12th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 17C

12th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 17C August 28, 2022 “Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots/And ruined your black-tie affair…” Whenever I hear the first line of Garth Brooks’ hit “I’ve got friends in low places,” I’m immediately transported to a summer in high school when I’d drive back and forth to basketball camp with a car-load of my teammates. Whoever was driving was obsessed with the song, and she would blast the song over and over again (which required rewinding the cassette tape to get back to the start every time). My teammates would belt the song our with gusto every time through; but I’ll confess that I never really understood the appeal; I actually thought it was a somewhat depressing song about humiliation set to a raucous chorus, but in the throes of the euphoria of teenaged freedom, I would often join in. Y’all know this song? It’s all about how the narrator shows up underdressed (and maybe uninvited?) to a fancy party that his ex is throwing; he recognizes that he comes from a different sort of social status as his ex, but he doesn’t let it bother him as he makes plans to blow off his humiliation and go party with his “friends in low places.” One music critic writes, "Friends in Low Places" was as effective as pop music ever gets: It's a depressing song that makes you feel better. Singing along with that song was like …laughing at a rich person and knowing that you were right ... Garth told stories about blue-collar people who felt good about what their bad life symbolized ...”i The genesis of the song is also interesting. One of the two songwriters was hosting a lunch at a restaurant, entertaining other songwriters, when he realized that he had left his money at home. He told his songwriting buddies, “Don’t worry. I have friends in low places. I know the cook." The songwriters realized what a good line it was and wrote the song from there.ii It’s interesting to me because it’s a song about how a person can take a humiliating experience and embrace it. In our gospel reading for today, Jesus is at a dinner party, and he tells a parable that is all about how a person can learn humility to avoid humiliating situations and also about how a humiliating situation can teach us about the unexpected ways that God shows up for us both when we are humiliated and when we embrace humility. On Wednesday at our weekly healing service, I asked the congregation to think about times when they had been humiliated and also asked them to think about ways that formed them toward humility. We re-discovered that a universally humiliating experience in our modern context is located in the games that we play as children at P.E. or recess; you know the ones: musical chairs, Red rover, the process of picking teams, and of course the ultimate humiliating experience that is known as dodge ball. But as we talked about these early humiliations, some people shared about how humiliations turned into opportunities for prayer and God’s healing response; they talked about how bumping up against other people from time to time serves as a reminder of who they are and how they wanted to live their life and their faith. They talked about how hard and how humiliating it is to ask for help, and they also talked about how it feels when they offer someone help and it is rejected. Friends, our readings for today offer us both good and challenging news. The good news is that God has given each one of us all good things for no good reason. None of us has earned anything that we have ever been given from God; God has given and continues to give because God loves—extravagantly, abundantly, unreasonably. When we get glimpses of that reality—whether it’s in our day to day lives or when we are kneeling at that altar with hands outstretched--it humbles us. And the challenging news in this passage is that God wants us to treat each other the same way; God invites us to do the same for others: giving to others only good things for no good reason, wanting the best for others regardless of how that may seem to affect us, and even working toward that reality. It may actually feel like a humiliation when others are lifted up; and if it does, then we need to pay attention to that, and become more curious because God may show up unexpectedly there, and because Jesus tells us, again and again, that that is what the Kingdom of God looks like. This week, on the Pray as You Go podcast, one of the prompts had to do with humility. I’ve been pondering it all week. “The gift of humility is an excellent foundation for recognizing the unexpected God. It means my ego, my concerns, don’t get in the way. Do you find yourself drawn to this kind of humility?”iii The true answer is that actually, I don’t find myself drawn to that kind of humility. It like my ego and my concerns, thank you very much. And that has shown me, this week, that this is what I need to be praying for, as frightening as that is for me. This week, I invite you to reflect on humility and humiliation. Can you think of a time when you were humiliated that moved you toward embracing a deeper call to humility or to deepen your trust in God? Or perhaps, can you think of a time when God lifted up the lowly and that felt threatening or unsettling to you? Look more closely at your own discomfort and see what God might be revealing to you in that? Or perhaps you need to spend some time with the awareness that God wants to give you only good things, loving you abundantly, extravagantly, un-earnedly. And God calls you to do the same for others. i. From the Wikipedia entry on the song. From an essay by Chuck Closterman: Klosterman, Chuck (2009). Eating the Dinosaur. New York, NY: Scribner. p. 107. ISBN 978-1-4165-4421-0. ii. Ibid. Collins, Ace (1996). The Stories Behind Country Music's All-Time Greatest 100 Songs. New York: Boulevard. p. 276. ISBN 1-57297-072-3. iii. https://pray-as-you-go.org/player/2022-08-28

