23rd Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 25C

23rd Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 25C October 23, 2016 Once upon a time, a bishop is traveling with some pilgrims on a fishing boat from one place to another. He overhears the fishermen talking about a nearby island where three old hermits live a Spartan existence focused on seeking "salvation for their souls." The bishop is curious about these hermits and wants to go see them, but the captain attempts to dissuade him by saying "the old men are not worth your pains. I have heard say that they are foolish old fellows, who understand nothing, and never speak a word." But the bishop insists, and the Captain steers the ship toward the island and the bishop subsequently sets off in a rowboat to visit where he is met ashore by the three hermits. The bishop informs the hermits that he has heard of them and of their seeking salvation. He inquires how they are seeking salvation and serving God, but the hermits say they do not know how, only that they pray, simply: "Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us." The bishop tells them that they still have much to learn about the faith, and so he begins to teach them about the major church doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation. And he also insists that they must learn how to properly pray. He tells them that he will teach them "not a way of my own, but the way in which God in the Holy Scriptures has commanded all men to pray to Him" and he attempts to teach them the Lord's Prayer, but the simple hermits blunder and cannot remember the words—which compels the bishop to repeat the lesson late into the night. After many hours of frustration with their ignorance, the Bishop is finally satisfied that they had memorized the prayer, and he departs from the island leaving the hermits with the firm instruction to pray as he has taught them. The bishop then returns by the rowboat to the fisherman's vessel anchored offshore to continue his voyage. But after he climbs on board, the bishop notices that their vessel is being followed—at first thinking a boat was behind them but soon realizing that the three hermits had been running across the surface of the water "as though it were dry land." The hermits catch up to the vessel as the captain stops the boat, and inform the bishop: "We have forgotten your teaching, servant of God. As long as we kept repeating it we remembered, but when we stopped saying it for a time, a word dropped out, and now it has all gone to pieces. We can remember nothing of it. Teach us again." The bishop is humbled and replies to the hermits: "Your own prayer will reach the Lord, men of God. It is not for me to teach you. Pray for us sinners." After which the hermits turn around and walk back to their island. This parable (of the 3 Hermits by Leo Tolstoy) is much like our gospel reading for today. Luke sets the stage for us in saying that Jesus identifies two key problems with his listeners which result in his telling of this particular parable: they trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt. So he tells them the story of the two men praying in the temple. One does everything that he is supposed to do and considers himself righteous for it while looking down on his neighbor. The other man is a cheat and a crook, who makes his living by taking advantage of his own countrymen in a foreign-occupied country. He makes no confession, only standing before God saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jesus concludes the parable by saying that “all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” In this parable, Jesus is saying that knowing ourselves, knowing who we are, admitting our short-comings, admitting or sins is more important than being “good” or righteous. And in order to know ourselves, we must spend at least a little time being self-reflective, asking questions that help us to know ourselves better and understand the world around us differently. That is the true work of a person of faith, and how we continue to be transformed into the image and likeness of Christ. When we come across someone that we instantly dislike, self-reflection and knowing ourselves means asking the question, “What is it about this person that I see that reminds me of a part of myself that I don’t like?” And then intentionally trying to offer a kinder look both at the other person and at that part of ourselves we don’t like. I heard a poet speak this week in a podcast and I was struck when she said that the harsh voice of judgement and criticism that we use on people outside ourselves is usually the same voice that we use on ourselves. But faithful self-reflection invites us to examine our own hearts with a kinder lens, coming from a place of curiosity rather than fear. And when we do that, our kindness is often transferred to those outside ourselves who we otherwise might judge and condemn. Today we kick off our annual giving campaign. Our theme for this year is “We are St. Columb’s” and over the next few weeks, you will be hearing stories from our members of how each of them has been transformed through their life here at St. Columb’s. I encourage you, over the coming weeks, to reflect in your own life, on at least one moment when you have been transformed, become more self-aware, become more like Christ or seen someone differently, because of your life here at St. Columb’s. And then another aspect of self-reflection that I invite you to during this season is to examine how you spend your money. Just a few chapters earlier in Luke’s gospel, Jesus says to his disciples “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” One way of being self-reflective about “where your heart is” is to examine how you spend your money. If you look at your online bank account, your bank statement, or your check book, what do those things say about how you spend your money and therefore where you heart is? After you examine that, does the reality align with where you hope your heart is? If not, then why not? And where does your giving to St. Columb’s fit into all of that? Is your giving to God through St. Columb’s representative of the gratitude that you feel for the way that you have been transformed by your involvement here? In closing, I want to remind each and every one of you that each of us belongs to God. Every person God has made is cherished by God. We don’t have to do anything different or be anything different for God to love us, and God loves our neighbors just as much as God loves us. May we have the courage to examine our own hearts and to allow God to transform us to be found more and more in the image and likeness of Christ—who God has created us to be.

