we all know what’s going to happen in next week’s gospel reading. Peter is going to fail miserably, immediately after his proclamation of Jesus as Messiah. Jesus will quickly turn from proclaiming Peter as the rock upon which he will build his church to calling Peter a stumbling block between Jesus and his mission of self-giving love. Lose suggests that we should “pause to give thanks” this week; to celebrate with Peter that he gets it right.ii I would include that we also need to celebrate the way that God reveals this truth of each of these men to each other; to celebrate the way that Peter is “not conformed but… transformed to seek the will of God” (as Paul puts it in our Romans passage for today). We are invited to remember that our practice of gratitude can be a way that God reveals God’s very self to us. Through our gratitude we can sometimes see the way God is surprising us, showing up in our lives through the way we have given or received love or when we have felt most fully alive. I truly believe that gratitude is the rock upon which this church is founded. We are most fully ourselves when we express our gratitude for each other, and God continues to show up and be revealed in and through that practice, that gift, even in this season of diaspora. There was an article that was circulating among clergy circles this week about how difficult it is to be a pastor during the pandemic, and the article cited a recent Zoom call that the author was on where no less than 4 clergy out of 10 expressed that they’d had suicidal thoughts recently. These clergy talked about the burden of the complaints from their congregation, how no matter what they did, a portion of the congregation was going to be unhappy. I read that article, and while my initial feeling was the sadness that I have for my colleagues who feel this way, my most profound feeling is a one of deep gratitude, because this has not been my experience. My experience has been that even in the deep loneliness that I feel as your priest who cannot be regularly with you in person, your gratitude, that you freely give and express, continues to nurture me in its light in ways that continue to reveal God to me. Your consistent generosity of spirit for me, for us, and for the work we continue to try to do has been a profound gift. And I am so deeply grateful for you. So this week, I invite you to ponder the question that I posed to my group of seminary classmates. If you feel so inclined, you can even post your responses in the Facebook comments as the service continues to share your gratitude with others. And reflect on the questions as the week goes on. “For what am I most thankful today? When was I most fully alive? How did I receive love? How did I give love? Often in these moments, God was catching me: appearing in a surprising form. Stopping to reflect, I now see and say ‘thank you.’” i. From SSJE’s Facebook page. Originally posted and shared by me on August 17, 2015. Ssje.org/word ii. http://www.davidlose.net/2017/08/pentecost-12-a-pausing-to-give-thanks/

