The Feast Day of Saint Andrew

Today is the feast day of Saint Andrew, remembered as the first disciple. He's the brother of Simon Peter, and Andrew is the one who told Peter about Jesus. Andrew followed John the Baptist, and John the Baptist introduced Jesus as the true Messiah. Andrew believed, and Andrew brought his brother to see what he had seen.

Tradition has it that the brothers didn’t give up their family fishing business at first, but eventually, Christ requested full commitment. I’ve always wondered about the family relationships that simmer in the background of the Gospels.

I remember one Gospel reading that mentioned Jesus healing the mother-in-law of Simon Peter. I thought, mother-in-law? That means there must have been a wife. What did the mothers and wives and mother-in-laws think of the men abandoning their fishing business to follow Jesus?

I also think about the sibling relationships here. What does Andrew think about Simon Peter, who quickly moves into the spotlight? Is Andrew content to stay in the background?

We know from the passage in Matthew that begins with Matthew 20:20, that there is competition to be Christ’s favorite. We see the mother of James and John who argues for her sons’ importance. We see the other disciples who become angry at the actions of this mother. I extrapolate to imagine that there’s much jockeying for position amongst the disciples.

Christ never loses an opportunity to remind us that he’s come to give us a different model of success. Again and again, he dismisses the importance that the world attaches to riches, to status, to a good reputation. Again and again, Jesus instructs us that the last will be first. Jesus tells us that the way to gain prestige with God is to serve.

We see stories that show that Andrew is the kind of disciple who is working for the glory of Christ, not for other reasons. In John’s Gospel, Andrew is the one who tells Jesus about the boy with five barley loaves and two fish, and thus helps make possible the miraculous feeding.

Andrew was the kind of disciple we could use more of in this world. Andrew so believes in the Good News that he brings his family members to Christ, and he continued in this path, bringing the Gospel to people far and wide. We see him beginning this mission in John’s Gospel, where he tells Christ of the Greeks that want to see him.

Andrew gets credit for bringing Christianity into parts of eastern Europe and western Asia: Kiev, Ukraine, Romania, Russia. He’s the first bishop of the Church of Byzantium and patron saint of all sorts of places, from Scotland to Cyprus to Russia.

On this day when we celebrate the life of the first disciple, let us consider our own discipleship. Are we focused on the right tasks or are we hoping that our Christian faith brings us non-Christian glory? How can we help usher in the miracles that come with the presence of Christ? Who needs to hear the Good News as only we can tell it?

A Prayer/Blessing for the Day after Thanksgiving

We gather with grateful hearts in the hopes that we can remember to maintain this gratitude.

We pray for those who do not have much that inspires gratitude this year.

We pray for those who went to bed hungry last night.

We pray for those who have been shattered and broken.

We pray to a God who knows how to transform brokenness into beauty.

We prepare our hearts for Advent, watching and waiting, even when we are tired of watching and waiting.

A Prayer/Blessing for Thanksgiving Morning

May all of our cooking result in deliciousness.

May we remember those who have no food to cook.

As we celebrate with others, may we feel joy.

Let us remember those who are no longer with us, and let the sadness wash through us, leaving us unharmed.

May we remember to conserve our energy for what's important.

May we remember those who do not have that luxury.

Let us remember that gratitude is always appropriate.

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving

 The Wednesday before Thanksgiving has often been my favorite day of the year.  I love the years when we've done the travel on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, we can have mixes of relaxing and getting ready for the Thanksgiving feast.  I have such great memories of Thanksgiving Wednesdays of past years, when I was surrounded by children who are so happy to with the larger family (more people to read the favorite books or play games).

Our Thanksgiving break this year will be different:  different travel plans, different destinations, time with my spouse's family, not my family.  I feel fortunate that I have almost as many years being part of my spouse's family as with my family of origin, so I'm happy to spend time with them.  There's always the melancholy tinge that comes with knowing that we're all getting older.  We don't have unlimited time in the future to be together.

It was always an illusion, though, the idea that we would have countless holidays together.  So in many ways, I welcome the bittersweet insight, the chance to cherish the chance to be together in a way that I haven't always.

This blog post has been interrupted by packing, and now it's time to bring it to a close.  I should go get a walk in before the various activities start.  The weather in the coming days is unsettled, and I'm not sure what our vacation rhythms will be.  But I never regret going for a walk.

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 1, 2024:

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-10 (Ps. 25:1)

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

Across the nation, many people have already begun to decorate for Christmas. The stores are full of winter holiday stuff, some of it already deeply discounted. The TV ads swirl with Christmas cheer. Many of us are trying to fight off the apocalyptic feelings both in our souls and in the larger world.

If you're in a truly festive mood, the readings for Advent must often seem jarring. They tend to be apocalyptic in nature. Take this week's reading from Luke, for example, with its mention of men fainting with fear and the heavens shaking and the return of Jesus (at least, that's a common interpretation of what this text means). Many of the Old Testament readings for Advent will focus on the prophets who foretell doom and offer comfort to the oppressed. If you're oppressed, perhaps you feel fine. Otherwise, you might sit there, wondering why we can't sing Christmas carols like the rest of the world.

It's important to remember that Advent is seen as a time of watching and waiting. We remember the stories of others who watched and waited: famously, Mary and all the legions of people who have felt the yoke of oppression and yearned for a savior.

It's also important to remember that one of the main messages of the New Testament, as well as those from the earlier Hebrew Bible, are tales of the Kingdom of God breaking into our current reality. Many modern theologians talk about the Kingdom of God, and about the mission of Jesus, as both “now” and “not yet.” Again and again, we are told that the Kingdom of God, the Kingdom of Heaven, will not look like what we expect.

One of the messages of Advent is that God breaks into our dreary world in all sorts of ways, some scary, some comforting, some magnificent, and some hardly noticed. The story of Jesus is one of the more spectacular stories, but God tries to get our attention all the time. We are called to watch and wait and always be on the alert.

The message of Advent is truly exciting. God wants us to participate in Kingdom living now, not just in some distant future when we go to Heaven. What good news for those of us who have been fainting from fear or fighting off feelings of foeboding. The kingdom of God is near.

Can God Change? A Theologian Changes His Mind

Yesterday, I came across this interview between Richard Hays and Peter Wehner in The New York Times.  Richard Hays is a theologian who published a book arguing against gay marriage and arguing even against gay and lesbian marriage.  That was back in 1996, and now, he has changed his mind; now he has published a new book, The Widening of God’s Mercy (what a great title and a great concept).