11th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 16C

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 16C August 21, 2022 Many of you know that when I go visit our family farm, I often am given or take on a project. One of my projects for my visit this past summer was the clipping up of tomato plants. I wasn’t sure what I agreed to until I headed to the field, and I discovered rows upon rows of tomato plants whose vines and fruit were so heavy that they not only lay on the ground but they had started to grow entangled together. My task was to separate the plants and to clip up the vines to thin ropes hanging down from above. It was hard work; the vines were heavy and laden with flowers and fruit that I had to be so very careful not to damage. The tomato plants made my skin itch when I came into contact with them. And we won’t even talk about the weeds! As I worked, I thought about the passages in scripture where God promises to make the crooked paths straight, and I thought about how Jesus heals a bent over, crooked woman, who had borne the weight of her infirmity for 18 years. I thought about how we, like the tomato plants, like the woman, and like the leader of the synagogue that confronts Jesus, are impeded in our growth and in our ability to bear fruit, how we get all tangled up together, how we don’t know where we end and others begin until Jesus comes along and heals us and helps us untangle, until God makes our crooked, heavy vines straight. Both Isaiah and the gospel reading today speak about the importance of Sabbath. In the gospel reading, sabbath and the law become the stick that the synagogue leader uses to fight Jesus with when he heals the crooked woman on the sabbath. Jesus argues back that sabbath is a time to create space for compassion for all, a time to be free from what binds us. Isaiah talks about how it is important to use God’s sabbath for the way God has intended it, as a space to create and hold compassion for ourselves and for others, about how that practice of drawing close to God and each other through sabbath rest will shower blessings down upon the whole land of Israel. But there’s always a temptation—that is referenced in the Isaiah reading today (and we see it at play in the gospel as well)—that is to make Sabbath about ourselves. But God speaks through Isaiah saying that when we keep the sabbath, opening our hearts and creating space for God to work in us, Sabbath will heal us. Jesus shows that true sabbath is always rooted in compassion—compassion for ourselves and our over-filled lives, compassion for others, compassion for our planet that we use and use and use with little thought. Sabbath is the invitation to pay attention to our inner life, to delve deeper into our own souls, beyond the boundaries of our personalities into the heart of the deep darkness within us where God dwells. When we worship God, when we embrace the rest and compassion offered in Sabbath, we open space for Jesus to do healing work in us, too, for God to help us yield the abundant fruit that is grown out of compassion for ourselves, for others, and for the world around us. How are you being called to keep Sabbath differently, to create a space for Jesus to heal you and give you what you need? What parts of you are crooked that need straightening? What parts of you are too bound up with others, in ways that damage the fruit that you have to offer? What parts of you are wounded, bent, or sick that need to be healed, straightened, made whole? Where are you being called to look through Sabbath-seasoned eyes, with compassion—on yourself, on someone else, on the world around you?

