Halloween Vibes

--If we're sticklers for historical accuracy, we'll be celebrating Reformation Day today.  Today is the actual day in 1517 that Martin Luther nailed his theses to the Wittenberg door. But for far longer, it's been Halloween, a holiday that both delights and bedevils the modern believer.

--I am a believer who has concerns about Halloween, but they're not the kinds of concerns that some Christians have. I'm not worried about opening a portal through which evil will enter the world--that portal has been wide open for a long time. I'm not worried about demon possession. I am worried about how much we spend and whether or not that's the best use of our money.

--But I'm past the age of legislating all of that. I'm happy to let grown people make their own decisions. But I will exhort us all to at least think about these decisions.

--As we give out candy, let us give a silent benediction to each trick-or-treater: "May your days be sweet and your life be sweeter."

--If you're like me, you won't have trick-or-treaters, and it's too late to carve a pumpkin.  We can still sketch a pumpkin and think about how pumpkins are like the kingdom of God.

two different pictures, made with different types of markers

--No two pumpkins are the same, and they all have a beauty. They don't have to prove themselves. They are already worthy.

--As we light our Halloween candles tonight, let us think about the ways we can be light to the world. Let us concentrate on the ways we can chase away the gathering gloom.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel for All Saints Sunday

First Reading: Isaiah 25:6-9

First Reading (Alt.): Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9

Psalm: Psalm 24

Second Reading: Revelation 21:1-6a

Gospel: John 11:32-44


For many of us, it's been a difficult autumn. We've had severe storms, and for some of us, those storms have reminded us that everything we build is more precarious than we thought. An election approaches, throwing into stark relief how parts of US society are not capable of talking to each other.  War looms in new places and old.   And then there are all of our individual losses.

Even in years when we aren’t surrounded by constant examples of how short our time here can be, All Saints Day comes around to remind us. We don’t have long on this side of the grave. It’s a good festival to take some time to think about what we’d like to get done while we’re still here.

The Feast of All Saints is a high festival day that celebrates the saints that have come before us. Alas, in many Lutheran churches, we don't celebrate the long line of saints that Catholics do; most Protestants who observe All Saints Day mark the lives of those gone in the past year. Perhaps as we continue to reform the church, we should move back to a broader understanding of saints as the entire community of Christians.

It’s a good time to think about those who have gone before us. You might spend some time on this feast day thinking about the great saints who have helped to form Christianity through the centuries. How can we be more like them? For what would we like to be remembered in future centuries?

If you have relatives and friends who have served as models of a life well lived, this would be a good time to write a note. We won’t be here forever. Write to them now, while they’re still here and you still remember. On a future All Saints Sunday, you might light a candle in their memory. But in the meantime, you can tell them how much they have meant to you.

In many cultures, this feast day becomes a family time. Think of the Mexican tradition of taking picnics to the graveyard. Now would be a good time to record your family memories. Write them down while you still remember. Make a video. Assemble those records.

But we should also use this All Saints Day to look forward. For many people, this day is bittersweet. We’re reminded of our losses. It’s hard to think of transformation.

But dream a little on this All Saints Sunday. If you could create a new life out of the threads that you have, what would you weave? Or would you start again, with different yarns and textures? What is your dream of a renewed life?

Jesus invites us to be part of a Resurrection Culture. We may not always understand how that will work. Some years the taste of ash and salt water seem so pervasive that we may despair of ever tending fruitful gardens of our lives again. But Jesus promises that death will not have the final word.

God's Paintbrush

Yesterday as I was walking, I saw ghostly shapes, looking as if they had been sketched in the pavement.

My rational brain says that what happened is that trees fell over, and dirt that was on the leaves turned to mud, which dried in the post hurricane days.

But my spiritual brain saw it as God's paintbrush, mud as paintbrush, leaves as paintbrush, pavement as paintbrush.  

My brain has seen other signals from God.  In the days after the hurricane, I saw that the bushes near the lake had started to bloom again.

I am vacillating between hope and despair in these post-hurricane days.  I am happy for signs that help me discern God's voice, calling me to hope.

Wreckage and Ruin on the Way to Church

 Yesterday I made the trip to Bristol, Tennessee, where I preach and preside at Faith Lutheran each Sunday.  Yesterday I left at 6:50 a.m.; I took a book with me, in case I got there very early and needed something to do.  Google Maps told me that the optimum route would take me 2 hours and 10 minutes; it took me 2 hours and 45 minutes.

My spouse couldn't go with me yesterday because he's been recovering from the ways his body has been protesting all the chain saw work he did earlier in the week.  I was feeling anxious, so I decided to print the Google Maps directions, in case I got to a part of the backcountry roads and lost cell phone service, which I assumed would mean losing GPS.

I started on I 26, with signs that said the road was closed at exit 3.  I took the exit that got me to US 19, and that road was a 4 lane highway, straight and wide, with only one truck on it.  I thought, well, this isn't too bad. There were trees blazing with autumnal color, and I thought, you wanted to experience autumn in the mountains--here you go.

Then I got on NC197, a two lane road, but still not bad.  There were piles of debris here and there, a tree down here and there.  I was behind an 18 wheeler and a box truck, but that was fine--I wasn't going to be zipping down these roads because I knew that they had only just been restored.

I got to Green Mountain, where the road ran by the North Toe River, and I saw so much devastation.  I know I didn't take in the full extent of it because I was focusing on the road, which looked like it might crumble out from under us at any moment.  The road had stacks of trees on either side, and I am fairly sure that crews just cut out the middle parts of fallen trees to be able to access the roads.  On the other side of the river, railroad tracks had buckled and twisted, like some huge child had a temper tantrum.

As I went up NC226, up and up the mountain, I saw portions of the mountains where every tree had been flattened.  Yet there were other sections in the next curve of the road that hadn't been touched, trees in full autumnal glory.  The road got curvier, and I felt increasingly anxious--there was no shoulder at all, and the 18 wheeler truck ahead of me felt free to use both lanes to navigate the curves.  What if there had been oncoming traffic?

