Prayers for Those in the Path of Hurricane Helene

Here I sit, in the mountains of North Carolina, monitoring Hurricane Helene which is forecast to move this far inland as a tropical storm. We will likely be fine, as this part of the mountain range doesn't dissolve into landslides or flood. But I do worry about all of those who won't be fine.

And so, I pray.  Not that God changes the path of the storm, but for those in the pathc.

I have always felt weird about praying about the path of hurricanes. For one thing, I'm not sure that God gets involved in the laws of physics that way.

But for another, I'm aware that if I'm saved by the hurricane going elsewhere, it means doom for someone else.

But if we can't pray in the face of a force of destruction, when can we pray? Here are some prayers that others have written. I found this posted on Facebook, originally posted on the ELCA Worship page as Hurricane Harvey approached:

"We pray for those in the path of Hurricane Harvey:

Merciful God, when the storms rage and threaten to overtake us, awaken our faith to know the power of your peace. Deliver us from our fear and ease our anxiety. Help us to endure the time of uncertainty and give us strength to face the challenges ahead. Give us the assurance of your presence even in this time so that we can cling to your promise of hope and life shown to us through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen."

And here's a shorter prayer from Holden Evening Prayer:

"Grant weather that nourishes all of creation."

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 29, 2024:

Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29

Psalm 19:7-14

The commandment of the LORD gives light to the eyes. (Ps. 19:8)

James 5:13-20

Mark 9:38-50

Here we have another Gospel that reminds us again that Jesus is not the warm, fuzzy Jesus that the modern church often depicts. This Gospel is harsh. Cut off my hand? Just because it offended me? What happened to forgiving 70 times 7?

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that we often let ourselves off the hook too easily. We don't require enough of ourselves. How many of us really do forgive 70 times, much less that 7 times more again? Too many of us won’t even forgive once, much less again and again. We refuse to begin the work of reconciliation, which is one of our main tasks in this world.

We're supposed to be the seasoning of the world, but too many of us do absolutely nothing. We close our ears to the cries of the oppressed. We continue to focus on our own agendas. We tell ourselves we'll save the ones around us--but do we?

We behave in ways that would make our beliefs unattractive to the nonbeliever. Every time we gossip, lie, cheat, steal, or give in to our darkest natures, the world is watching. Our hypocrisy endangers us all on so many levels.

We move into the part of Mark where Jesus must realize that he's in great danger. He offers challenges to the larger domination system that controls the Earth. Jesus understands how many forces dominate us: both the secular ruling system, as well as the larger idea of a set of powers that keeps us from God's goodness, not to mention our own beliefs which hinder us. Jesus refuses to back down. He must know what will happen. The book of Mark, always apocalyptic in tone, becomes more so.

We see those echoes in the planetary calendar too. We’ve seen a seasonal shift, as we leave summer behind and autumn arrives. Once we drove home from work in broad sunlight. Now we squint into the gathering twilight. The produce sections in our grocery stores offer sturdier fruits and vegetables, like the gourds that remind us of the need to prepare for a harsh season ahead.

We have so many reminders that time is short. Like Ash Wednesday, these times remind us that the years go by quickly and that we must continue to atone for all ways we’ve fallen short. We can be better. We must be better.

Time is short. We don't have much of it on earth, and Jesus always pulls us back to that existential fact. If we don't have much time, we're pressured to make the most of what we have. We have a huge task, one not likely to be completed in our lifetimes. Still, that's no reason not to get started building the Kingdom where the last will be first.

Field Work Report

As I've been outside with my students, I've been thinking about my own experience with writing.  We didn't go outside to observe nature, and my college campus would have been perfect for that.  My English 101 class was more like a literature class; we did a deep exploration of three short stories.  I never wrote the kind of papers I'm trying to avoid having my Spartanburg Methodist College students write:  the umpteenth billion "why pot should be legalized" kind of paper.

Until seminary, I didn't have classes that used creative writing approaches to help me learn to write or to see another perspective.  I'm thinking of the class I took 2 years ago, where we spent an hour in the courtyard with a sketchbook, a pencil, and our eyes (for more, see this blog post).  During my walk yesterday, I thought about a similar experiment with my students, but I decided to wait for a bit to plan.

I had picked up a variety of beautiful leaves, which I still wanted to use:

I picked them up because I didn't want students wandering campus yanking leaves off of the trees.  I thought we would sketch when I was picking them up.

I had them describe the leaves in words, and today, I'll try it again with the two afternoon classes.  In a few weeks, I'll pick up leaves again and have them sketch.  Still to be determined:  sketch with colored pencils or plain?

Some small part of me wonders if it's fair of me to force my students to have this closer experience with nature--just because I think it's important, why should I foist that on my students?  But the larger part of me knows that it's an important experience, and they're not likely to get it in their other classes.  I am astonished as I walk on campus; I am often the only one walking who is not staring at a phone.  I get to class, and everyone is looking at their phones.