10th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 15C

10th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 15C August 14, 2022 After a long summer hiatus, I started back running this week. On good days, there is nothing I love more than a good treadmill-run. I show up at the gym like I plan to; I crank up my running playlist in my headphones, and run/walk exactly as I had planned to run/walk that day. As someone who has run off and on, her whole adult life, I am quite familiar with the pattern. For whatever reason, my first run back after a hiatus (assuming that I have set reasonable expectations for my level of physical fitness—which isn’t always the case), is usually a dream. It’s easier than I think it will be; the time flies by; I end my workout optimistic about getting back into running shape. But the second run after coming back, that’s the one that always gets me. Best case scenario: I make it to the gym; run the course I had planned, and it is 10 times harder than my first run back. My muscles are sore and I’m tired. My mind tells me that I can always just stop and walk or even just get off the treadmill—no one will even know, and so I often have to dig deep and push through to finish my planned course. I’m not always successful. So it has intrigued me this week that the writer of Hebrews, who is writing about faith in this week’s passage and in last week’s passage, talks about how faith, the life of the faithful is like running—entreating the followers of Christ who are suffering by saying, “Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us.” Hebrews Chapter 11 is often known as “the hall of fame of faith.” It begins with a familiar verse: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Last week’s portion goes on to talk about Abraham and Sarah-how they trusted God and set out for a new promised land; how God made them promises that they did not live to see fulfilled, but how we as the people of faith know that God came through for them. This week’s reading name drops more of the faithful throughout our scriptural history and it is full of action: “By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land, but when the Egyptians attempted to do so they were drowned. By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had received the spies in peace.” Faith inspired the followers of God to conquer kingdoms, administer justice, obtain promises, shut the mouths of lions, quench raging fire, escape the edge of the sword, win strength out of weakness, become mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight…. For so many of us, faith has come to mean a sort of intellectual set of beliefs or even an emotional connection to God and each other, but in this chapter of Hebrews, faith is a physical response to the call of God to go to new places, to step out into the unknown because God tells us that is where we need to go. As another writer puts it, “The texts describe the faithful as people who set out for new places, anticipate new arrivals, wait for big changes, and search for new homelands. In these texts, the faithful are nomads. They wander. They contend with a holy restlessness…They work for the transformation of this world even as they yearn with all their hearts for another.” She continues, “Faith as it is described in Scripture is not, in other words, a destination. It’s not a conclusion or a form of closure. Faith is a longing. Faith is a hunger. Faith is a desire. Faith is the restless energy that pushes us out the door and onto the road in pursuit of the inheritance God has promised. Faith is the audacity to undertake a perilous journey simply because God asks us to — not because we know ahead of time where we’re going. Faith is the itch and the ache that turns our faces towards the distant stars even on the cloudiest of nights. [She concludes,] Faith is the willingness to stretch out our imaginations and see new birth, new life, new joy — even when we feel withered and dead inside. Faith is the urgency of the homeless for a true and lasting home — a home whose architect and builder is God.” i This chapter of Hebrews also makes it clear that a life of faith, this response to God’s call to step out into new places, isn’t always smooth or easy. The passage details all the ways that the faithful hall-of-famers suffered in faithfulness, in their stepping out into the places God was calling them. In our gospel reading for today, Jesus talks some about this, too, offering a description (and not necessarily a prescription) of what his disciples may endure as he makes his way to Jerusalem. So where is the good news in all of this? We come here looking for peace and solace, not more stress and difficulty in our already fractious, stressful lives! Why go back to the gym when we know that 2nd run back is going to be so much harder than the first? Years ago, I heard a remarkable, 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, 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.” ii Every time I show up at the gym and run on the treadmill, I become a runner. And every time we show up and break bread together in this place, asking for forgiveness for our sins, reaching out our hands and our very souls in supplication to be fed by the body and blood of Christ, asking to be transformed more into the image and likeness of the God who created us, and then accepting God’s call to go out into the world once again to share God’s love with a desperate and needy world; every time we choose mercy over taking offense, we choose doing what is right over doing what is easy, we choose kindness over meanness or indifference, we are practicing our faith, becoming more and more those people who step out in faith in response to God’s call. We give ourselves and our lives over to something bigger than our own self-centeredness. We participate in the story of all the faithful, being mindful that we need each other, in order for the fullness of God’s promises to be fulfilled. i.From Debie Thomas’ essay: Called to Restlessness. First published on Journey with Jesus blog in 2019. Full text can be found here: https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/3420-called-to-restlessness-2 ii.From a sermon I preached at St. Columb’s Episcopal Church, Ridgeland, MS. 13th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 13C; August 14, 2016