Eventually, I pulled into the parking lot of Faith Lutheran.  I felt frazzled, but took some deep breaths and pulled myself back together again.  Just 20 miles earlier, I had been in Elizabethton, Tennessee, where a different river had overswept its banks and destroyed everything in its path.  And here I was in Bristol, where the community was largely unharmed. 

When I think of October, I think I'll remember this feeling more than any other:  how can some of us suffer so much damage, while others of us (me, for example) emerge relatively unscathed?  

On the way home, my smart phone routed me down I 26, and I decided to follow its instructions.  If I was turned away and had to backtrack, I had time.  The road was closed at exit 3, at Irwin, NC, but the detour was clearly marked.  I got back on I 26 and went back across the mountains that way.

The damage at Irwin was as catastrophic as the news reports made it seem, with wrecked roads and houses no longer there, swept away when the Nolichucky River rose.  I remember last winter when all the leaves were down, and I realized what the true contours of the river were, how some of the houses weren't too far away from that wide river.  I think those houses are gone now.  

There weren't many of us going across the mountains, but as I got closer to Asheville, traffic increased.  I got gas at the station near my house.  It's always crowded, because the price is cheap, but yesterday was worse than usual.  I was glad to get home; I've been through hurricanes before, and I know there's a point when the "we're all in this together" phase of recovery shifts to despair and rage as the pace of recovery takes so very long.

At the end of the afternoon, with no fanfare at all, we realized that our internet had been restored. I spent the rest of the day, expecting it to go out again, but so far, it has held.  I'm still boiling several pots of water a day, but that inconvenience is so minor, compared to the wreckage and ruin I witnessed yesterday.

A single picture and even a series of pictures can't really do justice to the scale of the wreckage and ruin.  Neither can these words.  I've seen article after article that tells of people swept away in the raging rivers.  Those words, also, can't make sense of it all.

On some level, humans aren't equipped to make sense of destruction on this scale, whether caused by nature or caused by humans.  But as with the pandemic, it makes sense to create a record of what I've seen.  It may never be important to historians, but it's important to me to bear witness.

Writing, Sketching, Writing

In my office, I have a bag of leaves.  In mid-September, they were brilliantly colored when I picked them up off the ground.  By afternoon, when I used them in class, they had started to fade.  I had my English 100 students write descriptions.

I thought about having them sketch and then write again--would the writing change?  I didn't have pencils, so I decided to revisit that idea later.

The day after the hurricane, I noticed all the acorns and pine cones on the ground.  I decided to pick them up.  I made sure to pick up enough so that each student could have an object.  When I picked them up, I had no idea it would be so long before I returned to my in-person classes.

This week, I tried an experiment.  On the first day, I had them choose either a pine cone or an acorn off the desk.  They wrote a basic description of the object.  I then had them write a creative type of approach:  write in the voice of the object--what does it have to say to us?

I then made a list of items on the board:  weather related (hurricane, rain), places in nature (mountains, volcanoes), other objects from nature (stone, river).  I had them write again--choose an item from the board and have it speak to your object or create a dialogue.

Then I had them choose six of the most interesting words from all the day's writing and hand them in.  I have created a word list that we'll use next week.  

The next class day, I had them choose the same object from the table.  I had white paper and pencils for them.  We began by drawing the object.

The room was amazingly quiet.  For the first chunk of class time, everyone concentrated on sketching.  And here's what really astonished me:  no one reached for their phones.  It is the only--and I mean the only--time in the class where no one even considered reaching for their phone.

We did a variety of sketches.  My favorite was a variation on an exercise that we did in a seminary class (which I wrote about in a blog post).  I had them divide the paper into 6 squares.  We sketched for 30-40 seconds and then switched squares--quick, quick, quick.

And then I had them write a description of the object again.  I had the students compare the two writings, and we discussed what they saw.  Some of them said they wrote in more detail after sketching.  Some did not.

We talked about the value of doing something else, like sketching, an activity that wasn't going to be part of the grade.  I talked about the value of taking a break from intense studying or writing.

In English 101 class, from October 21-Nov. 1, we're doing a variety of these kinds of approaches, and then students will write an essay about what we did, what they experienced, and analyzing the effectiveness of these activities.  I've done variations of this kind of writing project before, and the writing has been phenomenally better than more "standard" essays.

But more important, watching my students sketch and write helps me feel less exhausted.  It helps me feel like we're doing something post-hurricane to return to normalcy and to affirm the value of writing, sketching, and other endeavors.

Hurricane Helene Leaves New Vistas

Another day without in-home internet access.  My phone-as-hotspot workaround is working, but I'm much more careful.  Yesterday morning, I listened to a conversation on video that's required for one of my seminary classes.  In pre-hurricane days, I might have assumed I could do that in the evening, but I got it done early in the morning, when I can be sure that the hotspot will work.  On Monday, it worked for my Zoom session that is required for a different seminary class, but it did freeze several times, and I had to sign off and log back on.  Happily, my professors know my situation, and they let me back in.

But it could be worse.  One of my colleagues at Spartanburg Methodist College still doesn't have running water.  Another's spouse lost her very successful business at Biltmore Village and is reassessing what the future looks like.  

It was four weeks ago that Hurricane Helene blew through our area, and I am still astonished at the amount of the damage that was done.  After all, this was just a tropical storm, not really a hurricane when it came to us.

Yesterday I walked up to the chapel.  I didn't have much time to walk, so I stayed up there, taking pictures as the light changed.  I wanted to be there when the sun finally rose over the mountain.

I am sad about the loss of trees.  I'd give up the beautiful mountain views that are left behind if we could magically have the trees back.  But since that's not possible, let me appreciate what has been left behind.

I know that other trees will now have a chance to grow and take their place.  Future generations will have a different view.  

Hopefully this cross and meditation space will still be here for them.

