The Spirit of Love

Background: I preached last weekend at Christ Church Easton, on Father’s Day Weekend, where the lectionary reading was Matthew 10:24-39. In this reading Jesus tells the disciples that he has come not to bring peace, but a sword, to set a man against his father and a daughter against her mother. Possibly an unfortunate reading for Father’s Day. Or maybe not.

“The Spirit of Love”

And then Jesus says, “Happy Father’s Day, everyone!” Amen. The End.

You certainly have to think that the lectionary editors weren’t consulting the secular calendar to put a reading like this on Father’s Day or Mother’s Day. Or maybe they were.

Not all of our earthly parents model God’s love for us. There is a difference between God’s love and priorities and our earthly love and priorities.

I’ve been reading a daybook/devotional every morning by Henri Nouwen titled “Bread for the Journey.” Last week, I came across this entry:

“The Spirit reveals to us not only that God is “Abba, Father” but also that we belong to God as beloved children. The Spirit thus restores in us the relationship from which all other relationships derive their meaning.

“Abba is a very intimate word. The best translation for it is “Daddy.” The word Abba expresses trust, safety, confidence, belonging, and most of all, intimacy. It does not have the connotation of authority, power, and control that the word Father often evokes. On the contrary, Abba implies embracing and nurturing love. This love includes and infinitely transcends all the love that comes to us from our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, spouses, friends, and lovers. It is the gift of the Spirit.”

The love that comes from God, which we have an opportunity to experience, transcends family love, the love of friends, and even love from our spouses. The human love we experience can be complicated, can be lacking, and can even fail us at times. But God’s love doesn’t fail us. It’s an embracing and nurturing love that we can always fall into.

Jesus was and is trying to point us toward and show us God’s love. But he also saw the response he got from those in power, those with status, those who wanted to control or withhold love and use it to their advantage. We all encounter people like that in our lives.

Jesus says, when we encounter those people, we have to make a choice: do we side with them, or do we side with God?

If we are raised in a family that is racist, or homophobic, or with parents that are abusive—siding with our family, continuing those feelings and actions, is being a part of hate, divisiveness, or violence.

When that’s what “peace” looks like, Jesus says:

“I have not come to bring peace, but a sword…
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,”

When what we are handed down, our inheritance, is worldly things that don’t look like love, Jesus says, whoever loves father or mother or son and daughter more than me is not worthy of me.

Imagine being the first person in your family, after generations of racism to say, “No, this is not okay. We are all equal, regardless of skin color or culture. I’m not going to live the way you do.”

How do you think you will be received by your family?

Or to have a conversation that says, “I have this big love of God in my heart, but when it comes to loving someone, I think that love for me looks different than it does for you.”

A number of us were at a program at St. Marks a month or so ago called, “Healing Church Hurts,” and it was absolutely heartbreaking to hear the hate and abuse that people have suffered at the hands of the church, both from clergy and from community, from people who claim to follow Jesus, to love God and their neighbors.

Jesus showed by his life and his example, through the people he spent time with and who he cared for, that love comes first.

As Christians, I think we can all agree that at least part of the reason Jesus became human was because humanity was heading in a bad direction. Jesus showed us a different way to live and different priorities to live by if we want to experience the kingdom of heaven.

Let’s remember that the life Jesus lived, a life of love, a life of caring for the poor, the sick and the marginalized; a life telling the powers-that-be that they were living out of synch with God’s love and that they needed to turn around and get their acts together—this life got Jesus nailed to a cross.

People who are stuck in their ways and invested in their ways of life don’t want to be told they should change. Especially those with power, status, or money on the line.

So Jesus tells his disciples, when you follow me, there is going to be a cost. But when you give up your old life to follow me, you’ll gain a whole new life, one centered in God’s love and priorities.

We have choices to make. Are we willing to make God’s mission of love and justice our top priority, even when it might affect our relationships or our livelihood? Are we willing to use the lens of “What Would Jesus Do?” when we look at our friendships, how we spend our money, and how we treat people we don’t know?

Do our choices reflect our faith? Do our lives proclaim the love of God, both giving and receiving?

Moving in this direction sounds like a huge undertaking. And it is. But in my experience, it doesn’t happen overnight or all at once. It’s a process. It takes time. And we have help.

We have a couple small groups studying J.I. Packer’s book, “Keep in Step with the Spirit.” As Packer introduces what he is up to in the book, he writes that he is particularly interested in:

“The work of the Holy Spirit in the inspiration and interpretation of Scripture, in the regenerating, sanctifying, equipping and empowering of individual Christians, in the gifting and using of God’s people in various forms of service, and in the reviving or renewing of churches and communities.”

That’s the work Jesus was doing.

Sanctification is the process of becoming more Christ-like as we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit’s guidance. Through the Spirit, God meets us in our slow walk and helps transform us. Over the past 10 years, I hope I have been able to live more like Jesus, even though I fail and fall short. I hope I respond differently in situations where I am tempted to lose my temper, lash out in hate, or not treat someone with the dignity that each one of us should receive as children of God.

And if I am being transformed, it’s not through my own efforts—I don’t get a gold star for that—it happens through humility and being open to God’s guidance through the Spirit working in me.

Another way that the Spirit helps us is by giving us people in our lives who encourage and inspire us. Jesus rightly points out the people we need to challenge and not to follow. Thankfully, hopefully, we have family and friends who model the right kind of love for us.

The first of those people, for me, is my father. It’s Father’s Day weekend, so it feels like a good time to share some gratitude.

Henri Nouwen in our opening quote talked about calling God “Abba” as “expressing trust, safety, confidence, belonging, and most of all, intimacy… and implying embracing and nurturing love.”

This week, I remembered an experience I had playing Little League baseball. Our Oxford team was playing against Ruritan in Cordova and I was a runner on third base. The pitcher threw a wild pitch, and I saw my chance, ran for home, and slid safely across home plate.

As I stood up, I saw my coach clapping and I raised my hands to celebrate, only to find my left arm shooting out at an unnatural angle, badly broken. I remember everything going kind of blurry as shock set in.

Oxford Little League team photo. I am third from the left in the back row. Note the fiberglass cast on my left arm. That was after six weeks or so of the plaster cast, which had already come off. This photo was taken well after my season had ended.


One of the things that fathers tend to do these days and those days is to record their kids doing things like playing sports. And my father had researched all the handheld camcorders and had himself a state-of-the-art Betamax video camera.

I have not watched the tape of this happening, but in the live taping of me sliding (safely) into home and standing up with a badly broken arm, as my arm comes up and you hear a collective gasp from the crowd, you can clearly hear my dad say, “Oh…crap!”… though he didn’t say crap, the camera drop, and he rushes to get onto the field to help me, and then to ride in the ambulance with me to the hospital.

This is a pretty good example of my dad as a father figure. Unfortunately for him, I think I could have shown the prodigal son a thing or two. I repeatedly messed up, fell short, and got in trouble. And my dad met me in those situations with love and grace and forgiveness.

Part of the reason that it was easy for me to embrace and understand the idea of God as a loving father is because my dad showed me what that looked like as a loving father. He modeled that for me. And he still does today.

