The Feast Day of Anna and Simeon

Today we celebrate the lives of Simeon and Anna. Yesterday was the feast day that celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple 40 days after his birth. Simeon was the priest at the temple that day. God had promised Simeon that he would not die without seeing the Messiah, and at the end of Simeon's life, God fulfills the promise.

When he held Jesus, he said the words that many of us still use as part of our liturgies: "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; 30 for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel."

On this day, we also celebrate Anna the Prophetess, who was also there for the presentation. Like Simeon, she's at the end of her life, and she's spent much of her life in the temple, doing the support work that keeps religious work running smoothly. It's interesting that I assume she did the support work--the text says she spent her days worshiping God and fasting and praying. My brain filled in the rest: that she did the sweeping and the care of the candles/lamps and the feeding of everyone.

We have the song of Simeon; I wonder if Anna sang a song? I wonder what it would be?

I am fairly new to this pair of feast days; in fact, I only realized a few years ago that Anna and Simeon share the same feast day. I love feast days that celebrate humans at the end of life, humans who haven't done anything particularly remarkable--although staying faithful for a lifetime is fairly remarkable.

The churches of my childhood didn't spend much time on the old people in any story. The lectionary readings focus on Jesus and the disciples, who are often presented as men in the youthful prime of their lives.

I'm forever grateful to feminist scholars who have returned to these texts and given them a new spin as they imagined what would happen if we moved women to the center of the narratives--or, if not the center, at least out of the marginal shadows.

I feel a need to do something similar with the stories of the old folks. Elizabeth, Simeon, and Anna are great places to start.

Today, let us remember that God makes us a similar promise to the one that Simeon receives. We need but open our eyes to see the presence of the Divine. And if we're faithful to the best of our abilities, we may find out we've been holding the Divine in our hands all along.

When Lectionary Dates Collide: A Sermon for February 2, Candlemas, the Feast Day of the Presentation

 February 2, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 4:21-30

Today we hear about the reaction to Jesus’ preaching in the Temple; it’s part 2 of the reading that we began last week.  You may remember that Jesus reads from Isaiah and then he sits down saying that today the scripture has been fulfilled.

Today is also the feast day of the presentation, 40 days after the birth of Jesus, where Joseph and Mary take the baby Jesus to the temple, according to the custom and the religious law.  We have this story just 2 chapters earlier in the Gospel of Luke.  Simeon is in the Temple, Simeon who has been promised that he will not die before he has seen the Messiah.  He holds the baby Jesus, the fulfillment of the promise, and declares his faith, declares that he has seen the Messiah.  Anna, too, is there—she’s a prophet and she’s 84.  She, too, proclaims Jesus as Messiah, and goes out to tell others.

What a different reaction than the one we see in today’s Gospel from the lectionary.  In today’s reading, some are amazed, some are surprised at the claim, while others say, “Who is this guy?  Isn’t he Jospeh’s son?”  Judging by Jesus’ reaction, there must be a sense of dismissal of Jesus, as if they are saying “How arrogant do you have to be to claim to be the Messiah.  Jesus reminds them of other ancient prophets:  Elijah and Elisha, prophets who were sent to Israel, but also to outsiders who accepted them—and more, to outsiders who helped them survive.

Some interpreters of Luke see this as Jesus telling the hometown crowd that his ministry will be broader than some might have expected the Messiah’s focus to be.  Some have wondered if Jesus was trying to provoke a negative reaction.

If that’s the case, Jesus certainly succeeds!  The people behave with a mob mentality as they move to throw Jesus off a cliff.  Somehow, Jesus escapes.  Is it because he’s a shapeshifter?  Does he vanish like smoke? Does he have a protective shield, a force field?   Are there people in the crowd who hold the others back?  Are the murderous impulses of the crowd not that strong after all?

Now look back to the reaction of Simeon and Anna.  They see the baby and believe, before the baby has done a thing.  The people who hear Jesus in today’s reading have seen what he has done.  Reports about him have come back to his hometown.  Like Simeon and Anna, they have had the chance to see the Messiah with their own eyes.  And their response:  let’s get rid of him.  Not “Praise God, we have seen the Messiah,” but “Kill him.”