Yesterday my students were outside doing a close observation of a tree, and while some of them were doing their best not to look at a tree, many of them were nose to bark with the trunk or staring up into the canopy of leaves.  Some of them are writing blissful accounts of how happy they are to have a favorite tree, and I do realize that some of them may be writing that way figuring it's what I want them to say.  Most, however, seem sincere.

I gave them a worksheet to fill out as they observed the tree, and some of them used factual language, while others had a more poetic approach.  Maybe they would have had a poetic approach even without the work we did in class.  But it's been fun to watch them experiment with language, even if they didn't realize they were experimenting with language.

I know that I am lucky to have this kind of latitude in planning my courses.  I know that I am lucky to be at a campus that is beautiful and safe.  I know that I am lucky to have escaped (mostly) the enchantments of the smart phone.  I know that I am lucky.

Forgetting Hildegarde, Dreaming of a Breviary Project

As I've been puttering this morning, I thought, I should write a poem with the title "Hildegarde of Bingen Forgets Her Feast Day."  The poem could go in several possible directions:  she forgets because she is busy, she forgets because it no longer matters, she forgets because she has dementia.

I didn't quite forget her feast day, but I did remember later than I'd like.  The poem could have any saint for that matter, except that I don't usually forget the feast days of other important female saints:  Brigid and Julian and Lucia.  Of course, this short list makes me think that I probably forget many a feast day.

I also found myself thinking that I'd like to create a breviary (perhaps the wrong word, but I like it) of a collection of feast days that are meaningful to me and other sorts of remembrances.  I'd like it to include prayer and visual art.  Poems would be a wonderful addition.  I'd like it to be organized by calendar day, so I could open it in the morning, and the date would be on the top of the page.

I probably have more of a head start on this project than I know--I've written 16 years of blog posts.  By now, having to search the blog is cumbersome.  A separate book with a spine that I could consult each day would be beautiful.  I think others would like it too.  And if it already exists, that's OK.  The world seems to be open to multiple versions of devotional books.

If I want the book to contain my art, that's where I'm short.  And reproducing art would/could be much more expensive, which might be important to realize from the publishing side.

I don't have time to think about this possibility too much this term.  But I did want to capture it for later.  I had the idea just 10 minutes ago when rinsing out my oatmeal bowl, and it's really tugging at me.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 22, 2024:

Jeremiah 11:18-20 or Wisdom of Solomon 1:16—2:1, 12-22

Psalm 54

God is my helper; it is the LORD who sustains my life. (Ps. 54:4)

James 3:13—4:3, 7-8a

Mark 9:30-37


This week’s Gospel reminds us of the order of things in God's kingdom. In the world that most humans inhabit, the rich are first; everybody else gets along as best they can. In our modern world, as was true during most of human history, the lives of the non-rich feel increasingly precarious.

Jesus comes to proclaim that God is making a new creation, right here and right now, where the situation is reversed.

Many preachers will focus on the warm and fuzzy angle of children in this Gospel. While I do think Jesus loved children, I don't think that's why he refers to them here.

Children are some of the most vulnerable members of society. Many people have said that we can judge a society by how it treats its most vulnerable members, who are often children, the elderly, the ill, the mentally unstable, the poor. Many Bible stories remind us that we, as individuals, will be judged by God based on how we treat the most vulnerable. The child in this Gospel is a metaphor for all of the most vulnerable. We are judged by how we receive these people.

We live in a world that doesn't value the vulnerable. We live in a world that worships power, fame, and wealth. Look at any magazine on any given week or month, any news show on any given day, any newspaper on any given day--who makes the decisions that shape society? It's rarely the poor and the destitute. Most of us have social media feeds that make us feel that our lives are inadequate compared to everyone else's. Look at advertising--it's designed to make us want power, whether that come in the shape of controlling government or being the boss or being the richest, the prettiest, the thinnest . . .

Those of us who have worked to adopt the servant ethos can tell a different tale. Those people might talk about how good it feels to serve, how their own desires disappear in the face of those that are needier than they are.

But there is a bigger reason why we're called to serve: God hangs out with the lowly. Go back to your Scripture. See how often God shows up with the poor, the outcast, the lowest people in the social structure. We serve, so that we meet God. We serve, so that we serve God.

This Gospel reminds me of the 25th chapter of Matthew, where humans are separated depending on whether or not they fed Jesus or clothed him or visited him while sick or in prison. And the ones headed to eternal punishment say, "When did we ever see you hungry or naked or sick or in prison?" And we get the classic rejoinder in verse 45: "Truly I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me."

We serve God by serving. Leaf through the Gospels and let yourself be struck by how much of the message of Jesus revolves around this message. We are called to serve. We elevate ourselves not by making ourselves better, but by serving others, by serving those who have the least to offer us.

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that the world at large is not the world we're to emulate. We're called to create the Kingdom where the least will be first, where we each serve each other.

Feast Day of Hildegarde of Bingen

Today is the feast day of Hildegard of Bingen. I forgot, and now the day is almost over, the feast day of one of my favorite medieval mystics. In so many ways, that seems a metaphor for my modern life: I get essential stuff done, while sometimes forgetting aspects of what's important to me--so far, the forgettings have not been earth shattering, but my forgetting bothers me nonetheless.