21st Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 23C

21st Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 23C October 9, 2016 We have a spiritual practice in our family that we just started in the last year. We call it “the three things.” I started doing it with our children after I heard an interview with the singer/songwriter Carrie Newcomer on the program On Being, and she shared it as being one of her own spiritual practices. At night time, when the children are settled in their beds and preparing for sleep, I ask them to tell me three things that they are grateful for on that particular day. They are usually some of the most mundane things of their everyday lives, but as Newcomer says, the voicing of these things for which we are grateful sends us off to sleep from a place of wholeness and thanksgiving. And the curious thing is that it is only seldom that the children struggle to think of three things and only three things. Usually, the recitation of the things for which they are thankful snowballs until it is like one of those cartoon snowballs rolling down a mountain and getting bigger and bigger on its way down. It’s often hard to limit ourselves to only three. And they usually ask me what my three things are, and we discover that often they remind me of something of which I am grateful which I have forgotten over the course of the day and vice versa. It has become an integral part of our nighttime routine, and I think it is because it is about acknowledging the sacred in the midst of the ordinary and giving thanks for it. In our gospel reading for today, we see a story that is unique to Luke’s gospel, where Jesus is walking through an in-between place (between Galilee and Samaria) and he encounters 10 lepers who call out to him “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” Lepers in that culture were segregated from society because of the contagion of their disease, and so they are essential folks who have been shunned by society who are walking around with horrible disfigurement and parts of their bodies which can no longer feel anything. And Jesus heals them all, no questions asked, telling them to go and show themselves to the priests, which would then allow them to be reintegrated into society. And the writer of Luke tells us that on their way to the priests, they are made well. And upon realizing this miraculous healing, one leper turns back, praises God, returns to Jesus and falls at his feet and thanks him. Jesus observes that only the Samaritan has returned to give praise to God (even though the other 9 are doing exactly as he instructed them to do), and then he gives the Samaritan former-leper a second blessing saying, “Get up and go on your way. Your faith has made you well.” This passage in Luke’s gospel follows right on the heels of last week’s passage about faith, which follows right on the heels of Jesus teaching his disciples about the challenges of discipleship. And its placement is not accidental. Luke is reminding his listeners and us that praising God and expressing gratitude is an important component of discipleship. And it’s also no accident that the word that our reading translates as “has made you well” (when Jesus tells the leper to go his faith has made him well) can also be translated as “saves”. So Jesus is also saying to the leper: Go in peace, your faith, your praise of God and your act of thanksgiving, your recognition of the way God has healed you and acted in your life has saved you. In his book Reflections on the Psalms, C. S. Lewis observed the connection between gratitude and well being. He writes, “I noticed how the humblest and at the same time most balanced minds praised most: while the cranks, misfits, and malcontents praised least. Praise always seems to be inner health made audible.” So how do we feel gratitude when we are in the midst of trials and tribulations? How do we express gratitude to God and each other if we are struggling, if we just don’t feel grateful? This gospel reading reminds us that even in the middle of nowhere, even in the in-between times, God shows up, and God heals us if we ask for it. It also reminds us that gratitude is so much more than a feeling. It is a key practice of discipleship. Just like how we practice faith (by showing up and being who God is calling us to be) even if we don’t feel like our faith is enough (or particularly faithful), we can practice gratitude by paying attention to the ways God is working in our lives and in our world, we can look for and name the ways that the most holy moments show up in the midst of the most ordinary, and then we can name that and give thanks. That is practicing gratitude. That, my friends, is discipleship. Our church has had some struggles lately. I wonder how we might all be changed, healed, if we were just a little more attentive to practicing gratitude? What would this church be like, if, every time we walk through these doors, every single one of us took a minute and named three things for which we were grateful here in our common life? What would our lives be like if the last thing we did every day was to practice gratitude by naming three things, encounters, people, moments, ideas…for which we are grateful this day? I’d like to challenge us all to take on these practices of gratitude in this in between time in the life of our church. In this practice of discipleship, might our practicing of gratitude, our outward praise to God for the good things of our life make our inner lives more healthy? It really couldn’t hurt….

