Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The lessons for Sunday, August 4, 2024:

First Reading: Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 2 Samuel 11:26--12:13a

Psalm: Psalm 78:23-29

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 51:1-12

Second Reading: Ephesians 4:1-16

Gospel: John 6:24-35

Welcome to bread month! Over the next four weeks, the Gospel lessons will return again and again to this common New Testament symbol. We will be offered many opportunities to think about the meaning of this symbol.

I often tell my literature students that they can tell when something in a story might be a symbol because it shows up again and again, taking on an unusual significance. Our lectionary creators want to make sure we understand the importance of bread in the ministry of Jesus.

You might say that you already know. You take communion every week. You've heard that story of the loaves and fishes multiplying. Maybe you even pay attention to the bread that you buy each week as you choose the most nourishing loaves. Maybe you savor some bread and wine with your cheese on any given week-end, and you contemplate the life-giving properties of your snack. Despite all the recent attacks against carbs, most of us know that some variation of grain has kept most of human civilization alive more reliably than any other foodstuff.

The Gospel this week, however, reminds us that there is much more to life than sustaining our all-too-human bodies. We hunger and thirst and we crave anything which might guarantee that we'll never hunger or thirst again. Jesus reminds us that it's natural for humans to want bread, but he tells us that we sacrifice so much if we stop with physical bread. Jesus reminds us of our larger purpose, which is communion with God.

Instead of hearing this as wonderful news, we might feel burdened.  We might sigh heavily, thinking of all tasks we must do simply to keep body and soul together. We might wonder how we can find time for one more obligation. We might miss the simpler lives that we may think believers once enjoyed. But we can enjoy that easy relationship too.

Again and again in the Bible, we see God, who simply wants to be with us. We don’t have to transform ourselves into spiritual superheroes. God will be content to watch T.V. with us, to have fun with whatever creative play dates we’ve arranged with our children or our friends, to go for a walk in the neighborhood.

The Bible reminds us that God even wants to be with us during the not-so-fun times. When we’re stuck at work, eating microwave popcorn instead of dinner again, God wants to be there. When we’re trapped in traffic, God doesn’t mind commuting with us. When we’re so immersed in child rearing that we wonder if we’ll ever get to talk about adult topics again, God wants that experience too. When we’re feeling lost and lonely, God is willing to endure that too. When we don’t know how we’re going to put food on the table, God will help us sort that out.

The sustaining bread of life is right there, always ready, always fragrant and nourishing. The enduring food is ready to be shared, ready to be multiplied. The table is ready; come and eat.

Prayer Squares

Before we get too far away from Sunday, let me make a post about the prayer squares that I made for the youth on Sunday.

In some ways, it began 2 weeks ago, when I didn't want to create a children's sermon about the beheading of John the Baptist.  I decided to create a 3 week series on prayer practices that would culminate in the Blessing of the Backpack service.

Two weeks ago, I talked about prayers we already knew, like the Lord's Prayer.  On July 21, I came prepared with bags of beads and yarn and lanyard plastic.  I talked about prayer beads and rosaries and gave them each a sandwich bag of supplies to make their own set of prayer beads, and I talked about prayer being a friendship bracelet with God.

On July 28, I brought the prayer square that I got earlier this summer when I was at LTSS for the last onground intensive that would be held at Southern.  

I talked about the square reminding us that people are praying for us, along with threads so that we could add our own prayers, maybe with a knot to remind us, and to remind us of how prayer stitches communities together.

And then I offered the basket to have each youth pick a square, and we talked about ways they could be used.  I talked about the symbols they would see on the front and back of the squares:  life preservers, fish, lighthouses, and compass points.  Each square has long strands on each corner; they can be knotted or braided together or cut off the quilted square, if it was too distracting.

My spouse and I talked about whether or not any of our childhood churches had talked about prayer practices or other types of spiritual disciplines, and we couldn't remember much that was practical.  To be fair, we really couldn't remember much at all, and it is getting to be a long time ago.  In Confirmation class, we talked about the Ten Commandments and the Lord's Prayer and the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds, but we didn't spend much time thinking/talking about what it meant to our everyday lives.

I do realize that the children I encounter may not remember the tools I'm trying to give them, but that's O.K.  Hopefully they'll remember that there were adults along the way who stressed God's love for us and ways we could remember that love when the world doesn't always make it easy.

The Feast Day of the Bethany Siblings

In the decades/centuries before 1969, on July 29, we would have celebrated Saint Martha, one of few named women in the Gospels. Now we celebrate not only Martha, but also her sister Mary and their brother Lazarus.

In a way, I think it's a shame, as each of these siblings deserves their own feast day. But today let us ask if we can we learn something from celebrating all of them together?

In many ways, Martha is the most famous of the siblings, and I've written about her extensively. Many others have written about Mary. I'm intrigued by the people who go back to the Greek to try to prove that Mary actually had some authority, that the reason that she wants to sit at the feet of Jesus while Martha gets the meal ready is that she had been out and about in the countryside, in the way that the disciples had been sent.

Lazarus, also famous, is one of the few humans brought back from the very dead. He didn't just die an hour before Jesus arrived. He had been dead for days. I've always thought he deserved a story of his own, a follow up. I'm not the only one who thinks this, of course. Yeats is one of the more famous writers to revisit Lazarus after the tomb; I should revisit his play "Calvary."

Depending on how you attribute the various references to the women named Mary (all the same Mary? Who is the sister of Martha and who is the Magdalene? And then there's the mother of Jesus), Martha gets more space in the Gospels than her two siblings. We see her complaining about Mary not helping her, and we see her scolding Jesus for not coming earlier to keep her brother from dying.

I have always sympathized with Martha, and I still can feel the shock that come when Jesus doesn't. But in my later years, I see compassion in the words of Jesus when he reminds Martha that she worries about many things. It's only been in my later years that I see Martha's anxiety in a more clinical way. It's only been in later years that I see the harm in Martha's behavior, the way that obsessive anxiety for the ones we love can destroy so much.

Do I know what to do about my own obsessive anxiety? I know a few tricks, sure. I haven't explored every possibility; so far, I don't take any meds for my anxiety outbreaks. When I'm in the throes of an anxious day, I wonder if it's time to find a health care provider who can prescribe them. When I'm having a normal day, I think that I am managing just fine.

In some ways, I see a thread running through the stories of these siblings. Christ shows up to tell them that they're not doing fine. One of the siblings, Mary, is open to Christ's message, while Martha is not. We might think it's too late for Lazarus, but it's not.

Once again, I find myself wanting to know what happens in a year or two or ten. Does Lazarus return to regular life? Having lost him once, does his family appreciate him more? Does Martha ever get a handle on her anxiety? Does Mary go out to create the first convent? Or is she so tired of having to deal with her sister that she finds a solitary existence in a nearby desert?

The Gospels give us such small snippets, but that leaves us room to find ourselves in these stories. One of the benefits to feast days and lectionaries is that we have the opportunity to return to them periodically to see if we're finding something new.

Each year, I'm reminded that God works in ways that humans don't fully understand, and that we need to resist the impulse to micromanage the miracles. But even if we don't, God won't go off in a huff and abandon us.

This year, and every year, I'm hoping that humans can also model that behavior. We're beset with anxiety, as are those around us. Let us remember that resurrection can still occur.

Sermon for July 28, 2024

July 28, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



John 6: 1-21


The feeding of a big crowd of thousands of people—it is the only miracle that occurs in all 4 Gospels. There are interesting differences between the Gospels; for example, this Gospel is the only one where Jesus distributes the food, not the disciples. And because it’s the Gospel of John, in this story, we have 12 baskets of left overs—abundance out of scarcity! It’s a theme that threads its way through the Gospel of John.

Many scholars and Bible commentators have looked for symbols in this story, and we don’t have to look far. It’s 12 baskets, a specific number which must mean something. It’s near Passover, which has lots of symbolic possibility about God’s ability to do the impossible. Could the Sea of Galilee have significance and the fact that it’s also called the Sea of Tiberias?