Hildegard is one of those medieval women that makes me feel like an utter failure. We all face constraints of various kinds, and the life of Hildegard shows what could be accomplished, even during a time where women did not have full rights and agency. She was an Abbess, and because being in charge of one cloistered community isn't enough, she founded another. She wrote music, and more of her music survives than almost any other medieval composer. She was an early naturalist, writing down her observations about the natural world and her theories about how the natural world heals us. She wrote to kings, emperors and popes to encourage them to pursue peace and justice. She wrote poems and a morality play and along the way, a multitude of theological meditations.

She did all of these things, in addition to keeping her community running smoothly. Yes, I'm thinking about Hildegard as an administrator, a woman who could be efficient and artistic at the same time. It’s no wonder that I find her inspiring.

And it's no wonder that I feel like I don't measure up. During these times when I feel like I'm accomplishing NOTHING as an artist, it's easy to convince myself that I've peaked, as much as I was going to peak. It's easy to sink into a spiral of self-pity and despair: "I should have worked harder on this project, I should have followed through on this contact, I should have taken this job, I should have moved to that place." On and on I can go in this way.

I often wonder if those medieval mystics in charge of abbeys and monasteries chafed at those responsibilities. Did they wish they had more time for contemplation? And not the contemplation of how to keep everyone fed and clothed? Did they have a creative masterpiece that they never quite finished because people kept interrupting them?

And yet the sum of their days shows what can be accomplished even in small snippets of time. So let us use this feast day to recalibrate our efforts and commit to what's important.

Sermon for Sunday: Trained Tongues and Cross Stitches

September 15, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 8:27-38


Today we have another strange Gospel. Peter proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah, but he doesn’t get praise from Jesus, the way he does in the exact same story in the Gospel of Matthew, where he gets to be the cornerstone of the church that Jesus is building. No, Peter is told to be quiet, and then Jesus calls him the devil, and then he has words for the rest of the followers tagging along.

This week’s Gospel truly is a hard teaching, at least at first glance. Deny yourself? Pick up your cross? Lose your life? Is Jesus trying to lose followers?

We’ve had centuries now of people trying to explain what Jesus meant. Maybe he’s saying that tithing is hard, but by doing this, we lose our money but gain our lives. Maybe it’s working for social justice, winning some measure of life for others, while we lose some free time.

Or maybe Jesus meant exactly what he said. The Gospel of Mark was written around 70 A.D., when Christians would be picking up their literal crosses, on their way to their own executions. This time period was one of extreme persecution of Christians and today’s Gospel offers a way of making sense of that persecution.

Let’s make sure to be clear: Jesus isn’t condoning suffering for the sake of suffering. This is not a text that tells us that we must welcome all varieties of suffering and suffer them in silence so that we can become stronger humans. In fact, the ministry of Jesus offers healing from that kind of suffering, a way of recovery from all the ways that the broken world breaks us too. In today’s Gospel, Jesus talks about a different kind of suffering, what we must expect when we preach his good news that God draws near, what we can expect when we try to live out our faith.

Jesus knows the powers and the principalities that are gathering against him. He understands the ways that leaders feel threatened, and he knows what happens when leaders of earthly institutions feel threatened—people get killed, people lose what they treasure: family, money, property, jobs and opportunities. Jesus promises us that there is a greater good, and that it will be worth the suffering.

All week, I’ve been thinking of these ideas of picking up our crosses and denying ourselves. I’ve thought of my friends who don’t practice a religious faith and their bafflement at those of us who do. They can’t fathom why we do what we do. It would be even harder to make the case if believers were being put to death.

I know that there are some weeks when we can’t quite understand why we do what we do. For some of us, it’s just what we’ve been raised to do; some of us are in a church where earlier generations of our family worshipped. For some of us, we come to church on Sunday morning to get grounded for the week to come. Maybe we come to church to be reminded of who we are and whose we are.

But these reasons don’t fully capture the joy that can come from being a follower of Jesus. As I’ve spent the week thinking about this week’s Gospel, I’ve also been reflecting on last Sunday. I thought about the joyful exuberance of how the service began, as we celebrated God’s Work, Our Hands Sunday by collecting detergent. I thought about all the youth collecting our detergent offerings as we sang a hymn with special lyrics. Did you notice how the collection bins quickly became too heavy to be carried? Everyone pitched in to get those containers to the front by working in teams. Where the aisle was blocked, I watched children swing the bins up and over the baptismal font—breathtaking and thrilling. And a metaphor for Christian life.

I’ve spent a lot of time this week thinking about that baptismal font. I’ve spent the week seeing the baptism pictures that were posted from last Sunday, including a picture of an earlier generation, standing in front of this same banner, holding baby Chelsea in the same baptismal clothes that baby Malachi wore on Sunday and another picture of earlier generations in front of these red windows, earlier generations with baby Kristin in the same gown that baby RustiLee wore, along with pictures of extended families then and now.