How about one more model. Before I was in elementary school, my father introduced me to a friend of his, Jack Anthony. Jack’s son David was a year older than me, and we spent a good bit of our earliest years together. And the four of us would go to Orioles games. And Jack always seemed like a good guy and loving father, despite wearing a Yankees hat to Orioles games.

Fast forward forty-some years, and I connected again with Jack here at Christ Church, with Jack as one of our Stephen Leaders, helping to lead our Stephen Ministry and giving us all an example of what Christian care-giving looks like. For me, as someone who has not been through Stephen Ministry training, this ministry of friendship, of coming alongside someone who is going through a difficult time, of listening, this ministry is one of the shining stars and models for our community.

Last night, we got to commission Karen Fisher as a new Stephen Minister, and my wife, Holly, who has been a Stephen Minister for a couple years now, as a Stephen Leader. This finishes out the latest class, most of whom were commissioned at the picnic a couple weeks ago, of 10 new Stephen Ministers and two new Stephen Leaders.


I am grateful for these examples of the Holy Spirit “regenerating, sanctifying, equipping and empowering individual Christians, and gifting and using of God’s people in various forms of service, and in the reviving or renewing of churches and communities.”

Every day we have choices to make. Let us choose to follow Jesus, to learn from the examples and encouragement of those living into God’s love and priorities and allow the Spirit to work through each of us.

Better Together

Holly and I have been together for eight and a half years. Today, June 7, 2026, we have been married for one year. The Rev. Jessica Stehle, a mutual and long-time friend of us both, and with whom I graduated from both Washington College and seminary, was the officiant at our wedding, which was held on a dock in Chincoteague, Virginia.

During the ceremony, Rev. Jess gave a short homily. As an anniversary gift, she handwrote her sermon out in a bound notebook that says, “Love Heals” on the cover and gave it to us, to continue writing love letters to each other.

Sitting on the porch of a cabin in the same camp ground where we were married, a place we have been staying on the same weekend in June for three years now, Holly and I read Jess’s words aloud and were wonderfully overwhelmed.

I am sharing her homily here, with her permission.

June 7, 2025

Welcome friends, to this blessed day! It is an honor to share God with you here, surrounded by God’s beautiful creation—living water and open sky.

Thank you, Michael and Holly, for inviting me to stand here for you today.

Almost eight years ago in the sanctuary and in the Parish Hall of Christ Church Easton, many people with a spiritual hunger and a longing for a community in which to belong, assembled regularly for a series titled “Alpha,” a word that means beginning.

They gathered in small groups, in faith formation, relationship building, trust, and expressions of Divine Love. They went away on retreat with time for stillness, prayer, and the invitation of the Holy Spirit. And among all of that holy belonging, among the presence of the Holy Spirit, two people were noticing each other.

First photo taken together, January 2018
Alpha Retreat, a year after the first, October 2018

A short time later, the two lingered in the narthex of Christ Church, talking about writing, life, and sharing stories.

In church architecture, the narthex is situated inside the entrance of the church and serves as a transitional space between the outside world and the sacred place of worship—the sanctuary. It is a place for reflection and preparation for communion with God in the church. It is also a place of hospitality where newcomers are greeted by welcoming ushers into the shared experience of the love of Christ.

In essence, this architectural space in which Michael and Holly lingered symbolizes the move from ordinary to sacred. This was the beginning of their love story, two ordinary people, whose union is today and forever, sacred.

Their relationship began and has remained grounded in God. And when relationships begin with God at the center, they continue to grow exponentially. God is the source of love, and that love is limitless.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus instructs us to abide in his love and to love one another as he loves us, so that our joy may be complete.

Michael and Holly are living expressions of this commandment.

They told me of their desire to honor one another for who they are, to allow one another to BE.

That is grace-filled love. It is why they are able to, in their words, “feel more free together than they do by themselves.”

Michael and Holly, may you always abide in the completeness of your love for one another, through the freedom that exists in the love of our Savior Jesus Christ.

And now witnesses, in the style of Rev. Michael Valliant, who so often captures and shares images of his bride standing in contemplation of a beautiful landscape, and in which we can imagine him, watching her watch the world, I invite you all into stillness.


To fully enter into stillness is not to empty your thoughts, but rather to allow yourself to be filled. Stillness invites complete awareness of the reality that is happening in this present moment.

So please breathe in this moment. We are surrounded by the constant movement of the Chincoteague Bay, whose ripples run like the boundless breadth of God’s goodness. As they reach the shore, the earth offers them back out into the water.

Feel the wind that moves the Bay. Hear the birds that respond. Focus on the couple and the lives on either side of them that now exist together as a wider family. Call upon memories and images that you have already witnessed in your walk alongside this love story. Allow them to wash over you and receive their gift of sharing their wedding day with you.


Michael and Holly, turn and receive the blessing of your loved ones’ presence. Soak it in.

Abide in this sacramental moment and carry it with you always.

And all God’s people said: Amen!

Don’t Lose Heart

Background: The Gospel for the following sermon is John 14:1-14, where Jesus tells his disciples, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” because he is the Way and the Truth and the Life. This is the text of a sermon I gave at Christ Church Easton for the Fifth Sunday of Easter, Lectionary Year A.

“Don’t Lose Heart”

This is a gospel reading, the first part of which has become maybe a little too familiar of late. That’s because it’s a reading that is often used for funerals. And we’ve had a number of funerals over the last couple years.

The reason this reading is used at funerals is because it can comfort us. Which makes sense because that is what Jesus was trying to do with his disciples—assure them, comfort them, remind them. Because he is about to leave them.

Let’s look at what has happened leading up to Jesus’s words to the disciples. Jesus has come into Jerusalem riding on a donkey. He has openly talked about his forthcoming death and summarized his teaching. He washed the feet of the 12 and foretold his betrayal and Peter’s denial. And he gave the disciples the new commandment to love one another as he has loved them.

Jesus is preparing them for the time, imminently, when he will no longer be with them in bodily form.

Today’s reading begins with “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” Let’s look at this for a minute.

Jesus is not Bobby McFerrin here. He is NOT saying, “Don’t worry, be happy.” He is not saying, don’t let it bother you, no big deal.

A helpful way to think about “Do not let your hearts be troubled” is to say, “Don’t LOSE heart.” That’s a different statement. Don’t lose heart.

Things are going to be difficult. Don’t lose heart.

You are going to lose people you love. Don’t lose heart.

Sometimes it is going to feel like the world is conspiring against you. Don’t lose heart.

Instead, Jesus says, “Believe in God. Believe also in me.”

This isn’t the easiest instruction given the situation. If you go back and read John chapters 12 and 13, Jesus is letting the disciples know that the things they’ve been counting on: Jesus, their teacher, the Messiah, overthrowing Rome, freeing Israel from slavery and restoring them to their place as God’s people… record scratch… that is not what’s going to happen. Instead, he says I need to go, I am going to betrayed, arrested, and killed… the sense of panic and confusion going on with the 12 is real.

As Jesus tries to reassure them that they have everything they need; that he’s been over all this with them; that this is what the last three years have been all about, that they know the way… Thomas and Philip throw up their hands, Jesus what are you talking about?