9th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 14C

9th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 14C August 7, 2022 There are some songs that you have known for so long, that you don’t even remember the first time you hear them. You know the words by heart, and sometimes, because you have sung the words so many times, you don’t even really think about what the words mean at this point. The Servant Song is one of those songs for me. I must have sung it thousands of times in my 46 years in the church. I’ve sung it at baptisms, at weddings, at funerals. I’ve sung it at most Maundy Thursday services. (One year, when we didn’t sing it, I received a friendly critique from my elementary-aged daughter when she said, “It just doesn’t feel like Maundy Thursday if we don’t sing the Servant Song during the footwashing.”) And I have sung it at countless regular Sunday morning services, with so many different of the faithful across many dioceses. For those of you who don’t have this song inscribed on your hearts—it goes like this: “Won’t you let me be your servant?/ Let me be as Christ to you/ Pray that I may have the grace/ To let you be my servant too.” The verses talk about what it means to be together in Christian community, about holding the light of Christ for each other in dark times, in caring for one another and sharing in joys and in sorrows. It’s so familiar, I’ll confess that I hardly think about it much anymore (although it will catch me unawares occasionally and raise a lump in my throat). This week, I found myself humming it, and when I stopped and paid attention to the part of the song that was rolling around in my mind, it was actually the second verse, that I found myself singing over and over throughout the week: “We are pilgrims on a journey/We are travelers on a road/ We are here to help each other/ Walk the mile and bear the load.” I’ve been thinking this week about pilgrimage, about the difference between travel and pilgrimage, about why people for centuries have gone on pilgrimage. I know of so many churches, including our own, who have gone on pilgrimage this summer, and I’ve been thinking about what that verse of the Servant Song means. If a pilgrimage usually entails a journey to some far-off place, then what does that mean when we all sing together in this place—"We are pilgrims on the journey/ We are travelers on the road/We are here to help each other/ Walk the mile and bear the load.” I was fortunate to get to talk to two of my seminary classmates this week who both led pilgrimages this summer. I listened as they compared notes and then I asked them what the difference was between a pilgrimage and a trip, as I continue to think about and process some of my own travels from this summer. And as I listened to my two friends talk about pilgrimage, here is what I heard. That many people go on pilgrimage to try to find God in some traditionally holy place. And many people discover, that if they participate in pilgrimage fully, then they find God has been with them all along, every day. Sometimes, however, it helps to step out of the ordinary, out of our day-to-day rhythms and routines, to subject ourselves to some of the unpredictability and vulnerability of travel, to begin to see God present and at work in our lives and around us always. My friends talked about the stages or characteristics of pilgrimage that others have written about: “The Practice of Hearing the Call and Responding; The Practice of Packing Lightly; The Practice of Crossing the Threshold; The Practice of Making the Way by Walking; The Practice of Being Uncomfortable; The Practice of Beginning Again; The Practice of Embracing the Unknown; and The Practice of Coming Home.”i They talked about how the crux of pilgrimage is noticing what is present in and around you and intentionally focusing on God who is already with you along the way. I’ve used this lens in looking back on some of my own travels this summer, and I find I can remember some of the pilgrimage moments better than most because those were the times when I either encountered the unexpected or I was really paying attention: when Jack and I were sitting on the stoop of a shop while David was inside buying clergy-wear in Vatican City, and we looked up, and there was a really old, toothless lady waving at us out of her third story window above us. And when I waved back, she smiled broadly and started blowing us kisses. About how our Dutch canal tour guide and boat-driver named Klaas, intentionally built community out of a group of strangers on his tour, and we made new friends from around the world. A handful of special meals when I was really paying attention, truly present—Mary Margaret’s birthday dinner in front of the open windows in a lovely restaurant in Paris with the rain pouring down outside, sitting across the table grill at a Korean bbq in London and watching Jack cook his dinner; date night with David at a restaurant in Rome with our table out on the sidewalk of an old, curvy Roman road. These were the moments when I encountered God in unexpected ways because I was paying attention. In our gospel reading for today, Jesus talks about this act of paying attention, or being alert to the presence of God. He talks about how sometimes we have to strip away those things that keep us too comfortable—the possessions, the routines, the comforts—so that we can encounter God who is always with us. Or as another preacher puts it, we find God more regularly when we “position ourselves to be surprised.”ii. So, what does that mean for us as individuals and what does that mean for us at St. Thomas—"pilgrims on a journey, travelers on the road, we [who] are here to help each other walk the mile and bear the load”? My friends who led pilgrimages talked a fair amount about being the leaders of their groups; both agreed that their greatest challenge was the couple of people in each group who were most focused on getting to the destination point each day with the most speed/haste, so much so that they would often leave behind the rest of the group. They were so focused on the end point that they didn’t pay attention to what was happening all around them on the way. I’ll confess that in life this is often my own sin as well. I’ll get so caught up in tasks and to-do lists that I will miss the presence of God that is right in front of my face, fully present in another person or walking right beside me. What if our call as individuals and as a church is to slow down and pay attention to the ways that God is already showing up in and through and among us? What if our call is to look for those who are getting left behind in the journey of faith, and to slow down deliberately and wait for them? What would that even mean? What might that look like? “We are pilgrims on a journey/We are travelers on a road/ We are here to help each other/ Walk the mile and bear the load.” i. These are actually the chapter headings in the book The Soul of a Pilgrim: 8 Practices for the Journey Within by Christine Valters Paintner. ii. Attributed to Gene Lowry.