It's easy to feel superior, from a distance of thousands of years.  It’s easy to imagine that we would be like Anna or Simeon, that we would instantly profess our faith.  We wouldn’t be like those hometown folks who wanted to throw Jesus off of a cliff.

And yet, as I reflect on my own life, I think about the times I have been closer to that murderous crowd than to  Simeon and Anna.  I think about the times I throw Jesus off the cliff.

How often have we wanted to rely on ourselves alone?  How many times have we suffered, knew that we needed help, but not wanted to pray about it.  I find myself thinking about the larger problems of the world; surely God has better things to do than to worry about my little anxieties.  And yet, we know that God wants to be involved in our lives.

How often have we wanted to rely on human innovation?  How often have we trusted our own resources instead of God?  I think of every miraculous healing and how often I want to give the credit to researchers or medicines or the body’s ability to heal itself.  I think of how often I am reluctant to say that I have seen a true miracle.

We may be like those who heard Jesus preach that day and say, “Messiah?  Joseph’s boy was not the Messiah I was expecting.”  We might want to want to micromanage the miracles we are requesting.  We might wish we could trade in the miracles that come to us for something different, something with more power and domination.  We might not be able to be like Simeon who can see the Messiah in human form.  We might wish that God came to us in a different form.

How often do we sink into despair?  We see chaos and assume that God has left us to our own devices and that we are doomed.  We discount the power of good to overcome the powers of evil. Again, we throw God over the cliff. God commands us to be children of the light, committed to love. Many humans seem to prefer to wallow in our feelings of fear and despair. Ah, despair, the sin that medievalists would remind us is the deadliest of the deadly sins--for it is despair that keeps us from believing that life can be different, that God is really in control. And if we can avoid believing that God is in control, then we can avoid our responsibilities towards this world that God created, this world that God declared “Good and very good.”

The new year, which is quickly moving towards becoming the old year, is a good time for reflection, a good time to turn inward and to become aware of areas where we could still use improvement. Sure, God loves us the way that we are (a gift of grace to be sure). But God always calls us to be better. It's time to work on our attitudes and beliefs and actions that throw Jesus off the cliff, attitudes and beliefs and actions that make others think that God is indeed dead.

Today, let us remember that God makes us a similar promise to the one that Simeon receives. We need but open our eyes to see the presence of the Divine. And if we're faithful to the best of our abilities, we may find out we've been holding the Divine in our hands all along.  

Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland. She is one of the early Christians who stood at the intersection of Christianity, Druidism, and the other pagan religions of Ireland. She is also one of those extraordinary women who did amazing things, despite the patriarchal culture in which she lived.

Like so many of our early Christian church mothers, she felt called by God from a very early age. She resisted attempts to get her married: one account has her scooping out her diseased eye in protest of an impending marriage--and later, healing her dangling eyeball by putting it back in her head. When we go back to read about the lives of women in medieval times, it's amazing that more women didn't fight harder to go join the cloistered life.

St. Brigid founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare. She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination. The illustrated manuscript, the Book of Kildare, was created under her auspices. Unfortunately, it's been lost since the Reformation, so we know it by its reputation only.

She's also famous for her generosity, especially to the poor. She showed this compassion early on, giving away all of her mother's butter to a poor person--and then, by her prayers, the butter was restored.

As a 21st century woman, I'm amazed at what she was able to accomplish, during times that are much more difficult than mine. Founding numerous religious orders, motivating artists, compassion to the poor, devotion to God--she seemed to have had no trouble leading an authentic, integrated life. Why does it seem so hard to me?

Of course, I know Brigid across a space of centuries, through the gauze of hagiography and legend. If Brigid could speak, what would she say? Would she tell us of the sleepless nights where she wondered how she was going to find enough food, enough contributions, to keep her religious orders afloat? Would she bemoan all her administrative duties, which sucked away so much energy, when all she really wanted to do was to illuminate manuscripts?