The Death of a Great Liberation Theologian

Gustavo Gutierrez, one of the great liberation theologians, has died.  It's really not a surprise--he lived into his 90's, after all.  Dr. Wingeier-Rayo, one of my seminary professors, contributed to an article in The Washington Post:  "Father Gutiérrez’s approach was 'substantially different from earlier church practice,' Wingeier-Rayo wrote in an email, 'because it took into account the local context and interpreted the Bible from the perspective of the poor and marginalized.' Among other tenets, it emphasized the 'preferential option for the poor,' a belief in giving priority to the powerless; and promoted a broad concept of sin, in which it is unjust not only to lie or steal but to participate in social structures that contribute to inequality."

As we read these words today, they may not seem so radical to us.  We've had 50 years of studying this type of theology, 50 years of hearing these basic ideas, 50 years of going deeper.  We've seen people like Archbishop Romero murdered for these ideas, and he has gone from being controversial to being made a saint.

Some people may reject these ideas for being too political, and liberation theologians come down on different political sides.  The Washington Post article notes:  "The central question of liberation theology, he [Gutierrez] said, was, 'How do you say to the poor, the oppressed, the insignificant person, ‘God loves you?’”

Gutierrez told us again and again that Christians must be in solidarity with the poor, and that solidarity went further than charity dollars and donations.  Liberation theology looks at structural issues that keep people in poverty.  Liberation theology calls us to dismantle these systems of oppression.

I have already seen some social media posts that remind us of how far we have to go in terms of this theology, and that is true.  Still, it is good to remember how far we have come--and how much of that progress is because of liberation theologians like Gustavo Gutierrez.  

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

Here we are, approaching another Reformation Sunday. For those of us who spent our formative years yearning for change--for ourselves, for our societies, for our churches--was this change that has come over the last years and decades what we had in mind?

In our younger years, we might have argued that there are newer and better ways of "doing church." We might have had a vision for a more just society, a completion of the picture offered by Dorothy Day, Martin Luther King, and other 20th century activists. In pre-pandemic times, we might have imagined how we would behave in times of adversity.

It is interesting to wonder how future historians will see our current age. Are we in the middle of a great transition to something else? Are we at a hinge point of history? Will we have the courage to keep creating something new and useful out of great chaos? Times of Reformation can enrich us all. Even those of us who reject reform can find our spiritual lives enriched as we take stock and measure what's important to us, what compromises we can make and what we can't. It's good to have these times where we return to the Scriptures as we try to hear what God calls us to do. It may be painful, but any of these processes may lead us to soil where we can bloom more fruitfully.

We may think of that metaphor and feel despair, as if we will never be truly rooted, flowering plants. But rootlessness can be its own spiritual gift. The spiritual wanderers have often been those who most revitalized the Church, or on a smaller level, their spiritual communities. The spiritual wanderers are often the ones who keep all of us true to God's purpose.

If you have been feeling despair, take heart. Jesus promises that we will know the truth, and the truth will set us free. You might not be feeling like you know what the truth is at this current point; you may feel tossed around by the tempests of our current times. But Jesus promises that we will know the truth. We will be set free. We don't have a specific date at which we'll know the truth. But we will.

Rest in God's promise that we are all redeemable; indeed, we are redeemed. Rest in the historic knowledge that the Church has survived times of greater turbulence than our own. Rest in Luther's idea that we are saved by grace alone. Rest.

Travel and Thinking of the Great Letter Writers of the Past

I have spent a lot of the month of October in the car.  Some of it was expected travel:  going up to DC for the onground intensive week for 2 of my seminary classes.  Much of it was unexpected:  going back and forth to Columbia, SC to get some internet access and electricity in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene and taking the long way to Bristol.

I thought of that long way to Bristol, of my little church that I love so much, of how the route to that church, all the routes that are more direct, have been washed away.  The remaining routes are over 3 hours long; on Saturday October 12, we took the only remaining route (west on I 40, north on I 77, south on I 81) which took us 5 hours and which we cannot do every Sunday.

As I drove, I thought of all the letter writers of the past, Christian and not, who have kept people and communities in their hearts, even as they find themselves far away.  My thoughts went back to Paul, who has never been my favorite Christian/theologian/letter writer.  On Sunday, as I drove home from DC, I thought of Paul, starting congregations, unable to get back to them very often.  I thought of Paul, who from his letters seems so disappointed so often.  But maybe there are other letters that tell of his joy--we see a glimpse of that.

Let me remind us all of the high cost of sending letters back in the day of Paul.  You wouldn't send letters then, the way you send letters now.  You would likely write on some type of animal skin or parchment, and you'd have to find a messenger to take your letter to the recipient, which often involved a very dangerous trip.  All of this would cost a significant amount of money.  So you probably wouldn't write just to say, "Keep up the good work."  You'd make that effort for communities that needed guidance.

I don't know how my sojourn as Synod Appointed Minister for Faith Lutheran in Bristol will end.  It's already gone longer than the original plan; my original contract went through February of 2024.  And of course, every position is temporary, whether we realize it or not.  I take comfort in knowing that I can continue to pray for this community, even if I can't get there to lead them in worship.

Back from the Onground Seminary Intensive

 Day 25 with no in-house internet—later I will turn my phone into a hotspot for a brief moment to post this and to do Morning Watch on my Florida church’s Facebook page, which I’ve been doing since the earliest days of Covid. Then I will be back to a familiar post-hurricane routine: how many of the activities that require internet connectivity can I get done at the office? We’re supposed to have unlimited hotspot access at some point, but I don’t know how long it will be before that help ticket gets processed. It may already be processed, but in case it’s not, I need to save that bit of connectivity for my seminary class that meets tonight.

Yesterday’s journey back across I-40 was a sobering reminder of how much worse it could be. Sure, I began the day by boiling water, but at least it’s clear water, so I can have a hot shower later—some people still have water with so much sediment that they can flush toilets but not use the hot water heater. I still have a house where I can boil water and sit in safety, with electric lights and heat.

Yesterday’s trip across the mountains was much better than the one I had a week ago. Of course, I left at 5 a.m. to better my chances of having a better trip. Back in the before-hurricane time, I had planned to come back on Saturday, thinking I would need to go to Bristol to preach on Sunday. When it was clear that roads would not be clear by yesterday, I made the call to send in my sermon. I stayed an extra day because my folks were in town, and with my sister in Maryland, we had a mini-family reunion.