Here is how they shine light on this scene over at the SALT Project:

“After Thomas asks, “How can we know the way?”, Philip follows up by asking Jesus to “show us the Father” — as if to say, At least give us some coordinates, so we can find our way to “God’s house” once you’re gone (John 14:5,8,2). Jesus’ response amounts to this: You already know the Way! You know the Way we’ve been traveling, the Truth we’ve been learning, the Life we’ve been living — so just keep going, and when you do, I’ll be right there with you, because I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I’m not merely your guide; I am the Way. So keep going and learning and living toward God, and we’ll be together as you go…”

The Way we’ve been traveling.

The Truth we’ve been learning.

The Life we’ve been living.

How should they (and we) remember all this, keep it top of mind? Remember me, Jesus says. Believe in me. “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”


Last week, Rev. Anne took us through the different “I am” statements that Jesus makes in John’s Gospel. Along with the signs Jesus performed, the miracles that pointed at his true identity, these “I am” statements are part of how Jesus clues his disciples, including us, in on his Divine identity. Which John wasted no time in introducing at the beginning of his story: “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God,” and then for a period of time, the Word became flesh.

When the Word gives up his flesh and returns to the Father, he is not gone. In returning to his Father, Jesus is going to bring his followers with him, into that intimacy. Jesus is the “logos”, who was, and is, and always will be. When the disciples, when WE are with him and in him, we are with the Father; we are living in conjunction and communion with the logos, the Word.

When we live the life Jesus showed us how to live, when we learn and see and proclaim the Truth that Jesus proclaimed; when we learn to walk in Jesus’s Way; we live in God’s kingdom, here and now.

Don’t lose heart. This is the good news; this is the best news. Jesus’s going away in bodily form, opens the gate and the way for us to follow.

Here is the SALT Project again:

“We often think and speak of the good news of Christ’s advent, his arrival, his coming near — but here we learn of the good news of Christ’s departure, his “going away” (John 14:28). Jesus goes away like a tablet dissolves into water: the tablet is gone, but at the same time its presence pervades the water entirely. His absence, then, also makes way for a new, pervasive presence of the Spirit, all of which gives rise to the community of the church, the movement that will go on to do even “greater works” (John 14:12). In sum, Jesus leaves in order to make possible an even more intimate communion with us, and with creation as a whole: “I am going away, and I am coming to you” (John 14:28).”

Part of the good news is Jesus going away, his letting go of his bodily form, his flesh. It seems strange to think of Jesus going away as part of the good news, but he does this so that the Holy Spirit can come to us, and dwell with and within us.

Liturgically, that’s where we are moving. In next week’s Gospel reading, Rev. Kelsey gets to talk more about the Advocate, the Spirit. In a couple weeks we’ll celebrate Pentecost, which is the coming of the Holy Spirit to the apostles as it is told in the Book of Acts.

Today’s reading is a snapshot, a reminder, and a telling of what’s to come. All of it points to this intimate relationship with God, established for us by Jesus.

Don’t we need that sometimes. Don’t we need that most of the time. Don’t we need that all the time.

God, I don’t know if I can keep going. This grief is too much. I miss him. I miss her. I don’t know what life looks like anymore.

Don’t lose heart. Believe in me. I am the Way.

Jesus, this news, I can’t. This changes everything. I don’t even know where to start.

Don’t lose heart. Trust me. I am the Truth.

I look around the world, and it’s not even just the war, the poverty and the sickness. It’s like we don’t even care. It’s like we don’t care about each other, we don’t care about Creation, all we care about is the price of gas and showing people who don’t agree with us what idiots they are. Holy Spirit, where are you in this? What are we supposed to do?

Don’t lose heart. Remember me. I am the Life that overcomes those ways of the world.


What does it look like to not lose heart, to believe in God for us right now? When we don’t have Jesus here in front of us to give us a straight answer.

Jesus knew that these are the same questions the disciples were going to wrestle with. Their world as they knew it was coming to an end. Jesus was going to be gone. They were going to be in despair.

So he says, “Trust me. Remember all that we did together. If you want to know what to do, look at me: I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.

As I reflected on Jesus’s words and what he is telling his disciples in his farewell address, I was just as struck by how Jesus did all he did and what he modeled for his disciples and for us.

When he gave his signs—from turning water into wine, to healing people, to raising Lazarus from the dead, he did these things in community. He did them with his disciples around him.

As they walked the road to Jerusalem, Jesus had his friends with him.

How many stories do we have of Jesus at the table, eating and drinking with his friends and followers.

When they are getting ready to go through the hardest time of their lives, what does Jesus do? He calls them together to reassure them.

After his death, when Jesus appears to the disciples, John gives us Jesus and the disciples in the Upper Room and together for a fish cookout on the beach.

When the Holy Spirit comes to apostles, it is when they are gathered together.

If we want to know what it looks like to believe in Jesus right now; how to remember the Way he showed us to travel, the Truth we learn from his life and teaching, the abundant Life he wants us to live; how to not lose heart:

We do that together, gathering as he showed us, supporting each other, caring for each other in community, loving one another as he loved us.

This is how we show that we believe. Walking together in Jesus’s love, we welcome the Holy Spirit into our hearts and our lives, through whom Jesus calls us to do greater things than what he showed us in Scripture.

All of this is with us, within us, and ahead of us.

Don’t lose heart.

From Palms to Passion

Background: This past weekend I preached for Palm Sunday, at Christ Church Easton‘s Alive @ 5 Saturday service and at St. Andrew’s Chapel in Sudlersville (one of two churches in St. Luke’s Parish) on Sunday. The Palm/Passion Sunday readings include both Jesus’s triumphant entrance into Jerusalem as well as his suffering and execution on the cross. This is the text of the sermon I gave over the weekend.

From Palms to Passion: Heartbreaking, Necessary, Life-Giving

One of the things I appreciate about the Episcopal liturgy for Palm Sunday is that we get the full story. We are not left cheering waving our palms, we also have to stare into the face of Jesus being crucified. The feeling we get, going from palms to passion in such a short time, might be whiplash. How can you go from “Hosanna” to “Crucify Him!” so quickly?

When we think back over our lectionary journey over the past few weeks: Jesus giving sight to a blind man, raising his friend Lazarus from the dead, this triumphant entrance into Jerusalem seems just right. This is a man who can perform miracles, an inspiring teacher, one who brings hope and healing to the poor and the sick. Surely, he has the power to change the direction of the people of Israel, to challenge the Roman Empire, there’s no way they have anyone equal to Jesus.

We can understand when the crowds get fired up:  “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Finally! We’ve got our guy—he’s here! You better look out now!

I wonder if anyone has had a period of riding high in your faith, in your life. Maybe it was soon after you found faith. You felt energized, you could feel and see God speaking to you in different ways. When you read the Bible, you always find a verse or a phrase to take with you into the day. And you think, yes, everyone needs to feel this, God is good, all the time.

Happily, we find those places and times at different points in our life. It’s not just a one-time thing. And when we are there, it’s easy to follow the crowds—the blind gaining their site, the poor and hungry being fed, Lazarus being raised. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!

This Jesus guy is great!

Here he comes, his triumphant entry into Jerusalem…riding on… a donkey?

Then he goes into the Temple and flips tables and angers Temple leadership. Then he gets arrested.

Are we still with Jesus when he’s called into question? What happens when the road of our faith lives gets bumpy. When we struggle, when God seems quiet in our lives.

