The Feast Day of Oscar Romero

Oscar Romero is now officially a saint, and today is his feast day.  On this day in 1980, he was killed, a martyr for the faith.  When I made this collage card years ago, I couldn't believe that he'd ever be canonized:

Many scholars believe that he was chosen to be Archbishop precisely because he was expected not to make trouble. All that changed when one of his good friends, an activist Jesuit priest, was assassinated by one of the death squads roaming the country. Romero became increasingly political, increasingly concerned about the poor who were being oppressed by the tiny minority of rich people in the country. He called for reform. He called on the police and the soldiers to stop killing their brethren. And for his vision, he was killed as he consecrated the bread for Mass.

I was alive when he was martyred, but I didn't hear or read about it.  I remember reading about some of the more famous murders, particularly of the nuns, and wondering why people would murder nuns or missionaries who were there to help--I had yet to learn of the horrors of colonialism throughout history.

In my first year of college, I was asked to be part of a service that honored the martyrdom of Romero, and this event was likely how I heard of him first.  Or maybe it was earlier that semester when our campus pastor took a group of us to Jubilee Partners.

Jubilee Partners was a group formed by the same people that created Koinonia, the farm in Americus Georgia that most people know because they also created Habitat for Humanity--but they were so much more, in their witness of how Christian love could play out in real practice in one of the most segregated and poor parts of the U.S. south.  In the early years of Jubilee Partners, when I went there, the group helped people from Central America get to Canada, where they could get asylum in the 1980's, when they couldn't get asylum in the U.S.

My consciousness was formed by these encounters and by other encounters I had throughout the 80's.  I met many people in the country illegally, and I heard about the horrors that brought them here.  Then, as now, I couldn't imagine why we wouldn't let these people stay.

Many of us may think that those civil wars are over, but many countries in Central America are still being torn apart by violence.  The words of Romero decades ago are sadly still relevant today:  "Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: stop the repression."

But his teachings go beyond just a call for an end to killing.  His messages to the wider church are still powerful:  "A church that doesn't provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn't unsettle, a word of God that doesn't get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn't touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — ​what gospel is that?"

And even those of us who are not part of a faith tradition can find wisdom in his teachings:  "Each time we look upon the poor, on the farmworkers who harvest the coffee, the sugarcane, or the cotton... remember, there is the face of Christ."

If we treated everyone we met as if that person was God incarnate, what a different world we would have!

But for those of us who are tired from the work of this weary world, here's a message of hope and a reminder of the long view.  This prayer, while not written by him (it was written by late Bishop Ken Untener of Saginaw, drafted for a homily by Cardinal John Dearden, and misattributed to Romero), is often called the Romero prayer:  "We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own." 

On this day that honors a man who was not always honored, let us take heart from his words and from his example.  Let us also remember that he was not always this force for good in the world; indeed, he was chosen to be Archbishop because the upper management of the church thought he would keep his nose stuck in a book and out of politics. 

In these days that feel increasingly more perilous, let us recommit ourselves to the type of love that Romero called us to show:  "Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world."

Sermon for Sunday, March 23, 2025

 March 23, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 13:1-9

At first glance, it seems that we have another Gospel reading with parts that don’t go together--verses 1-5 don’t seem related to 6-9.  Verses 1-5 show people whipping themselves up into a righteous, or maybe self-righteous, anger.  Or maybe the people are trying to get Jesus to tell them that the time to launch a military resistance is right now—Pilate killed people in the Temple where their blood could mingle with the blood of sacrifices—what a desecration!  Historians of the time period tell us that Jesus moved in a world where many people were yearning for change, and among them were people who were only too happy to take advantage of the unhappiness that comes with unfulfilled yearning, including militants who wanted a revolution, who thought the time was now.

Jesus takes a different direction.  He says that those people did nothing to deserve their fate, and the people who had the tower fall down on them, they, too, had done nothing to deserve it.  Here in the 21st century, we might say, “Of course it wasn’t their fault.”  Or maybe not. 