In the interview, Hays resists saying that God can change.  He's not saying that it's not possible, but he always circles back to the necessity of realizing that we can't possibly know.  Peter Wehner points out that if God can change, if the way we interpret scripture can change, that there's a great risk of only picking out passages that support whatever line of thought we're having at a particular time; Wehner asks Hays about his earlier beliefs and what Hays would say to his earlier self.  Hays says, "Yeah, but the shape of the whole biblical story gives us a pattern, a pattern of grace that is played out again and again, where we see God’s mercy broadening in ways that were unforeseen in earlier experience of the people of God."

Hays points out that there are plenty of scriptural ideas that we are willing to say are of their time and not relevant to ours, like Paul's ideas about slavery.  Why shouldn't sexual behaviors be seen similarly?

He also points out that there are practices described, like Jews and Gentiles eating together, that would have been incredibly shocking at the time, but now we don't even register them as an issue at all.

The interview circles back to whether or not God can change.  The idea of a God who changes is a dealbreaker for some Christians, but Hays is open to the idea, and can show places in the Bible text as evidence of God changing.  There's actually a whole theology that explores this, process theology, but Hays doesn't really mention it.

Hays is facing a reoccurrence of cancer which led him to write this book.  He also talks about the practice that he and his wife have, one they adopted with the first diagnosis, of reading a Psalm every night after dinner.

It's a long interview, but well worth a read.  I'm happy that a major newspaper gave the space to it.

Sermon for Christ the King Sunday

 November 24, 2024, Christ the King Sunday

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

John 18:33-37

In today’s Gospel, we have a flash forward to Holy Week, where Pilate asks Jesus questions.  In some ways, it’s a court room scene, with Pilate trying to figure out what to do with this person accused of crimes.  Some have depicted Pilate as looking for a way to free Jesus, perhaps even feeling guilt or foreboding, but if you look into the historical Pilate, it’s hard to believe him as a sympathetic character.  He was brutal and ruthless, as a Roman ruler would have to be to hang onto power.

In some essential way, this interchange is about the very nature of that power—what does it mean to be ruler, to be king, to be the one in charge?

We have just been through a turbulent election season which asked those very same questions.  Of course, every election season during my lifetime has seemed turbulent, seemed to ask the question of what it means to be in charge, what is means to have power, and how power should be used.  What does it mean to have a mandate?  If one really does have political capital, what projects are worth spending that political capital?

In most political cycles, we see at least two groups with very different answers to those questions.  In our Gospel today, we also have two very different groups with very different answers.  There’s Pilate, most obviously.  But there’s also Jewish religious leadership, which the writer of the Gospel of John, calls “The Jews.”  The Gospel writer doesn’t mean every Jew, even though Pilate seems to think that they all speak with one voice.  Even though Pilate and Jewish religious leadership might not have seen it at the time, both have a similar vision of what power is and how it should be used.  Both of them see themselves as serving God (whether God was the Roman emperor Caesar or the Jewish God Yahweh) and that the best way of doing that was to follow the Law. Pilate has one set of Laws in mind, and Jewish leadership has a different set, but the idea is the same.  Adherence to the Law is what God (Caesar or Yahweh) wants, and strict observation can lead to salvation.  Pilate and the Jewish leadership see themselves as representatives of God, the best ones to interpret the Law and to keep people safe and out of trouble.

Here we might say, “Doesn’t Jesus see himself that way too?”  It’s an important point.  Jesus says at various points that he’s come not to abolish the Law but to fulfill it.   But Jesus also emphasizes that there is more to the Law than a set of rules to follow to keep God happy and society out of trouble.  Jesus points to the intent, to God’s intent, behind the Law.  And always, Jesus asks who is being left behind, left out, when we follow the Law too strictly, and he asks the same question, regardless of whether or not it’s religious law or laws handed down by the state.

Let’s go back to the exchange between Jesus and Pilate.  Jesus seems unconcerned with these earthly issues of power:   who is king, who is in charge, who controls who.  Jesus is concerned with the Truth. Of course, both Pilate and Jewish leadership would say that they are concerned with the Truth too. 

Jesus tries to redirect the conversation.  In some ways, his conversation with Pilate feels similar to those he has had with the disciples:  who do others say that I am?  Who do you say that I am?  What are we actually doing here?  Pilate has some additional layers to navigate:  he’s ruling a turbulent land, far away from the power center of Rome, and he never can figure out these strange people he’s been sent to govern.

In short, he’s a stranger in a strange land.  You may be familiar with this feeling, particularly during various political or life cycles:  unable to sort out why people feel the way they do, struggling to interpret events as they unfold, trying to figure out the best path forward.  We may want to believe that Pilate is trying to be fair and even handed, but it’s much more likely that he’s trying to make sure that revolutionary forces don’t have a chance to take root and disrupt his rule.  The Jewish religious leadership has similar goals:  both are trying to keep their earthly leaders and Divine rulers happy.

When I think of the narrative of God that we see across the scripture, I often see God in a similar position:  trying to figure out why humans feel the way they do, why humans behave the way they do, trying to keep creation on a path towards full flourishing.  A God who gives humans free will certainly has not made it easy to rule—at least not in the way that earthly leaders like Pilate or like Jewish leadership would prefer to rule. 

The readings for this week, and the Advent/Christmas texts that are coming next remind us that we don't worship a God who has a belief in power the way that the Romans used it, the ways that Jewish leadership wielded it, the way that all empires have used power, the ways that we are tempted to wield power today. 

Instead, we worship a God who is willing to become one of the most vulnerable kinds of creatures in our world: a newborn baby, born to underclass parents who must leave their homes to go register in a distant land, born to an underclass minority, living in an occupied land. We worship a God so radical that he is crucified as a political criminal, a God who is killed for declaring that a different way of living is possible. 

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that God who wants nothing to do with our human visions of power.  Throughout his ministry, Jesus shows us that power comes from service.   Jesus offers us a different vision of wealth, a wealth that doesn’t come from having one’s picture on a coin, but from giving those coins away. Our God calls us to a radical generosity and invites us to share all that we have. Jesus shows us the power that comes from serving and sharing, and it’s antithetical to the political power prized by Pilate or the power of controlling people’s religious yearnings that the Jewish leadership sought. Our experience of God, in Jesus, reminds us that if we behave in the way that God wants us to behave, we will come into direct conflict with the dominant power structures of our day.  Again and again, Jesus reminds us of the cost of discipleship, but always he promises that in losing the power that our culture tells us we should want, we will find lives that are worth living.

Unlike earthly rulers, who will make any number of promises and compromises to maintain power, Jesus shows us all the ways that God keeps that covenant made with a few people so long ago, a covenant enlarged to include us all.  

In the fulfillment of this covenant, God shows up in the oddest places, like in a manger or in criminal court.   Festival Sundays like today remind us God is not a ruler like the ones we know on earth.  Our liturgical year tells us that we need to always be alert to the possibilities of God at work in the world, but that it likely won't happen in the way that we've prepared for or expected.  All of Jesus’ life and ministry points to this God who will meet us where we are and take us to the promised land.  