I am far more interested in human behavior, particularly in this story. Jesus knows what he is going to do, but he asks his disciples for input—why? Is he thinking that they might have a better idea? Is it another teaching moment?

We see Phillip and Andrew approach the problem the way that humans so often do. What resources do we have? How far will these resources stretch? How much money do we have? How can we make it stretch even further? Some people might see this approach as scarcity thinking, but it may be more like basic budgeting.

We might wonder why the disciples approach the problem in this way. They’ve been hanging out with Jesus for awhile. Why aren’t they expecting a miracle? It may be in the way that Jesus forms the question: Where are we to buy food for these people to eat? Notice that Jesus doesn’t say “How are we to feed these people”—the disciples go right to that question. It’s not that they don’t want to feed everyone; they just don’t see how it can be done. You’re probably familiar with this way of thinking. Not scarcity, exactly, but certainly not abundance.

In the Gospel of John, but not in the other Gospels, we see the response of the people who are fed—they want to make Jesus a King. And why not? Many a politician has run on a less stable platform than making sure that everyone is fed.

This Gospel passage reminds us that Jesus has periodic offers of worldly power. Again and again, he turns away. And there’s a darker thread emerging. The people’s desire to elevate Jesus would put him on a collision course with authorities, even if his teachings were completely in line with what Rome would have wanted him to be preaching.

And then we get another story, a dark and stormy night, a walk on the water, terrified disciples and Jesus calling to them. Why do our lectionary creators include both stories as part of today’s Gospel? Why not stop with the miracle of feeding the multitudes in the face of long odds and few resources?

As I have heard these stories through the years, I’ve focused on the power of God, and our human inability to trust in God’s power. I’ve focused on God’s miraculous abundance, and our human inability to trust that God will come through. As I read the Gospel this year, I’m struck by the wide range of human responses to God.

There’s the spreadsheet approach of offering up our resources—a response that seems more rooted in math than in a reasonable trust in God’s abundance. There’s the approach of doing the work, collecting the fragments so that they aren’t wasted—but where is the joy in that drudgery? There’s the wanting to control divine power when the people are so intent on making Jesus a king that he must slip away by himself to make sure that his mission isn’t thwarted. And there’s the storm that always seems to be threatening, the boat that is always sinking, the way our lives feel so precarious that we can’t recognize when Jesus coming across our troubled water.

I’m also struck by the differences in human responses. Jesus shows the crowd who he is, and they want to make him king. The disciples know who Jesus is, and they go out in the boat at night without him. Why would they leave him behind? And what about that phrase near the end—they wanted to take him into the boat—did they?

As I’ve returned to this story, looking for clues, wondering what was left out, I’ve returned to the approach of most Bible commentaries: what we have here is a revelation story, a theophany—Jesus showing us who he is, Jesus showing us who God is. The story is grounded in symbolism: it takes place beside a sea and on a sea named for a Roman emperor—thus the reason why we have both names, the Sea of Galilee and the Sea of Tiberias. Jesus walks on it, after he’s taken evasive measures to avoid being made just that kind of earthly ruler. This story takes place near Passover, the festival that celebrates another time that God controls the sea, delivers the people, and feeds them in the wilderness. The story is full of wilderness elements: the dark of night, the storm that rages, the mountain where Jesus goes to be alone, the sea that threatens to swamp the boat.

God’s relationship with humans is intimate; it’s the taking care of people’s bodily needs—for food, for healing—that makes the people want to be near Jesus. But make no mistake, this intimacy and God’s concern for creation--that doesn’t mean that God is tame or that God can be tamed. Our encounters with God may be the kind that terrifies us: a storm, a sea, a vivid reminder that despite how much control we like to think we have, we are not the messiah, we are not the ones in charge.

In this version of Jesus and the stormy night, Jesus doesn’t calm the sea or make the winds subside. Jesus calms the disciples’ response, their fear, by revealing who he is: the one who comes to us and offers to create calm out of chaos.

Our journey as believers doesn’t mean that we will never encounter storms. But again and again, Jesus shows us who God is: a God of abundance who is not beholden to the limitations of human imagination and understanding. We may not always understand our triune God, but this Gospel assures us that we will arrive at that distant shore, safe from the storm, nourished in ways we couldn’t have even conceived of when we first started.

Saturday Snippets from the Last Week in July

What a week it has been!  Let me collect some snippets before it's time to go to the farmer's market to get some more of the wonderful tomatoes and peaches I got last week.

--It was Christmas in July week at camp, which meant Christmas decorations, Christmas music, Christmas cookies, but in small doses.  I will miss these small doses of holiday cheer.  But I also realize that before I know it, the Christmas in December season will be upon us.

--We delivered mail this week, which I've written about in earlier posts.  I was amazed at the amount of mail, and the mail delivery tasks took longer than I was expecting.  Yesterday I delivered the last few pieces of mail once the U.S. mail delivery finally got to us.  I told one of the Pioneer A counselors that I had a few pieces of mail, and some of the nearby campers lit up with hope.  It made me happy that they are still happy to get mail, and it made me wish I had more mail to give them.

--Every time we deliver mail, I wonder if we should get a golf cart of our own.  It seems to lift our spirits, zipping across camp.  Would that be worth the money?  Would the lift last?

--We have had so much rain here that trees have started falling over.  Not just one tree, but several trees on camp property have fallen down.  One fell into a power line, which kept part of Lutheridge in the dark for the better part of the evening and night, and the main entrance road into the upper part of camp is still closed.

--I am trying not to feel anxious about the trees in my own yard.

--It's been a week of wonderful baking.  Yesterday, I decided that I wanted a mug of Earl Gray tea with milk to go with my afternoon cookies.  And I made it, and it was wonderful.

--Last night, while the rest of the world watched the opening of the Summer Olympics, we finally watched Oppenheimer.  At first I thought I was bored, and now I want to watch it again to see what I missed.

--The movie took me back to the summer of 1985 or 86, when I read a lot about the development of the atomic bomb, in an attempt to try to understand how we got here.  Before I did that reading, I thought that the bomb was immoral, and that the U.S. shouldn't have created it.  After reading all those books, I realized that many countries were working on that achievement, and it could have been even worse.

--There are times when I feel sad about how much I don't read anymore, but I remind myself that I still immerse myself in topics, but I research differently now.

--I've been using my car as extra storage, and this week, I finally brought all my cloth in from the car.  My goodness, how have I gone from having no cloth in 2022 to having so much?  Part of me is delighted, and part of me wants to borrow one of the good sewing machines from the LWR quilt group at Lutheran Church of the Nativity and put some quilt tops together.

--One of the reasons that I have a slight desire to watch Oppenheimer again is that I was sewing something special for the Blessings of the Backpacks tomorrow, and I wasn't paying enough attention to the movie to make sense of which man in which suit was who and where we were in time in the movie.  I'll make a separate post on what I was sewing later, after giving them to the youth of the church.

--Realizing that I was running out of time on my mini project kept me focused on sewing, and I didn't eat or drink much last night.  I slept so much better.

--Of course, it might have been because it was finally cool enough and dry enough to open the windows.  Beautiful weather overnight! 

--Lots of political twists and turns this past week:  Biden withdrawing, Kamala Harris becoming the next Democratic candidate, barring more surprises.  I want to note this history, while not getting bogged down in it.

And now it is time to get my shower and head to the farmer's market.  These seasonal treats won't be in season forever!

The Feast Day of Saint Anne

Today is the feast day of Saint Anne, although in the Eastern Orthodox church, her feast day was yesterday. Saint Anne was the mother of the Virgin Mary, which means she was the grandmother of Jesus. She's not mentioned in the canonical Bible. The apocryphal Gospel of James mentions her. I haven't read that text, but I am sure that the details I want to know are not there--what did daily life look like? How did Mary and Anne get along? What did Anne think of Jesus?