When I think of towers collapsing, I think of the condo building in Surfside Beach, Champlain Towers, that fell to the ground in 2021.  Since then, we’ve had plenty of theories about what happened and who is to blame.  Fingers have pointed to the usual suspects:  the contractors who built the tower, the building inspector who should have been more pro-active, the town that let new development happen.  Most surprising was when the blame shifted to the condo residents themselves:  they should have elected a better board or demanded action, even if it cost them every penny they had.

In our more rational moments, we see these occurrences, towers collapsing and dictators murdering, as being a result of bad luck and poor governance.  In the time of Jesus, this kind of bad luck was not seen as accidental or random.  People thought that if you had bad luck, you had done something to deserve it.  If not you, maybe your parents or grandparents.  Somewhere back in your family line, someone had done something, and the punishment would ripple across generations.

In this context, Jesus’ reply makes sense—and at first it seems compassionate.  Here we receive another promise from God, but it’s not exactly comforting: “They didn’t deserve their fate, but unless you repent, you will perish too.”  This warning is followed by the fig tree parable, and at first glance, we might come away saying, “This God is not the loving God we thought we knew, the mother hen that longs to gather us together.  What is going on?”

One traditional approach to the fig tree is to say that humans are the fig tree, just sitting there, not bearing fruit, and that God is the owner of the vineyard, the one who demands that the gardener rip it out.  In this traditional reading, the gardener is Jesus who argues for a bit more time.  It’s easy to see this as a parable about Jesus coming to lead us into a theology of Divine mercy instead of Divine wrath.  We might see the manure in the parable as the blood of Jesus fertilizing the soil of human life.

Under that reading of the parable, humans don’t do anything but sit there and wait for the gardener to save their fig tree lives.  But today’s Gospel reading makes it clear that more is required from us.  So what is the fig tree’s defense? As gardeners of many fruit trees know, it takes time. Fig trees are doing something during those three years; they are becoming grounded in a strong root system; they are taking in what nutrients they can while still requiring a great deal of care; they are building themselves up so that they can be more fruitful. Like the horseradish plants that we discussed at the fish fry, mature figs trees start bearing in about year 4; they produce fruit not once but twice a year, and produce up to 60 to 100 figs depending on the variety. 

Treated well and allowed to grow and become strong, fig trees produce a good deal of desirable fruit throughout the year. Notice though, that while the gardener understands the tree’s needs and what is possible, there is only one year left. Either the tree utilizes its resources well and starts producing good fruit or it will be removed to make room for others.  The urgency of action is the similarity that ties the two parts of the Gospel together.  The situation is urgent because we don’t know how much time we have—at any moment, the political situation could change or shoddily maintained buildings could collapse, and then where will we be?

Over and over again, Jesus reminds us that God desires more for us than to be a stick of a dying tree in a vineyard; we are made for flourishing.  We have a variety of ways of living in the world, but only some will lead to flourishing.  This parable asks us to envision what we would need to bloom and when we are going to get busy producing.  What fertilizer are you lacking?

Today’s text is not teaching us about the need to remain fallow.  If we have experience with growing things, we know that at times, the best approach to a failing plant is to leave it alone.  But at a certain point, it’s clear that the plant needs an intervention.  It’s been three years.  Time for something else.  The owner of the vineyard shows the approach (perhaps even impatience) of many of us to a failing plant or project:  chop it down!  Walk away!  Put something in the soil that will show more immediate results.

The gardener argues for a different and more informed approach:  more fertilizer, dug in, so that any soil that has become hard packed can be broken up.  More nourishment and attention, someone rooting for the tree to become more fruitful.  One more year, and then assess the situation.