11th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 15A

11th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 15A August 16, 2020 This past week, my friend and colleague here sent me a meme. She didn’t include any words to it-just the picture. It’s a picture of Michael Jordan and Dennis Rodman on the basketball court in their Chicago Bulls uniforms. In the pic, the equanimous Jordan has gripped the back of the jersey of the notoriously hotheaded Rodman and is calmly walking him back as Rodman looks like he’s headed off to start a fight. The caption on the meme labels Jordan as “The Holy Spirit” and Rodman as “my response to people on social media.” Below the picture it reads: me: “first of all…”; Holy Spirit: “Delete it.” My friend knows me well, especially of my deep wrestling with not debating people on social media. This meme was especially true for me this week, as I walked away from a potential fight on Facebook. The younger sister of one of my high school friends posted a link to an article about the church Godspeak Calvary Chapel in Newbury, California who has refused to stop in person services indoors despite a county order mandated by the state in mid-July requiring that services be moved outdoors. She posted her own commentary about justice, about our rights as Americans and how they are being jeopardized as if we were in a Communist country, and she wrote that if her brother and sister in law, who live in California, were to attend that church they could be arrested for their faith. Well, of course, I had to read the actual article which states that the city council in this community has voted to pursue legal action against individuals or entities not complying with public health orders and that the board of supervisors of the county is asking for a temporary restraining order to stop the church’s plans to continue indoor services. A number of folks weighed in on the post, all touting freedom of religion for the individuals and sharing their fears that our liberties are being taken away under the banner of public health. “Justice! Where is the justice?” they clamored. I was already formulating my response when, like Michael Jordan for Dennis Rodman, the Holy Spirit intervened and told me to put down my iPad and walk away. But the whole thing got me to thinking. Why is it that some Christians have returned to in person worship indoors at this time and others have not? And what does our understanding of justice have to do with that decision? Our readings for today both give a nod to the theological concept of justice. In our Old Testament reading, we hear God telling the people, “Maintain justice, and do what is right, for soon my salvation will come, and my deliverance will be revealed…” Isaiah is talking about how God will do a new thing and that the former things are passing away. But this promise of a new thing, which will include gathering up all the people and even those who have been considered outsiders, requires a response from the people of consent and obedience. God’s expectations for their response include keeping Sabbath, refraining from evil, and holding fast to the covenant. In the gospel reading for today, Jesus encounters a Canaanite woman right after he’s been involved in a controversy with some scribes and Pharisees. The woman begs Jesus to heal her daughter, and Jesus’s response is less than complementary. But the woman is persistent, and she kneels before Jesus and says, “Lord, help me.” (Note that this is virtually the same thing Peter says to Jesus in last week’s gospel when he attempts to walk on water and begins floundering.) She and Jesus exchange more words, and Jesus, impressed by her faith, heals her daughter and sends her on her way. I’m struck by the fact that in this instance, when the woman says to Jesus, “have mercy,” even though our translation has mercy as a noun, in the original Greek, mercy is a verb. “Do something merciful” she is saying to Jesus. In both of these readings, people are invited to expand their understanding of justice. Now, keep in mind that the Hebrew notion of justice is very different from our current American understanding of justice. When we say justice now, I believe we think at best, of protecting individual rights, and at worst, a systematized way to enact vengeance for perceived harm or wrong-doing. The Hebrew notion of justice is to do right, to make right, to make things right for everyone. So in the Isaiah reading, God is showing God’s people that God is expanding the notion of justice, of making things right for everyone, to include not just God’s people who are a part of the covenant but to include people who have typically been considered outside God’s consideration. And in this gospel reading, Jesus is being challenged by the demand of the Canaanite woman to do something merciful on behalf of her daughter, to expand his understanding of his mission and his notion of justice. Perhaps in that moment, he realizes that his mission is no longer only about saving the lost sheep of Israel but it has now become about saving everyone, about making things right for everyone, about doing something of mercy for everyone. This week, I learned that we have lost one of our newer couples to the Catholic Church because they have resumed in person gatherings in church and the weekly distribution of the sacrament. In my sadness and my disheartened state, I had to remind myself why we are doing this. It is because your vestry and I believe that in order to do our part in making things right for everyone (in this church, in the greater community, and even beyond), the best way we can make things right is to not gather for in person worship. That for us, rather than infringing on our individual rights to worship together, rather than focusing on our individual wants and desires, we are choosing what we believe to be the path of justice and mercy that expands beyond individuals to what we hope to be the greater good. This week, your invitation is to be mindful in different situations that you encounter about how we might be called to expand our notion of justice. Look for ways to think beyond the rights that you want as an individual to how we might be invited to all together make things right for all. Look for ways in your life this week where you are called to do mercy, to think of mercy as a verb and not just a noun.