More Essential Questions, Inspired by Theologian David Bosch

In my seminary class on Mission, we covered the work of David Bosch, one of the theologians who furthered the idea that mission work didn't need to involve an airplane ticket, that there's mission work to be done at home.  I was taken with his idea of how we can recognize the work of God.

I am not sure I can explain it well, but I want to capture an idea that has intrigued me for a few days now, the idea that the work of God, the mission of God, can be recognized in the overlap between a saved universe and a just universe.  And it's God's vision for creation--not for a future time, but right here, right now.  

In fact, that may not be what Bosch wrote, but it also intrigues me in a different way.

Maybe we recognize the work we should be doing by looking at this overlap or by asking these questions:  "Does this work usher in a more just universe?"  "Does this work offer some form of salvation, a saving kind of power?"

Are we moving the world towards justice and salvation?   And I think of salvation in a very different way than many Christians have.  I am less interested in saving souls so that they can go to Heaven than I am in saving creation for future Christians.

Worth Fighting For

One of my friends was reflecting on the past year, and she made a statement that church camps are worth fighting for.  I immediately thought about her words as a framing device, as a question, "Is ______ worth fighting for?"

I thought of how often I don't frame my thoughts this way:  my thoughts about decisions, about paths forward, about relationships, about creative pursuits, about the future.  I am more often asking different questions.  Am I any good at this?  Does this nourish me?  Am I wasting time here?  How impossible is this outcome?  Am I doing the right thing?

If it's a decision about a group, change the I to we.  I'm thinking of larger communities too, like higher ed, like the ELCA (the more inclusive Lutheran expression of church that I have committed to), like the U.S.  I'm thinking of decisions about ideas and ideals too:  democracy, being a poet/artist in the world, education, and yes, summer camp.

If I think about what makes monetary sense, I may make different decisions.  Those may be the right decisions, and I'm not advocating that we throw all of those practical considerations away.  But those questions don't always get at a deeper importance.  

If I come away having kept my bank account intact, but I've lost my soul, what/where is the profit?  

It's a question as old as time, and not one unfamiliar to many of us.  But I like my friend's formulation.  It's worth fighting for--so it's worth continuing, worth the struggle, and worth the joy.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel: Christ the King Sunday

The readings for Sunday, November 24, 2024:

First Reading: Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 2 Samuel 23:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 93

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 132:1-13 [14-19] (Psalm 132:1-12 [13-18] NRSV)

Second Reading: Revelation 1:4b-8

Gospel: John 18:33-37


Some of us may be thinking, what a strange text to lead us into Advent. Some of us may be thinking, what a non-kingly Gospel for Christ the King Sunday. The weeks to come will be full of strange juxtapositions.  This lectionary cycle of Advent is the one where we get more apocalypse and John the Baptist than we get angel messengers with good news.

This whipsawed feeling should help us feel sympathy for the Jews of Jesus' time. We know that the Jews had been on the lookout for the Messiah for many years, but they certainly weren't looking for someone like Jesus. They wanted a more traditional vision of a King. They wanted someone who would sweep in and clean up current life. Specifically, they wanted someone to kick the Romans and all the other outsiders out of their homeland. They wanted someone to restore their vision of life as it should be.

We're probably familiar with that feeling. We, too, probably want a God we can control, who will do what we want so that we feel like we're in control. Or maybe we want a God who makes us feel superior.

The Gospel readings for this week, and the Advent/Christmas texts remind us that we don't worship that kind of God. We worship a God who is willing to become one of the most vulnerable kinds of creatures in our world: a newborn baby, born to underclass parents, in an underclass minority, in an occupied land. We worship a God so radical that he is crucified as a political criminal. Yes, a political criminal--crucifixions were reserved for crimes against the state in the Roman system. It's interesting to reread the Gospels with that fact in mind and to ponder what Jesus said that made him seem so radical and subversive to the Romans.

We worship a God who wants nothing to do with our human visions of power. Our God turned away from wealth. Our God calls us to a radical generosity and invites us to share all that we have. Our God turned away from political power. Our experience of God, in Jesus, reminds us that if we behave in the way that God wants us to behave, we will come into direct conflict with the dominant power structures of our day.

Our God is one whom we will encounter in the oddest places, like in a manger or in criminal court. Advent will remind us that we need to always be alert to the possibilities of this encounter, but that it likely won't happen in the way that we've prepared for or expected.

We come to the end of a liturgical year, the end of that long, green season, as my 5th grade Sunday School teacher called it. We begin a new year trembling with fear and hope. It is a good time, as all new years are, to make resolutions. In the next liturgical year, how will we prepare to meet God? To what strange places are we willing to go so that we may encounter God?

Good News, Bad News Hurricane Recovery

 Yesterday was the first day in over 45 days where we didn't get multiple phone calls from the City of Asheville telling us to boil the water that was coming out of our taps.  Yesterday we got the word that the boil water notice is lifted.  I emptied the last of the boiled water into the pitcher, my daily ritual.  Yesterday, I didn't boil more water.  It's been interesting to find out how much water we use for cooking and drinking--about a gallon or two a day, depending on whether or not we're home, whether or not we're cooking.

Some people went online to proclaim their jubilation.  I am tired, and part of me is always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I try to do the things that help me maintain mental equilibrium.  On Sunday, I went for a walk, up to the chapel, to the outdoor altar where I planned to sit and breathe for a bit.

I saw smoke as I walked up the hill, and I expected to gaze out to see smoke drifting from a distant mountain.  Instead, I saw flames on the other side of the hill where the Quiet Way path would take hikers up to the chapel, flames not too far away from where I stood.  

I called the camp director before I called 911--in retrospect, that was stupid, but I wanted to make sure they weren't doing a controlled burn.  Nope, and he had called for help.  I walked quickly back down the hill, and then went down to a fork in the camp road to make sure to flag the trucks to the fire, should they come in the back entrance.

Happily, the response was quick.  I walked back up to make sure there was nothing more I needed to do.  The very kind fire fighter I chatted with briefly told me that I should never hesitate to call 911, that they often arrived to find fires under control, and those were happy days.

I have been worried about fire since the early days of hurricane recovery--so many trees down, and such a dry October and November.  I am glad the fire was contained, but worried about what would have happened if no one had been around/awake to see the smoke and flames, as several of us did.

I am also worried about the health of my spouse.  A few weeks ago, he did something to his back while helping with the chainsaw to get trees cleared.  It comes and goes, and just when I think we've turned a corner, he has a flare, a sciatica kind of pain.  Yesterday was a very bad flare.  Luckily, he has a doctor's appointment for his annual physical on Friday, so maybe we will discover that there's something that can be done.  