8th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 13C

8th Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 13C July 31, 2022 A letter to William Fort Strickland upon the occasion of his baptism Dear Fort, Today is an important day in your young life. Today is the day upon which you are baptized into Christ’s body. Today is the day when you will be sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. Today, your parents and godparents and family are accepting, on your behalf, that you already belong to God. They are offering God thanks for your belonging, and we are all making promises that we will walk with you, teach you and learn from you about what it means to live as those who always belong to God, no matter what. Our reading from Colossians for today is all about baptism. In and through our baptism, we believe that we are buried with Christ in his death and raised with Christ into new life. The writer of Colossians is urging the faithful to live as those with new life, to seek the things that are above, setting our minds on things that are above and not on the things that are from earth. The author then gives a list of what not to do as the baptized followers of Jesus; we are called to put to death that which is in us that tends toward fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed/idolatry and to get rid of anger, wrath, malice, slander, abusive language and lies. We are called to clothe ourselves with our new self- which is reminiscent of the image and likeness of God our creator, and we are called to deepen in the ways that we dwell within Christ. It’s interesting, sweet Fort, that the writer gives us a list of how not to live, what not to do as the baptized members of the body of Christ; but we are not given a list of what to do, how to live. Thankfully, we have our baptismal covenant to rely on for that, which gives us guidelines on what to do/how to live. In and through our baptismal covenant, we promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers. We promise to persevere in resisting evil and when we do fall into sin to repent and return to the Lord. We promise to proclaim the good news of God in Christ by both word and example; to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves and to strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being. These are good guidelines for how to live, Fort, and they are a part of the tradition that your family, godparents, and us, your church family, are all promising to model for you as you grow among us. But there’s another lesson in our scriptures today for all of us. It’s found in the gospel parable of a rich man who seeks to preserve what he has built up for himself in this life. As another writer put it, “let’s look at the story—what’s in it? There are crops, an abundance of crops, barns, business planning, success. The man even has a soul, you know, because he talks to it: “Soul, you have ample goods…relax, eat drink, be merry.” Pretty much the American Dream, complete. What’s not in this story? There is nobody else in the story. No one. Just the rich man and his thoughts for his own security and comfort.”i We need each other, Fort, to be truly fulfilled, to truly live the Christian life. We need the lessons that we can teach each other, lessons about forgiveness when we don’t deserve it or haven’t asked for it, lessons about how to offer mercy and compassion and kindness in a world that is so quick to anger and take offense and blame. This Christian way of life is not easy, so we walk this way together, gathering week after week to support each other, to be fed and strengthened to go back out into the world to try again the next week. You will have much to teach us in the coming years, Fort, and we look forward to walking this way with you. Your sister in Christ, Melanie+ i. From a teaser from Andrew Kadel’s sermon for Trinity Morrisania for today.