There was a joy that moved through this sanctuary last week, and I noticed that we were reluctant to leave. I wished that we had brought picnic lunches so that we could extend the joy. And the good news of our lives is that we can extend that joy. We meet here to have our joy rekindled. It seems so different from the message in this Gospel, which seems to promise suffering.

Jesus tells us we must pick up our cross and follow him. The early Christians needed to know that their suffering had meaning. Their discipleship meant that they would cross those in authority, and even if it ended in their death, Jesus tells the early community that they would find meaning along the way.

Our time period, too, has a longing for reassurance that our lives have value. In this country, most of us won’t be killed for professing our faith. But we live in a time of a different kind of death, the spiritual death that comes from loneliness, the death that comes from feeling cut off from our communities. Our quest for connection can take us to some hellish places; our current levels of addiction across our society attest to this. As a people of faith, we can offer an alternate vision, one that at first seems like we’re losing our lives, losing the freedom to do whatever we want. But in fact, it’s how we save our lives, how we learn to walk in the land of the living.

This year feels like a hinge point of history, where so many decisions will shape the future in drastically different ways. We stand at a crossroads. I wish that more people heeded the words that we find in James, that more people with bigger microphones would use that amplification to be kind, to offer a vision for flourishing for all of us. But that doesn’t seem to be the world we’re living in. At least not yet.

Like Isaiah in chapter 50 verse 4, the Lord has given each one of us a trained tongue. We have knowledge of a God that is making all things new, a God that invites us to be part of a different vision. We know that the world needs what God offers.

We may not be able to drown out the louder voices, but we can make sure that our lives declare the handiwork of God, the way that the firmament does in Psalm 19. We can be a bright star offering a shining view of a different way. And when people notice our serenity, our groundedness, the joy that we can’t contain, they’ll ask us what our secret is. They’ll expect us to tell them about some miracle food, some amazing diet, perhaps an investment plan that will triple our money overnight.

And we will use our trained tongues to testify that we don’t have to live at cross purposes. We will use our trained tongues to teach others. We will invite people to lose a life of selfish grasping for what we think will protect us. And by losing so much of what the larger world sees as important, we’ll find that we’ve woven together a richer life, a community so inviting that others, too, will pick up their crosses to stitch themselves into this joy-filled banner, to join the community of those who follow Jesus.

The Holy Trinity, in One Lakeside Picture

On Tuesday, I made this Facebook post:

"Some of us look at the lake, and we see trinitarian theology in motion: Creator, Redeemer, and the Mist of the swirling Spirit, all present this morning."

It included this picture:

As I stared at the lake, I was struck by the way the fog/mist moved.  I thought about earlier generations who might have wondered if they were seeing spirits out and about.  I tried to make a video to capture the swirls, but it looked more like a still photo.

So, I made the Facebook post, and when I continued to think about it, I made this post.  What will this morning's walk bring?

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 15, 2024:

First Reading: Isaiah 50:4-9a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Proverbs 1:20-33

Psalm: Psalm 116:1-8 (Psalm 116:1-9 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 19

Second Reading: James 3:1-12

Gospel: Mark 8:27-38


I can only imagine how much the Jesus in today's Gospel must have baffled people--Peter even goes so far as to rebuke him. It's important to remember that Jews during the time of Jesus weren't looking for the kind of spiritual savior that we have in mind when we use the term Messiah; Jews during this time period expected their Messiah to be a great warrior who would kick the Romans out of the homeland.

And here's Jesus, talking about being rejected by everyone and being killed and rising again; he mentions crosses--in that time, the only ones picking up a cross were those on their way to their own brutal public executions because the Romans saw them as traitors to the state.

This Gospel was written during a later time of social upheaval and written about an earlier time of social upheaval--the reason the Gospel of Mark sounds so apocalyptic is because the Christian community feared attack from various quarters. This Gospel is written both to calm the community, as well as to give them strength to face what is coming, and the courage to do what must be done. The last chunk of the Gospel shows this motivation clearly. What good is our earthly life if, in preserving it, we lose our souls?

An intriguing question, even today--a time of social upheaval, where there are plenty of events to frighten us. Notice the language of Jesus. Following him is a choice. Crosses don't just fall on us out of the sky; we choose to pick them up when we follow Jesus.

It's a marketing scheme that you would never find in today's "How to Build a MegaChurch" model books. Emphasize suffering? Why on earth would people want a religion like that?

It's interesting also to reflect on Jesus' words at the close of this chapter--are we ashamed of Jesus? Do people know we are Christians by our actions? If they ask us about our faith life, are we able to speak coherently (or at least openly) about it?

We live in an empire much like the Roman empire, one that’s deadly in so many ways. Our faith equips us to be the ones that have strength for the ordeals that we can see headed our ways and for the trials that will blindside us. Our community counts on us to have the courage of our convictions.

Baptizing Two Babies on One Sunday

I feel like the sermon that I delivered on Sunday was one of my most powerful yet:  well written and delivered without having to consult my manuscript too frequently, delivered with the right amount of intensity.