Do we stick with Jesus when there might be a cost we don’t like associated with following him?

For the crowds in Jerusalem, it becomes pretty clear this is not the guy: the Messiah wouldn’t be arrested and sentenced to be crucified. Why would the Messiah, the one God sends to bring victory to his people, have this happen to him? He is supposed to win.

This guy must be an imposter. So the crowds put down their palms and call for the cross, when the cross meant to put someone to death. Crucify him!

When we read the Bible from a Christian perspective, we always want to identify with Jesus and the disciples. We know we are on Jesus’s team now, so we shout “Hosanna!” and next week, “He is Risen!”

We look back on history and see things like slavery, the Holocaust; we can look back and say, those things are wrong, they should never have happened. And that is true. And at the same time, I think it helps us to realize that people go with the crowd for a lot of reasons, including personal safety, for self-preservation, to not have to pay the cost of standing up for something or someone who is challenging those in power.

That even though we are Jesus followers now, that is in part because WE KNOW that he conquered death, we know how the story turns out… Maybe as things unfolded around them, we can understand those in the crowd. Maybe I would have been one of them. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

As we walk through the passion and suffering of Jesus today and through Holy Week and Good Friday, take time to look at the different characters in the readings. Be mindful that we encounter these same kinds of characters in our lives every single day, and sometimes we are these characters—these human beings with fears, doubts, questions, and who all need grace and mercy the same way that we do.

And realize that Jesus’s walk to the cross, his suffering, his death, and resurrection were for all of us, to make everyone recipients of God’s grace and forgiveness. Even and especially those who shouted, “Crucify him!”

When we look around today, we can still see why Jesus’s redemptive sacrifice on the cross was necessary.

Writer Debie Thomas, in her book “Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories” says:

“In the cross, we are forced to see what our refusal to love, our indifference to suffering, our craving for violence, our resistance to change, our hatred of difference, our addiction to judgment, and our fear of the Other must wreak. When the Son of Humanity is lifted up, we see with chilling clarity our need for a God who will take our most horrific instruments of death and transform them at great cost, for the purposes of resurrection.”

When we arrive at Easter Sunday next week, we celebrate Jesus’s victory. But for his kind of victory to happen, it had to come out of the darkness. How can we see and appreciate light without understanding what darkness is like?

How can we appreciate love without knowing what heartbreak feels like?

Palm Sunday is a day of heartbreak. It feels like a loss. The disciples scatter and it doesn’t occur to them that something that is impossible could happen. Jesus has taught them so many parables that when he tells them he will be killed and on the third day be raised, that’s got to be a metaphor, right?

The disciples feel defeated. And as we hear Jesus cry out from the cross, he too experienced what defeat feels like. Allow yourselves this week to feel that defeat, to think about Jesus’s suffering and the suffering that is real around the world and here in our community.

But we also get the blessing of knowing that this defeat is temporary; it is short lived. It is what pastor and author Frederick Buechner calls “The Magnificent Defeat.” It’s only a defeat of worldly things, including power and death, by heavenly things, by God’s love, which is eternal, which goes beyond death; by God’s light, which overcomes the darkness, by God’s truth, which not only follows but fulfills the law, and God’s mercy, which forgives even murder on a cross.

It’s the darkness of Palm Sunday and Good Friday, which give us the light of Christ. Jesus took an instrument of death, the cross, and turned it into a symbol of life and love overcoming death.

We read these readings, we have these liturgies, we gather to tell and discuss these stories to remember the sacrificial love of Jesus. We invoke the bread and wine of the Last Supper to participate in the sacrament that he asks us to continue. Not just as something that happened in the past, but as something that is present for us today.

To get to the empty tomb and the new life of Resurrection Sunday, we have to stop so that we can look at and contemplate the cross.

This is the moment where we see what taking up his cross costs Jesus.

Remember that Jesus asks his would-be followers to take up our crosses and follow him.

What does it mean for us to take up our crosses? Debie Thomas writes:

“To take up a cross as Jesus did is to stand, always, in the center of the world’s pain. Taking up the cross means recognizing Christ crucified in every suffering soul we encounter, and pouring our energies into alleviating that pain, no matter what it costs us.”

This is what is means to love like Jesus. To love when everything is on the line. To have our hearts broken. To show by our actions, that our love for God is real and that we have skin in the game. That we remember and are grateful for the new life that Jesus made possible with his own life.

Making Time

Yesterday I made time. I knew I needed to. Stress has been high, sleep has been hard to come by, mental, emotional, and physical clutter were building in my body.

I threw books, a notebook, and pens in a bag. Parked at the Oxford Conservation Park, hopped on a skateboard and cruised for a bit. I found some shoreline near my thinking/praying tree at the Oxford Cemetery. And I sat. And breathed. And prayed. And listened. And watched. And read.

Marcus Aurelius had this to say in his “Meditations”–

Everything is transitory–the knower and the known.

Constant awareness that everything is born from change. The knowledge that there is nothing nature loves more than to alter what exists and make new things like it. All that exists is the seed of what will emerge from it. You think the only seeds are the ones that make plants or children. Go deeper.

Even when we know that’s true, change can still be tough to take in. I’ve become a fan of Ryan Holiday and The Daily Stoic and his Painted Porch Bookshop near Austin, Texas. He motivated me to pull Marcus off my bookshelf. Holiday points out the tenet of stoicism that asserts that we can’t control much of what life throws at us, but we can control how we respond to it. That’s something to sit with.

This is what Luci Shaw says in her poem, “Few Words”–

To write with
restraint, with
few words,
is to give each
a great power
that stands
for itself on
the page–
this red bird,
that crescent moon.
Each sentinel
of meaning
pointing us
to what
it stands for.

I prefer to write and speak with few words. The right ones when I am lucky enough. To listen more than I talk. Creation, God, and other people have much more to offer than I do.

A friend sent me a copy of Allen Levi’s “Theo of Golden” in the mail, saying it seemed like it would resonate with me. When I started reading it, the story starts a short time before Easter. I am a sucker for books that correspond in time to where we are, so I jumped in. It’s too early to write about the book in itself, but I am drawn to three ideas on the blurb on the back of the book.

It says it is a novel about:

  1. “the power of creative generosity”
  2. “the importance of wonder to a purposeful life”
  3. “the individual threads of kindness that bind us to one another”

The phrase “creative generosity” has been on my mind since reading it. We can be generous with money, generous with time, in ways that have become expected. But what does it mean to be creative with our generosity? To offer something unexpected? What does it feel like to receive creative generosity? Like someone sending you a book unexpectedly in the mail, thinking it may speak to you or wake up something in you?

Wonder is my jam. I’ve written “Wired for Wonder” as my mantra or a guiding principle. The idea of the “importance of wonder to a purposeful life” is intriguing. Bringing wonder and purpose together is both necessary, but often overlooked. I want to walk farther down this path.

We get that kindness is a good thing and that we should be kind to one another and to ourselves. Well, we might not all understand that, but we should. That kindness binds us to each other, I want to dwell and reflect more on that. We need to realize the connective threads of our humanity more these days than I can express.

Though I have started and am loving “Theo of Golden,” the gift of these phrases and thoughts before I even opened it, is its own creative generosity.