A week ago, I’d have been getting ready to make the drive to the seminary campus in DC for the onground intensive. I didn’t leave quite as early because I thought the traffic would be lighter because of the Monday holiday. Friday turned out to be the easiest commute. Traveling back and forth to campus every day made me very glad that I don’t have to travel back and forth to campus every day.

It was good to be on campus having in-person discussions. It was good to go on a field trip to the Museum of African American History. Our Biblical Storytelling class benefited from being together to have the experience of performing in front of a live audience. And of course, I enjoyed the return to the campus itself—I saw a few faculty members and friends from the time when I lived on campus and took classes.

But I don’t know that I would do an onground intensive again, especially not if I had the kind of job that would require me to take vacation/leave time to do it. I can accomplish most of the same things by way of virtual classes meeting in real time, and it’s less disruptive. And of course, there’s the cost (of travel, of lodging, of food), which I almost always forget to factor in.

This week, I need to help my Spartanburg Methodist students back on track. I have a plan, and I will be gentle with us all. One day at the intensive, I was startled to realize how little time there is left, what a gaping hole in the schedule we have had. I tried to keep my attention focused on the seminary class I had traveled so far to take, but it was an effort.

I imagine that much of the next two months will be like that: trying to stay focused on the task at hand, trying not to be overwhelmed by all that is still left to do. Of all the things that I thought might disrupt my jam-packed schedule, I did not think it would be the remnants of a hurricane blowing through the North Carolina mountains!

Tech Weariness

I decided to do the tech things before the writing things this morning:  getting essays graded for my online classes, getting material submitted for seminary classes.  When I return to North Carolina tomorrow, I won't have in-home internet.  My smart phone can function as a hotspot, but this is the week I discovered that unlimited data doesn't mean a) unlimited data or b) unlimited hotspot.

So, once again, I spent time on the phone with Spectrum, my internet, home phone, and cell phone provider.  I have requested unlimited hot spot use, in light of the fact that Spectrum hasn't restored my internet.  The very nice customer service person put in a help ticket.  Will it work?  I don't know.

That's why I decided to do the tech things this morning.  At some point soon, I'll write about the whole onground intensive week.  But not this morning.  I am weary:  because of grading, because of the need to work ahead, because it's an intensive week, not a week for relaxing.

I'm trying not to feel stressed about all the work that needs to be done in the coming weeks.  Most of the time, I'm successful.  Of all the things that I thought might make my jam-packed schedule difficult this term, having a hurricane in the mountains of North Carolina was not one of those things.

And yes, I see the life lesson here.

The Feast Day of Saint Luke

On October 18, we celebrate the life of St. Luke, an evangelist and a doctor, or perhaps a healer would be a more accurate way of thinking about the ancient approach to medical care.  But St. Luke was so much more: he’s also the patron saint of artists, students, and butchers. He’s given credit as one of the founders of iconography. And of course, he was a writer--both of one of the Gospels and the book of Acts. As we think about the life of St. Luke, let us use his life as a guide for how we can bring ourselves back to health and wholeness.

The feast day of St. Luke offers us a reason to evaluate our own health—why wait until the more traditional time of the new year like the start of a new year? Using St. Luke as our inspiration, let’s think about the ways we can promote health of all kinds.

Do we need to schedule some check-ups? October is perhaps most famous for breast cancer awareness month, but there are other doctors that many of us should see on a regular basis. For example, if you get a lot of sun exposure, or if you live in southern states, you should get a baseline check up from your dermatologist. If we've put off medical care, this feast day is a good opportunity to think about how to get that health care safely.  

We could think about what vaccines and booster shots we need.  We might think about flu shots and Covid boosters, but I also encourage us to get a shingles vaccine the first moment we're eligible.  There are hepatitis vaccines that will protect our livers from this disease which is so easily transmissible. 

Many of us don’t need to visit a doctor to find out what we can do to promote better health for ourselves. We can eat more fruits and vegetables. We can drink less alcohol. We can get more sleep. We can exercise and stretch more.

Maybe we need to look to our mental or spiritual health. If so, Luke can show us the way again.

Luke is famous as the writer of the Gospel of Luke and Acts, but it’s important to realize that he likely didn’t see himself as writing straight history. He was maintaining a record of amazing events that showed evidence of God’s salvation.

It’s far too easy to ignore evidence of God’s presence in the world. We get bogged down in our own disappointments and our deeper depressions. But we could follow the example of Luke and write down events that we see in our own lives and the life of our churches that remind us of God’s grace. Even if it’s a practice as simple as a gratitude journal where each day we write down several things for which we’re grateful, we can write our way back to right thinking.

As we think about St. Luke, we can look for ways to deepen our spiritual health. In popular imagination, Luke gets credit for creating the first icon of the Virgin Mary. Maybe it’s time for us to try something new.

We could experiment with the visual arts to see how they could enrich our spiritual health. We might choose something historical and traditional, like iconography. Or we might decide that we want to experiment with something that requires less concentration and training. Maybe we want to create a collage of images that remind us of God’s abundance. Maybe we want to meditate on images, like icons, like photographs, that call us to healthy living.

St. Luke knew that there are many paths to health of all sorts. Now, on his feast day, let us resolve to spend the coming year following his example and restoring our lives to a place of better health.

A Morning Trip to Downtown DC, An Afternoon of Biblical Storytelling

I am happy to report that yesterday went well.  I had so many jitters and worries, but one of the nice things about being older is that I recognize my anxiety, and I know how to keep moving forward, in spite of it.  And yes, I do realize that I'm lucky to have that kind of anxiety and not the crippling kind of anxiety.

I got to seminary campus yesterday after a morning commute that isn't exactly hard (stop and go traffic followed by traffic at full speed and lots of merging here and there).  I parked the car, got organized for the morning expedition, and walked to the Metro station that's a mile away in Tenleytown.  I've been enjoying these neighborhood walks in the morning, and this was no different.

Two years ago when I took the Metro places, it was very deserted.  Not yesterday.  I did manage to get a seat, and it was an easy trip to downtown DC.  I was an hour and a half early, and I thought I might get a coffee, but the coffee places I saw didn't really have a place to sit, so I kept going.