But most people who were there on Sunday will be more likely to remember it as the Sunday that we had two baptisms:

I, too, am likely to remember the baptisms more than the sermon.  I did ask each mother if they wanted to have their babies baptized on the same day.  They assured me that they did.

It's a small community, both the church and the town, so it makes sense to me.  When I invited family members who wanted a better view to come take some of the front row seats, half the church moved forward.  I was a little worried about the logistics of having everyone in the baptismal party close to the font, but it worked out.

The first time I did a baptism at this church, back in November, I poured the water on the baby who was sitting up against his parent's chest, which is not the best position if one wants to keep water off the baby's face.  This time, I gave directions about how to hold the baby close to the font.  I don't think I will ever be the person who holds a baby while I'm baptizing the baby.

The babies were good natured, and so was everyone who moved forward.  The picture taking wasn't intrusive, but these days, I'm not likely to find picture taking intrusive.  I understand the desire to capture these moments.  I understand how quickly they will be gone, the little babies all grown up.

The mom above posted a picture of her own baptism.

Note that the baptismal banner is still the same one.  So is the dress worn by the mom at her baptism--now both of her children have worn it as their baptisms.

When I took this position as a Synod Authorized Minister, I expected to feel awe each week at the consecrating of the bread and wine, which I do.  But baptizing babies has been an unexpected joy.  There's a feeling of being part of a sacrament that is both in and out of time, a sense of connection to centuries of past Christians, and a sense that the Heavens might open up, and we might hear a voice declaring us to be loved and chosen.  

And if we listen, we will hear that voice, both during baptisms and communion, and in many other ways, throughout all of our days.

Sermon for September 8, 2024

September 8, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 7: 24-30


Today’s Gospel comes at an interesting point in the lectionary, if we consider ongoing themes. Last week we heard Jesus talk about ideas of ritual purity: what is unclean, what we can touch, and how we behave. These ideas of purity have larger implications, and this week’s Gospel shows us the problem of rigidity. It leads to whole groups of people who are in and who are out.

We’ve seen Jesus cast his lot with outcast groups in his earlier ministry. We’ve heard his mother Mary declare that God is on the side of outcasts when she says yes to God’s invitation. But in today’s Gospel we see Jesus behaving as, dare I say it, like the very Pharisees he criticized last week. What is going on here?

A woman approaches him and asks for healing for her daughter. We might wonder what the big deal is—we’ve seen Jesus do this kind of healing already. The daughter has a demon; he’s cast out demons. A family member asks on behalf of the sick loved one—Jesus has been happy to respond to these kinds of requests in the past.

Not in today’s Gospel. He calls the woman a dog and tries to send her on her way.

If you do much reading about this passage, you’ll find people trying to find a way to let Jesus off the hook. There’s been much discussion about what that dog language means. Is he being affectionate? Is the word “dog” more like a puppy or more like a mongrel or perhaps worse. Is he calling the woman a bitch? If we try to excuse Jesus’ behavior here, we might say that Jesus says the children should be fed first, which means the woman should wait her turn. He’s not sending her away so much as reminding her of her place.

But once again, I return to the behavior of Jesus. Why would he respond in this way? Is it because she’s female? Is it because she’s not Jewish? He’s healed Jewish people before, and he hasn’t seemed to be a sexist in the past. What on earth is going on?

Today’s text is where I see Jesus at his most human. He behaves in a way that is familiar to us; we’ve likely been on either the receiving end or the giving end of this behavior, the “Go away, you’re bothering me” response. It’s kind of depressing to think that our Savior is not immune from this response.

If the woman went away, we’d have a very different Gospel, but what happens next shows us the human capacity for change. The woman makes a counterargument; she’s a human fighting on behalf of a helpless loved one, and her bravery inspires, even today, thousands of years later. Let’s remind ourselves of who she is: a woman, a mother with a demon possessed child, a Syrophoenician—she had no standing, not with Jesus, not with the Jews, not with the Romans. She couldn’t be much lower on the social ladder.

She offers Jesus a different vision of his ministry, a more expansive vision—and here’s what’s important: inspired by her, Jesus changes his mind and in the process, changes his ministry. In the Gospel of Mark, we’re not told exactly what makes Jesus change his approach to her. Is it her faith? Is it her courage? Is it her quick thinking?

Whatever it is, they both go away changed. The daughter is healed, which means the family is restored to community. And Jesus goes on to heal a deaf man who can’t speak. As Jesus says, “Ephphatha,” --“Be opened”-- we might reflect on how Jesus, too, is opened up in this Gospel.

The Syrophoenician woman teaches us an important lesson about our relationship with God. I am guessing that most of us have been taught to be deferential to God. We have been taught that God knows best, that God has a plan, that the plan is absolute, that we should defer to this plan, that we should be patient, that we should be worshipful, that we must show respect. We might have been taught an even more troubling theology—that if we’re not showing the proper amount of respect that God will teach us a lesson, or worse, that God will smite us.