Yesterday I made time to sit and read outside when I almost didn’t. This morning I made time to write it down and share it with those who will take the time to read it. Today, I hope you make time to do what the Spirit calls you to do.

What Do We Do with John 3:16?

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

This is likely the most quoted verse in the New Testament. For we Christians, it is probably the most quoted verse in the whole Bible. We see it held up on signs by fans at sporting events, printed on billboards, worn on t-shirts.

My brother-in-law and I, decades ago, once made a John 3:16 sign with markers and poster board and floated it across a narrow channel on the bay side of Ocean City in the middle of the night and took pictures of ourselves standing on a small island ironically holding our John 3:16 sign to show that we had claimed and conquered the island.

Which is to say: so what? This quote encapsulates something key and wonderful about our faith. What do we do with it, or about it? What do we do with it in terms of our lifestyle? How does it change the way we live our lives?

For too many people, I don’t think it translates, by itself, into a transformed life or consciousness.

It makes me think sometimes, what if the most quoted lines in the New Testament or the Bible for Christians were:

Or Matthew 5:9, which says: “Blessed are the Peacemakers”

Or John 13:35: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Or Matthew 25:40, “Just As You Did to One of the Least of These You Did to Me”

How much different would our view of ourselves or our impact on the world be, if what we quoted talked about grace embodied, not simply grace received?

Or what if we included John 3:17 as part of our marketing message to complete the “God so loved the world” thought, and we read, “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Jesus came to do something wonderful, something transformational, something life-changing for the people of the world. John 3:16, by itself, hasn’t seemed to have that effect on those who read it or hear it.

But Jesus gives us something to work with in his conversation with Nicodemus. He asks us to think, and to change, if necessary, rather than just shouting out Scripture.

We know this story a bit, don’t we? Nicodemus, who is a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews, comes to Jesus at night. He comes at night so no one sees him talking to Jesus. Going to Jesus for teaching could ruin Nicodemus’s reputation. Jesus is not an “insider,” he challenges the Pharisees. But there is something in Nicodemus that needs to meet with Jesus, to know what he’s all about.

Nicodemus begins his conversation with incredible vulnerability:

“Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

Can you imagine, going up to someone who challenges the way you think, the way you act, the way you live your life, and leading with that kind of admission? Wanting to learn from them? Would I have the guts to do that? Would you?

And Jesus answers in a way that sends Nicodemus reeling:

“Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

Oh, wow. I guess I should have warned you about this. There are two parts of today’s reading that can be sticky for those outside the faith, those who are looking in at Christianity. This is where we get the term and idea of “born again Christian.”

Born-again Christians have their own reputations as being the people you don’t want to run into at the grocery store or a concert. They are thought of as pushier, over-zealous. And overly interested in whether YOU have been born again or saved.

That’s another aspect of this reading that has gotten a bad rap. What does Jesus mean when he says born from above? That’s what Nicodemus is trying to wrap his head around.

Jesus, this is crazy talk. Once we are born from our mothers, we can’t be born again. We’re already here.

And Jesus says, that’s not the kind of birth I’m talking about. We’re all born of the flesh. I’m talking about the Spirit.

“No one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit.”

This is a spiritual birth, or re-birth. In Nicodemus’s defense, this is a hard concept to get our heads around, especially if you’ve never experienced or heard about something like this. I recently came across something that strikes me as a helpful way to think about being reborn.

In his book, “The Healing Path,” author James Finley talks about becoming a clinical psychologist, this is after having lived for years as a monk and then becoming a spiritual retreat leader. During his doctoral studies, he had a year-long internship at a Veterans Administration Hospital and Finley was assigned to an inpatient alcohol treatment unit.


Many of the men there for treatment were Vietnam vets. You can imagine that alcohol abuse was only a part of what they were dealing with.

Finley learned that some years earlier the men on the unit developed an initiation rite for those who wanted to be admitted to the program. He watched it as a new person came in for the first time.

He said that all the men sat in chairs lined around the walls of the room, except for two empty chairs in the center of the room, left facing each other. The man seeking to be admitted sat in one chair, and one of the men in the unit who was conducting the initiation sat in the other.

And he asked the newcomer, “What do you love the most?” The guy was confused, caught off-guard, and said, “My wife.” And all the guys along the walls got loud, gave him a hard time, shouted some things.

He was asked again, “What do you love the most?” The newcomer thought and said, “My children.” Same response from the men, raucous, not having it.

The same question, “What do you love most?” And finally the newcomer answered, “Alcohol.”

And the moment he said it, all the men stood, gave him a standing ovation, the newcomer was asked to stand and one by one, every man there lined up to hug him and welcome him into their midst, as one of them. And everyone in the room, Finley included, had tears running down their faces.

Finley writes about the newcomer, “In his moment of awakening, he was vulnerable… As the man stood there with tears streaming down his face, he was childlike, meaning he was guileless and open-faced, free of posing and posturing. And in his child-like transparency, true spiritual maturity was being manifested in the world…

“He knew nothing. In this unknowing, all his foggy assumptions, conclusions, and answers that were formed and sustained in his addiction were eclipsed by a luminous, empty-handed understanding that lit up his mind and heart in ways that he had not as yet even begun to comprehend.”

“He was dying before our very eyes. For in this moment the alcoholic in him that, for so many years claimed to have the final say in who he was, was dying. And in this death he was being born before our very eyes as someone newly emerging out of the darkness into the light.”

This was a man, who was being born again. His old life, his old self, was dying. And a new life was beginning. He had to surrender his old way of seeing and being, everything about that life, in order for a new life, a new birth to start.

That’s a powerful metaphor for us, who are being given a chance to let go of the life the powers of the world have us living and opening ourselves to being born anew in the Spirit, with how Jesus calls us to live.

This is not the kind of birth we can see with our eyes, like the birth of a newborn baby. Jesus says, you can’t see the wind, you don’t know where it comes from or goes, but we know it from the sound.

We know the new life in someone born of the spirit by their life. By who they are and what they show us.

At the time when this Gospel was written, it was unthinkable that someone could declare “I believe” and not have it show in their life. If you had received and accepted this amazing grace of God so loving the world that he gave his only Son—you would embody that grace—you would live it out in the world.

I love this quote by writer Debie Thomas who says:

“When the writers of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament wrote of faithfulness, they were not advocating for intellectual assent. They were making a case for trust, fidelity, dependence, and love. To believe in God was to place their loving confidence in God. To entrust their hearts, minds, and bodies into God’s hands… What does it mean to believe in Jesus? It means becoming a newborn: vulnerable, hungry, and ready to receive reality in a fresh way. It means coming out of the shadows and risking the light… Why is belief important to God? Because love is important to God. To believe is to BE LOVE.”

This may all sound crazy. It certainly did to Nicodemus. Nicodemus came to Jesus at night, in secret, hoping to understand what he was all about. And he leaves that night perplexed and confused.

But that’s not the end of the story for Nicodemus. He is one of the few characters we encounter in the Gospels who we get to see again two more times in the story.

In John chapter 7, the temple police ask the Pharisees why they don’t arrest Jesus and it is Nicodemus who steps in to defend Jesus saying, “Our law doesn’t judge people without first giving them a hearing does it?”