My spouse's experience makes me worry about the future. We do not live in a country that has lots of options for people who need more care than I can give--and with Trump in charge, I don't foresee our nation ever evolving that direction.  The long term outlook might terrify me, if I really let myself think about it.

But I don't have time to think about that now.  I have grading to do and then there will be more grading to do, and I have seminary work that must be done, and then final papers and projects for seminary.  Let me get that work underway before driving down the mountain to teach in person at Spartanburg Methodist College.

Feast Day of Saint Hilda of Whitby

Today is the feast day of Saint Hilda of Whitby (614-680). We know of her primarily through the writings of the Venerable Bede, who said, "her wisdom was so great that even kings and princes sought her counsel," and "all who knew her called her Mother, because of her distinctive piety and grace."

Whitby is on the east coast of England in North Yorkshire. Whitby is famous for many things, but in church history, perhaps most famous for the Synod of Whitby in 664, which ironed out some differences between Celtic and Roman practices in Christianity, including how to figure out the date for Easter. Hilda was a Celtic Christian, and yet, when ordered to do so, she began to adopt Roman ways. She is remembered as a reconciler of the two traditions.

She founded several monasteries and was trained five men who later went on to become bishops. The monasteries that she founded were centers of education and the arts, and through the work done there, the monasteries also preserved knowledge.

For those of us who are English majors, we might be most grateful to Saint Hilda for her encouragement of Caedmon, one of the earliest English poets who makes it into anthologies; some call him the first British poet. Many give her credit for encouraging the stories from the Bible put into song and spoken stories in ordinary language of the people who would hear it.

Hilda is one of the patron saints of learning and culture, including poetry. We remember her as being of key importance in the shift from paganism to Christianity in England.

As with many of these ancient Christians, I am in awe of what they both created and preserved in times that must have been more difficult than ours, in harsh landscapes. With Saint Hilda, there's the added aspect of her gender--she accomplished so much in a time when women weren't given much in the way of opportunity.

And these days, when the U.S. seems so bitterly divided, I find my brain returning to her ability to reconcile and also lead. Modern people might not realize the depth of these church divisions, like the one between Roman Christians and Celtic Christians; indeed, one group left the Synod of Whitby and went to Iona and later Ireland, which at the time would have been even more savage landscapes.

These days, I think about Saint Hilda and remember that it is possible to reconcile huge differences. I remember Saint Hilda and hope that more of us can channel her.

For a more developed essay that has wonderful photos, I recommend this blog post.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, November 17, 2024:

First Reading: Daniel 12:1-3

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 1 Samuel 1:4-20

Psalm: Psalm 16

Psalm (Semi-cont.): 1 Samuel 2:1-10

Second Reading: Hebrews 10:11-14 [15-18] 19-25

Gospel: Mark 13:1-8

Here we are, back to apocalyptic texts, a rather strange turn just before we launch into the holiday season (both the secular one and the sacred). This week's Gospel is the type of text that many Christians use to support their assertion that we're living in the end times, that the rapture is near.

Keep in mind that the idea of rapture is fairly new; most scholars date it to the middle of the 19th century. But Christians have felt besieged since the beginning, and indeed, at certain times throughout the centuries, they have been severely threatened.

Most scholars believe that the book of Mark was written just after a particularly brutal suppression of a Jewish uprising and just before the destruction of the Temple, a time when the empire of Rome made it increasingly difficult to be an alien part of the empire. The Gospel of Mark is the most apocalyptic Gospel, perhaps because it was written when people really expected the end was near. Indeed, in many ways, the end was near. The whole of chapter 13 of Mark is grim indeed. Perhaps the Gospel writer uses such a chapter to launch into the Passion story, to set the mood.

Or maybe the Gospel writer wants to remind us of the cost of following Jesus. Maybe it's the larger cost of existing in the world. Even if we're lucky enough to be born into a stable time period, to be part of a country with a stable government, if we're conscious, it's hard to escape the conclusion that it could all vanish at any moment. And even if we don't suffer on the grand (genocidal) scale, most of us will endure more loss than our younger selves would have believed could be survived.

Before we sink too deeply into depression, we need to remember that Jesus came to give us Good News. And that Good News is that we have each other, and we have a God who loves us, no matter what. If we devote our lives to that love, then we can survive all sorts of betrayal, loss, and persecution.  

And there's more good news.  God is making all things new, and the forces of betrayal, loss, persecution, and death will not have the final say.

It's also important to look at the last part of the last sentence of this week's Gospel: "this is but the beginning of the birth-pangs." Birth-pangs. What is being born exactly?

The most positive spin on this bit is to say that the Kingdom of God is being born. We tend to think of the Kingdom of God as referring to Heaven, but if you read all the references to the Kingdom of God, it appears that Jesus isn't talking about Heaven as we know it. In some places, Jesus seems to talk about the Kingdom as already existing, perhaps as Jesus walking amongst us. In other places, the Kingdom of God will come to earth later, in a kind of purifying, redeeming vision. Yet again, we see references to this process already beginning, both with Christ's efforts and with the efforts of his believers.

Those of us who have had children, or who have had relatives and friends who have had children, know that parents have to go through a fierce process to hold that little baby in their arms. Jesus reminds us that the process towards the Kingdom of God can be equally fierce. Jesus reminds us that we must stay alert and aware, but that we need not feel alarmed.

Veterans Day 2024

 Today is Veterans Day.  Here is a picture of my favorite veteran, my dad:

He's my favorite veteran for obvious reasons, but there are many other veterans who would also be favorites:  my father-in-law, an Army veteran, and my Florida pastor Keith Spencer and his wife, Piper Spencer, Navy veterans, for example.  I think of one of my best friends from high school, Chum Kimsey:

The above picture is from 2014, when she had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer, which would take her life.  She served in the Army in the late 80's and early 90's.

Yesterday we watched a Veterans Day concert, which made me feel both grateful and teary-eyed.  I thought of our current country, how few people serve in this way, even as many people say they support our military.  The concert contained footage from an Honor Flight event, which made me think of my own experience with my dad and sister on a similar trip.  

It was both a joyful trip and a somber one, being surrounded by living veterans, all older than 65, and the monuments to the wars that they fought.  It was a sobering reminder of the ultimate cost that so many veterans pay/paid.

I am also thinking of all the quilters I know who make quilts for veterans as a way to say thank you:

I'm not at a point yet where I could do that--but this morning, I'm wishing that I could show gratitude in this way, a way that results in a beautiful quilt.  For this morning, though, words will have to do.