6th Sunday of Easter-Year C

The Sixth Sunday of Easter-Year C May 22, 2022 As I’ve been preparing to go on sabbatical, I’ve been thinking about peace a lot lately—thinking about what peace is in general and what it is specifically to me. Many people think that peace is the absence of conflict; it can be equated with tranquility, and for people with small children, it is often coupled with “quiet” (as in “Can I, please, just get five minutes of peace and quiet?”). As we watch from afar the 12 week war between Russia and Ukraine, peace may even feel like an unachievable dream for us and for our world. I asked our Wednesday group what peace means for them. One spoke about how peace is the opposite of fear. Another spoke of how it is a deepening in God. Another referred to a Martin Luther King Jr quote: "We must come to see that the end we seek is a society at peace with itself, a society that can live with its conscience." For me, both physically and spiritually, peace is a kind of deep breathing that dispels the tightness in my chest and belly and even the tightness in my soul that is anxiety, stress, striving, and a fearful and troubled heart. In our gospel reading for today, we see Jesus speaking to his disciples in the gospel of John’s long farewell discourse. He is responding to a question from one of the disciples, and even as he gives them the bad news that he is not going to be with them for much longer, he gives them the good news that God will be sending the Holy Spirit to teach and remind them. He also gives them the gift of his peace saying: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” As I was thinking about this peace that Jesus gives his disciples (both his disciples then and us, his disciples now), I began to wonder…Is Jesus saying that his gift of peace is an antidote for troubled and fearful hearts? Or is he giving them the gift of his peace coupled with a command to them: “do not let your hearts be troubled…[or] afraid”? Is peace a free gift that will strengthen our hearts through its reception or is it an either/or situation—Jesus gives us peace in which we can choose to dwell or we can allow our hearts to be troubled and afraid? At its heart, peace is a free gift of Jesus, what Jesus offers and wants for each one of us, and it comes into our hearts when they are undefended and longing for peace The Anglican priest Herbert O’Driscoll writes this about Jesus’s gift of peace in John 14:27: “The word Jesus would have used at that moment is shalom, a much richer and more complex term. ‘Peace’ in this sense does not mean tranquility, lack of challenge, or restfulness. We can experience the peace of Christ without any of these things. Experiencing the shalom of Christ is to taste moments when in an almost inexpressible way things seem to come together for us. The shalom of Christ comes when we experience the conviction that in Christ everything somehow makes sense.” i The story from Acts gives us a picture of what this peace, this shalom of Jesus looks like, a coming together of things to spread the good news of the resurrection throughout the world. In the story, we see Paul being obedient to a vision that he has that compels him to travel to Europe. He ends up in Philippi, and seemingly by chance, he finds himself on the outside of town near the river. There he encounters some women who’ve gathered there, and he sits down with them and begins to teach them. Among this group of women is Lydia, who is a wealthy, successful head of her own household in Philippi. She is a dealer in purple cloth which only the wealthy could afford, so she has access to most of the movers and shakers in town and perhaps beyond. As she is listening to Paul, the writer of Acts says that “God opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul.” She and her whole household get baptized and then she urges Paul and his companions to come stay at her home with her. What this story tells me is that in God’s shalom, nothing is a coincidence. It also shows me that when Lydia’s longing for a relationship with God encounters the grace of God, the offspring of that union are both peace and an abundance of generosity. So what does that mean for us this day? We too are offered the gift of Jesus’s peace, Jesus’s shalom into our hearts and lives. That does not mean that our lives will be conflict free. And it does not mean that we will always be perfectly tranquil. What it does mean is that we can rest in the assurance that in Christ, everything somehow makes sense. And it means that when our longing for God encounters the gift of God’s grace, then the results are both peace and generosity. In that way, we are made whole. In closing, as I prepare to be away from you for nine weeks on sabbatical, I’d like to share with you an old favorite song. It’s called Deep Peace by Kirk Dearmen, and it’s a Celtic blessing that brings me a little closer to this mystery that is peace. It goes: “Deep peace of the running wave to you, Deep peace of the silent starts/Deep peace of the flowing air to you. Deep peace of the quite Earth./ May peace, may peace, may peace fill your soul,/ Let peace, let peace, let peace make you whole.”ii i. O’ Driscoll, Herbert. Prayers for the Breaking of Bread. Cowley: Cambridge, 1991. p 87. ii. From Episcopal Diocese of Mississippi’s Camp Bratton Green Songbook: 1999 Expressions of Praise Music; CCLI song no. 2198338; CCLI license no. 2260158