And then again, in John chapter 19, after Jesus has been crucified, it is Nicodemus, “who first came to Jesus at night” who brings a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing 100 pounds; who with Joseph of Arimathea takes Jesus’s body, prepares it and wraps it in linens, and lays Jesus in the tomb.

This was at huge personal risk to Nicodemus—being associated with the man who had just been publicly executed.

Nicodemus leaves his first meeting with Jesus confused, humbled, and probably heartbroken, not understanding what it means to be born of the Spirit.

And then, as he lives, as he prays, as he thinks, Nicodemus, risking his reputation and his life, shows us what it looks like to be born again, of the Spirit.

Maybe this reading is not about the waving a sign in the stands.

It’s not simply about receiving the grace of John 3:16.

Maybe it’s about embodying that grace once we’ve received it. Maybe it looks like risking our reputation, risking ourselves, risking the light—being vulnerable and open to Jesus so that we can give up our old way of living to be born again of the Spirit.

Caravaggio, “The Entombment of Christ”

Being Salt and Light

Background: last weekend I preached at Christ Church Easton on our lectionary reading, Matthew 5:13-20, where Jesus tells those listening to his Sermon on the Mount that they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. This is the text of my sermon, bouncing off of Bishop Jake Owensby’s book “A Full-Hearted Life” and commentary from the SALT Project blog.

“Being Salt and Light”

This is our second week sorting through parts of Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount, as it’s come to be known in Matthew’s Gospel. The full sermon goes from chapter 5 through chapter 7.

Jesus sees crowds of people gathering and he goes up a mountain, sits down and teaches.

It begins with the Beatitudes: the “blessed are” statements, where those considered “blessed” are not people many would consider fortunate or lucky. Last Sunday on Zoom, Rev. Anne Wright walked us through the Beatitudes, pointing out that being blessed isn’t about having good things happen to us; part of the blessing is that when we go through difficult times, God is with us. We are blessed in being close to God and not being alone in our dark nights of the soul.

This week’s reading picks up right where last week left off. Continuing to teach, Jesus tells his disciples, his listeners, that they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Those things are great, but they come with a warning: if salt has lost its taste, you have to throw it out, and don’t hide your light, let it shine so that others can see.

What does it mean to be salt and light? Let’s take a look at a few things here.

First, Jesus isn’t asking his listeners to become something new; he doesn’t tell them to “become” salt and light. He says, you ARE these things already. In the book we’ve been reading in small groups, “A Full-Hearted Life” by Episcopal Bishop Jake Owensby, he reminds us that we are all God’s beloved. God made us with and out of love. We don’t have to do anything, we are loved.

We are salt and light. Jesus is telling his listeners, and us, to act like it; to be who we were created to be.

Another aspect to this, salt losing its flavor or light being covered up: our faith is not supposed to be a hollow faith. It’s not a matter of doing things because we are supposed to do them. Even things like going to church, helping the poor, praying—all things that are good for us to do, but not if we are going through the motions; doing them because we are told to do them.

Bishop Owensby in talking about the world and the church today says that we see a lot of “functional atheism.” He says:

“a longing for the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Moses—a longing for a relationship with the risen Christ—no longer animates the lives of many people, even church-going, creed-professing people. Our life-shaping desire is no longer focused on the Transcendent God. Many lives—including the lives of self-identified Christians—are centered on things of this world.”

One of the things Owensby points out is that many lives are centered around work, instead of our relationship with Christ. He says “workism,” is “the belief that work is not only necessary to economic production, but also the centerpiece of one’s identity and life’s purpose.”

Workism is a spirituality that measures human value as a function of productivity and efficiency. Workism “distorts worship, prayer, feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, and all spiritual practices into transactions.”

If you are coming to church, or you consider yourself a Christian, just because you want to go to heaven, or so you will be well thought of in the community, those are transactions.


Owensby says that spiritual practices are supposed to be “responses to the infinite love that God has always already given us, not pleas to receive what we do not have.”

We are already God’s beloved. All of us. We are already salt and light.

Faith is not performative. It’s meant to be heart-centered. It’s meant to be a response to, and a part of, our relationship with God.  

As Jesus continues teaching to the crowds, he says:

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished.”

Okay, Jesus, that’s a bit of a head-scratcher. What does it mean to “fulfill” the law? Here is what our friends over at the SALT Project website have to say:

“the underlying notion is that when something is “fulfilled,” it’s truly embodied, incarnated, filled out, brought to life. When we “fulfill a responsibility,” for example, we perform it — we give it form… To “fulfill the law,” then, is to embody its essential features, to “fill out” and exemplify its meaning, spirit, and substance.”

Jesus has come to embody, fill out, bring the law to life. If we want to see what it looks like to live out the law—look at Jesus. If we want to see what it looks like to be salt and light: look at Jesus.

As he continues his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is going to spell out in greater detail how we are to live, some of the things we are to do in fulfilling the law the way that he does.

The difference between “following the law” and “fulfilling the law” can be the difference between salt that’s lost its flavor and light that’s being hidden, and the salt and light we were created to be.

The laws say: don’t murder anyone, don’t steal, don’t commit adultery, don’t covet, don’t worship false idols.

Are we being salt and light if all we are doing is following these laws, these “don’ts?”

What’s the difference between following and fulfilling these laws? Later on in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus is pressed on which law or commandment is the greatest and he replies:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”

It’s not a statement on our actions, it starts with our hearts. It isn’t just don’t do these things that are harmful; we are meant to love God and love each other. 

If we love God, we won’t worship work and put works as idols where we are meant to put God. If we love each other, we are not going to murder, steal, or covet.

Being salt and light happens when we soften our hearts in love and turn away from making the things that the world seems to hold dear—money, power, status—the center of our lives.

This is counter-cultural today and it was counter-cultural in Jesus’s time. It’s not a message we hear from CEOs to stockholders, but it’s the message Jesus tries to get through to his followers in order to change the world; to bring about the kingdom of heaven. We are made by God to love and be loved.

If from our hearts we love God with everything we have and we love our neighbors, we don’t argue with each other whether it’s okay to kill someone, or not pay them a living wage, or to treat them as less than human. If we act with and from love, we know what to do. We know how to be salt and light.

The order of the Sermon on the Mount matters here. Jesus starts with talking about blessings and then says you are salt and light.

He doesn’t say: go be salt and light and then you will be blessed. He says even when you don’t think you are blessed, you are. You are salt and light. Being so, go do what salt and light do.

It’s not a matter of performing our duties. It’s a matter of sharing the love we receive from God to be a blessing to others.

We aren’t required to do this; we get to do this.

We are loved and made to love others. We are blessed and made to bless others.

This is not something we can force or yell at or argue into someone. These are inherent gifts, given to us, that we get to share in gratitude with joy and love.

And if that feels like pressure, to be salt and light in a world that desperately needs both, what do we know about salt:

It takes just a little salt to add flavor to whatever you are making. You are enough.

What do we know about light? If you are in a dark room, a match, a candle, a flashlight, or even the light from your phone, all of a sudden illuminates the whole room.

You are enough to make a difference. It’s who you were created to be.

We have Jesus as our model. We have the Holy Spirit as our guide and helper. And we have each other to both encourage and be encouraged by. 

We can start by sharing God’s love with those around us. We can do our small part. And be a part of where things go from there.

We can do this, following Jesus, with God’s help.