Sermon for Sunday, November 10, 2024

 November 10, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Mark 12:38-44

All week, I’ve been thinking of widows.  I’ve been thinking of the widow in our Old Testament reading who gave her last bit of food and water to Elijah.  I’ve been thinking of the widow in the New Testament who gave two copper coins, all that she had, to pay her temple tax.  It wasn’t until the end of the week that I returned to the New Testament reading and saw the mirror image here, the behavior of the hypocritical scribes, the behavior of the widow.

In our Gospel text for this morning, it’s tempting to focus on the widow who gave all that she had.  After all, we’ve been here before.  Just a few weeks ago, we had the story of the wealthy man who approached Jesus wanting to know what to do to get eternal life.  Do you remember the answer?  Give all earthly wealth to the poor.

And here’s a widow, doing just that, giving up everything, in contrast to the rich who are plunking money into the Temple coffers.  Why, the sermon practically writes itself!

For all of you anticipating a good old-fashioned stewardship sermon, I’m about to disappoint you.  I don’t think that Jesus is telling us that we must give up ALL that we have.  Go back to the text.  He observes the widow’s actions.  He does not say, “Go and do likewise.”

So what is the point?  What are we to learn?  Let’s look at the passage again.  Let’s look at the contrasts.

The first contrast is easiest to see:  rich people giving large sums vs. widow woman giving 2 copper coins.  She’s not tithing.  She’s giving all that she owns.  And for what?  Two copper coins would buy nothing.  She’s not required to give all that she has.  We might build a back story for her.  Maybe she gives all that she has because she believes in the mission of the Temple in a way that the rich people do not.  But we don’t know that—we don’t have that insight into either the rich benefactors or the widow.

Who gets that level of backstory?  It’s the scribes in the beginning of today’s Gospel.  Please note that Jesus is not condemning all scribes or all religious authorities or every member of an elite class.  Jesus condemns the ones who like the attention that they get because they have authority.  They get to wear the robes and eat the food and have the best seats and be treated with respect—and Jesus seems to suggest that they are holding their office for all the wrong reasons, so that they can get the high regard of their society—and so that they can get rich.

And how do they get rich?  By robbing widows.  By taking from the poor, from people on the lowest rungs of society, from those who can least afford to lose what they have.  By taking from the very people that they are supposed to help.  This Gospel is less about giving all that we have and more about hypocrisy, in some ways, and you don’t need me to preach a sermon on the perils of hypocrisy.  Every day’s news cycle offers at least one warning about the perils of hypocrisy.

As I’ve been thinking about the widows in this week’s readings, I’ve been thinking about all the ways that our societal structures put people in danger, particularly people with little political power.  An election season might make us think that we have the power to change things, and sometimes we do.  But Jesus reminds us again and again that the system is rigged.  Our earthly empires, whether it’s the Roman empire of Jesus’ time or various societal systems of our own time—our earthly empires are not looking out for the powerless.  On the contrary, they are getting rich by exploiting those who have so little.

I hear the words of my Preaching professor echoing in my head:  where is the good news in all of this?  The widow in the Old Testament gives us the good news that although we may not be able to reverse earthly empires who prey on the weak, that it is God who is in charge.  The widows in both of our texts for today give all that they have.  Maybe it’s because they have faith in the Temple system or maybe it’s because they were expecting to die anyway.  They give, and God transforms.

Let’s be very clear on this.  With both widows, we don’t know their mental state.  God doesn’t reward them with abundance because of their trust or their faith or their good works.  God gives them abundance because that is what God does.  The proper response to God’s abundance is to share.

I have seen this dynamic in action this week, very far away from the corridors of political power that were playing out across the nation and the airwaves and social media.  I have spent this week not only with Biblical widows but with 21st century widows and older women.  I have seen the Kingdom of God this week, because I have been at Quilt Camp at Lutheridge.

In the three days before Quilt Camp, we got a message from one of the leaders.  Wouldn’t it be great if we brought any extra quilts we have --  we could share them with people in the western NC area, like the Lutheridge staff, people who have suffered so much loss and have still showed up to work.  On the first night, the leader who had sent out the message confided in me that she thought we didn’t have enough quilts even to share with the Lutheridge staff.

But it was early in the retreat, and by the morning, after everyone had a chance to get settled, we had more than enough.  Plus, one of the other leaders went through her own fabric stash and organized it into a pillowcase project for us to do.  We each received a ziplock bag with 3 pieces of fabric cut into the pattern we would use—plus, there were extra bags, just in case.  And by the end of the retreat, we got them all made so that they could be taken to a local quilt fabric shop to be given to community people who had lost their houses.

You might say, “You were making pillowcases for people who have lost everything?  Talk about two copper coins!  What kind of stupid offering is that?”

It is the kind of offering that we have.  We have fabric in abundance, we have time, and we have skills.  And a pillowcase can be used for so many things beyond just protecting a pillow.

As I watched us working on our own projects while also spending time on projects to help others, I thought of what Jesus so often said, “The Kingdom of God is at hand”—or as I so often paraphrase:  “This is what the community of God looks like.”  We had women of various ages and all sorts of backgrounds and out of a wide range of political and religious beliefs.  In a different setting, we might not have much to say to each other.  But at Quilt Camp, where we worked on projects to help others, we connected in a way that was even deeper than it would have been if we had just worked on our own projects.

This is what the Kingdom of God looks like:  giving to those who have less, giving what we have, pledging our allegiance to the vision of community that Jesus tells us is possible.

First Full Day at Quilt Camp

 When I go to a quilt retreat, I often get questions about what happens at a quilt retreat.  Yesterday was a fairly typical day at the quilt retreat that Lutheridge offers, so let me make some observations.

--It's held in the main gathering place, the huge Faith Center.  Every quilter gets two tables, which leaves room for quilters to bring other things they might need, like a table for a sewing machine, stackable shelving units, bins of fabrics, and such.  There's a power cord at each work space.  There's lots of wall space and floor space for figuring out patterns.  This photo gives you an idea of the set up.

--The most important aspect of the Lutheridge retreat:  we can make it be what we want it to be.  If we need a nap or a walk, wonderful.  If we want to lose ourselves in a project and be left alone, that's fine.  If we want to walk from table to table and chat, great.  If we need help assembling/figuring out a project, we've got lots of folks who are happy to pitch in.

--We're here for three full days, plus an evening beginning and a morning ending (Wed. afternoon arrival with an evening start through Sunday morning).  It's great to have that much time.  Much of that time is unstructured.

--I have always had online work that had to be done while I was there, and it's fine to sit at my work space with my laptop.  I love doing grading or working on a seminary paper surrounded by my quilt squares and gorgeous fabric.  Sew a little, grade a little, and wow, I can be productive!

--This year, we're taking an afternoon yoga break, a 20 minute session of chair yoga led by a friend of the retreat who is certified.  Wow!  I hope we figure out a way to do this every year.