Maybe it would be more accurate to see God as the gardener.  Who, then, is the owner who wants to abandon the tree?  Traditionally we might say it’s the Devil.  Maybe it’s the world.  Maybe we are the harsh vineyard owners, eager to abandon the seemingly fruitless fig tree of our lives and projects and relationships.  We think that if we just rip up what’s not working, maybe we’d get to a better place.  Fertilizing takes so much patience and resources for uncertain results.  We might do all this work and still end up with an under producing fig tree. Here too is a connection to the earlier part of the gospel. If we are continually impatient and tear things up before their time, before they are mature, we will never see any trees come to fruition.   

The parable doesn’t tell us how the tree ends up.  It’s not a tidy fable with the moral that the more work we put in, the greater the reward will be.  Episcopal bishop Michael B. Curry says this about the parable:  “We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. Being freed from managing the results of our actions enables us to do something, and do it well. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.” 

But make no mistake:  while it is Jesus who is in charge of the redemption of the world, we have our part to play by strengthening our roots and finding our nourishment.  It is not enough to always be a passive fig tree, taking up valuable real estate.  We may not control the final outcome of our lives, but we are called to act in ways that will lead us to bear good fruit.  We may fear that others will blame us when our best efforts go wrong for items outside of our control but God is not the harsh gardener who will chop us down and throw us into the fire.  God has the wisdom of the gardener, not the impatience of the owner of the vineyard. The season of Lent does remind us that we won’t be here in our current physical form forever.  This is the call of the Gospel. Once you are mature and well grounded, choose your spiritual manure and get to work bearing good fruit.

Confirmation Bread Baking

Yesterday, I made this Facebook post:  "I have been down to Spartanburg, SC to teach, and now we're about to leave Arden, NC to got to Bristol, TN to help Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church with tonight's fish fry. If we cross the line into Virginia, I'll have been in 4 states today. If you're in the Bristol area from 5-7, come on by to get the best meal deal: $10 buys a great dinner along with delicious desserts and a beverage. All proceeds go to fund local charities. It's so many wins I can scarcely count them."

That post sums up my Friday; we did not drive into Virginia.  The post doesn't talk about the bread dough creating that was part of the fish fry.  I had this vision that the confirmands and I would make bread dough during the slow moments of the fish fry, from the proofing of the yeast to the mixing of the dough.  I calculated that there would be plenty of time for the bread to rise.

My plan did not take into account that two of them would have their horseback riding lessons rearranged.  I proofed the yeast and hoped they would show up, but no luck.  So, as the minutes ticked by, I decided to go ahead and mix up the dough without them.

The one confirmand who was there watched, but she didn't want to mix the dough.  The older teen who was confirmed two years ago watched even more intensely than the confirmand.  The adults divided their attention between bread dough and the baby that one of them has.  One of them said, "You really love doing this, don't you?"  Imagine it said in a kind way, not a sneering way.

We ended up with five chunks of bread dough.  I had four paper pans, four plastic bags, and baking directions--one for each confirmand and one I gave to the parishioner who first asked, "Would it be possible to have homemade bread like we did at my church in Wisconsin?"  I took one home with me.

This morning as the bread baked, I thought back to my own beginnings in bread baking.  My grandmother baked rolls every day for the big meal which was usually in the middle of the day, but the first person I knew who baked loaves of bread was an intern who came to our church in my 7th grade year.  Her name was also Kristin, and she seemed like the coolest person I'd ever met.  She was my confirmation teacher, and she brought bread for snack time, which she ate, while we ate the candy that we bought from the convenience store across the street.

I didn't start baking bread, though, until high school, when my mom suggested we try it for the seminarians who were coming over for dinner.  Kristin the intern had moved on by then, but we still had her recipe for Milk and Honey Whole Wheat Bread from the cookbook Recipes from a Small Planet by Ellen Buchman Ewald.  I don't have access to my copy, but I found someone else's photograph online:

The recipe used whole wheat flour and dry milk, with honey, oil, salt, warm water, and yeast.  I no longer make that recipe, but I bake variations of it, sometimes with liquid milk, sometimes without, often with butter instead of oil and brown sugar instead of honey, and oats.