17th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 19C

17th Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 19C September 11, 2016 When I was a child, I remember receiving a very strong message or teaching. I don’t remember if it was from my parents, my school, our culture, or maybe even Sesame Street. But that teaching was this. If you ever get lost, try to find a policeman, and he or she will be your friend and will help you find your parents. Fast forward many years, to young adulthood, as I was living in New York City for my first year of seminary on September 11, 2001. I watched as a whole city, a whole country suddenly found ourselves lost after the attack on the World Trade Center, and I also watched as that childhood lesson was lived out. I watched as all the first responders in New York and the surrounding areas made incredible sacrifices to their own lives and their safety to fulfill that vocation, that calling. To help find those who were lost. It is the calling and the vocation of our first responders here in this community—to find and help those who are lost. And it is why we honor and thank them this day. Our gospel reading for today also talks about being lost. Today’s reading is 2 out of a series of three parables that Jesus tells in Luke’s chapter 15. Luke starts off by setting the scene saying that “the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus.” As a result of this, the Scribes and Pharisees, the religious insiders, begin grumbling… “What kind of person is this Jesus of Nazareth who’s willing to consort with such a disreputable bunch?…” When Jesus hears them complaining about him giving so much of his time and attention to folks who are clearly notorious sinners, he tells them (the Scribes and Pharisees, the righteous and faithful of his day) the two parables that we heard today and then upon their heels, he tells the parable of the prodigal son, which we don’t get to hear today. “Which one of you…” Jesus says, wouldn’t go after a lost sheep or search for a lost coin to the extent that the shepherd and the woman in the parables do? And do you know what the answer is? The answer is none of us would do that (except for maybe you first responders among us) because it doesn’t make any sense. Who takes all that time and energy to find one lost coin and then throws a party and spends more money that what was lost to celebrate? Who in their right mind goes off and leaves 99 sheep who are all together in one place to go off and find one lost sheep? Nobody! Jesus tells us and the Pharisees and Scribes this parable because he knows that we don’t get it, and that is the point. He is telling us that God’s economy is clearly not our economy. He is telling us that God does not discriminate between who is righteous and who is lost (like we like to do). He is telling us that even when we think we are the faithful, the righteous, deep down, every single one of is lost and in need of God’s seeking out and finding us and restoring us to relationship with God and each other, over and over and over again. And that’s good news. But the problem comes when we, like the Scribes and the Pharisees, grumble and complain about who God chooses to invite to God’s party. Because, you see, in this old Episcopal church, we believe that the work of God is to restore all people to loving relationship with God and that the work of the church is to help facilitate in this. So that means, when God restores one of us to relationship, God rejoices; God celebrates. And it is God’s deep hope and delight that all of us come to that party and celebrate too. The deep joy in heaven or the Kingdom of God is that everyone and everything will one day be restored. There’s a line from a movie that we like to quote in our family. It’s from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and it is from when Jones, who has gotten separated from his scout troop because he has wandered off on his own and made a discovery and is being chased by the bad guys, returns to where the horses are to find that no one else is there. He says puzzled, “Everybody’s lost but me!” It’s funny because he’s the one who has run off to have all these misadventures, but it is also true isn’t it? Deep down, we each think “well, everbody’s lost but me.” But that is not what Jesus is saying here today. He is saying that for God, we are all equally valued and loved and sought after. For God, we are all lost until we are all fully restored together to the body of Christ through the reconciling work of God that we are called to share in. It can’t really be a party until we all rejoice that we have all been found together—even the ones we think shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be getting all that attention, even the ones who treat us horribly, who break our hearts, who make us look bad, who we don’t choose to associate with. It can’t really be the kind of party that God wants until we all rejoice that we have been found together. So today, we are thankful for the God who does not give up on any of us, ever. We are thankful for the God who will go to ridiculous lengths to find each and every one of us, over and over again. We are thankful for God’s servants, the first responders, who do the work of finding and restoring the lost in our community. And we are thankful to be all in this together. Amen.