--Every retreat offers a focused learning opportunity or two.  This retreat, we learned a pillowcase pattern and some techniques for binding.  Some retreats, when there hasn't been a hurricane six weeks ago, we have a local expert come in to lead a workshop.  The learning opportunities are optional.

--We eat our meals in the dining hall.  It's amazing to have camp stuff there to do the cooking and the clean up and to make decisions about the meals and the shopping.  When I'm on a retreat, I realize how much of my time each week goes to food.   Don't get me wrong--I love cooking and shopping and eating.  But it takes more time than I realize until I'm not doing it for a few days.

--Because it's a retreat at a church camp, there are some spiritual aspects.  They are ecumenical, since we come from a variety of faith expressions, and not participating in evening devotion time is an option too.  On the last night, there is a worship service with communion.  To me, it feels very non-proselytizing, and the view of God is an expansive one of a creator full of grace and love for all of creation.  Each quilt retreat has a different Bible passage to focus our devotion and worship time.

--We often do a service project.  This year, we made pillow cases for displaced people, and we brought quilts we had already made.  You can see the quilts in a pile above, and below, spread out across the chairs in our evening space for gathering:

 

--We brought 22 quilts to give away.  We also give money to camp for summer camp scholarships.

--We have show and tell every night, where each quilter is invited to bring a project, either completed or in progress.  At the last night, we have wine, cheese, snacks, and a quilt walk where we display projects at our tables.

--But the most important element of this retreat is the fellowship and support.  In some ways, we are all so different from each other in terms of family, background, career, upbringing, beliefs of all sorts.  But we love fabric and we love quilting and we love each other, even if we've only known each other for a few days.  Many of us return year after year, and it builds a beautiful community--one which leaves me hopeful for the future.

A Quilt Retreat in the Days after a Presidential Election

I thought about writing a longer blog post about the election.  But I'm not really sure I have that much more to say.  I could see the next 4 years going any number of ways, from nuclear mishaps/catastrophes, to more general chaos, to an administration that manages to do some good and some bad.  I expect to be somewhat insulated:  I'm not an outspoken opponent, I'm an older woman which buys me some protection from misogyny, I have economic resources, I live in the mountains, I'm a English teacher which at this point is still a job that people want a human to do.  I will do what I can to help those who are not so lucky.

Do I think that I have voted in my last election?  No.  I think we'll have other elections, but they may not mean much--that has often been the case in my lifetime, so I won't assume that democracy is dead.  Even though I thought about sending an e-mail with a reference to A Handmaid's Tale ("See you in the Colonies!"), I don't think we're headed to that scenario--Trump  doesn't have the kind of focus and self-control that would make that possible. 

While lots of people have been saying lots of things about the election, I've been at the twice-a-year quilt retreat at Lutheridge.  When I plunked down my deposit back in the spring, I didn't realize it would be right after the election, and that wouldn't have made a difference anyway.  I've been grateful to have a place to sit and sew, but then again, I'm always grateful for a place to sit and sew, whether it's a chair in my living room or a work station at a retreat center.

It's been a strange quilting retreat in other ways.  I have a full-time teaching job, which is different from when I left my full-time administrator job to come to quilt camp.  If we hadn't had a hurricane, I might have taken yesterday, the first full day of quilt camp, off, but I decided that I didn't feel good about that.  Happily, I can both teach and come back to quilt camp.

On Wednesday afternoon (the retreat started Wed. at 3 for those of us who could arrive then), I sat at my table for a bit, just feeling discombobulated, discombobulated because I came directly from work, discombobulated because I didn't feel like sewing yet, discombobulated because I was still digesting election results.  Yesterday when I returned from Spartanburg, I expected to need a bit of decompression time.  Because I was expecting it, it didn't last as long.

Two years ago, I first started assembling these log cabin patches:

In these few days at quilt camp, I hope to get them all sewed together into a quilt top.  I am putting squares into 4 square lengths, because they're all slightly different in terms of measurements.  I am paying some attention to colors and patterns, but more attention to measurements at this point.  I'm trying not to worry about what happens when I try to put these 4 square lengths into one quilt top--or to be more accurate, since I am not worried, I am trying not to try to figure out how to assemble them yet.  It will all come together.

I am also hoping that this quilting is a metaphor for what can happen on the national political scene.  It feels like we're in a time of ripping.  It's the ripping sound that gets a lot of coverage.  But far away from the national commentators, small scraps can be assembled into sturdy quilts that will keep us all warm and protected.

Prayers After Election Day

I returned to words that I wrote after the first election of Trump. They are still relevant, so I'll post them today:

Let me also remember history, both modern and ancient. I'm choosing to focus on all the leaders who haven't been great to begin with, but have risen to greatness. I won't be focusing on the opposite kind of leader as I think back through history. I will remember the leaders who seemed a disastrous pick at the time but who went on to bring about important changes that we'd have never dreamed possible. I will think of leaders who had hard rhetoric and harder hearts, but found a way towards a softened stance.

I will remember my words, all the ways that I have seen the world I thought I knew come through a time of transformation. I'm thinking of eastern Europe--that wall that came down suddenly in 1989. I'm thinking about Nelson Mandela released from jail and shortly thereafter, to become the first freely elected president of South Africa and a nation transformed--that outcome was so impossible that few of us dared to hope for it. Somewhere in my photo albums, I have a fading picture of a friend wearing his "Free Mandela" t-shirt. He'd been in jail for our whole lives, and we expected he would die there, t-shirts or no t-shirts.

I think it's important to remember how strong the forces of evil seemed then. But we built our shantytowns on the lawn, we helped Central Americans get to Canadian safety, we demanded changes in U.S. policy which were ignored or dismissed. We bought our protest albums and went to concerts. Elders sneered and warned us about the necessity of establishing anti-communist bulwarks, even if they were staffed by genocidal maniacs, as much of Latin America was in the 1980's.

For some of us, the forces of evil, or at least chaos, seem to be strong and gathering now. But perhaps it's not as bad as it seems. Maybe this time of divided electorate and hateful vitriol will be what spurs many of us to get back to work creating and safeguarding the kind of nation where we want to live.

It could happen. It has happened. It will happen again.

Today is a good day to pray. We will have some turmoil across the world; the world will need our prayers.

Let me begin:

Creator God, on this day after the election, we pray for our country and for all countries. We pray for our leaders, those of our country and those in other countries who will now need to work with new leaders. We pray for all citizens, that we may be involved and not passive. We pray to find a way to bind the wounds and create a world that is closer to the one that you intend for us.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 10, 2024:


1 Kings 17:8-16

Psalm 146

The LORD lifts up those who are bowed down. (Ps. 146:7)

Hebrews 9:24-28

Mark 12:38-44


The Gospel reading for this week gives us a tough vision of God's expectations, especially for those of us of wealth in the West; or perhaps it's more appropriate to adopt the world vision of Philip Jenkins, and talk about Christians in the affluent, but shrinking in Christian numbers, North, and the poorer, but richer in Christian population, South.