The Syrophoenician woman shows us a different way to respond to God. She talks back, she demands justice, she is confrontational—and she changes not only her life, not only her daughter’s life, but Jesus himself. Through her demands, she restores her daughter, her family, herself to health. We can do the same. Martin Luther says that this woman teaches us how to pray. It’s not a way that I was ever taught to pray, but it’s an important part of our prayer life. We must pray with the expectation, with the demand, that God uphold the vision for creation that God has told us about time and time again.

Our readings today from Isaiah and the Psalms tell us that the Lord will act in ways that so many of us hope and pray that the Lord will act: feeding the hungry, setting the captives free, frustrating the wicked, and giving justice to the oppressed. Our Gospel reading suggests that these actions don’t just happen in a vacuum. We have a part to play. We can raise our voices, and not just in lament. We can demand justice.

We can raise our voices and demand that God act. Most of us don’t come from traditions where we’ve been taught that we can do that. We can raise our voices and demand that God act. We can do that, and we will survive. And then we can act in the ways that God demands, the ways we hear about in today’s reading from the book of James.

Our sacred texts tell us that God will reward the righteous. Our sacred texts tell us of the ways to be righteous. Last week, Jesus assured us that what comes out of our mouths and our hearts—that’s what’s important. This week, the Syrophoenician woman reminds us that it’s not enough to pray for ourselves. In her quick response, she’s not just asking for healing for her daughter. By her demand for just treatment, she is reminding Jesus that his ministry can offer a much wider restoration than he has envisioned.

I am not always sure of what motivates God to act in the world, but I do believe that God is more likely to act if we take advantage of the free will that God gives us, if we cry out and if we demand that God move the world towards the vision of justice that we have been promised. If the idea of this makes us fearful, listen to the words of the Psalmist: “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.”

Here is our God—not to punish us for crying out, but to move us all to a creation where we all flourish. That’s a vision worth crying out for. Cry out with confidence.

Happy Birthday Queen Elizabeth I

Today is Queen Elizabeth I's birthday, which made me want to create a card for a friend of mine who loves Queen Elizabeth.  No time to shop for a card--but I did have time to make a quick sketch:

She looks rather ghastly, but then again, most of the portraits that I've seen of her show her as a rather ghastly visage.

I thought about what I had written for a weekly writing about her for Church HistoryII.  My writing time is short this morning, so here's what I wrote in February of 2023:

This week, I am thinking about all the ways of governing a country (and governing a Reformation):

--Hearing that so many French Huguenots survived King Louis XIV because they fled or were forced out—that fact made wonder why a country decides to burn so many “heretics” at the stake, as England did, and why some countries evict people (like the Jews from Spain) and some countries seems to manage to have a more flexible live and let live approach (although I realize that most countries did not manage to create a live and let live approach for very long, even if they were successful for a certain time period). I realize the reasons may be very complicated: control by fear/terror of the remaining population, not wanting to lose valuable people as they flee, royal connections to other countries that might temper the tendency to terror or inflame it. And of course, some of these rulers, like Mary Tudor, believe they are doing the Lord’s work by purifying the country (and yes, I do realize her motives may have been more mixed).

--Thinking of different approaches to heretics made me think of Elizabeth I and how I have admired her for so many years now. When I was very young, I read a biography of her: the kind that was marketed for elementary grades, a whole biography series on a shelf in the library, with orange binding, and I worked my way through the whole series. I remember how much the biographer praised her for how smart she was not to get married, to keep her suitors waiting and hoping, how she avoided wars with other countries this way. It may have been a gross oversimplification, but I do remember thinking, she got to be a queen and rule all by herself, which is better than any other option she had. Why on earth would you want to be married when you could be the queen? And yes, I am married, but I’m married to a philosopher who delights in these kinds of questions, so it’s not a slight against my spouse or even against marriage, so much as it’s an insight into my way of thinking about patriarchy and leadership.

--I am also thinking about another lesson in how to rule a country that I learned as an English major in college. We were taught that Oliver Cromwell and the Puritans failed because they were a joyless bunch, and when they cancelled Christmas, that was the last straw: bring back the king! Happily, Charles II had been safe in Europe, waiting for just this change in sentiment. Again, an oversimplification, but as is the way with many oversimplifications, a bit of truth.

--Lessons learned if ever I am a ruler: don’t cancel Christmas or the holidays/events that are relatively harmless, good for the economy, and bring people joy. Don’t commit to one suitor (or in contemporary terms, one ally), so that everyone remains on their best behavior. And be aware that just because I think I’m doing the Lord’s work, I may not be, so don’t institute reigns of terror. I say this with a bit of humor, but also with the realization that we’d have a better world if more leaders governed this way.

Different Approaches to Storytelling

I've spent the last several mornings watching the videos for my seminary class on Biblical Storytelling.  Some of the material reminded me of some of the activities that my Florida church did when we had more children and experimented with interactive services.  It wouldn't take much to adapt these techniques for any church or group.

We had a few puppets which we often used, often with costumes, but just as often not paying attention to what the puppet wore:

I don't know that I ever met a child who wasn't rivetted by a puppet.