Anne is the patron saint of many types of women: unmarried women, housewives, seamstresses, women in labor or who want to be pregnant, and grandmothers. She's also the patron saint of educators, which are still primarily women.

As I was researching her, I came across this image from a 15th century Book of Hours, and it's quickly become my favorite:

I love that both Saint Anne and Mary have books in their hands. According to many traditions, Saint Anne taught Mary to read, and she's often seen doing this. As I look at those images, I wonder if the artists realized what a subversive image it is: a woman teaching a girl to read.

Anne is sometimes depicted in scenes of Jesus as a baby, but so far, we have no image of her at the cross. I suspect that's because so many of this artwork comes from centuries ago, when it would have been very unusual for grandparents to survive to see their grandchildren in adulthood. Plus, one tradition around Saint Anne has her having Mary when she's very old--another story of the impossible coming out of improbable wombs!

So today, let us celebrate all the miracles which seem so impossible. Let us ask Saint Anne for protection, the way that Martin Luther did in the thunderstorm that terrified him. Let us know that all for which we yearn may yet be delivered to us.

The Feast Day of Saint James

Today we celebrate the life of James, one of the 12 disciples, the first to be martyred (Acts 12:1 tells us by Herod's sword). He's known as James the Greater (to distinguish him from James the Lesser, James the son of Alphaeus). He's the brother of John. He was one of the first to join Jesus, and Jesus chose him to go up the mountain to witness the Transfiguration. He is the patron saint of veterinarians and pharmacists, among others.

Lately, I've heard more about St. James, as more people become aware of the pilgrimage that involves walking to his shrine in Santiago de Campostela in Spain from a variety of starting points. Walkers who cover 100 km or cyclists who cover 200 km get a compostela, a certificate, and a blessing.

St. James is associated with scallops, and if you look at a map, you'll see that the pilgrims arriving from a variety of beginning points to the same end point does look like a scallop shell. There are now travel agencies that will help pilgrims, but I've been told that it's not hard to set up one's own journey. There are all sorts of lodgings along the way, all sorts of support.

In 2023, I finally saw the Martin Sheen/Emilio Estevez movie, The Way, which features this pilgrim's path. I'd love to actually walk part of it, but it seems increasingly unlikely. But life has taught me never to say never. If I could go on the Santiago or Iona, I'd probably choose Iona, but who says I would have to choose.

I'm not the only one who finds the idea intriguing. In 1985, only 690 pilgrims made it to the end point, the Cathedral of Santiago de Campostela; last year 179,919 pilgrims completed the journey. The most hardcore pilgrims walk barefoot. I would not be one of those pilgrims.

A few years ago, one of my good church friends figured out how to walk part of the Santiago de Campostela, how to make sure her pets and children were taken care of for 2 weeks, and off she went with her husband. I found her journey so inspiring. She kept a blog while walking and has continued to keep writing posts in her "regular" life.

Let us remember that we're all on a variety of pilgrimages, even if we're not leaving the house. Let us remember that God is with us.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 28, 2024:

2 Kings 4:42-44

Psalm 145:10-19 (Psalm 145:10-18 NRSV)

You open wide your hand and satisfy the needs of every living creature. (Ps. 145:17)

Ephesians 3:14-21

John 6:1-21

In today's Gospel, we see Jesus feed the multitude from a tiny offering of two fish and five barley loaves. It's important to remember where this story comes chronologically in Jesus' ministry. He's already gotten quite a reputation as a worker of miracles. Indeed, that's why the crowds won't leave him alone; they can tell that Jesus is something special. And the disciples have witnessed the power of Jesus time and time again.

I mention this fact because I'm always surprised when the disciples act the way that humans do--the way that you and I do. Jesus tests them, by asking how they will buy enough bread for everyone.

Of course, there's not enough money in their communal pockets to buy bread. Jesus knows this. One of the persistent messages that Christ gives us is that to rely on money to solve problems is to put our faith in the wrong system.

Notice that the disciples don't come up with any grand plan. They've watched Jesus work miracle after miracle--they've seen this with their own eyes!--and it never occurs to them to dream big. No, they still live in a world where it takes money to feed people.

Some theologians accuse the disciples of having a scarcity consciousness--a state of mind that's all too familiar to people of our time. It's the fear of running out of what we need, and so we don't share. We don't share, and our hearts become shriveled and tiny, as opposed to the way they would blossom if we trusted God more and shared our stuff. Who amongst us doesn't have more than enough stuff to share? Most of us have more than we will ever need or use:  possessions, money, all sorts of resources.

Perhaps they are stunted in this way. But again, I think they're just not used to the power that has come to dwell with them. They're rooted in the world and they forget what they're capable of.

Jesus has a different vision. He takes that small offering and feeds the throng of people. He takes something that seems so insignificant and this act grows into one of his most famous miracles.

Our rational brains can't accept this. Most of us could eat two fishes and five loaves all by ourselves--how could Jesus feed everyone?

Not only does Jesus feed everyone, but they have leftovers, 12 baskets full! It’s one of the many times that Jesus shows everyone that the world is full of abundance. Jesus offers us more wine than we can drink (John 2, the first miracle in this Gospel), more bread than we can eat.

It’s so easy to forget what God is capable of. We don't dare to dream big dreams, for fear that we'll be disappointed. We worry that if we share our resources, we won’t have enough for ourselves and our families. We don’t dare imagine that there’s enough for everyone.

We also forget how much God desires to be an active part of our lives--and we forget how active God is in the world. All our scriptures remind us of how God yearns for communion with us--and what wondrous transformations happen when humans go to meet God. Not just personal transformations. It's very well and good if you become a better person, more compassionate and more generous. But God has a much grander vision, one that doesn't stop with our individual lives.

How can you be part of that Kingdom? Christ didn't come to get us ready for Heaven, although many church traditions focus on that part of his mission. Christ came to show us how the Kingdom can be right here, among us, here and now. We can begin by sharing our basic resources and trusting that God will multiply our generosity.

Prepare to be amazed by the abundance that will result!

The Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

Decades ago, many of us might not have heard of Mary Magdalene. When I went to undergraduate school, in the mid-80's, we didn't know about many women in the Bible outside of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Maybe we had a vague memory of a woman with demons that Jesus healed.

Now it's a different story. We've had decades of feminist theology that has opened our eyes and our theology to the presence of women. Now scholars are doing an even deeper dive into ancient texts. I'm thinking of Diana Butler Bass's sermon in the summer of 2022 which alerted us to the research of Elizabeth Schrader who is looking at manuscripts and trying to see if Mary Magdalene has been literally erased and written over to transform it to Martha.

It's an interesting theory, and it seems like just one more example of how the ancient Church tried to minimize and hide the involvement of women in the life of the first group of believers. It's not that different from emphasizing the Mary Magdalene of demon possession and/or prostitution, not the Mary Magdalene as the first witness to the resurrection.As I think of the Easter morning story, I wonder if we’re seeing a vestige of Mary Magdalene’s possessed personality. What drove her to the tomb? I understand the ancient customs surrounding the care of dead bodies, and I understand the laws regarding dead bodies and the Sabbath. But in one Gospel, it’s only Mary who is so deeply concerned about the body of Jesus. What drives her to the tomb?

In Mary’s reaction to the man she assumes is the gardener, I recognize my own demon of anxiety. I watch her ask a perfect stranger about the body of Jesus. I watch her throw all caution and decorum away, so desperate is she to complete this task, as if completing the task will restore the world to right order.

Many of us suffer in the grip of these demons of anxiety, these beliefs that somehow, through our manic quest for control, we can keep the world from spinning into chaos. We might argue for the benefits of medication, and indeed, if it’s a matter of brain chemicals that are out of balance, we would be right.

But all too often, something else is at the root of our modern possession. Maybe we haven’t stopped to grieve our losses, as Mary needs to do in the garden. Maybe it’s the fear of loss that is coming to all our lives. Maybe it’s that insistent hiss from both inside and out that says that we will never be enough: good enough, clean enough, accomplished enough, nice enough, attractive enough, loved enough.