I ended up walking around the Mall, which was delightful.  I do wish the museums opened earlier, but I enjoyed exploring the outdoor attractions.  The Hirshhorn Museum has a sculpture garden that is under construction, but some of the sculptures are now outside around the museum.

The gardens around the National Museum of the American Indian were even more of a delight.  Each section of the garden represents a different habitat (except for polar or desert) of the American Indian.  I loved these sculptures, created when the museum was first built.

The artist created these sculptures with the idea that the natural elements would interact with them and transform them.  Now they are home to birds and small creatures.

Finally I made my way to the Museum of African American History.  Faithful readers of this blog know that I went to this museum two years ago, and I'm glad that I did.  Yesterday I didn't have as much time, but I did go up to see the art, and then I did a quick walk through the lower history levels.

I caught a ride back to seminary with a fellow student who also had an afternoon class, and we got back in time for the lunch that was offered by the seminary.  

My afternoon class is called Parables and Parallels, which is a class in Biblical storytelling.  Yesterday was the day for our first offerings.  I had chosen Luke 8:  43-48, the story of the bleeding woman who touches the fringe of Jesus' cloak and is healed.  I chose that text back in early September and while my mind returned to it, I didn't really work on it.  On Sunday, I thought that it was time to get serious, since we were going to present it on Wednesday.  There were moments where I thought I would never get it pulled together.

Happily, my teacher is not the kind of person who is looking at the original text and seeing how many words we missed.  We had the latitude to make judicious changes.  We had the opportunity to be dramatic in so many ways.

We all did a great job, at least from my point of view as a fellow student.  It was both familiar to me, yet completely different.  It's not at all like a sermon, and vaguely similar to various drama projects, yet different.  We're supposed to engage with the audience, which is different from most drama projects.

I felt a weariness as the afternoon went on, so it was nice to end up at the house of my sister and brother-in-law for supper.  Then I went home and went almost immediately to bed.

And now, day four of the intensive--let me take a shower and get ready for the day.

Wednesday: The Most Intense Day of the Onground Intensive Week

 I only have time for a quick post today, which will be the most intense day of the onground intensive.  This morning, I'll make that drive to campus, then walk to the Metro to go downtown.  My Race, Gender, and Religious Imagination class is going to the Museum of African American History!  And then I come back to campus for my afternoon Biblical Storytelling class, where it is our turn to tell our Biblical stories.

I chose the story of Jesus and the bleeding woman who touches the fringe of his cloak and is healed.  I felt like I already knew the story inside and out, but it's still a little unnerving and nervous making to be telling it in this way.  I've practiced and practiced, and I think I am ready.

Still, I will be glad when this day is over.  It's full of things I've done before, like taking the Metro downtown, so I shouldn't be afraid.  I still feel a bit on edge.  In part, it's because I need to be back for afternoon class to tell my story.

Let me go ahead and get ready.  Let me breathe.  Let me remember that all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well (thanks, Julian of Norwich!).

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 13, 2024:

Isaiah 53:4-12

Psalm 91:9-16

You have made the LORD your refuge, and the Most High your habitation. (Ps. 91:9)

Hebrews 5:1-10

Mark 10:35-45


Imagine being one of the 12 disciples; imagine the possible rivalries. Every so often, as with this Sunday’s Gospel, we see the very human side of the disciples.

Most of us, from the time we are little children, we want to be loved best in all the world. Unfortunately, many events happen to convince us that love is rare, and that if one person is loved, it means we must be loved less. Humans tend to see love as finite and to feel like there’s not enough to go around.

If Jesus was a different kind of leader, he might have decided to pit the disciples against each other, so that he could feed his own ego watching them compete for his favor. Those of you from dysfunctional families or Machiavellian workplaces have probably seen this technique in use. Sadly, it's not uncommon at all.

Happily, we don’t worship that kind of God. We might expect Jesus to be a leader of comfort and compassion. We might expect Jesus to figure out a way to respond so that everyone gets to feel good about themselves and be assured that Jesus loves them all exactly the same.

We don’t worship that kind of God either. We may behave like three year olds, but Jesus treats his disciples like the grown ups he expects them to be.

Jesus reminds them that they don’t know what they’re asking. Again and again, Jesus tells his disciples, and centuries of believers to come, that the last will be first. Again and again, Jesus stresses that we're here to serve. Following Jesus isn't about self-empowerment. We don't follow Jesus because we hope to become rich. Other religions, like Capitalism, might make that promise, but not Christianity. Christianity is NOT just a big self-improvement program.

Sure, we might become better people, but not by the route that the larger world offers us. Christ tells us that we fulfill our destiny by serving others. It goes against most everything else we've ever learned. We're not supposed to look out for number one? We're not supposed to be most concerned about ourselves and our families? No, we're not.

You might feel as much despair over the need to have a servant’s heart as you did by last Sunday’s Gospel about giving away all our wealth. But here again, we can change our trajectory by taking small steps. The ways to serve are as varied as humans themselves. Ask God to show you how to have a servant's heart. Be on the lookout for how God responds.

Who knows where this path may lead? But we know that Christ calls us to follow it. By imitating Christ, we can change ourselves, and in the process, we can change the world.

Sermon for Sunday, October 13, 2024

October 13, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Mark 10: 17-31


We might have thought that last week’s Gospel about divorce was a tough one, but this week’s teaching on wealth seems even harder. It’s such a hard teaching, in fact, that even the disciples protest at how impossible it is—and these are people who have already done what Jesus instructs the rich man to do.

The response of the disciples is not different from everyone else who hears this Gospel. Through the ages, theologians and teachers have twisted themselves into pretzel shapes to assure us that Jesus didn’t really mean what he said. As a child, I was told that it’s not really as impossible as it seems, that there was an ancient gate called the Eye of the Needle, and a camel could crawl through it. As far as I’ve been able to tell, there’s no archaeological evidence for that. Some Biblical interpreters have noted the similarity in the Greek word for camel and for a ship’s cable and wondered if Jesus was talking about threading the eye of a needle that way. Some have said that the teaching was for a specific man with a specific question.