But even if your church doesn't have puppets, which can be expensive to buy, or doesn't want to make puppets, you could have fun acting out the story.  We had a box of costumes/old clothes, but this picture shows that even if you don't have such a box, you can make do with whatever you have on hand--like paper towels:

In my Biblical storytelling class, we'll need to be able to get 75% word accuracy without consulting the text, but we certainly didn't do that in my Florida church.  The cool thing about approaching the Biblical text as skit is that one person can read, while the others act.  And no rehearsing is necessary.

This class has made me think about the Intro to Lit class that I'll be teaching next term.  It's been tough to get the students to come to class having read the text.  I'm going to ponder whether or not some of these techniques could be adapted to the college classroom.  Stay tuned!

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 8, 2024:

First Reading: Isaiah 35:4-7a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23

Psalm: Psalm 146

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 125

Second Reading: James 2:1-10 [11-13] 14-17

Gospel: Mark 7:24-37

Many people find this Gospel's depiction of Jesus disturbing, but I find it refreshing, even as it disturbs me. I grew up with an idea of an inclusive Jesus, a Jesus who came for all of us. The Jesus of my childhood was never angry (except perhaps for that incident in the temple), never irritable, never tired.

The Jesus of the Gospels isn't the Jesus of my childhood. If we read the Gospels carefully, we can see that the view of Jesus shifts as the community of faith continues to interpret the meaning of Jesus and to define what happened to Jesus and the first community of believers. Many us grew up thinking that the Gospels were written by the first disciples, but with discoveries that have happened in the last 70 years, scholars are fairly sure that they were written by people who came along later.

One early view of Jesus was an exclusive one, the one that says that Jesus came for the Jews. As the early Christian community expanded to include non-Jews, we can see chunks of the Gospels written with this development in mind. The story of Jesus and the Greek woman may be part of that mission.

Or perhaps we're seeing something more basic. I notice that a running theme in this Gospel is Jesus' attempts to get away, to move anonymously. It doesn't work. Everywhere he turns, there are the people who need him. We've all had those weeks at work or in our families where it seems that people need more and more of us and we can't get away from those incessant demands. We know how cranky that can make us. Maybe we're just seeing a Jesus who is tired and irritable. I like the idea of a snippy Jesus who can be reminded of his mission and who can soften his attitude. I like the idea that we can be occasionally cranky and not ruin our mission, just as Jesus was occasionally cranky, but managed to change our world so radically.

I also find the Greek woman to be refreshing. Here's a woman who fights for her daughter. Here's a woman who is told no, I didn't come for you--and she fights back. She presents a good argument, and it works. For those of us who work on justice issue, it's a potent reminder.

I like the idea of a Jesus who can change his mind. I like the idea of a Jesus who listens to an outsider (a Greek, a woman) and becomes more inclusive, more just.

Often the Gospel reading gives us a picture of Jesus who seems more divine than human. This Gospel shows me a refreshingly human Jesus, with traits (irritability, a desperate need for rest) that I recognize. I see a divine presence who might really understand me, since he's been under stress himself.

And this time, through this Gospel, I am happy to be reminded that a Divine answer of "no" may not be the final answer.

Report from Labor Day Week-end

This has been a good week-end, and not just because I had yesterday off.  Let me capture some of the elements that made it special before they slip away into the mists of September memory:

--I enjoyed working on seminary classes.  They are going to be even better than I expected, and I was expecting them to be wonderful.  This morning, I watched some of the videos from my Biblical Storytelling class, and I thought, my drama nerd heart is very happy at the thought of this class.

--I had some good sewing time.  I worked on my quilt top, which always brings me joy, and in the spirit of full disclosure, is also bringing me some frustration as it gets bigger and bigger.  The frustration comes from needing longer and longer strips, so I'm no longer piecing together very small scraps.  But I've always found it soothing to sew in straight lines, so overall, I'm still happy with this project.  Here it is, stretched out across our queen sized bed, with burgundy comforter and pillows visible at the top.

--I also had fun constructing some projects for the upcoming Crafts for Christmas week-end.  I was trying to make an angel out of circles, and it took me several attempts before getting something close to what I had in mind:

My friend was making these angels out of paper and flat bead faces to put into Christmas cards.  

When I saw hers, I wondered if I could create something similar in cloth.  Now I'm pretty sure that I can.

--On Saturday, we had brunch with a variety of second cousins and their children and grandchildren.  What a treat!

--I was very pleased with how my sermon went on Sunday, and several people told me they liked it, people who don't always say that.  Hurrah!  You can read that sermon here.  

--I had wonderful walks, full of mists and fall colors.  

A new season is underway!

Education Prayers for Parents and Children

Yesterday, I was writing an e-mail, and I thought that part of it made a good prayer petition.  Let me record it here.

Here's the wording from the e-mail:  "And here's hoping that tired parents feel a spark of hope--and remember that they are doing good and hard work, and people are praying for them."

Here's how I would change it into a more prayerful language:  We pray for tired parents everywhere.  Let them feel a spark of hope.  Let them remember that they are doing good and hard work, and people are praying for them.