10th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 14A

10th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 14A August 9, 2020 I have a joke for all you golfers out there. Jesus and Moses were out playing golf one day. They pull up to a hole in their cart, and they see that this hole has a water element. So Jesus pulls out his 5 iron and prepares to hit. Moses says, ‘I don’t know about that, Jesus. I think you should use your 4 iron here. Jesus replies, “No, I don’t think so, Moses. I’ve been watching a lot of Jack Nicklaus, and I think he’d use the 5 iron here.” Moses says, “Ok, Jesus, whatever you say.” So Jesus hits his ball with the 5 iron and it goes right into the water. Moses takes out his 4 iron and his ball sails over the water. So the two get into their cart and drive down to the water where Jesus is looking around for his ball. Not seeing it on the edge of the water, Jesus proceeds to walk out across the water looking for his ball. Moses sits in the cart waiting when two other golfers drive up to him, and say, “Who does that guy think he is? Jesus?” Moses replies, “No, he thinks he’s Jack Nicklaus.” This past Thursday on our church calendar, we had one of our major feasts: The Feast of the Transfiguration. I’m a part of a weekly Zoom gathering with some seminary classmates every Thursday, and our question for reflection for this week was based on the collect for the Transfiguration. The first part goes “O God, who on the holy mount revealed to chosen witnesses your well-beloved Son, wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistening: Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may by faith behold the King in his beauty…” Our moderator for the day invited us to reflect on the question “What is the disquietude in your life right now that you need God to save you from?” (repeat) It was an interesting question to ponder, and as my friends were speaking, I realized that our disquietude is as unique as each one of us, so I jotted down all the different forms of disquietude I heard in our conversation (and then threw in a few more for good measure). The list of our disquietude included anxiety, loneliness, anger, despair, alienation, fear, noise of others’ opinions, being overwhelmed, unworthiness, sadness, resentment, frustration, loss of control, caring too much about what others think. We see people wrestling with their own disquietude in our lessons for today. Elijah has just come off of an enormous victory against the priests of Baal; he has showed them up with a display of fire from heaven, and he has hunted them all down and killed them. As a result the queen is after him and he is on the run. He is weary (and perhaps, as a result, a little overly dramatic); he is alone, as all the other prophets of Yahweh have been hunted down and killed; and he is beginning to despair. So he goes away to a deserted, holy place; he calls upon God, and God shows up, not in all the noise of the elements but in silence. As an antidote to Elijah’s disquiet, God offers him quiet and the peace of God’s presence. In the gospel reading, we have just seen Jesus feed the 5,000 with a few fish and loaves of bread. He has drawn away to a deserted place, and his disciples have continued on in the boat when a storm blows up. These seasoned fishermen become terrified of the storm, and then they are even more terrified to see Jesus walking to them across the water. Jesus offers them reassurance saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” And then Peter inexplicably says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus is like, “Sure. Come on.” So Peter gets out of the boat and actually starts walking to Jesus on the water, and he is rocking along, but when he notices the strong wind he becomes disquieted and afraid, and beginning to sink, he cries out to Jesus. Jesus offers his hand and says, “Faint-heart, what got into you?” And together they climb into the boat and the wind ceases. One of the reasons it was so helpful for me to talk about disquietude with some trusted friends is that by speaking it, naming it, it helped to refrain from acting out of place of disquietude. Peter steps out of the boat in a spirit of courage and faith to meet Jesus but then his disquietude gets the better of him. But even then, Jesus is there, offering him a hand and walking with him back to the boat. When we act out of our disquietude, it causes problems for us and for those around us. Our family has watched Hamilton since it came out on Disney plus in July, and I actually got to see it in the theater in Chicago this time last year. This week, I’ve been thinking about one of the turning points in the play, which is a number called “Hurricane.” Hamilton has made some bad decisions which he has kept secret, but then his political rivals learn of his indiscretions. And this song Hurricane is all about him wrestling with his own disquietude, worrying about his legacy, and trying to find a way out of the predicament that he is in. He even says that God has abandoned him, so it is up to him. And so Hamilton acts out of this place of disquietude, and it is devastating for his marriage and for his whole family, leading to even worse problems for all of them. It’s a cautionary tale for us when we are tempted to act out of our disquietude rather than seeking out God who promises to always be present with us and who offers what we need whether it is safety and quiet in the face of our enemies or whether it is an invitation to get out of our comfort zone and a helping hand when we begin to flounder. This week, I invite you to ponder the question “What is the disquietude in your life right now that you need God to save you from?” And in your prayers name that before God and ask for God’s saving grace to offer you the quiet your soul needs. In closing, I’ll share a prayer that I have seen posted several places this week that asks God to save us from the way that acting out of our disquietude hurts us and others. It’s attributed to Laura Jean Truman. God, Keep my anger from becoming meanness. Keep my sorrow from collapsing into self-pity. Keep my heart soft enough to keep breaking. Keep my anger turned towards justice, not cruelty. Remind me that all of this, every bit of it, is for love. Keep me fiercely kind. Amen.