In a way, that’s true. Jesus looks the man in the eye and takes his question seriously. But he then expands that teaching to be a lesson for all of us. In the ancient world, people equated wealth with virtue; people were wealthy because they had done something to deserve that wealth, and it wasn’t about working hard. It was the idea that God, or the gods, blessed people who deserved it. We’ve also seen the opposite idea at work in the time period of Jesus, that people are ill or cursed with a demon because of a moral failing, either theirs or their family’s.

Jesus comes at the issue of wealth differently, and we see this difference in two important ways. He tells the rich man to get rid of his wealth, but in a very specific way. He is to give what he has to the poor. In this way, Jesus operates like an Old Testament prophet, like Amos, or a contemporary critic of the economic systems that hold us all in their grip. Jesus knows that when one person has accumulated wealth, it so very often means that other people have less. If the rich man redistributes his wealth, it will alleviate a certain amount of suffering.

Many people have interpreted this Gospel as Jesus telling us to use our wealth wisely, to help those who have little. Many people have suggested that Jesus didn’t really mean to sell all that we have, but instead, to gain wealth so that we might redistribute it, a Robin Hood approach to economics.

But Jesus wants to release the man from his larger situation, not just to alleviate the suffering of not just the poor. Jesus tells the man to give away his wealth, an action that will release the man from his situation of being held captive by his wealth.

Jesus points to a deeper spiritual problem with wealth, and it’s a lesson he returns to, a lesson he gives much more frequently than any lesson about other moral issues that divide our communities, like marriage or divorce. Jesus points out the spiritual danger of wealth again and again. If we have wealth, we are in danger of relying on ourselves, not God. If we have wealth, we risk the pride of thinking that we are wealthy because we deserve to be wealthy and others do not. The more wealth we have, the harder it is to give it up, which may explain why so many of the early followers of Jesus were poor.

But then, Jesus seems to undercut this very message. He tells his followers that if they give up everything-- house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields—they will be rewarded, and not just with an entry ticket into eternal life, which is the question the rich man poses which starts Jesus on this teaching track. Jesus says if we give up wealth, we’ll be rewarded in this life too. Our wealth won’t be replaced, but we’ll get a hundred fold back. That’s quite a return on our investment. Maybe the rich man should have stuck around for the extended teaching. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone away grieving but he’d realize he had found the deal of the century.

And yet, if we take Jesus literally here, there’s a certain risk. After all, who wouldn’t take that bargain? Some of us rely on our stock portfolios and others rely on spiritual abundance, but most of us want some kind of assurance that we’ll be provided for, that we’re not just doing all of this for nothing.

It’s a good question, this deeper question, and some have seen the rich man as someone who has followed the rules and commandments but not done the deeper work of questioning the reason behind them. Or maybe he thinks he’s done all that is required. Maybe he’s thinking that Jesus will praise him and offer him a one way ticket to eternal life that he’s already earned. But we can’t be sure about the motivations for the question.

However, we can look to our own lives. We can think about the cost of discipleship. Like the rich man, we can ask the question about what else we might need to do.

As I’ve returned to this text again and again this week, this week of hurricane clean up, this week where the simple act of doing anything seemed to take 5 times longer, I’ve begun to wonder if Jesus is trying to tell us something about the way we look at doing. The rich man wants to know what he must do to have eternal life, and Jesus gives him a check list of things he’s already done. Jesus looks at him with love.

Jesus looks at all of us with the same love: those of us who want a check list of what we need to do, those of us who hope the check list is full of items that we’ve already done so that we can have the pleasure of checking them off the list. Jesus knows all the things that prevent humans from having a better life, a God-centered life instead of a life full of possessions that create ever more to do lists.

But Jesus also knows what humanity yearns for. Jesus knows our fiercest hungers. We may need to hear the tough answers over and over again. I think of that man who goes away grieving. We assume he’s grieving because he can’t give up his possessions. Maybe he’s grieving because he thought he was doing everything right, and now he’s got another task, a bigger task. Maybe, having done the grief work, he’s able to liquidate his assets, redistribute his wealth, and thus free, come back to follow Jesus.

So often Jesus leaves us with answers that are more parable and paradox than a straight path. But over and over, Jesus assures us that through God, anything is possible. Not just anything, but everything. Let us approach each day the way the Psalmist instructs, knowing that our days are limited, applying our hearts to wisdom. Let us rest assured that we can then approach the throne of grace with boldness, when our days on earth are done.

Partial Restoration

I wrote this post earlier this morning, but had no way to post it, since I still have no internet:

I sit here writing on this desk that was damaged by Hurricane Irma, almost exactly 2 weeks to the day and time we lost power in Hurricane Helene. What’s remarkable about that sentence is that we went through Hurricane Helene in the mountains of North Carolina.

We are just south of Asheville, so we have been spared the worst. We did go without electricity for two weeks, and we still can’t drink our water right out of the tap. But water does come out of the tap, and we can flush the toilets without a bucket. We still don’t have house internet restored, but the phone can work as a hot spot.

If I didn’t live so much of my life online, with classes that I teach and classes that I’m taking for seminary, this might have been an enjoyable time off. But I’ve needed to have an internet connection almost daily, so twice I’ve gone to a friend’s house in Columbia, SC to stay for 48 hours, and this week, my local church, Lutheran Church of the Nativity, opened up their fellowship hall from 10-2 to offer the community a place to charge devices, free wi-fi, and free water, both drinkable and not. It’s been a great service to members and the community.

As I reflect on our experience, I’m realizing how many parts of our lives have prepared us for these weeks that have been somewhat off the grid. We’ve kept some of our hurricane supplies and equipment, like the French press coffee pot. When we remodeled the kitchen, we chose a gas stove, thinking that if the power went off in an ice storm, we could still cook or heat water. Through the years, we’ve lived in various houses in various states of remodel and those experiences have given us skills in doing without modern conveniences.