I hope that the bread baking experiences that I've brought to Faith Lutheran Church take root.  I think of the intern who first expanded my notion of what bread could be, and I hope I'm doing that for the youth who are there.  At the very least, I hope I'm giving them good memories, even if they don't do bread baking of their own.

Sermon as Preached on Sunday, March 9, 2025

It's been a hectic week, but I've finally had a chance to post my Sunday sermon to my YouTube channel.  You can view it here, and you can read a draft version here.

I particularly like the way the sermon ends, and it felt even more powerful when I preached it:

Jesus yearns to gather us under the shelter of his protective wings. Let’s agree to meet there, in the feathered softness, such a sanctuary from the sharp and hard edges of the world. Let us gather close to the one who will sacrifice himself to protect us. We do not need to fear the foxes of this world. We shelter under the wings of the Triune God.

Praying in the Imagining Center

 I have been going to lots of medical appointments.  Happily, nothing is wrong.  One gets to a certain age where preventive maintenance takes more time.  Plus, modern medicine requires more time.  For example, to get a colonoscopy, I have to have a referral from my GP, an initial consult with the Gastro doctor folks, some phone calls about scheduling both before and after the initial consult, and maybe I'll get a colonoscopy one of these days.

Similarly, now we use better technology for mammograms; it all seems to be 3D now, when that technology used to be reserved for people more at risk or for the follow up to anything suspicious.  Now in this part of the country, the 3D mammogram is the first one, which means I have had two follow-ups, one each year, to the first mammogram.

Hopefully, they have both come back with reports that the suspicious matter wasn't anything after all; last year it was "bunched up tissue" and this year a lymph node not a cancer mass.  Hurrah!

I am deeply aware that many women will not be so lucky.  Last year I felt that panic, as I asked myself, "What if these are the last moments of the 'before cancer' life for me?"  Tuesday I didn't feel panic, but there was a detached part of myself thinking that the news might be bad, and I should steel myself.

At the imaging center Tuesday to get the mammogram follow up, I changed into the gown and waited in a room with no magazines, waiting to be taken to the ultrasound room.  I decided to pray instead of getting my book out of the locker.  I prayed for all of us in the building, those of us waiting for scans and those operating the equipment and those reading the scans.  I prayed for the staff that will clean the rooms at the end of the day.  Then I widened my prayers for all who are undergoing tests of any kind, those who are helping the sick, and then even widening my focus, I prayed for the whole world generally.

My results gave me good news, but I am under no illusions that my prayers had anything to do with it.  Nonetheless, I offered up a prayer of gratitude--and once again, I prayed for us all, regardless of the news we would get.

The Feast Day of Saint Joseph

Today is the feast day of St. Joseph, Mary's husband, the earthly father of Jesus. Here are the readings for today:

2 Samuel 7:4, 8-16
Psalm 89:1-29 (2)
Romans 4:13-18
Matthew 1:16, 18-21, 24a

I have done some thinking of Joseph, as many of us do, in the Advent season, when occasionally, we get to hear about Joseph. He thinks of quietly unweaving himself from Mary, who is pregnant. This behavior is our first indication of his character. Under ancient law, he could have had Mary stoned to death, but he takes a gentler path.

And then, he follows the instructions of the angel who tells him of God's plan. He could have turned away. He could have said, "I did not sign up for this!" He could have said, "No thanks. I want a normal wife and a regular life."

Instead, he turned towards Mary and accepted God's vision. He's there when the family needs to flee to Egypt. He's there when the older Jesus is lost and found in the temple. We assume that he has died by the time Christ is crucified, since he's not at the cross.

Some of us today will spend the day celebrating fathers, which is a great way to celebrate the feast day of St. Joseph. Lately, I've been thinking of his feast day and what it means for administrators and others who are not the stars, but who make it possible for stars to step into the spotlight.