4th Sunday of Easter Year C

4th Sunday of Easter-Year C May 8, 2022 I’ve been hearing one particular question more frequently over these last few weeks: “What are you going to do on your sabbatical?” The conversation usually proceeds along similar lines as I begin to share details of a family trip to Europe that we have planned to kick-off my sabbatical and to celebrate our daughter’s graduation from high school. I tell them all the different places we’ll be going and what we plan to do there, and after their initial enthusiastic response, their eyes start to glaze over. It’s a lot. Once I realize this, I quickly wrap up and we talk about the rest of the plans for what I’m going to do on sabbatical. (Don’t worry, I’ll be detailing more of this for y’all in upcoming correspondence…) But after several versions of this conversation, I began to sense some uneasiness within myself. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I have spent months planning this trip—where we’ll go and stay, how we’ll get there, what we’ll see and do when we’re there. (I do love to plan trips—my mom even gave me a bunch of guidebooks for my birthday this past January….because that’s what I asked for!) When I dig a little deeper, I begin to realize that the twinges of uneasiness I am feeling are, perhaps, gentle pecks from the Holy Spirit to pay attention. And when I dig deeper still, I begin to see that I am bringing the same sort of violence (or dare I call it sinfulness?) to my sabbatical that I often live with in my work and home life. Here’s what I mean by that. I’ve been re-reading a book titled Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives. It’s by a man named Wayne Muller, who had a near death-experience through a serious infection during a time in his life when he was dramatically over-working. In his opening chapter, Muller writes this about sabbath keeping and our modern lives: “Thomas Jefferson suggested that human life and liberty were intimately entwined with the pursuit of happiness. Instead, life has become a maelstrom in which speed and accomplishment, consumption and productivity have become the most valued human commodities. In the trance of overwork, we take everything for granted. We consume things, people, and information. We do not have time to savor this life, nor to care deeply and gently for ourselves, our loved ones, or our world; rather, with increasingly dizzying haste, we use them all up, and throw them away…” Muller suggests that in all this, we have forgotten Sabbath—a time that is set aside for sacred rest. He continues, “Sabbath is more than the absence of work; it is not just a day off when we catch up on television or errands. It is the presence of something that arises when we consecrate a period of time to listen to what is most deeply beautiful, nourishing, or true. It is time consecrated with our attention, our mindfulness, honoring those quiet forces of grace or spirit that sustain and heal us….While many of us are terribly weary, we have come to associate tremendous guilt or shame with taking time to rest. Sabbath gives us permission….We only need to remember.”i Today, we are offered two different reminders of how we might find this rest, take this refuge in Jesus. In our gospel reading for today, Jesus reminds his listeners and us that none of his followers, his sheep, can be snatched out of his hand; how we are all also held in God’s hand as well. At a different point in John’s gospel, Jesus invites us to “make your home in me as I make mine in you.” The second reminder comes from Dame Julian of Norwich whose feast day is also today. Julian, a medieval mystic who lived in England during a time of plague and political tumult, had a vision about the nature of God’s love. And in this vision, Julian saw God holding something that looked like the size of a hazelnut in God’s hand. It was revealed to Julian that this hazelnut was all that had ever been created by God, and she realized three truths about her life, the life of others, and the life of all creation: 1. God made it. 2. God loves it. 3. God keeps it. We are already fully made, fully loved, and fully kept by God. There is no striving that we need to do or even that we can do in order to earn this. That offer of peace, of rest, of belonging is already there. We just have to accept it, and to open ourselves up to the delight that comes. So, what does that look like? For me, it has meant more a change in approach than a change in plans for sabbatical at this point. I’ve pulled back from trying to schedule out every moment of our trip and have left open spaces for rest, for exploration, for delight. Your invitation this week is two-fold. First, spend some time with Dame Julian’s revelation: that God made you; God loves you; and God keeps you. Second, spend some time doing a time inventory. Look at how you spend your time in a given week. What are ways that you are already keeping the sabbath—whether it be for just a few minutes a day to whole stretches of time? What are some ways that the God who keeps you is inviting you into deeper, fuller sabbath rest in the coming week? i. Muller. Wayne. Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives. Bantam: New York, 1999, pp 4-8.