I will be the first to admit that I did not take this storm seriously, and I won’t make that mistake again. It was my spouse who filled up our first round of water containers and captured rain water in every five gallon bucket he could find. We had both cars full of gas, but that was a fluke. I thought I’d be commuting, and I wanted to fill our cars up on Wednesday night, not Thursday when it would be raining. We had some cash on hand; we’d have had more if I hadn’t spent it at the farmer’s market a week earlier. It was a fluke that we had it at all.

Today I return to work at Spartanburg Methodist College. This past week, both the schools where I teach were closed due to different hurricanes, and today they will both be open.. Tomorrow we make the trip to Bristol, and then on Sunday, from Bristol I go to DC for the onground intensive week for two of my seminary classes. I hate that I will be missing my onground classes for a week so soon after this long hurricane break, but it can’t be helped. I had planned to spend this past week getting the students prepped for my week away, but now I’ll have them write about their hurricane experience.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The lessons for Sunday, October 13, 2024:

First Reading: Amos 5:6-7, 10-15

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Job 23:1-9, 16-17

Psalm: Psalm 90:12-17

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 22:1-15

Second Reading: Hebrews 4:12-16

Gospel: Mark 10:17-31

Today's Gospel is not one that you'll find in most stewardship campaigns. I've been part of church council discussions that revolved around whether or not it was reasonable to expect people to give away 10% of their income. And along comes Jesus with this message about selling everything and giving it to the poor, and then we'll be ready to follow Jesus.

We've spent centuries rationalizing our way around the demands of this text. We talk about how the needle's eye is really a gate in Jerusalem (something that scholars doubt), so that we can convince ourselves that one could be both rich and righteous, even if that might be rare. We return to our stewardship messages, reminding each other that Jesus calls us to be generous.

Many a believer and non-believer alike might ask, "You can't really believe that Jesus means that literally."

But what if Jesus was serious? One of the main themes of Mark is the cost of discipleship. Here is a very real cost.

So far, this century has taught us much about the danger of counting on our possessions for security. We've seen how quickly wealth can be liquidated--and for what? I remember getting an account statement after a particularly volatile quarter. As I considered the drop in value, I thought of how much happier I might be had I given that money to the poor instead of hoarding it for my future. Now it's vanished, gone, like steam. No one has benefited--except, perhaps, for the people who made a profit off my money before it vanished. And I'm fairly certain the poor didn't see the benefit of that.

Jesus returns to this message again and again: our attachment to money is spiritually dangerous, the biggest spiritual danger that most of us face. Comparatively speaking, he doesn't spend much time at all on other sins. He never talks directly about homosexuality, the issue that's splitting so many churches. But he returns again and again to the message that the rich must share with the poor.

Jesus calls us to radical generosity. We are to do more than just follow a set of laws, like the young man was so capable of doing. We are to jettison our stuff, so that we're more able to follow Christ. Jesus calls us to give away our wealth, so that our grasping hands can be open for the blessings that God wants to give us. We are to unclench our hands, release our money (and fear), and trust in God.

Most of us aren't very good at trusting in God. We'll trust the Wall Street investors who control our retirement accounts much more deeply than we'll trust God. But we can learn to trust God. What would happen if we increased our giving by 1% each year? What would happen if we took all the stuff we no longer use to people who could use it? What would happen if we adopted a meatless day of the week? What other types of activities could we do to decrease our reliance on our own wealth?

Like every other spiritual trait, we grow stronger as we practice. Unclench those greedy, grasping hands. Open your hands and your heart to the gifts that God wants to give you.

Sermon for Sunday, October 6, 2024

October 6, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Mark 10: 2-16

When I first looked at the Gospel text for today, my first reaction was, “Week after week of difficult teachings!” But then I looked more closely at the Gospel lesson, and I realized that Jesus isn’t advising us about our marriages. Jesus is giving us a powerful lesson about power and who is in control.

When the Pharisees ask their question, they aren’t concerned with the plight of those who are in bad marriages. They aren’t asking Jesus to weigh in on the question of what type of relationship can lead to human flourishing.

Look at how they frame the question. They ask about men divorcing their wives. Under Roman law, husbands could divorce wives and wives could divorce husbands. To make it clear that they aren’t asking questions about both sides of the marriage issue, Jesus asks them about the law of Moses, and they answer with great specificity, showing that they understand that the laws of Moses are ones that establish the power of males. Do they also understand that this power leads to the diminishment of females? I doubt it.

But Jesus understands. As always, Jesus understands who is where in the power structures of society, and as always, Jesus instructs all who will listen.

Jesus gives a very different answer about male and female relationships. He goes back to the very first teaching about adult human relationships, way back to the first couple, Adam and Eve in the book of Genesis. He gives an answer that presents males and females as much more equal than they will be in the laws of Moses, and in many subsequent laws throughout human history. He gives a picture of two equal people, leaving the family relationships that designated them as children who are unequal to parents, going into the world together as partners holding tight to each other.

Later, Jesus is interviewed in private, and he continues his line of thought, knowing that some marriages will end not in death but in divorce. I don’t think that Jesus is giving modern marriage advice, but ancient marriage advice, advice to people with a life expectancy of 40 years, give or take a decade. But even more realistically, Jesus isn’t giving instructions the way that so many interpreters have framed this text. Let us remember that Jesus is not a pro-marriage family guy, even in light of today’s reading, where he seems to be advocating marriage. This Jesus is still the same Jesus who seems to downplay marriage and family, where he seems to tell people to abandon their families to follow him.

Many scholars see the social justice side of Jesus here, the man who cared for the most outcast of society. Almost no one had fewer options than a divorced woman who lived during the time of Jesus. Then, and to a certain extent now, fewer things were more likely to plunge a woman into the bottom economic realm of society than divorce or widowhood. A woman with dependent children would fare even worse.

In today’s Gospel reading, we see the concerns of Jesus with the most downtrodden of society: women and children.

And yet Jesus seems to know that some relationships need to end. Our Triune God knows that reconciliation isn’t always possible. So Jesus seems to give advice in this situation. But again, we should be careful in assuming that Jesus is giving divorce instructions designed to last through the centuries. It seems more likely that he’s addressing listeners who persist in asking him questions in the hopes that he will say something different from what he’s already said.