The Easter message comes to cast out these demons again and again. Christ reminds us that he’s here, always waiting, always watching, always ready for us. Even if we don’t recognize him, Jesus will not cast us away. It is the voice of Jesus that can silence all of our demons and help us to be at peace. Christ’s voice calls us to what’s important in our lives.

Sermon for July 21, 2024

July 21, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 6:30-34, 53-56


As I first read the Gospel for this week, it seems that it’s very similar to many other Gospels. Jesus heals, and heals, and heals some more. He is hounded from shore to shore, as he is trying to find a place away with his disciples, who have also been out and about healing and healing and healing some more.

Yet instead of feeling irritated, he feels compassion. We’re used to having a compassionate God, but in the ancient world, a Divine being who has compassion for humans would have been rare. In the Roman pantheon we see gods and goddesses who have interest in humans, sure, but not compassion for them. On the contrary, Roman gods and goddesses used humans without any care at all for their wellbeing—there was Divine interest in humans, but it was for Divine purposes, which often did not end well for the humans involved.

I have spent time this week returning to this Gospel in between leading Bible study sessions for 55 middle school campers at Lutheridge. Don’t worry, I’m not about to say that the experiences have much of anything in common at all. The 55 middle schoolers were not likely to follow me if I was trying to get away to a more deserted place. They would have been happy to have more time in the pool if we canceled Bible study for the rest of the week.

I thought of Jesus and his compassion as I looked at the middle schoolers. In some ways, they, too, seemed like sheep. One of them would start tossing a scrap of paper at another, and soon, many middle schoolers started to fidget. My little flock of sheep did not lack for shepherds—in addition to me, they had counselors and family back home. But they had a restlessness that seems similar to what I imagine that Jesus saw.

I wish I could tell you that I responded to this middle school flock with compassion. I tried, I really did. I remember what it’s like to be in middle school, which may have added to my frustration, in my inability to help everyone see the wisdom of sitting still and leaving each other alone.

In the end, I developed compassion for us all, shifted strategies, and created activities we could do outside. We still responded to the Bible studies, but we did it outside, with skits and sidewalk chalk drawing and creating pictures or sculptures out of materials we found in nature. I saw a new level of engagement, and my mind went again to the Gospel.

Jesus has plans too—he hopes to get away to a secluded place with the disciples. He wants them to have time to rest and to eat and to decompress. But circumstances compel him to develop a different approach. It’s a lesson for all of us.

But it’s a complicated lesson. If we follow the model Jesus offers in this particular Gospel, we risk running ourselves ragged, until we’re just a burnt out husk, not useful to anyone. It’s not like if we push a bit harder, we solve all the world’s problems and then we can get our well-earned risk.

Jesus came to save humanity, but he also comes to give us back our humanity. When we think about the world’s problems, it’s easy to think in broad generalities. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the needs of people far away and the needs of our own neighborhoods. In today’s Gospel, and in so many of the Gospel readings that revolve around healing, part of Jesus’ power comes from his ability to see the individual human who is right in front of him. It’s very hard to do with a crowd of people.

I might have had more success with my group of 55 campers if I had focused on this aspect of the healing ministry of Jesus. I had trouble seeing them as individuals, particularly when a group of them misbehaved in the same way. I tried to be on the lookout for bullying behavior, but I didn’t see the same child being picked on each day. But I did see children picking at each other, sometimes being the one who picked or flicked or thumped, other times being the one on the receiving end.

In retrospect, I wish I had gone to the craft lodge with them, where I might have been able to ask them questions while we worked on creating a lanyard. I could have gone with them to their pizza parties or their ice cream sundae celebrations. I might have had time for conversations that would have given me insight into what they were thinking and feeling. My presence might have offered them some validation.

I was working with a group of campers in the Night Owl unit, so going with them to some of their activities would have meant staying up past my bed time—most days, they didn’t have lights out until 1 a.m. But that’s really just an excuse. I didn’t go with them because 75 minutes a day was almost more than I could stand with a group that was so irritating. Clearly, I have some work to do if I’m going to be more Christ like.

Here's where I think the Gospel speaks to us today. I saw a pastor post a meme that says, “The church needs to be the fringe of Christ’s cloak.” At first I thought, that’s true. But then I thought it was too limited, if it just means the Church, as in those of us gathered for an hour or two each week in this building.

But if it means the Church as in each one of us going out in the world to be the fringe of Christ’s cloak, then I am more enthusiastic. It’s a great way of thinking about our mission in the world. How can we be a healing presence? How can we be part of the delivery system that brings Christ’s healing and wholeness to those who need it?

My volunteer work at Lutheridge led me to reflect how much of the world is like a bunch of middle school campers: awkward, with discomfort that they can’t quite articulate, sad, fearful about the future while also excited about it, feeling like the rest of the world has the secret to being accepted or popular or having friends while they do not.

You don’t need me to tell you that the world is in as much need of healing in our time as in the time of Jesus and the first disciples. We may feel overwhelmed by the needs of everyone who gathers around us and the needs of the larger community beyond. But Jesus has called us to be of use in this way, and if we’re not sure how to do it, we can follow his model. We can start with compassion and we can start with being present. Even if we don’t have compassion, being present will help us develop the compassion that we need, the compassion that the sheep without a shepherd need. We can be the fringe of Christ’s cloak, bringing healing to the world, casting out the demons that bedevil so many middle schoolers, the demons that so many of us never leave behind, the longing for love and acceptance.

A Week in Sticks and Snippets

It has been quite a week, and I don't mean just the assassination attempt and a Republican National Convention.  My week has been consumed by my volunteer work at Lutheridge, the church camp, where I was the C3ARE leader who does Bible study for the week. I had a co-leader, but it was still exhausting trying to engage 55 middle schoolers.  The campers were doing the Night Owls program, which lets them stay up very late at night, so it's been an adjustment for them.  Wednesday they were lethargic, but there was more energy yesterday.

Let me make a quick list of memorable moments from the past 4 days:

--Yesterday was a good day with the middle school campers.  We reviewed the stories we read, both the Bible stories and the illustrated books.  We went outside and had them create a response that represented their favorite story out of things they found outside (stressing that no destroying of nature could happen, no ripping of plants).  Two groups used sidewalk chalk that they found outside.  Several groups used a combination of sticks and rocks.  One group used the logs in the firewood storage bin.  Two groups did a skit.  It was great.  It built on what we did on Tuesday, and it reminded me that they are paying attention, even when they seem surly and/or lethargic.

--I've enjoyed the meals with other C3ARE leaders; it's been great, getting to know how others are living out their call.

--I've been thinking about camp and about the huge Lutheran youth gathering in New Orleans that is also happening this week.  I've been thinking about how we educate, train, and inspire the next generation, a topic that is so different when we talk about the theory and when we try out those theories with real humans.

--A lot of us work in schools during the school year, so we've had lots of discussions about classrooms too, which is both interesting, but after awhile, tiring.

--It's also been a week of reuniting with people I already knew but don't get to see often.  It's been wonderful, having something else to think about beside the political news and the folks I know with troubling health news, reminders that I am not getting younger.

--I'm also thinking of Biden contracting Covid-19 again.  Will this moment be a turning point when we look back?  Will he bounce back from this infection as he has the others?

--It's also been a week of deaths of famous people, some of whom were very important to me in my younger years, like Bernice Johnson Reagon and Bob Newhart, and some of whom were not as much, like Shelley Duval and Shannon Doherty.  There were very public people, like Dr. Ruth and Richard Simmons, who died this week.

--Yesterday was also the day of confirmation of a rumor that I heard earlier in the week:  my former school, City College (the Florida version, not the famous one in NYC) will close.  There's an announcement on the website about staying open for fall and winter quarter to help students finish, but they're also looking at other options.  I predict that students will be switched to online versions of programs, and that will be that.  I've been feeling a lot of emotions:  happiness that I'm no longer part of that school, sadness that yet another once-solid school has been run into the ground, wondering what the real story is (who buys a school to run it into the ground?  was there another scenario happening?  was it all a land grab?).