I would also add a prayer petition to pray for children:  We pray for children as they adjust to school.  Let children settle into positive and life-giving routines.  Let their brains be nourished, and let them realize that learning brings joy.

Sermon for September 1, 2024

September 1, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23



There’s been a lot of talk in the news this week about the rules: who is flouting the rules, who is behaving in ways we approve of, what needs to happen in terms of rules to save our communities and our nation and indeed, all of civilization.

But when is there not all this talk of rules in the news? Our Gospel today shows that human preoccupation with how to behave is nothing new. The Pharisees ask why the disciples aren’t following the rules about hand washing. These rules weren’t new. The Pharisees make it clear that these are commands handed down by the ancestors.

We often think that the Pharisees in Jesus' time were rule-bound people who couldn't see that God walked among them, even as Jesus was right there before them. While that is true, it's also important to realize that the Pharisees thought that following the rules to the letter was the trait that would save the Jews. We must not forget that the Jews of Jesus' time were under threat from many sides. We forget that Rome was a brutal dictatorship in so many ways, and that the peace that the Jews had found could have been (and eventually was) easily overturned.

I might have expected Jesus to caution that even if we play by the rules of those in charge we might not be safe. But that’s not the approach that Jesus takes. Jesus urges us to think differently about defilement about what comes into the body and what leaves the body. The verses that are left out have Jesus talking in more detail than we might expect about the digestive process.

Notice that Jesus isn’t advocating anarchy. He’s not telling us to throw out all of our rules and customs. But Jesus understands that humans have a tendency to get too committed to our ideas of what behavior and attitudes are necessary. I thought of this on Friday when I was at a Lunch and Learn at Spartanburg Methodist College. A group of faculty members freshly returned from a national conference on teaching discussed different approaches we might try. Among them was the idea of “ungrading,” which could mean anything from having students determine standards or having students do a variety of work and decide which ones should be in a portfolio to be graded—or to have no grades at all. I watched faculty members try to stay open minded while at the same time struggling with resistance to these ideas of doing grading differently to the way that it has always been done, the fear that we might get it wrong, the fear that chaos might take over. In our Gospel reading today, I see a similar dynamic. There are rules that we follow, rules that are handed down from our ancestors from God who first issued the rules, and why isn’t Jesus instructing his followers better?

Throughout his ministry, Jesus shows us that he understands how humans get snarled in webs of our own making. Maybe it’s our inability to see past the way we’ve always done things, even if we’re doing things in ways that no longer make sense to us or that we particularly appreciate. I know many people who still spend a lot of time ironing, for example, even when we could buy clothes that don’t need that level of attention, even though many of us work in places where we don’t need to be perfectly pressed in our presentation. We see similar arguments in our churches. They might be the kinds of arguments that can tear churches apart, like sexuality statements or it might be arguments about the best music to have as part of worship. When we can’t articulate why we feel the way we do, the importance of a rule we want to keep, we often fall back on the kind of appeal that the Pharisees make: it’s the way our elders taught us.

This passage has often been used by those who advocate doing things differently, but Jesus isn’t saying that we should throw out our standards and customs just because they’re old. He’s telling us that we need to evaluate them. Are we acting out of love or some other emotion?

He might also be asking us to evaluate our response in terms of who or what we are loving. We see many municipalities at odds with the best way to govern. Should we let homeless people camp in public parks? If we take pity on humans who can’t access housing, and let them camp in public parks, it means that other people can’t enjoy the park. Whose rights do we value?

Jesus reminds us that so many of our rules come from humans, not from God. Humans make rules and enforce rules in a spirit of fear, not flourishing, a fear of chaos, not a hope of exuberant possibility. I think back to my fellow faculty members who wanted to believe that letting students take more control of their learning would lead to better learning, but also fearing that they might be seen as not upholding standards, standards set generations in the past long ago. If we start throwing out rules, how long before academic credentials have no value at all? I can picture the Pharisees thinking along the same lines, and I have sympathy for them, because I can be a rule follower myself.

We think that God ordained the rules that we embrace, rules which so often tell us what not to do, but Jesus reminds us that there's one essential rule: love each other. God will judge us on the quality of that love.

I periodically think back across the months and years of my life, and I have regrets, as most of us do, if we’re self-reflective at all. Sure, there’s the obvious kind of regret, like why didn’t I buy Apple stock when it was $7 a share or Starbucks when it was $14 a share. But most of my regrets circle back to how I treated others, how I let my fears control my behavior, how I failed to be kind and loving, how often I have forgotten that almost everyone is truly doing the best that they can do in a given moment, and if we extend grace and compassion, perhaps they can do better, but even if they can’t, we’ll all feel better.

Jesus understood how arguments over right and righteous behavior can tear a community to shreds. Jesus also showed us how to knit our communities together.

Jesus reminds us again and again that love is our highest nature and that the actions that move us towards being loving humans are the ones that we should take. We can operate from a place of love or we can act from a place of fear. As we act out of love, we will find ourselves in company with God.