Funeral Homily for Archie H. King

Archie King Funeral homily September 9, 2016 There are two things that Archie King tried to convince me to promise to do for him after he died. As I have been taking Archie home communion over the course of the last 20 months or so, Archie took great delight in the fact that the order of service for the home communion that he would always get looked very disreputable. It was dog-eared and kind of sad looking, and I think his favorite part was the fact that there are these big splotches of spilled communion wine all over it. He made me promise that I would never get rid of it because, he said that that was “his” order of service, and it delighted him so. (As you can see, it is kind of the reprobate of home communion service leaflets….) The other thing that Archie tried to convince me to do for him after he died was to replace the wine in the chalice for the Eucharist at his funeral with McAllen 18 year old scotch (for which we both share an affinity). I feel certain that I speak for all of us in saying how grateful I am that I got to know Archie. I appreciate his intelligent conversation, his humor, his stories. I appreciate his engagement with lofty ideas, whether it be politics, religion, the economy, the current state of public education. I appreciate that he embodies one of the tenants of discipleship: that we are called to learn constantly—whether he was learning about a new idea or about the person who was sitting in front him, Archie was lit up with a curiosity about life and people that he never lost. So today we gather to give thanks for this wonderful husband, father and grandfather, (and step-father and step-grandfather); this life-long educator, counselor, friend, mentor, and companion. We mourn his loss among us. (Man, am I going to miss those conversations, and the couple of times he would convince me to “try this new kind of whiskey he had found” in the middle of the afternoon before communion with a twinkle in his eye- like he was getting away with something.) We are grateful that he is no longer suffering. We remember that death is not the end but a change; that through Jesus’s resurrection from the dead, God has proven that God’s love is stronger than anything, even death. And we hold fast to the hope that we will be reunited with Archie and all those we love who have gone before, all those whose lights have shown for us, inspired and encouraged us, and helped light our way. We hold fast to the hope that we will once again feast (and drink scotch) with Archie and all the rest of God’s saints at God’s heavenly banquet. But in the meantime, we say, “Well, done, good and faithful servant, commend him to God’s care, and raise our imaginary glasses of 18 year old McAllen and say, “To Archie.” Amen.

Funeral Homily for Archie H. King

Archie King Funeral homily September 9, 2016 There are two things that Archie King tried to convince me to promise to do for him after he died. As I have been taking Archie home communion over the course of the last 20 months or so, Archie took great delight in the fact that the order of service for the home communion that he would always get looked very disreputable. It was dog-eared and kind of sad looking, and I think his favorite part was the fact that there are these big splotches of spilled communion wine all over it. He made me promise that I would never get rid of it because, he said that that was “his” order of service, and it delighted him so. (As you can see, it is kind of the reprobate of home communion service leaflets….) The other thing that Archie tried to convince me to do for him after he died was to replace the wine in the chalice for the Eucharist at his funeral with McAllen 18 year old scotch (for which we both share an affinity). I feel certain that I speak for all of us in saying how grateful I am that I got to know Archie. I appreciate his intelligent conversation, his humor, his stories. I appreciate his engagement with lofty ideas, whether it be politics, religion, the economy, the current state of public education. I appreciate that he embodies one of the tenants of discipleship: that we are called to learn constantly—whether he was learning about a new idea or about the person who was sitting in front him, Archie was lit up with a curiosity about life and people that he never lost. So today we gather to give thanks for this wonderful husband, father and grandfather, (and step-father and step-grandfather); this life-long educator, counselor, friend, mentor, and companion. We mourn his loss among us. (Man, am I going to miss those conversations, and the couple of times he would convince me to “try this new kind of whiskey he had found” in the middle of the afternoon before communion with a twinkle in his eye- like he was getting away with something.) We are grateful that he is no longer suffering. We remember that death is not the end but a change; that through Jesus’s resurrection from the dead, God has proven that God’s love is stronger than anything, even death. And we hold fast to the hope that we will be reunited with Archie and all those we love who have gone before, all those whose lights have shown for us, inspired and encouraged us, and helped light our way. We hold fast to the hope that we will once again feast (and drink scotch) with Archie and all the rest of God’s saints at God’s heavenly banquet. But in the meantime, we say, “Well, done, good and faithful servant, commend him to God’s care, and raise our imaginary glasses of 18 year old McAllen and say, “To Archie.” Amen.