Today is likely to be another long day, so let me shift gears and get a walk in before the pace quickens.

Camp at Midweek

It has been a whirlwind week, in some ways.  Working with middle schoolers at camp leaves me more exhausted than any other experience so far this summer, and in fact, it may be the single most exhausting thing I ever do.  It has its peak moments, like Vespers on Monday, and its low points, like leading the group through Bible Study yesterday.

We are in Bischoff Lodge, which is the unairconditioned large gathering building that is part of the Wilderness cabin area.  We have 55 middle schoolers, 9 counselors, one area director, and the two of us leading the group.  That's A LOT of people for a space that's not designed for that many people.  And did I mention that it's not air conditioned?

On Tuesday, we had them go outside and see who could build the tallest, most secure structure out of materials that they could find (think sticks, branches, stones).  They seemed to have the most fun doing that, and it was the time when most of them were most engaged.

It was quite a contrast to yesterday, when they were listless and sullen.  I looked at the group as my co-leader was reading the story book, and I could not point to one who was engaged.  Maybe they were, and I just couldn't tell.  But I doubt it.

The curriculum involves a different story book each day, the kind of book that would be popular with first or second graders.  I'm not sure it's the best choice for middle schoolers, but mine is a minority opinion.

This morning, we'll try something different.  We'll send them outside to create something out of materials that they find--a sculpture, a 2 D picture--that represents one of the stories we've read together, either the Bible stories or the story books.

Tomorrow morning they assemble the final art project, a paper lantern, made of frames made of popsicle sticks, to make 4 square sides, and paper that's like parchment paper that one uses to line baking sheets.

I feel a bit of despair that we haven't done a good job.  I think we've done our best with what we've been given, but it's hard to believe that any campers are leaving enriched by our experience together.

Or maybe I'm being too hard on myself.  Our Vespers service felt like it was more meaningful, and we've had a few moments in our morning teaching that seemed to break through the lethargy.

I always tell myself that it's hard to know what really takes root, and we won't know.  But I'm pretty sure that nothing took root yesterday.  I hope today will be different.

Vespers in the Dark

Yesterday was the most full day as a C3ARE leader at Lutheridge.  The C3ARE leaders are the ones who do the Bible study, along with one Vespers service.  We are also invited to go along with any other activities, from swimming to crafts to various outings.

Unlike last year, when we only had 8 middle schoolers, we have a huge group of middle schoolers, 55 of them, 55!  Our meeting space is barely large enough.  We're indoors, at least, but it's not air conditioned, and with all those bodies in the room, it gets muggy by the end.  Our C3ARE sessions will be slightly later each morning, so I'm not looking forward to the warmer weather at the end of the week.

Yesterday morning left me a bit frustrated--it's hard to get everyone to focus.  And then we went to lunch, where everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to me, which was cool.  But the best part of the camp day for me was the Vespers service, which we planned.

We thought about the fact that Vespers for our set of campers, the Night Owls, is much later than for others.  It would be dark, so we talked about light and dark.  First we talked about how we tend to talk about God in terms of light blazing forth in terms of angel choirs and such.  I asked how else God's message comes to us in our Christmas stories.  I was so happy that the kids talked about the wise men and the star and Mary--God coming to us in the dark.

We're doing an experiment with seeds.  I wrapped some basil seeds in a wet paper towel, which I put in a plastic bag and put into a dark box.  We'll unwrap them in a few days when we talk more about how God works in the dark.

I had in mind Barbara Brown Taylor's Learning to Walk in the Dark, and I wondered if it would have a good meditation to read, but it was too late to get that book.  So instead, I created a guided meditation of sorts, doing some focused breathing and paying attention as we had less and less lights on in the Lake Pavilion.  We ended up with everyone at the railings, while I guided them to look up at the night sky, look out at the lake, look down at the ground, to remember that God is all around us and messages from God are all around us.

Then we sang "This Little Light of Mine."  One guy really wanted to sing "Kumbaya," so we did that too.  And then it was time to turn on the lights and have a closing prayer.  

Afterward, the area director counselor told me how much she appreciated the Vespers service and how it was so meditative, an exercise in mindfulness, which she really needed.  So, at least it worked for someone.  But I also felt that the middle school campers were much more engaged in the evening than they were in the morning, which was cool.  

Maybe that momentum will follow through today.  But even if it doesn't, I'll hope that something meaningful breaks through, even as I understand that I am unlikely to ever know for sure.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 21, 2024:

Jeremiah 23:1-6
Psalm 23
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The Gospel for this Sunday bookmarks two of Jesus' most famous miracles (but they're left out of the Gospel reading; we've already done them, or we'll do them later): the feeding of the great throng with just five loaves and two fishes, and Jesus walking on the water and calming the storm. As we ponder the Gospel for this week, it's good to remember that Jesus has been busy.

Notice that not even Jesus can stay busy all the time. The first part of the Gospel has Jesus trying to get away to a lonely place, and the last part of the Gospel shows the amazing things that Jesus accomplishes after he prays. These passages give us insight into our own care. Like Jesus and the disciples, many of us are living such busy lives that we don't even have time to eat.

The work of building God's Kingdom in our fallen world will wear us to a husk; it’s true of Christ, and it’s true for us. Notice that in these passages, Jesus doesn't find renewal in the Synagogue--he finds renewal in retreating and praying.

Most of us live such busy lives that we have built no time for retreats. Even on vacation, many of us are still working. We're still plugged in by way of our cell phones and laptops. And most of us don't take vacations with the aim of spiritual renewal, which is a shame. Instead, we spend huge amounts of money going to theme parks or once-in-a-lifetime destinations--and then we complain that we can't afford a week-end retreat. 

But we can pray.  We can pray in the midst of a fancy vacation, or in solitude, or when we're surrounded by crowds, or whenever we need to recharge. 

One reason Jesus came to us was to model the life we're to emulate. And if Jesus prays, we should take our cue from him. Throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus praying perhaps more than any other spiritual practice we'll called upon to do. We don’t see Jesus tithe, and we rarely see him going to weekly services. Instead, his prayers undergird his spiritual life and make it possible for him to do the works of charity and healing that he does.

The ministry of Jesus has much to teach us, and one of the most important lessons is that we can't take care of others when we're not taking care of ourselves. Jesus prays, Jesus takes retreats, Jesus shares meals with friends--these are the activities that leave him ready to care for the masses.

Our mission is the same as Christ's. Like Jesus, we're surrounded by hordes of hungry people. Broken people need us (and perhaps we feel pursued by them).

Yet we will not be able to complete our mission if we don't practice basic self-care. The message of today's Gospel is that it's O.K. to take time to pray. It's O.K. to retreat. It's O.K. to eat a slow meal with friends.

Not only is it O.K., it's essential. Christ, the incarnation of God on earth, needed to take a break. So do we all.

Sermon for July 14

July 14, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 6:14-29


We’ve spent the last several weeks thinking about the nature of power in the context of Jesus and his ministry. Two weeks ago we heard about Jesus’ ability to raise the dead, and then last week, his power seems to dry up in the face of the unbelief of the people in his home town. Today the scene shifts to the court of King Herod, which lets us think about the type of power that the world so often thinks of when we think about power. Herod has political power, the kind of political power that most of us will never experience. Every time that Herod appears, we see the limits of this kind of power.

An important historical note: the Herod of Mark 6 is not the Herod of Matthew 2 who had the encounter with the Magi who were looking for the new king of the Jews who had just been born. That was Herod the Great who felt so threatened by this news delivered by the Magi that he killed every boy in Bethlehem under the age of 2. The Herod who beheads John the Baptist is Herod Antipas, and there was a Herod between Herod the Great and Herod Antipas. These Jewish rulers did have a great amount of power, but not nearly as much as Roman emperors had. They had as much power as Rome allowed them to have, and it could be taken away if Rome decided that they weren’t ruling well.