9th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 13A

9th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 13A August 2, 2020 This week, while on vacation, I read a poem about hope. It reminds me of today’s gospel reading, the story when Jesus feeds over 5, 000 people with a few loaves of bread and some fish. The poem is by a poet named Denise Levertov and it is titled: A Shared Grain of Hope – I have a small grain of hope— one small crystal that gleams clear colors out of transparency. I need more. I break off a fragment to send you. Please take this grain of a grain of hope so that mine won’t shrink. Please share your fragment so that yours will grow. Only so, by division, will hope increase, like a clump of irises, which will cease to flower unless you distribute the clustered roots, unlikely source— clumsy and earth-covered— of grace.i Think for a minute about the desperation of the crowds, who follow Jesus to a place that is so remote, where they are so unprepared as to not have brought food for themselves and their families. Think about the disciples, who are at their wits’ end in knowing what to do for and with these people. Think about Jesus as he calmly tells the disciples to give the people something to eat. Think about the hope of whomever offered their small basket of food; think about the hope this shared with the disciples to even consider offering it to Jesus. Think about the gift of the abundance of the food offered out of that hope, how it was spread and shared until all were filled and the leftovers were gathered. In a moment, I’m going to read the poem again, and as I read it, I invite you to think about what small bit of hope you have to offer the world this week, and think about asking God to open your heart to how you might share a sliver of it so that it becomes an abundance. i. –Denise Levertov, “For the New Year, 1981”, Candles in Babylon

7th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 11A

7th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 11A July 19, 2020 I’ve been thinking a lot about fear this week. It seems to be rampant—on the news, in social media…If I look carefully, I can see fear at the heart of anger—both my own and others’—in anxiety that comes out in strange ways around strange subjects. I see fear in under-reacting and in overreacting, in the quest for data, answers, certainty. It feels like fear is the water that we are swimming in right now. In our Isaiah reading for today, we see God on trial as a seemingly-defeated deity in the wake of the Babylonian attack on Jerusalem. God testifies on God’s own behalf and tells the truth of who God is to Israel. God challenges the false gods or idols that Israel has turned to; God reminds the people of the covenant, their unique relationship with God. And God tells the people they do not need to be afraid because God is the rock that they know and can trust. This passage evokes the fear of God that is brought down the mountain with Moses and the 10 Commandments, the fear of God that is foundation of the covenant. In that relationship, fear of God is not a bad thing. It binds the community together; it keeps the children of Israel humble so that they do not become evil like the Egyptians that God has freed them from. “Even though things look really bad right now, you don’t need to be afraid.” God tells Israel. “You know me. And I’ve got you.” This week, I read a book about fear that was written by the Episcopal priest Eric Law. It is titled Fear Not: Living Grace and Truth in a Frightened World. The book was originally published in 2007 and draws on numerous anecdotes and data surrounding September 11th, 2001. But in 2019 Law re-published it with some new material about us and about fear in our common life. The book was fascinating to me; it could be a good book for a group to study as there are questions and exercises at the end of each chapter. The tenets that captured my attention the most in this current season fraught with fear are these. 1. Law writes “In this world of fear, we need to find ways to move from risk management to living in faith through Jesus Christ. Living in faith has to do with actively engaging people, the community, and creation in spite of our fear. Living the gospel is about trusting God, and trusting each other as children of God, so that we can be vulnerable, take risks, and tell the truth. And the truth will set us free to connect and be intimate with each other and with God. We need this kind of intimacy the most in order to develop communities of trust in which we can face the world of fear together.”i 2. Law emphasizes that fear in and of itself is not a bad thing. Fear serves an evolutionary purpose in calling us to pay attention to potential danger. He writes,“The fear of fear is the issue…As we avoid the feeling of fear, we avoid knowing the vulnerable parts of ourselves.” He writes that rather than avoiding our fear, we are invited to mine it, to delve deeper into it tracing it to the most terrible destinations (pain, suffering, chaos, isolation, death) in order to see beyond our fear to the wider vision to which God is calling us.ii 3. Politicians, the media, and product marketers evoke our fear because it gives them power and money. Law describes the processes they use in similar terms to the false idols challenge by God in the Isaiah reading for today. “Politicians evoke fear because they want us to give them power by voting for them. They want us to change the polling results and give them a higher approval rating. The news media use fear to keep us watching their news and buying their papers and magazines, which are supposed to give us helpful information…But does voting for a certain politician really help us deal with our fear? Will buying a certain product alleviate our fear? They are but symbolic substitutes [idols?] for what really will help us address our fear. Buying these substitutes gives only the feeling that we are doing something about our fear. They offer only illusions of safety. They are only temporary releases. The feeling of safety wears out quickly, and we crave the next substitute when our fear, which was never really addressed, surfaces again thanks to marketers and politicians. These substitutes distract us from doing the things that will help us face our fear, work through it, and discover our call to ministry.”iii 4. Law shares a portion of the President’s speech immediately following 9/11, where the President urges our continued participation and confidence in the American economy, and he writes, “Many heard this…as the invitation to continue our daily lives as ‘normal’ and not give into what the terrorist wanted us to do-to change our lifestyles and limit our activities. Instead of dealing with our fear, many followed the ritual of ‘business as usual.’ If we changed our way of life, then the terrorists had won. Therefore we ignored our fear, buried it, and continued to practice our ritual of living life as usual. Be good and patriotic Americans, and support the economy-which, for most people, meant ‘Go and buy something.’”iv 5. When we don’t deal with our fear, violence is often the result.v We are seeing this individually and on a societal level. This week, I invite you to dwell a little more with your fear. Pay attention to when others try to stoke it and ask why, what they have to gain from your fear. Look for it the ways it comes out unexpectedly in your life—for me, my fear is usually hidden in anger. For some it is often hidden in anxiety that focuses itself in unexpected ways on unexpected things or situations. Look for the fear that dwells under the surface of your life, and invite it to come out into the light. One of the meditations on my prayer app Pray as You Go this week was on fear and anger, and I’m going to close with the questions they offered for you to use to dwell with your fear or your anger for a bit this week. I hope you will find, like I have, that when you name it, it loses some of its power over you. “Is there anything or anyone who is making you angry [or afraid]? Share these feelings of fear or anger with Jesus now. Where in your life do you need to know God’s peace at this time? What is causing you anxiety or distress? In the quiet and stillness, imagine God’s love flowing through you bringing peace and healing for yourself and others.”vi i. Law, Eric. Fear Not: Living Grace and Truth in a Frightened World. Chalice: St. Louis, 2019. P 5 ii. Ibid. pp 13-14, 17 iii.Ibid. pp 29-30 iv.Ibid pp 35-36 v.Ibid pp54-55 vi.https://pray-as-you-go.org/player/prayer/2020-07-14