Second Sunday of Advent: Change Your Life

Background: Last weekend was a preaching weekend for me at Christ Church Easton, on the Second Sunday of Advent. The Gospel reading was Matthew 3:1-12, where John the Baptist is telling people to “Repent!” and baptizing them in the River Jordan. Below is the text of the sermon I gave at our four weekend services.

“Change Your Heart, Change Your Mind, Change Your Life”

We started Advent last weekend with Jesus telling his disciples to BE READY! Or KEEP AWAKE. We don’t know when God is going to break into the world, or break into our lives, so we’ve got to be ready.

This week, we encounter John the Baptist, who is Advent personified. He might be the perfect Advent spokesperson, or the best possible hype man for Christmas, for the incarnation. That’s what John came to do.

Two words that stand out for me in today’s reading are REPENT and PREPARE.

John says, “REPENT! The kingdom of heaven has come near.” Repent is one of those church words that we like to stay away from. It’s got some baggage. What we might hear instead as John calls us to repent is: change your heart, change your mind, change your life.

Our normal way of doing things, the same-old, same-old isn’t going to cut it. Turn around. Stop doing what you are doing. And change your heart, your mind, and your life.

Why do we get John the Baptist in our second reading of the church new year? John isn’t Jesus, do we really have to listen to him? What makes John the Advent spokesperson?

First, you can’t miss him. He stands out. Aside from Jesus, he is the most memorable character in the Gospels. We don’t often get much in the way of descriptions of people from our Gospel writers, but we do with John. When we hear his name, we probably all think about his camel hair clothing, his leather belt, and his go-to diet of locusts and wild honey.

John the Baptizer takes his job seriously and people take him seriously. For someone who cuts such a strange figure, people listen to him. Matthew tells us:

“the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.”

People from all over were going out into the wilderness to John. This isn’t going to coffee hour; they were being baptized in a river and confessing their sins. And John was so charismatic and influential in doing this work that we hear about him and his followers through the Gospels and all the way into the Book of Acts.

John walks the walk. He was not a hypocrite. What he told people to do, he himself was doing. He gave his life to God and to the mission God called him to.

John’s message: change your heart, change your mind, change your life, was not and is not an easy sell.

We have this sense of church sometimes that we want to enjoy ourselves, hear good music, catch up with our friends, hear a sermon that inspires us, and to walk out of church with a nice feeling.

For some people, going to church is entertainment. If I don’t like the music, if I don’t like the pastor, or if someone says something that makes me mad, I’ll just find another church.

That’s not what John was about. John called people out. He made them uncomfortable. If John was preaching REPENT in the same way today, you wouldn’t invite him to your holiday party.

And we certainly wouldn’t want John as a greeter at the front door:

“Welcome, you brood of vipers! You think going to church is going to save you? God could raise up the slate from your front steps and put them into the church pews. You better bear fruit worthy of repentance.”

I’ve always appreciated the analogy for repentance of taking a trip in your car. It doesn’t matter how fast you are going if you are going in the wrong direction. We might think, well, we’re going at a good speed, the car is nice, the radio station is coming in clear, all distracting us from the fact that we are actively moving away from the place we are trying to get to.

When that’s the case, the only sensible thing to do is to stop. And turn around. That’s what John is trying to get across. The companies who sell gas, service your car, and put shopping malls up on your way, none of them care where you are going or what direction you are going in.

John cares. Because God cares.

If we want to get to the place that God wants us to go—which by the way, isn’t a place, it’s a way of being, a way of seeing, a way of treating each other—then we need to change our hearts, change our minds, and change our lives. Both individually, but also as a church, as a community, as a country, as a world. The way the world is heading does not lead to the kingdom or kingship of God.

There was a poignant line in the Advent study we are doing this month, where Randall Curtis, who is a youth and family minister at an Episcopal Church in Florida, talks about the distractions and busy-ness that bombard us this month and he says:

“These distractions are the new ‘drunkenness and worries of this life,’ which means that as we prepare for Christmas and God breaking into the world, we will have to make sure we look up from our phones to see it.”

Ouch. But isn’t that the truth.

Maybe John’s message still applies to us today.

Talking about all these qualities of John—his influence, his popularity, his dedication—the thing that makes him the hype man for the coming Incarnation is: John doesn’t need things to be all about him. In fact, he points to someone else coming, who is a way bigger deal than John is:

“I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

John points to Jesus. The season of Advent points to the Incarnation of Jesus. This is a season not only of being ready, of staying awake, but of making sure our hearts, our minds, and our lives, are in fact preparing the way, and if they aren’t, then we need to repent, to change so that we are going in the same direction that Jesus is.

When people heard John, and when they heard Jesus, the ones with the ears to hear, listened to them and changed. I wonder if the church still holds that place, that authority, that someone might hear a critical, difficult message, go home, think about it, pray about it, and make a change in their lives if it is warranted.

Or is church just something we do, something we are, to feel good and to confirm and encourage us in the ways that we already are?

We’ve touched on repentance. What about preparation? John the Baptizer was preparing the way for Jesus, the same way Advent prepares the way for Christmas. If our lives are going in the wrong direction, the first thing we need to do to prepare the way for Jesus is to change our hearts, our minds, our lives.

John is doing his work so that we are ready for Jesus. Prepare the way, prepare our hearts. Jesus looks and acts differently than what the world wants us to focus on right now.

At a time when power and status are grand-standing, Jesus is going to come into the world as a defenseless child born to non-descript parents. At a time when we’re told vulnerability and empathy are weaknesses, the coming Incarnation meets us in our human-ness. Jesus says let me show you what vulnerability and empathy are.

Preparing our hearts and our lives for Jesus means letting go of the things that harden our hearts and blind us to the struggles of others. Our hard hearts and our lack of compassion are the chaff that will burn in unquenchable fire. It’s the love of God that wins out.

Anglican priest Tish Harrison Warren writes that:

“It is the love of God, in the end, that wins the day. The love of God is the blazing fire that purifies us, remakes us, and sets right all that is broken in us and in the world. The love of God brings us to repentance. The love of God sets the oppressed free and makes all things new. The love of God insists on truth and justice. The love of God reveals every hidden thing. And it is this love that is coming for us.”

The love of God IS the kingdom of heaven, which is drawing near. The love of God, the kingdom of heaven is coming to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Let us change our hearts, our minds, and our lives to prepare the way.

Forgiveness

Context: At our Wednesday healing service at Christ Church Easton this week, the Gospel reading was Matthew 18:21-35, the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant. At the end of the parable, the unforgiven servant (who had been forgiven by his master, but wouldn’t forgive his fellow slave, was being tortured for his unforgiveness. The following is a brief homily and discussion question we had on forgiveness.

Forgiveness

Remember, parables are stories that are meant to make a point. They aren’t to be taken 100 percent literally. To say that you are going to be tortured until you learn forgiveness sounds a little ridiculous.

But I am going to say to you that in this case, that’s actually true. Every one of us is tortured until we learn how to forgive.

When we hold resentment and unforgiveness in our hearts against someone, that feeling takes control over us. Kessler Bickford, who sometimes joins us at the healing service has given programs on forgiveness and she used the analogy of not forgiving someone being like having a huge fish on a fishing line, that we can’t pull in, and it’s digging into your hands and pulling the boat, and the fish is determining the direction you go and becomes the only thing you can focus on. And the only way forward is to cut the line, to forgive, so you can get back to living your own life.