Most of us can convince ourselves that Jesus doesn't speak of us in the first part of the passage--but is this true? Perhaps we should look again.

Most of us don't pray in public, where people will be sure to see us and remark on our piety. But here's a tougher question. Look at the part of the passage about the people of privilege and recognition who "devour widows' houses"; in the time of Jesus, the widow would be the universal symbol of the most economically helpless member of society.

Again, most of us would be sure that Jesus isn't describing us. We think we don't really have all that much prestige. But most of us in suburban churches really do--we drive decent cars and live in decent neighborhoods and have plenty to eat. Many of us give offerings to support the poor. Does Jesus suggest that we should do something more extreme than that? Even if we deny ourselves so as not to be that person that devours the widow, how does that help the poor?

Years ago, I went to hear one of my favorite theologians, Marcus Borg, and he said that we come to know much of what we know about God as Jesus reveals God's character to us. From reading the Gospel, it becomes clear that "God's character is compassion, and God's passion is justice" (Borg's words).

Note that the word is justice, and not charity. Look at the example of the poor widow in the end of the Gospel for today. She gives all that she has. She doesn't tithe. She gives it all. Borg points out that the concept of justice in the Bible is primarily about economic justice; everybody should have enough--not equal portions, necessarily, but enough. Borg points out that justice is far less comfortable for those of us of privilege than charity. Charity lets us tithe and thus, keep our surplus. Justice demands more.

The Gospel lesson makes it clear what God expects. God wants everything we have to give. I'm not sure we should take the end of this Gospel too literally, in economic terms, although the more I read, the more I'm thinking that perhaps God does want us to give away all that we own, if we really want the full Christian experience. God expects more from us than many of us might be prepared to give.

We've just celebrated All Saints Day, which many of us might brush off as saying that normal people just can't accomplish what those saints accomplished. And yet, perhaps we don't take ourselves seriously enough when we say that. Marcus Borg says that Jesus shows us what can be seen of God in a human life; there's much of God that can't be shown in a human life, but Jesus shows us what can be seen. Marcus Borg says that Jesus wasn't different from us--perhaps different in degree, but not in kind. He said that Jesus was like St. Francis of Assisi with an exclamation point--and just think of all that St. Francis managed to accomplish. The Gospel lesson reinforces that teaching and makes it clear that no less is expected of us.

What if we decided to require more of ourselves? What would it mean to really use Christ as your example of how we are supposed to act in the world? Not just during special events, but every day, day after day, during each hour of the day? It's a goal worth struggling towards.

Prayers for Election Day

In 2016, I made this Facebook post on election morning, and it's a sentiment I still believe:  "For those of us feeling fretful on this election day, I say, "Be not afraid!" We are a nation of quilters, adept at taking frayed scraps and turning them into comforters. We are a nation of tinkerers, who can take metal scraps and turn them into cars and computers. We will be OK."

Every day is a good day for prayer; election days are good days for multiple prayers.

I've written election day prayers before.  They don't change much.  I've voted in elections that didn't hold much promise of anything new, regardless of which man (gendered language intentional) won.  I've voted in more than one election which seemed like the most consequential one of our lifetime.  And here we are, voting again in an election that might be the most consequential, or one where we look back with bitter tears aghast at how much worse the U.S. situation has gotten.

Here are prayers that I've written on past election days:

Prayer 1: Just and merciful God, on this day help us to be wise as we cast our ballots. Keep us from the dangers of despair. Remind us of the times when the oppressed have been set free, and help us to be part of that process. Give us the courage to do what must be done.

Prayer 2: Generous God, as we head to the polls, help us stay mindful of those who have gone before us, those who didn't have the privileges that we enjoy. Guide us as we choose our leaders. Help us to discern which candidates will help bring to fruition the world that you envision for us.

Prayer 3: Triune God, remind us that no matter what happens today, the sun will rise tomorrow. Remind us of all the leaders who seemed a disastrous pick at the time but who went on to bring about important changes that we'd have never dreamed possible. Remind us of the leaders with hard hearts that softened. Remind us that you are a God who can make all sorts of dreams come true. And remind us that we have a part to play too.

A Youth Sermon for All Saints

When I got to Faith Lutheran Church yesterday, I had one idea for the youth sermon.  I had a braided bread, and I was going to talk about how we're braided together with the people who came before us and the people will come after us.  And that was part of the youth sermon.

But when I got to the sacristy, I saw a basket of autumnal gourds, and I decided to enlarge the sermon.  I moved the basket to the piano that's in front of the pew where the youth come sit for the sermon:

We talked about saints and how we only hear about their good aspects.  But saints come in all varieties, like the gourds. I talked about Saint Paul, how if there had been no Paul, we probably wouldn't be here as Christians, that's how important he was to spreading the faith.  And yet, what did he do before God knocked him off his horse?

I was a little surprised that the kids didn't know.  But that's fine, I'm happy to be the one to break the news:  Paul was killing Christians.  I could see the surprise in their faces.

I talked a bit about the variety in gourds and how it's like the variety in humans--how glorious!  And then the braided bread, and then we were done.  I think it went well.

In fact, as with many days, I thought the youth sermon was better than the adult sermon.  Some weeks, that depresses me.  But most weeks, I'm grateful to have ideas for both, and I'm hopeful that one or the other speaks to the congregation.

Sermon for All Saints Sunday

Here is my sermon for All Saints--when I deliver it, I anticipate that the ending may be slightly different.  In other words, I'm still not happy with it, but I'm leaving room for the Holy Spirit.

 November 3, 2024, All Saints Sunday

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

John 11:32-44

In today’s readings, we get a beautiful vision of a world being prepared for the saints, a life of the world that hasn’t yet been born.  Notice how much of the imagery is similar in both the book of Isaiah and the book of Revelation:  tears being wiped from every eye, death being banished, God coming to dwell with God’s people.

And then we get to the Gospel, which gives us a different view of being a saint.  It’s a curious story, both in light of our festival Sunday and in the book of John.  In the beginning of the 11th chapter, Lazarus is sick and the sisters have sent for Jesus.

What does Jesus do?  Does he rush right to the bedside of the one he loves?  No, he lingers where he is for a few days—and thus sparks centuries of debate about why he does this.  The easiest explanation is one that paints Jesus in a strange light:  he lets Lazarus die so that he can show how powerful he is.  But why would he need to prove his power this way?  He’s healed many people, he’s taught in multiple places,  he’s done miracles like multiplying food, and he’s answered question after question.  By now, people are going to believe or they won’t.  By now, he’s attracted the attention of the people in charge, and they are already plotting against him.