15th Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 17C

15th Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 17C August 28, 2016 A letter to Zora Senitko upon the occasion of your baptism. Dear Zora, Today is the day of your baptism, a day when some would say that we “remember who you already are.” We gather today to baptize you into the body of Christ; and we gather today for your parents and godparents, and all of us really, to acknowledge that you are already called and named, claimed by God as God’s beloved. In your baptism today, your parents and godparents are accepting that belovedness on your behalf, and they are promising to raise you in a way that helps you learn how to live more fully into that. So even though you probably won’t remember much of this day when you are older, there are some things that I hope you will continue to remember over the course of your long, faithful life as a follower of Jesus. May you remember that following Jesus is, most of the time, neither easy or comfortable. As Jesus calls us to grow more and more fully into our status as the beloved of God, he calls us to change and grow to become more like Jesus. He calls us to hold more loosely those parts of our self that we cling to—things like status, wealth, power—and to cling more tightly to our reliance on God. May you remember that as God’s beloved, that means that you are no better and you are no worse than anyone else. Jesus reminds us not to think so highly of ourselves that we grasp for the highest place at the table, but we also shouldn’t be held back by thinking that we are somehow less than others. When we recognize that each of us is God’s beloved, then that affects how we treat people, even those who are dramatically different from us, those we are afraid of, those we might otherwise look down on. May you remember that we become like what we worship. Whether it is other people, money, the latest gadgets, our calendars, we become like what we worship. As followers of Jesus, our worship should always be centered on God. That means daily prayer. Weekly worship. Learning constantly about God and other people. Serving joyfully. And Giving generously. May you remember that following Jesus, being a full member of the Body of Christ in this community and in the Church means offering radical hospitality. We are those who represent the one who has proven that God’s love is stronger than anything—even death. And so our main purpose as the Church, the body of Christ, is welcoming others into that new life and celebrating there presence here and in looking for others to spread that good news to as well. May you remember that what we celebrate every single week here in the eucharist is that Jesus is throwing a party, and all of us are invited. And yet none of us are really worthy of being invited. We do not earn our invitation or our place here. We are here because each of us is beloved and cherished by God because of who God is, not who we are. So when we look up and down the altar rail at one another, we marvel at this and we celebrate it. We are all here together because Jesus has invited us to be here. And it is our call to welcome all who he has invited. May you remember, sweet Zora, that there is never anything that you can do to get yourself uninvited to this party. You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and you are marked as Christ’s own forever. May you grow more fully and surely in this knowledge, all the days of your life. Your sister in Christ, Melanie+