At first read, Herod seems to have the kind of power that many absolute rulers, the kind that allows them to put a man to death just because he’s a bother. In this case, it’s John the Baptist who has been criticizing him—but the death doesn’t happen right away. The writer of the Gospel of Mark only gives us a brief bit of information about what makes Herod so immoral that John the Baptist criticizes him, taking the wife of his brother. Herod can’t abide this criticism, and so arrests John the Baptist, but he’s not completely closed off to the man. In fact, Herod protects him from the grudges of his new wife Herodias, and we find out that Herod likes to listen to John the Baptist, even though the man “perplexes” him. So why does Herod feel that he must kill John? It’s not because John criticizes him, although Herod can’t let that criticism go without punishment.

In today’s Gospel we see that Herod, the man who can have people jailed, the man who can start wars, the man who can marry his brother’s wife, ultimately, his power is limited too. Herodias develops a scheme, with the help of her daughter (confusingly named Herodias in this passage, although she is more commonly known as Salome) to have John the Baptist killed.

But make no mistake—Herod is still in charge. We can assume that Herodias has wanted John the Baptist dead for some time; it’s not a new desire, since Herod has protected John. What has changed?

We might be tempted to blame alcohol, and popular culture has often credited the seductive skills of the dancing daughter. But this is Herod, who is for all purposes, a king. He doesn’t have to do a thing he doesn’t want to do—unless Rome tells him he does, and certainly Rome does not particularly care whether or not some strange prophet criticizes the marital habits of Jewish rulers of the Jews.

In some ways, Herod seems as drained of power as Jesus. And what drains him of his power? The sway of other people. He’s made a promise in the presence of other people. If he says no, what will his guests think of him?

We might say that Herod has made an oath and that’s he’s honorable and feels he must keep his oath. But we know that’s not true. He divorced his first wife so that he could have Herodias. If we look into his history, he has a habit of disregarding the oaths he’s made to family, friends, and strangers alike. Herod wants power and he’ll do what it takes to get it. If it means he needs to behead John the Baptist to save face, he will. Saving face means he maintains power, although it’s hard to imagine that any of his dinner guests will stage an uprising because Herod goes back on his word to a dancing girl. Still, Herod is influenced by the court of popular opinion.

In an odd way, as I get older, I find Herod a sympathetic character, both the Herod who meets the Magi or the Herod that we meet here. Both Herods are so afraid of losing power that they make terrible decisions. We like to think that we would be different. We would recognize wisdom when it appears before us, either in the form of the Magi or the form of John the Baptist. But really, would we?

Herod in today’s Gospel serves as a warning to us all, even if we don’t have the power to order the beheading of a prickly prophet. Herod’s story shows us what is likely to happen if we care too deeply about the opinion of others instead of worrying about what really matters—it’s a problem that can rear its head when we least expect it, even if we’ve been alert.

If we care too much about the opinion of the people who surround us, we run the risk of making disastrous decisions. Perhaps not disastrous to the extent of a head on a platter, but disastrous to the ways that our lives might have been otherwise and disastrous to the vision that God has for creation.

Herod wonders if John the Baptist has come back to life when he hears the words of Jesus. Some see this as Herod feeling guilty. Going back to the text again and again, I found myself wondering about the similarities between the message of Jesus and the message of John. What does Herod hear?

Both men, Jesus and John, talked about God telling us that a new way of life is possible. Maybe Herod hears and ponders. But ultimately, he can’t respond to that message because he is too invested in the way that life is now. He has power, and in every scene in which a man named Herod appears throughout the Gospel, preservation of power is at the root of that man’s actions.

We may say that Herod has nothing to say to us, since we will likely never have that level of power. But in last week’s Gospel, we saw that it’s the rare person that is open to the message of Jesus and John; most of us are rarely able to see and hear the Good News, even if it stands right there in front of us, yelling or criticizing or healing.

Herod’s story offers a powerful testimony to the corrosive effects of power. We would be wise to think of our own power, our own feelings of inadequacy, how we attempt to control the elements of our lives or how we don't—all the ways that we pay attention to the opinions of random strangers instead of paying attention to those who have our best interests at heart.

How is God speaking to us today? What strange prophets prick at us, needling us to be better humans? What strangers come to tell us of signs of a new reign, God breaking through in new ways? How are we training ourselves to be alert so that we don’t miss out on God?

Music Week Snippets, with Quilting

My week is catching up with me.  I realize that my idea of a late night would make most people laugh--"We made it to 10:00!"  Still, I'm not feeling like I have a coherent blog post about a single topic in me right now.  Let me record some snippets from the week:

--It has worked well, having house guests who are participating in Music Week.  One is participating, and the other going on day trip hikes.  We've done a combination of eating meals in and eating meals out.  We've had time to catch up and time to do new stuff together.  At times, the house has seemed a little small for us all, but that's O.K.  Most important:  the plumbing can handle extra people.  I had no doubts about the HVAC system, but plumbing can be so problematic.

--I went to quilt group day Wednesday and assembled two back for Lutheran World Relief quilts.  One was for the fish top I assembled earlier this summer.  

I am loving the fancy sewing machine that allows me to zip work together.  I am loving all the fabric that we have.

--For the past few days, I've found myself singing my song, or more accurately, my lyrics to "Poor Wayfaring Stranger"--more accurately, I've been mixing my lyrics with the more traditional lyrics, which also works well.

--Because of bear season, we had taken down the birdfeeder with suction cups that we usually have on one of the back sliding glass doors.  We put it back up to get it out of the way.  I've been loving watching the birds come to the feeder.  Bear season or no, maybe we'll keep it up year round.

--I've been loving having numerous worship opportunities, all of them high quality.  It's what I imagined would happen year round, when I imagined living here.

Opening Liturgy of Hope for Advent and Other Seasons

We had Advent themed morning worship on Tuesday at Lutheridge's Music Week, a delightful Christmas in July kind of vibe.  I was particularly struck by the opening liturgy, a responsive reading:

One (our chaplain read this part):  The world says, "All is lost."

Many:  God says, "All is loved."

One:  The darkness says, "The light is dying."

Many:  The light says, "The fire is catching."

One:  Fear says, "Cover your eyes and your ears."

Many:  Hope says, "Wait, watch, and listen."

My first thought was "What a great Advent liturgy!"  But then I thought about how appropriate it would be in many other circumstances, a major reason why I wanted to capture it here.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 14, 2024:

Amos 7:7-15
Psalm 85:8-13
Ephesians 1:3-14
Mark 6:14-29



The Gospel for this Sunday defines success differently than most people in any age would. John the Baptist, someone who has remained true to his mission, is killed by King Herod. And why? A mix of motives, but the Gospel mentions King Herod wanting to impress a young woman and Herod's unwillingness to hear the truth and to admit the truth.

So, John the Baptist loses his head. Literally. Not a comforting vision for those of us who struggle to live our faith day by day. This reward is what we can expect?

Jesus never promises us an easy time, at least not the kind of easy time the world dangles in front of us when it attempts to seduce us. We see this even in Christian communities. We feel like failures when our church membership numbers shrink. We feel like we're not a success when we have to struggle to find the money to pay our church’s bills.

But if we look at the portrait of the earliest church, we'll see that it wasn't the megachurch model. The early church builds on an idea of cells, tiny little house churches of committed Christians. Some days I shake my head in awe at what a small group of people can accomplish.

And then I laugh at my own lack of memory. My History and Sociology classes years ago taught me the exact same thing: the most fascinating change is often created by small, committed bands of people. And the most successful changes are often made by people who are grounded and rooted in some kind of larger faith vision.

Yet the Gospel for this Sunday reminds us that success may not be at the end of our individual stories. We could commit ourselves to Christ’s mission only to find ourselves wasting away in prison, a victim of a corrupt society.