Unlike other stories where we see Mary and Martha, in this story they behave similarly—there’s a measure of reproach when they interact with him.  And who can blame them?  They must have questions about what has kept Jesus away.  Once Lazarus dies, they must know that the miracle they hoped for won’t be theirs.

I’ve come to think of these sisters as some of the pillars of the faith—our Christian foremothers, every bit as praiseworthy as the disciples, and frankly perhaps more deserving of praise.  And yet, they show themselves to be very human here in this story.  Mary says that if Jesus had gotten himself to them in time, her brother wouldn’t have died.  Martha is her typical Martha self, trying to micromanage Jesus, worrying about the social niceties like the neighbors smelling her dead brother.  

In a way, though, who can blame them? They’re not expecting Jesus to raise the dead—that seems outside of the realm of possibility.   Throughout the ages, people experience healing and other types of miracles, but it’s the rare person who believes that a person has been dead for 4 days can be brought back to life.  Mary and Martha must have wondered what on earth Jesus is thinking by rolling back the stone from the tomb. 

The Gospel today is a condensation of each of the Gospels, in microcosm, like seeing the story of an entire forest in a single pinecone, like a sonnet that sings a love song in just 14 lines of iambic pentameter.  In today’s Gospel, we see Jesus who is in relationship with humans, who walks beside them, who experiences their sorrows and  weeps with them.  In today’s Gospel reading, we see Jesus delivering the Good News that death will not have the final answer.

Today’s Gospel story is also a microcosm of the larger story of Creation, the story that is heading towards the vision depicted in Isaiah and Revelation:  tears wiped from every eye, and death has lost its sting.  But we’re certainly not there yet.

Like Mary and Martha, we don’t not fully understand why the world is set up the way it is.  We might see miracle after miracle, teaching after teaching, healing after healing and wonder why, if Jesus can do all of these great things, why let death have any power at all?  We might wish that the redemption that Jesus offers us would look different than it does.

Like Mary and Martha, we, too, might want to micromanage the miracles:  heal Lazarus while he’s sick and don’t expose us all to the smell of miracles at work.  But just imagine if Jesus had allowed himself to be controlled this way.  Mary and Martha have a vision, but it’s puny compared to the vision that our Triune God has for creation, a vision where death no longer has the ultimate say.  Why does God’s vision and hope for creation need to unfold in this way, a way that includes both miracles and sorrow?  I don’t know, but I’m sure that God does know.

Jesus promises us that death is not the final answer. We do not fully understand how Jesus will fulfill that promise. Some will argue that we go directly to Heaven, and some will tell us that we'll wait in a safe place until the final coming of Christ. And in the meantime, Jesus invites us to participate in the creation of the Kingdom, right here, right now. We don't have to wait until we're dead.

On this Sunday where we celebrate the saints, where we remember all who have come before us, let us also remember the ways that they showed us how the Kingdom of God isn’t here yet, but the Kingdom of God is breaking into our lives in new ways.  Let us remember the ways that they showed us how we can unbind ourselves from all the forces of death that have wrapped their clothes around us.  Let us remember all the ways that the community of God shows us a new way, a way out of all that holds us in a tomb.  

Along with all the saints, Jesus stands at the door of our tombs and calls to us.   I know that some days it may seem like too much—we might want to stay in the comfort of the graves that we know and understand.  But today and every day, I hope that we hear the call to a new life, one that can start right now.  Today and every day, I hope that we arise from whatever death holds us in its grips, that we leave the grave cloths behind, that we emerge from our gloomy places ready to experience new life.

The End of Our Autumn Triduum

Today is the last day of our autumn triduum. "Triduum" is a Latin word for 3 days, and it's most commonly used for the time between Good Friday and Easter. But the days of Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls are deeply linked, and in similar ways.

Halloween is the shortening of an earlier name for the holiday: All Hallows Eve. In some cultures, it would simply be the night before the Feast of All Saints, a rather benign feast. Other cultures see this time as one of the thinnest spaces, when it's easiest for souls to slip between worlds--and thus, we see the variety of holidays designed to ward off evil spirits, appease the ancestors, and protect the living--in various combinations.

Most of us understand at least some of the symbolism that comes with Halloween. Those of us who are church going folks have probably celebrated our dearly departed in early November. But what about the overlooked Feast of All Souls?

The Feast of All Saints was originally designed to honor the saints, those who had been beatified--official saints, canonized by the Pope. Some scholars point out that in many countries it was a feast day that honored those who had been martyred for the faith, and that some of those worship services might have been somewhat jarring, with disturbing stories and perhaps an artifact or relic on display.

All Souls Day, celebrated the day after All Saints, was designed to honor everyone else who had died. I've also heard it described as the day that honors those who had died in the past year. In the medieval Catholic theology, those souls would still be in Purgatory, and special prayers would be offered for them on the Feast of All Souls.

Those of you with excellent memories of your English major days may remember that Sir Gawain left for his adventure with the Green Knight on All Souls Day. Medieval audiences would have read a lot into that date of departure. They would be expecting that next year, Gawain would be one of the souls prayed for on this feast day.

In most of the U.S. and Europe, we live in a culture that tries every way possible to deny death and the fact that we are all here for a very short time. But this triduum reminds us not only to honor our dead loved ones and spiritual heroes, but also to take advantage of every minute that we have because we don't have very many of them.

Many of us won't have a chance to worship today, but we can take some time to think about the mystery enfolded in this triduum. We could remember our loved ones and the stories they would have told us. We can think of what we'd like to accomplish in our remaining years.

We are already skating down the corridor which takes us to Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's a time of breathless pace for many of us. Let us take another day to remember the souls of those gone before us. Let us think of our own mortal souls which will not be on this earth for a very long time. Let us resolve to strengthen our spiritual lives, so that we serve as saints for those coming after us.


Here's a prayer I wrote for today:


Comforter God, you know that we miss our recently dead. We do take comfort from your promise that death will not have the final word, but there are stages of our grief where it is difficult to believe. Please forgive us our unbelief and doubt. Please keep reminding us of your love and care. Please strengthen us to be able to provide the same quality of love and care to those around us who are grieving loss. Please keep our creative imaginations focused on the redemption of Creation, where you have promised we will not have any reason to cry anymore.

The Feast Day of All Saints

For many of us, it's been a difficult autumn. We've had two severe storms, Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Milton, and other lesser storms, and for some of us, those storms have reminded us that everything we build is more precarious than we thought. We've had continuing violence of all sorts: gun violence and political violence chief among them, with not one but two assassination attempts on a political candidate. Antisemitism is on the rise.  Hatred in general is on the rise.  The drumbeats of war pound ever more loudly.  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.

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 Feast of All Saints. 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.