13th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 13C

13th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 13C August 14, 2016 Just a couple of months ago, I had a rather strange experience that involved my children and a pop song we were listening to on the radio. We were driving somewhere and out of the blue the two of them started singing along with the chorus of this song that I didn’t even know they knew. The chorus goes “If we could turn back time/to the good old days/ when the mammas sang us to sleep/ but now we’re stressed out.” It was pretty funny. As I listened, I discovered that the entire song (which is titled “Stressed Out”) is about how the singer/group (21 pilots) is harkening back to childhood when they were carefree and innocent and above all, not stressed out. At that time, they could play pretend with money but now, in their stressful, adult lives, they have go to work. Another refrain is “wake up you need to make money!”. I was amused and intrigued that my children were singing about this sort of idealized vision of childhood in the song, when even now, they know the realities of their own stresses, both big and small. It’s also interesting to me that, on this day that we celebrate back to school and the blessing of the students, teachers, and administrators, our lectionary readings are all about stress and expectations. (Not really the way I would have planned it, but perhaps there is something for us there, after all.) We all know that we have expectations for the academic year. We get a fresh start, and we are optimistic about how we will navigate through the challenges and the stresses. And we know, even with these bright, shiny, new beginnings, eventually, we are going to encounter stress. In the reading from Isaiah, we see the frustration of the owner of the vineyard (who represents God); we see the result of expectations that are unmet time and time again in this relationship. We see the stress placed on the relationship between God and God’s people because of the people’s bad choices and their unwillingness to live into God’s love song. In the Hebrews reading, we see the Christian community there who are under stress getting a pep-talk from the writer. “Don’t give up!” he is saying. “Hang in there! Look at all these folks who have come before you who have had tough times but who have kept the faith. Run with patience the race that is set before you, and let us shed the weight of sin that clings to us so that we can persevere in faith.” And then there is the gospel: where Jesus himself is clearly stressed (he even says as much) as he sets his face to Jerusalem and moves toward his crucifixion—the baptism by fire. He is frustrated because his expectations are not being lived into by the people who he is teaching and those who are following him. And he tries to realign peoples’ expectations of him not as a bringer of peace but as a bringer of conflict and discord. So where is the good news for us in all of this? First, there is a sort of freedom that can be found when we acknowledge in a particular moment that we are stressed. It doesn’t always happen. Sometimes, we don’t deal with it; project our stress onto other people. Squash it down. Try to ignore it. Jesus doesn’t do any of this in our reading for today. He names it, and he lets it fuel his mission, rather than distract him from it. The stress seems to become a part of the fire of his baptism, burning off where he is wrestling between the will of God and his own will for survival. Second, it is important to realize that stress happens both when expectations are unnamed and unmet and when expectations are named and not met. This is true for all relationships: romantic, familial, work, church… There’s a saying in A.A. that gets to this. “An expectation is a down payment on a resentment.” Both Jesus and the writer of Isaiah are naming their unmet expectations for God’s people in the hopes that the people will change and grow to meet those expectations. (I recently had a conversation with someone who told me that they no longer had any expectations for someone in their life, and I thought that was one of the saddest things I had ever heard because it meant that there was no hope there, either. I think we’ve got to be able to have realistic expectations and hope, but that’s a sermon for another day.) Third, bad things happen to us and to people that we love, things that cannot be controlled by us; and that is stressful. There are things that we feel we cannot escape from, and that is stressful (and not at all what our expectations for our life look like). Illness, loss, aging, transitions…In some ways all of these things are little deaths that happen over and over again in our lives. So much of our stress stems from how we think things used to be and wish they still were or from how we think things should be. But my friends, here is the good news of the gospel in all of this. And, strangely enough, it is found in our burial liturgy. It is that “Death is not the end but a change.” No matter what stresses we find ourselves in; no matter what inescapable situation we feel imprisoned in, Jesus goes ahead of us, in and through the fire of baptism and change and transition and transformation, and he invites us to join him on the other side. If we can remember and hold fast to that, (that “death is not the end but a change”) then those daily stresses and unmet expectations just seem a little less consequential and a little more manageable. This past week, I heard a true story about phenomenal grace under pressure, about faith and patience in the face of extreme persecution and stress. It’s a story that aired on This American Life about a group of Girl Guides (the rest of the world’s form of our Girl Scouts) and their leaders who were taken prisoner in a Japanese concentration camp right after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The leaders and the girls were at a school for the children of American and British missionaries and workers in China, and the children were taken, without their parents to the concentration camp. But here is what is remarkable about this story. They never stopped acting like Girl Guides. The leaders promoted cheerfulness and service to the girls for the entire four years they were captive. They had competitions (based on the thing they needed for their survival) that served as their merit badges, and they continued to sing throughout the whole four years the Girl Guide songs, songs of faith and optimism and hope. One girl remembers how they would frequently sing the song: “Day is done. Gone the sun from the sea, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest. God is nigh.” The leaders were not foolish. One is recorded as having written about her hope that when they were finally to be taken outside of the camp to be killed, she hoped she went first so she wouldn’t have to watch it. Yet, they knew that death is not the end, but a change. And in the midst of incredibly stressful circumstances, those leaders chose to have hope, to do what they could to protect those children, and to be faithful in their calling. The narrator of the piece says it well: “There probably aren't many places on earth where you have less reason to be cheerful than a concentration camp. But it turns out, in a place like that, being able to be cheerful, to have a positive outlook, it's not dopey or silly. It's how you survive. How you tell the story matters.” May God give us the courage and the faith to live our stories faithfully and well, no matter what happens. Amen.