It’s a risk worth taking. We know how sustaining our faith can be and how important it is to build a faith community. We know how larger faith communities can change the world for the better.

Jesus offers us a chance to be part of the Kingdom of God, a Kingdom where everyone has enough and everyone has love and support. Of course, the catch is that the Kingdom isn't here yet. We have to help build it. We've caught glimpses of it breaking through. It's both now and not yet, this elusive Kingdom. But when we feel/glimpse/experience/live it, we know that it's worth whatever we must endure for the sake of it.

Another Way of Looking at the Trinity

 I'm participating in Music Week worship, and the benediction for Monday morning's worship grabbed my attention.  I'm always looking for new ways of thinking/talking about the Trinity, and I wanted to make sure to preserve it:

The Ancient One, enthroned,

the Crucified One, now risen,

the Indwelling One, poured out

bless you now and forever.

I'll be thinking about this one for awhile.

Sermon for July 7, 2024

July 7, 2024

by Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 6:1-13


Last week, we saw Jesus as a powerful catalyst for healing. Power flows out of him when a woman touches his garment, and his Divine power allows him to bring a dead girl back to life. So when I read the text for this week, verse 6 jumped out at me: “And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them.” Something has robbed Jesus of his power.

One of the advantages of following the lectionary is this opportunity for something new to leap out at us. I’ve read this passage dozens of times through the years, as the lectionary comes back to it, and as I’ve taken classes, and I’ve focused on the part that comes both before and after it: the hometown folks who reject Jesus, and Jesus sending out the disciples, telling them what to do if they, too, are rejected, the famous shaking the dust of rejectors off your feet and moving on.

This past week, however, I kept coming back to that image of Jesus being limited. He can still do a bit of healing, but if someone’s beloved daughter died, this week in the life of Jesus might find the father out of luck. I read forward in the text, and I’ll say more about what I discovered next week, when our Gospel reading does not skip ahead in the text. We are in the middle of a meditation on power, its manifestations and its limitations.

In the earlier parts of Mark, we’ve seen Jesus fully able to control all the elements of the world: he’s driven out demons and forced the storm and the seas to calm down and healed the sick, and even raised the dead. And now, he finds his power constrained? How do we explain that?

In other words, you’re telling me that demons obey him and the sea obeys him, but a little thing like human unbelief keeps him from doing much beyond a bit of healing here and there? The answer seems to be yes.

Notice that he’s not simply refusing to do miracles. It’s not like Jesus says, “Well, if you feel this way about me, then I won’t help you, even though I could.” The text says that Jesus could not, not Jesus would not. And what is the element that is binding him? Many Bible scholars say that Jesus cannot act because of the people’s unbelief. One aspect of this unbelief, if we dig down into the Greek word, is a withholding of belief in the power and promises of God. It’s a much deeper issue than simple doubt. It’s quite a contrast to the people in last week’s Gospel.

If we look at last week’s text, we see that the people in need of miracles, the bleeding woman and Jairus, father of the dead girl, have faith, which looks like fierce hope or maybe desperation. They are in need of intervention, and they know it, and they put aside all that they have thought might be possible or impossible.

Last week, on our way home from Bristol, Carl and I talked about faith and hope and miracles. He pointed out that even with the strongest faith, a person might not get a miracle. But without faith, we can be sure that we won’t get a miracle. We talked about any number of doctors that we know who have told us the value of faith and hope in making a recovery, even if the recovery doesn’t mean healing but means learning to live with a disease.

Jesus has a very different experience in this week’s text. The people in his hometown are so constrained by what they’ve been trained to think that they seem to have lost their hope in the possibility of something different.

They cannot believe what they have seen. The people in Jesus’ hometown have seen what he has done, the miracles he has performed. It’s not like he went off to Rome, did miracles there which no one in the home town witnessed, and then came home. He’s been doing these miracles in their midst. Why do they have trouble believing?

We see in this Gospel that the familiar can be constraining. The people in Jesus’ hometown reject him because he is so familiar that they cannot conceive of him in any other way than son of Mary (a specific slur about legitimacy in a patriarchal society to refer to the mother rather than the father), than as a carpenter, a worker of low social status. Those questions about family, status, occupation, education—these are still questions we ask today, and they are questions that can undercut us all, from the smallest member of our communities all the way up to God Almighty.

Like so many people today, the people in Jesus’ hometown are people who are invested in life as they have always known it, so invested, it turns out, that they cannot imagine that anything might be different. And their closed minds affect Jesus. Today’s Gospel shows us how essential it is to maintain our hope and our faith, not just for ourselves, not just for our communities, but also for God’s ability to work in the world.

Throughout the Gospels, we see the trait that keeps people imprisoned is their inability to break free of what they have always known. Here we see that this inability has even broader implications—the inability to conceive of life in any other way keeps God from acting too.

Earlier this year, my Systematic Theology professor said something similar. He said that God has a vision of the world, a vision of how creation should be, and God is always moving towards that vision, no matter how many roadblocks humans put in the way. God invites us to be part of the vision, but even if we say no, God is going to find a way to continue the creative work that needs to happen. But if we say yes, oh how much easier a time God will have. Our radical hope in God’s vision can be the fuel that helps it to happen.

All week, I’ve thought about the way that Jesus feels power drain out of him when the bleeding woman touches his hem and how this week, Jesus is like a drained battery. Would we live our lives differently if we thought of ourselves as God’s battery charger? Would we commit to radical hope each and every day?

Where are we stuck in our preconceived notions of how society should be and what redemption looks like? Where do we need to shake dust off of our feet and move on? Where might God lead us, if we can just learn to trust, hope, and act?

Music Week Begins

It has been a week:  a week of getting ready for our first overnight house guests in this house, a week of attending to tasks we've been waiting to get to for too long, a week of moving furniture, a week of buying furniture, a week of sore muscles and a sprained finger, a week of moving tools back to the shed, a week of cleaning, a week of going back and forth to Lowe's.  Music Week at Lutheridge begins today, and I think we're ready.

Our house guests arrived last night, South Florida friends that we haven't seen since we moved two years ago.  We sat outside and chatted while the sun set.  One of them will be at Music Week, the reason for the trip, and one of them will explore area waterfalls and take pictures.  My spouse, too, will be at Music Week, as will my parents who are staying in camp lodging.  I will be the support and logistics team:  buying food, driving the car/golf cart, keeping an eye on the weather.

We've been planning this week for a long time, and I'm hoping it all works out.  Our Music Week participants will have a very full schedule, so it should be fine.  I've been thinking about how long it's been since we had house guests.  We used to have people come and stay with us for a week, but that was pre-Covid.  I feel like I've forgotten how to use these hosting muscles, but happily, it's coming back.  It helps not to have to plan activities.

And of course, my regular life activities will still be happening:  the seminary class that I'm taking, the online classes that I'm teaching, and the quilt group at the local Lutheran church.  But it will be a good week, full of friends old and new, family, and music.  It's just what I yearned for when I used to live much further away.

Clay and Creativity on Independence Day

Yesterday was a very strange Independence Day, a day where we went to Lowe's late in the afternoon looking for the ever elusive pieces of the plumbing that my spouse is trying to construct.  Were we successful?  I have no idea, because our afternoon was going that badly.

When I look back on this year's Independence Day, I want to remember my morning.  I went over to the house of my dearest neighborhood friend to play with clay.  She had clay that needed to be used up, and I had ideas.  She also has glazes and a kiln--and an outdoor picnic table.  

We sat in the cool morning air, along with another friend of hers, and made all sorts of creations.  We all made pieces for a windchime (or 2 or 3).  We cut all sorts of shapes out of the clay and added all sorts of embellishments.  I have a vision for some small pieces that I can add to the yard, pieces with indentations that will also serve as mini bird baths.

I loved having my hands in cool clay, talking about art and process with friends, not talking about the state of the nation (we all know it's bad, and we all know the work that lies ahead--AND we know the need for creativity and self-care). I loved having an idea for what I wanted to create, but heading in new directions as the clay suggested.  I love that I am making one of a kind pieces.