Let us today praise the support teams, the people in the background, the people who step back to allow others to shine. Let us praise the people who do the drudgery work which makes it possible for others to succeed.

For example, I am not the kind of person who immediately decides what to do with each piece of e-mail. Consequently, once every few weeks, or more often, I need to go hunting for a particular e-mail. I am amazed at how many e-mails I send and receive in any given day. And yes, much of it is not that important.

But occasionally, an e-mail exchange can quickly settle a problem. Some times, it's good to have an e-mail chain for reference.

Many of us grow up internalizing the message that if we're not changing the world in some sort of spectacular way, we're failures. Those of us who are Christians may have those early disciples as our role models, those hard-core believers who brought the Good News to the ancient world by going out in pairs.

But Joseph shows us a different reality. It's quite enough to be a good parent. It's quite enough to have an ordinary job. It's quite enough to show up, day after day, dealing with both the crises and the opportunities.

Joseph reminds us that even the ones born into the spotlight need people in the background who are tending to the details. When we think about those early disciples and apostles, we often forget that they stayed in people's houses, people who fed them and arranged speaking opportunities for them, people who gave them encouragement when their task seemed too huge.

I imagine Joseph doing much the same thing, as he helped Jesus become a man. I imagine the life lessons that Joseph administered as he gave Jesus carpentry lessons. I imagine that he helped Jesus understand human nature, in all the ways that parents have helped their offspring understand human nature throughout history.

Let us not be so quick to discount this kind of work. Let us praise the support teams that make the way possible for the people who will change the world.


Here is a prayer that I wrote for today:

Creator God, thank you for your servant Joseph. Help us to remember his lessons for us. Help us look for ways to shepherd your Good News into the world in ways that only we can.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, March 23, 2025:

First Reading: Isaiah 55:1-9

Psalm: Psalm 63:1-8

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Gospel: Luke 13:1-9


In this week's Gospel, we get the parable of the fig tree, that poor fig tree who still hasn't produced fruit even though it's been 3 years. This Gospel gives us a space to consider our view of God and our view of ourselves.

Which vision of God is the one in your head? We could see God as the man who says, "Lo, these three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down; why should it use up the ground?" If we see God that way, and if we see ourselves as the fig tree, that's a scary proposition; we've got a few years to produce before God gives up on us.

A traditional approach to this parable might see God as the impatient one, and Jesus as the vinedresser who pleads the case for the poor little fig tree. I know that Trinitarian theology might lead us this direction, but I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of a God who gives up on humanity. Everything in Scripture--and the experiences of those who walked this path before us--shows us a God that pursues us, going so far as to take on human flesh and walk amongst us. This doesn't sound like a God who gives up after 3 years.

In an eye-opening conversation at a women's retreat, a pastor proposed this approach to the parable: what if God is the withered tree and humans are the manure?

It seems an essential question: how are we manure, for God, ourselves, and the world? And what manure do we need to nourish ourselves?

Maybe you've felt yourself in a fallow place spiritually. Or worse, maybe you've felt yourself sliding backwards, a withering on the vine. Maybe you started Lent with a fire in your heart, and you've burned out early. Maybe you haven't been good at transforming yourself.

Look at that parable again. The fig tree doesn't just sit there while everyone gathers around, waiting for something to happen. The gardener gives it extra attention. The gardener digs around it to give the roots room to grow and gives it extra manure--ah, the magic of fertilizer! We, too, can be the vinedresser to our spiritual lives. And we don't have to resort to heroic measures. We don't have to start off by running away to a religious commune. Just a little spiritual manure is all it takes.

That spiritual manure can take many forms: maybe we need to add a different activity, or maybe we need to do less. The parable reminds us that it doesn't take much in times of time or money--we just need to rearrange the dirt around our roots and add some enrichment.

And the parable reminds us that we are biological creations, so at some point it will be too late--but it's not too late now.  Not yet.