What do our lives say about our beliefs? If centuries from now, a middle-aged woman read about your life as you're living it, would she be inspired? Are we leading authentic, integrated lives? Are we building concrete institutions that will outlast us by centuries?

First Funeral of a Parishioner

Yesterday, after I finished banana bread baking and sermon writing, we got in the car and headed across the mountain to Faith Evangelical Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  One of Faith's parishioners died last week, and his funeral was yesterday at 1:00.  I was happy that the family wanted me to preside and relieved that the funeral was at a time that was easy for me.

Let me stress that even if it had been at a time that wasn't easy for me, I would have done it.  The parishioner had been such an important part of the faith community, and his brother and sister-in-law are part of the congregation.  It felt important to be there.

The service was relatively short; we didn't have communion.  My sermon seemed well received.  The eulogy after my sermon was the perfect counterpoint.  I've only been part of the community for 18 months, so I didn't have the personal stories that were shared during the eulogy.  I did the theological stuff that needs to be done, the assertion that we are resurrection people and death doesn't have the final word (to read the sermon, go here).  But I wouldn't be surprised or hurt if the eulogy gave people more comfort.

As we got in the cars to go to the cemetary, I thought, this is what the Church does well:  comforting the grieving.  I know that many people would say that it's not enough, that the Church needs to be on the front lines confronting the federal government, and that may be true.  But there are plenty of activists of all types who do that job better than the Church.

I was struck by how many motorists stopped or pulled to the side of the road as the procession went by.  I was touched by that measure of respect and happy that it still exists in the world.  We live in a world that seems increasingly angry and cruel.  None of that world was on display yesterday.

We returned to the church where church members had prepared an amazing meal:  roast beef at a carving station, salad, potatoes au gratin, and several desserts--all delicious.  We are lucky to have a member who had a past life as a chef, and he took charge of the meal.  We ate around 3, which seems a perfect way to minister to the family.  They could eat a lot or a little, and it meant that they didn't need to think about preparing a meal later.

We headed back across the mountains to our home in Arden.  I had a few bites of cheese and a glass of wine while doing my reading for seminary class tonight.  I went to bed early.  Of course, most nights I go to bed early, but last night I felt a level of tiredness that's unusual for me, a depletion of my reserves.  It was good to be able to crash.

I am feeling a bit discombobulated this morning, even as I am more rested.  I have the "What day is it?" feeling.  Happily, today is an easy teaching day, and my seminary class tonight is wonderful (as is my Monday class--I am so lucky!).  And tomorrow, it's Friday again.  It's a week-end with a lot to get done, but it will be good to have a bit of extra time.

Sermon for the Funeral of Farrell Long

 January 29, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

The Funeral of Farrell Long

Today we gather to celebrate the life of Farrell Duane Long, a brother, a father, a friend.  I did not know him as well as most of you gathered here did.  But my earliest memory of him is one that I kept coming back to as I thought about today’s homily.

Near the end of the summer of 2023, two months or so after my first day, during the announcements, Pam stood up and encouraged us to take home a jar of jam.  She said that she and Stephanie and Camryn had gone over to Farrell’s house to pick muscadine grapes so that they could make jam.  Farrell had extra grapes, and they had a great day harvesting them, and now they were happy to share the bounty with the rest of us.  Some jars were plain, some had lemon.  We could take one of each if we wanted.  

We went into the narthex, which had been overtaken by jars of jam—what a sweet and great abundance!  I had a moment where I thought I had fallen into an alternate universe:  what kind of place is this where a multi-generational family goes over to a church member’s house to pick grapes?  What kind of place is this where we all arrive at church and leave with jars of delicious jam?

I later realized what Farrell helped to create here at Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church—it is an alternate universe, isn’t it?  And as I’ve talked to family members this week, it wasn’t just at Faith Lutheran.  He had a similar impact in earlier churches, and the presence of so many family members, from far-flung places, tells me that he had this kind of impact in other spaces too.