I also delivered the mail to campers yesterday, also a treat.  Each area is decorated for the 4th, some with more handmade verve than others.  I love that the campers have friends and family who are sending them all kinds of mail and e-mail messages for me to deliver.  I love riding the golf cart in the summer sun.

We did not go to see the fireworks, although I did hear them later.  A bigger treat for me:  waking up close to midnight and NOT hearing any fireworks going off.  In South Florida, regardless of which neighborhood we lived in, there would be booms and bangs all night.

I like these reminders, in clay, in pine cones, in ribbons, and rocks, in found objects and manufactured ones, that the country has always been a cobbled together creation, in all its glorious messiness.  It gives me a strange hope for the future.

Independence Day on a Tilting Planet

It's a strange year to be celebrating Independence Day, to be thinking about the founding of the country and what it means for the future.  And it's not just citizens of the U.S. doing that.  The world seems to have tilted in the past two years, and I think we're all still in a tilting world, and it's unclear where we'll end up.  More liberty or less?  It's not just the U.S. voting on these ideas.  The Supreme Court has weighed in, and I think that the founders would be aghast at giving a President so much power.  The founders had seen the problems with having a king, and they wanted to avoid that.

I have spent time thinking about humans during past times of hardship:  life in communist Russia/Europe, people trying to survive the U.S. Civil War, all the ways that life unraveled during the long, slow collapse of the Roman empire, among others.

When my brain spirals that direction, I try to remind myself of the times when humans have rallied, worked hard, left the planet a better place than they found it, or at least left their little part of the planet a better place.  I'm thinking of the Civil Rights movement and all the movement for human rights that it birthed.  I'm thinking of those founders of the U.S. who signed their names to a document that was treason, in the eyes of their government.  They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.  Each July 4, I think about my own life, my own beliefs.  To what would I pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor?

Most days I'm just trying to fly under the radar of all the powers and principalities that would keep me in bondage, in fear, in slavery of all sorts.  I'm trying to take care of friends and loved ones and my immediate community.

I can't resist posting this picture of me and my dad, dressed up as colonist and British soldier, standing in front of a painting of British soldiers:

I have always been amazed that the rowdy colonists could pull off this defeat of the greatest empire in the world at the time. I don't think it's only that they were fighting on their home territory that helped them win. Plenty of people fight to defend their homes and don't win.

Each day I try to prepare for whatever the future may require of me.  My apocalyptic brain thinks it might be a grim scenario, but perhaps it will be wonderful.  The other night, my spouse and I spent a delightful hour imagining what we would do if we bought the lottery and convinced Lenoir-Rhyne University to sell the campus of the Columbia seminary to us.

In this time of political elections, let me close this way:  I've always told my students that they should plan what they would do in leadership positions, because they may very well find themselves there some day, and it might be sooner than they think. I tell them about Nelson Mandela, and that the reason that he was prepared to be president of South Africa was that he spent all that time in jail (more years than most of my students have been alive) planning for what he would do if he took over the country. He didn't nurse anger or bitterness. No, he planned, along with his compatriots, who were jailed with them.

Then I give them a copy of an interview (in the fabulous book We Owe You Nothing: Punk Planet: The Collected Interviews) with Jello Biafra which has this challenge: "It's time to start thinking, 'What do I do if I suddenly find myself in charge?'" (page 46 of the first edition). Many of my students find this idea to be a wonderful writing prompt, even as they're doubtful that they would ever be allowed to be in charge of a national government.

Maybe today, as so much conversation swirls about the future of the U.S. and who should lead it, maybe today would be a good day to think about that question:  if you found yourself in charge, what would you do?  And how can you do it now, even if you're not in charge?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 7, 2024:

First Reading: Ezekiel 2:1-5

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10

Psalm: Psalm 123

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 48

Second Reading: 2 Corinthians 12:2-10

Gospel: Mark 6:1-13

What an intriguing Gospel reading for this Sunday: Jesus rejected by people who had known him since he was little and who knew his family. Perhaps you can relate.

The first part of this Gospel (in the reaction of the people of Christ’s own country) gives us a clear warning about the risks we face when we have expectations of God that might be a bit too firm. We're not really open to God or God's hopes and plans for us when we think we know what God should be up to in the world. The society of Jesus' time had very definite expectations of what the Messiah would look like and what he would do--and Jesus was not that person. How many people ignored God, right there in their midst, because they were looking for someone or something else?

This Gospel also warns us about fame and acclaim. If you've been alive any length of time, you know that the world grants fame to an interesting variety of people, for an interesting variety of reasons--and very few of these people gained fame for their efforts to make the world a better place for more people. If we expect God to act like our modern media stars, we're setting ourselves up for disappointment.

Much of the Bible shows us God appearing as a stranger, as a baby in a manger, as an itinerant preacher, as a crucified prisoner. We hear God speaking in dreams, in a burning bush, a whisper here, a glimmering there. If we’re waiting for angel choirs in the sky to give us a clear message from the Divine, we may wait a very long time. We need to learn to listen for God in other settings.

And the end of the Gospel has a warning for us, as well. If we become believers because we think we'll be famous or we'll make lots of money or we'll have political influence--well, we're likely to be disappointed. The Gospel of Jesus is not about those things that the world considers important--no matter what those Prosperity Gospel folks would have you believe.

If we think of Jesus as building a church, the model that we see in a Gospel might point us in a different direction than the path that many of us have been treading.

Jesus sends out his disciples two by two, with no possessions and not much of a plan. Notice what he does not do--he doesn't make them create a mission statement or a business plan. He doesn't have them raise money. And he doesn't expect them to work fruitlessly--they are allowed to shake the dust off of their feet and move on if a community rejects them.

What would our lives look like, if we followed this model? What would our lives look like if we trusted God more than our retirement plans, our family members, our bosses? Where are we stuck, needing to shake dust off of our feet and move on? Where might God lead us, if we can just learn to trust and learn to move?

We Love Jesus, Yes We Do! We Love Jesus, How 'Bout You?

Yesterday I went for my morning walk and went by the dining hall in the minutes before breakfast, when all the campers wait outside.  I heard this chant/shout:  "We love Jesus, yes we do.  We love Jesus, how 'bout you?"  Then another group chanted/shouted the same thing back, only louder.  It was both a challenge between cabins/groups and a way of keeping kids occupied until the dining hall was ready for them.

Some might say, "Yes, and it was also indoctrination!"  Perhaps.  We might be kinder and say it was theological training.  But it seems less a way of mind control than a way of keeping kids focused and out of trouble while waiting to go into the dining hall.

Yesterday was the kind of day where there was lots of shouting in the news cycle.  Lately, it seems like every day is a day of lots of shouting in the news cycle.  I reflected on the purposes of shouting:  drowning out competing voices, keeping people focused, raising people's emotions for good or evil purposes.

When the news cycle shouts at me, I often turn off the TV/radio/internet site.  Yesterday, listening to children chanting/shouting outside the camp dining hall, I was charmed and wanted to linger.

But it's not my week of volunteering, not my week to enjoy breakfast at camp.  And so I rambled onward, picking a few berries out of the brambles on the downslope of the hill that took me away from the dining hall.

Gospel in Bread Sculpture

On Saturday, I worked on my sermon and made the dough for communion bread--it's not a special recipe, but it's the one that yields the most consistent results, King Arthur Baking's recipe for an oatmeal bread that I make without the cinnamon.

My spouse made this bread creation to illustrate the Gospel for Sunday, July 1, 2024, about Jesus and the bleeding woman who touched the hem of his garment for healing.  I wrote this Facebook post:  "Today's Gospel, Mark 5: 21-43, in bread form (touching the hem of Jesus). I made the dough, but Carl Berkey-Abbott is the artist who shaped it. Just another fun Saturday at the Berkey-Abbott house."