Perhaps that’s why this Gospel then shifts to another group with little power: children. Jesus treats children with the same respect that he treats women. He advocates for the people who need compassion, here children, and he goes a step further and blesses them. They can’t advocate for themselves. So Jesus takes up their cause and makes sure that they are received and blessed.

Again and again, Jesus shows his followers how to treat people. Judging by their actions, it’s a lesson that needs repeating. I often think about Jesus who must be saying to himself: “There is so little time, and you want to bother me with questions about marriage law?” Again and again, Jesus points us away from the rigid structure of the law. Again and again, Jesus tells us of God’s vision of grace and mercy.

Let’s be clear about the Pharisees. Their motivation in this line of questioning is not as evil as we like to depict. The leaders of Jesus’ day think that the way to salvation is by following the law to the letter. Jesus reminds us that this path doesn’t lead to salvation at all but to strangulation. Again and again, Jesus declares that a new world is at hand, that the kingdom of God is inbreaking, right here and right now.

Of course, the kingdom of God is also not yet, not finished, which is why we have divorce laws after all. But Jesus promises that a better life in underway, and if we have eyes to see and ears to hear, we’ll see it. If we’re brave, we can go ahead and live it.

I’m finishing this sermon almost one week since the power went off at my house in Arden, North Carolina. I have spent the last week being reminded of how humans are created to care for each other. We have gathered at each other’s houses to have a hot meal once a day. Those of us who are more mobile have taken thermoses of coffee to the neighbors who are not. Those of us who have had more well stocked emergency supplies have shared them with those who did not get to the store ahead of the storm. And resources have flowed in from people outside the area who are desperate to help in some way.

I do feel a bit of sorrow that it takes a disaster to prompt us to behave in ways that are more loving to each other. It takes a disaster to bump stories of hate from the headlines.

I imagine God feeling much the same way. We've got a wonderful world here, and we often forget how fabulous it is. We get so hung up on all the ways we think the world has gone wrong that we forget what is right. We spend time creating laws to try to control behavior, when we might do better to simply accept people for who they are, which is a major step towards loving them. We want to see the world in strict colors: black, white, no gray. We forget that the world is variegated.

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that if we can leave the land of Law behind and enter the world of Love, we'll see a world washed in color, all of it good. We'll know what God knew, way back in Genesis, when God declared that all of Creation is good, very good.

Hurricane Helene Breaking Points

 One week ago, I would be sitting in the dark.  I would have gotten up early, as I always do, and when I made the coffee, I thought, let me make this now, before the power goes out.  But I didn't expect the power to go out so early.  I didn't think it would still be out a week later, at least not back a week ago when the lights first went out.

I had just made this Facebook post at 3:27 a.m., when I got up to check on the progress of the storm:  "Why I could never be a forecaster for the National Hurricane Center. I would say something like, "Hurricane Helene is in Flannery O'Connor country now. Beware of odd men in black cars, Helene. If a Bible salesman tries to seduce you, just keep going. You're in strange territory now, but you'll emerge able to tell stories of grace and salvation in new and terrifying ways."

The power went out, and I sat there for a few minutes.  I went to get a flashlight, and then I assembled our other battery run lights, which are mostly strings of fairy lights.  Happily, we have lots and lots of AA batteries to keep them running:

I've had a few breaking points along the way.  It's surreal to be experiencing a hurricane so far inland.  But we've done this before, and we know what to do and how to endure.  I felt a brief moment of panic the first time that water didn't come out of the tap.  But I reminded myself that other communities aren't impacted, and I can get to them to buy what I need.

My latest gulp/grief moment came last night when I looked up ways to get to Bristol, Tennessee, where I usually preach and preside on Sundays.  I saw a post that said the most direct way, across I 26, would be closed until March of 2025.  I tried to find information on alternate routes.

Not for the first time, I wish I had a paper map.  But even a paper map won't tell me which roads are washed away.  I can't find a website that tells me either--and yes, I've gone to the obvious ones, and they tell me the information might not be accurate because roads may have been washed away.

I will not be making the trip this Sunday.  We are still being asked to stay off those roads, which may or may not be there, so that emergency crews and restoration teams can get to where they are needed.  I will try making the trip next week-end, and then I'll see what the future brings.

Hurricane Helene Aftermath: The Overview

I don't have time to write a long post today.  I'm at a friend's house who has power, water, and internet, which I don't have at my house.  I need to make the most of this time with those things to catch up on seminary work, get some grading done for my online classes, and then I need to do some shopping and banking before heading up the mountain on Friday.

Last Friday, we lost electric at 4:30 a.m.,  as I was writing a blog post about how I didn't expect to suffer many effects from Hurricane Helene beyond some additional rain.  I didn't worry too much until a few hours later when trees started to fall.

Hurricane Helene's Position when the Power Went Out

We are fortunate.  No trees fell on our property or our house, like the 3 that fell on a neighbor's house:

We have spent the last week trying to help our less fortunate neighbors.  

We haven't had much internet access and spotty cell phone service, so it's been good to have a purpose.

Yesterday I headed to a friend's house in Columbia.  I needed to get to a place that had power and enough cell phone service that I could use my phone as a hotspot.  Happily, last night her internet was restored.  Today I plan to write and grade and try to regroup.

Spartanburg Methodist College still doesn't have power, so I don't know if classes will resume on Monday as previously planned.  My friend has offered to have me come back next week, and I may take her up on it if SMC doesn't have power.  I will need to do some additional class work, both for my seminary classes and the online classes that I teach.

I am still stunned by this storm.  I still find it surreal that I moved hundreds of miles inland and still found myself in this situation, and I'm still surprised, as I always am, that a tropical storm strength event can do this amount of damage.  I am hopeful that this will be a once a century storm, and I won't have to see this kind of storm in the mountains again.  But I am also suffering under no delusions that past planetary performance can predict future performance.

But let me once again stress that overall, I am in good spirits.  I know that I am lucky:  I have friends, family, support, a great neighborhood, resources of all kinds.