This transforming generosity of Farrell makes it even harder to face life without him physically here with us.  We justifiably ask, “Why?  Why?  Why do we have to lose the ones we love?” I remember Farrell’s questions when I saw him on Christmas Eve; he said that he might understand other ailments, but why bladder cancer?   And then, we might let ourselves question God.  “Why set up creation this way?  Make it make sense, God.”

Of course, we are not the first to ask these questions.  Through the ages, people have come up with all kinds of answers, some more satisfying than others.  I suspect we’ll hear some theology that make us feel worse instead of better.  I’m not going to cover every possibility here—besides, you’ve likely already heard them.  We could have long conversations about where our beliefs in the afterlife can be found in the Bible or how certain ideas about death and the afterlife came into existence at certain times in church history.

But this is not the time for that.  When we’ve lost someone important to us, all of that information isn’t much help, and it’s usually not a comfort.  We confidently say yes, people go on to prepare a place for us, but what about the here and now, when we have to figure out what this means for our lives, how to go on, how to find hope and comfort.

Jesus comes to announce the inbreaking kingdom of God, that it’s underway but not complete.  It’s a mystery that we inhabit.  We see evidence of God’s presence, but we also see imperfection in our current lives.  Our scriptures tell us of a time in the future when God’s work in creation will be complete—Jesus comes to make progress, but even in his resurrection, the transformation of this world—our world—is incomplete.

There is good news here.  We are a resurrection people.  Through the resurrection of Jesus, we know that death does not have the final word.  We proclaim that in our creeds every week.  When we gather here together to mourn the loss of Farrell, who has been so vital to us, it may be difficult to believe.  It sure looks like death has had the final word.  It sure looks like cancer has won a victory for the forces of death and decay.  It’s harder to see the fulfilled promise of a creation where all can grow and flourish.

At this juncture, we might not be able to say in full confidence that death doesn’t have the final word.  In our time of deep grief, maybe it’s hard to believe that.  We can read our Scripture, and the words may seem hollow.  If you experience that hollowness, rest assured, it’s OK.  Paul’s letters and every Gospel text reassure us that God will not abandon us, even when we find it hard to keep the faith we proclaim to each other and to the world.

We don’t know what that final victory over death will look like.  But we do know that God continues the work of creation, that work of making all things new.  We see glimpses that give us some insight:  the coming of spring after a hard winter, the doors that close and the opportunities that develop after the door is closed, the seedlings that grow where fruit dropped to the ground, the broken relationships that heal.

We see a glimpse of the new creation that God is making here, where we gather to comfort each other in this loss as we say goodbye, where we remember how Farrell helped to build this community, this community that mirrors the one that God intends for us, the eternal community that we are all creating together.

In the life of Farrell, we have gotten a foretaste of the abundant feast to come, whether it be in the muscadine jam that sweetened our toast, in the windows and parking lots that are no longer broken, in the church council decisions that ensure that this faith community is stronger, in all of the ways he showed us how to live.  We say goodbye for now.  

We know that death does not have the final word.  Farrell will not be erased.  We will remember him, and we will continue the good work that he was such an integral part of.  We will run and not grow weary.  We will grieve because we must wait for the final salvation, when God wipes every tear from every grieving eye.  But we will also look forward to that day, that day when the forces of love do conquer the power of death for a final time, when we are reunited with all whom we have held dear and these forms we often miss, when the circle will be unbroken. 

That day will come.  Death does not get to have the final word.  Let us now sing of that Blessed assurance.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 2, 2025:

First Reading: Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm: Psalm 71:1-6

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Gospel: Luke 4:21-30


In this Gospel, we see the reactions of Jesus' listeners to his proclamation that the Scripture has been fulfilled. They can't believe that this boy that they knew as a child could be the Messiah. And then they decide to throw him over a cliff.

I wish I could say that I thought this behavior was bizarre, but I don't. Unfortunately, many people, even dedicated Christians, have this reaction to the Sacred.

How many times have you seen clear evidence of God working in your life? How many times have you discounted your experiences? "It can't be God. It's just coincidence that the issues for which I prayed for help and guidance have been resolved." We should be shouting for joy, and praying prayers of thanksgiving, and instead, we chalk it up to randomness.