6th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 10A

6th Sunday after Pentecost- Proper 10A July 12, 2020 This past week, my brother, the one who is, among other things, an organic farmer, shared an image on his Facebook page. The image was originally shared on a page called The Farmer’s Footprint. The title on the image is Mexico Commits to Phase out Glyphosate, and it has a quote from Victor Toledo Mexican Environmental Secretary: “Glyphosate is the most dangerous poison in the world” . My brother introduced the image with the words: “Good for Mexico. Human health, and planetary health, starts with soil health.”i It wasn’t until this week that I actually started thinking about soil health. As you know, we have been back-yard gardening during this safer at home season. I believe that the fruits of our harvest are due in part to the prayers some of you have been offering, as you well know my spotty history with growing things. So here’s the update. First the good news: our tomatoes and the basil plants are doing amazingly well! I actually made a tomato pie this past week with tomatoes from our little garden. But….the peppers are struggling, (it’s like they are small and stunted and still, the plants can’t support their weight); we only managed to produce one sickly squash before all the squash plants just up and died. And don’t even get me started on the watermelon! All this got me to thinking about soil health. Could it be that there was something in the soil that helped the tomato plants flourish and what might have been lacking in it that the squash plants need? Because in my beginning gardening research, I’ve learned that the quality of the soil is absolutely necessary in order for the plants to have strong roots. And if the roots aren’t nourished by the soil, then the plants aren’t going to thrive or survive.ii Our gospel reading for today is one of the parables of Jesus. I have most often heard it referred to as the parable of the sower, but this week, I learned it has also been called the parable of the soil. In this parable, Jesus talks about the effects of a sower who casts the seed on all different types of soil: some soil is rocky and the seeds can’t grow strong roots; some soil is actually on a path and is too shallow, so the birds come and eat the seeds; some soil is already choked with thorns and so the seeds become choked with thorns as they try to grow; and some soil is good soil, and it gives forth plants that yield a harvest that is miraculous in its abundance-far beyond anything a normal harvest on good soil could ever expect or even hope to produce. As I read this parable again this week, I’ve continued to think about what my brother wrote: “Human health, and planetary health, starts with soil health.” If I have learned anything in this Covid-season, it is that we are so much more interconnected than we, in our independent minded society, have remembered. The writer Brian McLaren reflects, “We used to think that we caught diseases as individuals: ‘I'm sick; you're not.’ But now we realize, no, we catch diseases as individuals who are part of families, and families who are part of cities, and cities that are part of states and nations. We realize now that our whole species can become infected, and that our whole globe can be changed because of our interconnectedness. . .” iii This pandemic has shown us that we are much more deeply connected than we have remembered in our modern world, and as a result, Jesus’s parable this week invites us to examine the health of our soil—not just for some of us but for all of us. One aspect of soil health is whether there is enough water. Our Old Testament reading speaks of this, comparing God’s Word or God’s truth to the rain that waters the earth. Isaiah reassures God’s people that God’s truth is just as trustworthy, as reliable as the rain. How much truth do we allow for our in own lives? Are we truth-tellers in our speech or do we tell people what we think they want to hear? Do we hold people accountable when they do not tell the truth? Do we demand truth from our elected and public officials? Another key aspect of soil health is nutrients. If there is not enough nutrients in the soil to nourish the roots, the plants will not thrive. The plants will also suffer if the soil is too shallow. What sorts of spiritual and intellectual nutrients are we ingesting for our souls these days? In what places are we seeking depth: depth of ideas, depth of conversation, depth of care? Are we