Another famous analogy is that not forgiving someone and holding onto hate and resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Not only does it not work, it kills you in the process.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu, in “The Book of Forgiving” put it as eloquently and effectively as you can:

“Until we can forgive, we remain locked in our pain and locked out of experiencing healing and freedom, locked out of the possibility of being at peace.

“Without forgiveness, we remain tethered to the person who harmed us. We are bound with chains of bitterness, tied together, trapped. Until we can forgive the person who harmed us, that person holds the keys to our happiness; that person is our jailor. When we forgive, we take back control of our own fate and our feelings. We become our own liberators.”


It’s in that sense that the parable hits home: we are tortured when and while we don’t forgive. And that torture is self-inflicted.

Forgiveness is the way forward for Jesus and our way forward with Jesus.

The Lord’s Prayer is the prayer Jesus taught his disciples. Every time we pray it, we say:

“And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.“

And though we prefer the language that we know, the more accurate translation of those lines is:

“Forgive us our sins
as we forgive those who sin against us.“

If we ourselves ask for and know we need forgiveness when we slip up, what sense does it make to deny forgiveness to someone else? That’s what this parable tries to make clear—the hypocrisy of that kind of stance.

We’ve got not forgiving as being tortured. We have forgiveness as the way forward that Jesus asks us to take.

I also maintain that forgiveness is the only, or at least the main thing that will change the world. It’s hard to disprove the saying, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”

On a national and global scale, unforgiveness, resentment, anger lead to wars, crimes against humanity, you name it. And the only direction it goes when unchecked is to get worse. Give someone more resources or more weapons, conflict continues and elevates.

In Luke’s Gospel, as Jesus is being tortured and killed on the cross, he says, “Father forgive them for they don’t know what they’re doing.”


Often when people react or act in violence and hatred, they don’t know what they are doing. They are seeing only through those limited lenses.

If you want to know if we have a forgiving God: in the Resurrection, when Jesus overcomes the death that humans gave him, we don’t see God looking for vengeance or retribution, instead we see Jesus doubling down on everything he had been saying, showing, modeling—love God and love your neighbor; if you are my disciples, they will know you by your love.

If we are going to get ourselves from the kingdom of the world to the kingdom of heaven, it’s going to be on the road of love and forgiveness.

How do we get there from here? What does it take in our lives, in your life, to more fully embrace forgiveness?

In some cases, it can be seeing the person or people who we need to forgive as human beings who make mistakes. It is realizing that it is often hurt people who hurt people.

Archbishop Tutu, in his book, explains a fourfold path of:

Telling the story
Naming the hurt
Granting forgiveness
Renewing or releasing the relationship

It’s an important thing to remember that forgiving someone doesn’t mean becoming best friends with them or even having them in your life.

Of course for some of us, the person we most need to forgive is ourselves, and that is a process as well.

Since Desmond Tutu has literally written the book on forgiveness, let’s give him the last word:

“When I cultivate forgiveness in my small everyday encounters, I am preparing for the time when a much larger act of forgiveness will be asked of me, as it almost certainly will. It seems none of us journeys through life unscathed by tragedy, disappointment, betrayal, or heartbreak, but each of us has at his or her disposal a most powerful skill that lessens and can even transmute the pain. This skill can, when given the chance, win over an enemy, heal a marriage, stop a fight, and—on a global scale—even end a war. When you set out to change the world, the job seems insurmountable. But each of us can do his or her small part to effect change. We can change the world when we choose to create a world of forgiveness in our own hearts and minds.”

With This Thirst

Sitting on the bank of the cove, watching a Weeping Willow move in the wind and feeling the same breeze on my skin is worth waking up for. I’ve been looking for this solitude and this quiet. Ordination to the priesthood is this Saturday and I want to rest in the afternoon.

The current is coming to a head from opposite directions and swirling right in front of me. I’m sitting under my praying/thinking tree at the Oxford Cemetery, where family and friends are buried and over the past year I have officiated funerals. This is a place where past, present, and future dwell together.

The cove itself is home if a body of water can be home: I’ve gotten boots stuck in the mud here at low tide as a kid, canoed, come and gone by Boston Whaler, kayaks, and paddleboards. That’s part of what draws me here to pray and listen, to read and write, and skateboard to get to the spot.

“Oh, feed me this day, Holy Spirit, with
the fragrance of the fields and the
freshness of the oceans which you have
made, and help me to hear and to hold
in all dearness those exacting and wonderful
words of our Lord Jesus Christ, saying:
Follow me.”

–Mary Oliver, from “Six Recognitions of the Lord”

Mary Oliver should be read outside. I have her book “Thirst” and Frederick Buechner’s “The Alphabet of Grace” with me. “Follow me.” That’s it in a hazel nut.

I get up and skate back to and around the conservation park. It’s lightly raining, the kind of rain that wakes your skin up. I stop when I see purple, per Alice Walker’s advice, which I follow meticulously. Then I head over to the Oxford Park.

Twelve years ago this month, I sat in the park reading this same copy of Buechner’s book. I look back over what I underlined then. This was at the end of a summer (2013) where I knew in my bones that I was supposed to go to seminary. It made no sense. I reached out to Fr. John Merchant, the chaplain at St. James School when I was there, and he told me it didn’t have to make sense. I read Buechner and Barbara Brown Taylor and Thomas Merton and I was stirred and moved and then laid all that aside, taking a job to head back to Washington, DC, to work as a technical writer.

I don’t have words to describe what the 12 years in between have been, except to say heels-over-head, upside down, life-changing; from profound heartbreak to indescribable joy, confusion and clarity, discernment, wonder, awe, gratitude, and everything in between, ultimately shedding some parts of myself and growing in others to where I feel alive in ways I wasn’t. Living now with my whole and open heart.

Here’s a bit of Buechner:

“You are alive. It needn’t have been so. It wasn’t so once, and it will not be so forever. But it is so now. And what is it like: to be alive in this maybe one place of all places where life is? Live a day of it and see. Take any day and be alive in it. Nobody claims that it will be painless, but no matter. It is your birthday, and there are many presents to open. The world is to open.”

Part of that I underlined 12 years ago, but it didn’t register. Each day is new, each day is a gift that we get to live and be alive in. Be grateful.

In the park, I often sit on a bench set off to the side at the edge. It’s in the shade. As I sit there, a child belly-laughs on the swing with her father; a workboat motors down to pull into the marina nearby; a man pulls his crabpots up on his dock; people and dogs come and go; the sun breaks through the clouds infrequently but unmistakably.

Today isn’t a day for revelations. It’s a day to rest and be glad in. It’s a day to breathe, a day to smile, a day to pray. I finish Mary Oliver’s book with the title poem, “Thirst,” which I have been reading a lot lately:

“Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the
hour and the bell; grant me, in your
mercy, a little more time. Love for the
earth and love for you are having such a
long conversation in my heart. Who
knows what will finally happen or
where I will be sent, yet already I have
given a great many things away, expect-
ing to be told to pack nothing, except the
prayers which, with this thirst, I am
slowly learning.”

With this thirst, I am slowly learning.