In some ways, this behavior is similar to the desire to throw Jesus off the cliff. We discount the power of God, and so we diminish our relationship with God. Later, in the Good Friday story, we scoff at Simon Peter's denial of Jesus, but we often deny God on a daily basis. Many of us are committed to a scientific, rational view of the universe that leaves no room for a divine power. We throw God over the cliff.

Or worse, we're committed to a view of the universe as chaotic and threatening. We discount the power of good to overcome the powers of evil. Again, we throw God over the cliff. God commands us to be children of the light, committed to love. Many of us prefer to wallow in our feelings of fear and despair. Ah, despair, the sin that medievalists would remind us is the deadliest of the deadly sins--for it is despair that keeps us from believing that life can be different, that God is really in control. And if we can avoid believing that, then we can avoid our responsibilities towards this world that God created.

One of the most insidious ways that we continue to throw Jesus over the cliff is in our daily behavior, especially if those around us know that we are Christians. So often, our behavior undercuts our Christian stance. What will the rest of the world think of our triune God when they see us behave in ways that they know are distinctly not Christian? How do we lead people away from Jesus by our unflattering behavior? It's time to remember that we are to be an example of the kind of world that Jesus came to help us create.

The new year, which is quickly moving towards becoming the old year, is a good time for reflection, a good time to turn inward and to become aware of areas where we could still use improvement. Sure, God loves us the way that we are (a gift of grace to be sure). But God always calls us to be better. It's time to work on our attitudes and beliefs and actions that throw Jesus off the cliff, attitudes and beliefs and actions that make others think that God is indeed dead.

A Week in Sermons

It has been an interesting week, composing a sermon, while many people from all parts of life commented on the sermon given in the National Cathedral by Bishop Budde, while thinking about the first sermon Jesus gives (the lectionary reading for Jan. 26).  One of my parishioners died last week, so I've also been thinking about funeral homilies, how they are both similar to the weekly sermon and different.

My spouse stayed home yesterday; he's preparing for a colonoscopy.  Because our tech volunteer is recording the sermon now, he was able to see it (go here to view it for yourself). He had read a draft and commented on it.  He was not nearly as enthusiastic about the written draft than as about the recording.

I thought it was a decent sermon.  I was pleased with how I included all the readings to help us understand the Gospel text.  I thought it had ties to what is going on in our contemporary times:  I did reference Bishop Budde's sermon, and I got laughs when I said, "Most of us probably will never be invited to give a sermon at the National Cathedral--well almost certainly, none of us will be invited to give a sermon there."  But I encouraged us to think about our lives as the sermon we're delivering.  What do people learn about how God is at work in the world as they observe our lives?

I have connections with a wide variety of clergy on social media, and I know that many of them were planning to preach much more revolutionary sermons, calling attention to bishop statements from our own denomination, calling attention to the incoming administration's orders about immigration, about other issues of social justice that Jesus might tell us to pay attention to as we consider the words of Isaiah that Jesus chose to read.

I know that many people would look at my sermon and say that it's not prophetic, and depending on the definition they're using, they're right.  I didn't print out a sign that tells the federal government that they can't come on church property; it's a little country church in Southern Appalachia where that's not going to be an issue.  If we wanted to offer sanctuary to someone not in the country legally, we'd have to drive a great distance to find that person (I think).

I do know that the church does an amazing job of raising money and giving it away to various community groups; I know this because we had the annual meeting yesterday, and I took a copy of the document with me.  This church has completely changed the assumptions I used to have about small churches, country churches, all sorts of churches, and I mean that in the best way.

Sermon for January 26, 2025

 January 26, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 4:  14-21

Earlier this week, as I sat down to think about the Sunday sermon, there was quite a lot of talk about the sermon that Bishop Budde gave at the Service of Prayer for the Nation.  I saw the clip of the last minute or two, and after a day of hearing a wide variety of people comment on it, I decided to watch the whole sermon.  It’s only 14 minutes, and it’s much more nuanced than the clip of the end would lead one to believe.  As I watched, I thought about the Gospel reading for Sunday, which has Jesus preaching a sermon, a much shorter sermon than the ones that we are used to.  