connecting regularly to God through prayer or spiritual practices, tapping into the source of our nourishment? Is what we are reading, listing to, opening our hearts to, is that stuff that is nourishing and life-giving, or is toxic for our souls like chemicals or too much sugar is for our bodies? Are there impediments in the soil, such as rocks or thorns? Consider what these might be in our own hearts and in the soil that is our society. I know for me, when I am thorniest or most hard-hearted/rocky, it’s because I am focusing too much on myself and my independence and not enough on others. What are ways we can seek to uproot the rocks and the thorns in our own hearts right now? Finally, are we paying attention to how the soil of our common lives affects those around us, especially those who do not have as many resources as we have? We have learned that what one person in our community does affects everyone else in our community, for good and for ill. How might we be called to respond? Today, as we partake of the reserve sacrament together, there is no greater reminder of how we are all bound together. As we feed on the body of Christ, we are re-created once again as that very body, sent out into the world to be the hands and feet and heart of Christ, living no longer for ourselves but for him who died and rose for us. May it transform us, embolden us, inspire us to be agents of the resurrection in our homes, our church, and in our community. i. Here’s the article cited in the Farmer’s Footprint post: https://sustainablepulse.com/2020/06/27/mexico-announces-phase-out-and-ban-on-glyphosate-herbicides/?fbclid=IwAR3U7U3vxUL7uuetWR-Lbkm1gSlEiPZEQ_1Bix1bSGVRY4kcNQ3qhaXij8w#.Xwmv-xJ7mpp ii. https://growbeautifully.monrovia.com/how-important-is-a-strong-root-structure/ iii. This passage was shared in the Thursday, July 9th email from CAC.org. Originallly from Brian McLaren, “We Are All Connected,” Wisdom in Times of Crisis (Center for Action and Contemplation: 2020), faculty presentation (April 20, 2020), YouTube video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FOeCyEzbjM;

5th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 9A

5th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 9A July 5, 2020 “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Let us receive these comforting words of Jesus as the invitation that they are. I invite you to reflect on the question “What heavy burden do you need Jesus’s help carrying?” and open your hearts to the rest that he promises. Come to me, all you that are uncertain and afraid, unsure of what the future holds. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are bearing the heavy burden of chronic pain or illness. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that mourn, daily mindful of who is absent and of the future that will not happen. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are lonely, longing for touch from family and friends. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are tossed about by the chaos of the 24 hour news cycle, of the pontificating on social media; come to me all you who are skeptical, doubtful, distrustful; all you who are passionate, righteous, and seeking justice. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are broken-hearted. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are longing for just a few minutes of quiet, of stillness, of peace in the chaos of your lives, your homes, your families. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are struggling to stay connected through technology; all you who have adapted, developed, created, and learned. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that have lost your humor, your joy, your zest for life. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that feel like your hearts have become hardened, weighed down, no longer open. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you whose burden has not been named. Come to me, and I will give you rest. Come to me, all you that are just so weary. Come to me, and I will give you rest. I invite you to close your eyes, rest in the invitation of our Lord, as we sing Come, be with me by Keith Duke. i. As we move toward Eucharist, I invite you to hear in your hearts the invitation of our Lord: Come to me and feast at my table, where you will find all your hunger sated and all your thirst quenched. Come and taste my joy. Come to me, and I will give you rest. i. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLy0qzcPXVo