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all include a version of this story, but in the Gospel of Luke, the sermon appears early in the narrative of Jesus’ life, right after baptism and the temptation in the wilderness.  Jesus is filled with the spirit at his baptism, and in today’s Gospel reading, he’s still filled with the Spirit.  He preaches this sermon, which serves as the summary of what his mission and life will be—it’s like the overture of a symphony that tells you what to expect.  And then the symphony follows, and if we go back to the overture, we see that we’ve been given a foretaste.  Here in this reading, we see the same thing, and in fact, if you look at the early chapters of Luke, even the Christmas story, you’ll see that the Gospel writer of Luke uses beginnings to create anticipation for the middle and the end of the story.

One might protest that what we see is not a sermon—and in fact, the people hearing Jesus might also have been expecting more.  One Bible commentary writer notes that the detail about Jesus reading the scroll on the Sabbath is what lets us know that it’s more of a sermon situation than a teaching or reading the sacred text situation.  In the Gospel for next week, which continues the story, there’s language that can lead us to think that he talks a bit more on the topic than we see in the text for today.  

Our Old Testament passage, the reading from Nehemiah, gives us insight into how sermons might have been given traditionally:  read the scripture, help the people understand, and then help them navigate their reactions.  And we can see Jesus doing just that.  In fact, he uses the rest of his life doing that process.  His life is not spent in the Temple, giving sermon after sermon, listening to others give sermons.  No, his whole life is a sermon.  

Jesus chooses the passage from Isaiah that proclaims the good news that God will keep the promises made through the ages.  And then Jesus lives the text, his life a testament and a fulfillment of the promises that he declares in today’s Gospel of Jesus’ first sermon.

Our lives, too, are a sermon, and each day, it’s worth thinking about what sermon we preach by our actions.  If I spend more time feeling aggravated about my fellow humans than praying for them, my life is preaching one kind of sermon.  If I go on Facebook to celebrate a quilting group that made over 200 quilts in a year for Lutheran World Relief, my life is preaching a different sermon than if I go on Facebook to argue with people who don’t vote the way that I do.

Most seminary professors who train students in the ways of sermon giving would tell us that sermons need to be grounded in a Biblical text.  It’s what Jesus does.  It’s worth thinking about our lives as sermons and what Biblical texts our lives proclaim.  What do we reveal about God as we live our daily existence?  What Bible text grounds us?

Our lives can proclaim a powerful witness to the life changing power of a relationship with God.  We celebrate God the Creator, and as we see in Psalm 19, all of creation serves as God’s sermon, to tell us who God is and how God is working in the world.  Listen to those first words again:  

The heavens are telling the glory of God, and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.

19:2Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge.

19:3There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard;

19:4yet their voice goes out through all the earth and their words to the end of the world.

Jesus, too, creates a sermon out of action; his whole life explains the ways of God to those who take time to listen.  As we look at all of Scripture, another way that we come to know God, we see God’s concern for the poor, the oppressed, those held captive.  We see God breaking through again and again to try to abolish oppressive structures and to proclaim that we can live more freely. Jesus’ choice of a much older prophetic text to read shows that God’s message remains consistent through the centuries.

God’s inbreaking also happens through the Holy Spirit, whose power is not limited to Jesus.  In the reading from 1 Corinthians, we see how the Holy Spirit transforms the first Christian communities, knitting them into one body, each with an important role to play.  Each part of the body has a different function, but each function is necessary.    

As we look at the passage from Isaiah that Jesus reads as his sermon text, we might use that as a tool to measure our activities.  Are we doing what God calls us to do?  Do our lives show how the spirit of the Lord is upon us?

There are many ways to bring good news to the poor.  The world is held captive by many powers, and we have many ways to break that power.  Oppression takes many forms, and there are many ways to heal the blind and to restore a vision.  Our triune God shows us again and again that we can proclaim the Good News of the Lord’s joy in so many ways.

Most people will not come through the doors of this church.  But that’s O.K. because we will go out into the world to do the proclaiming that is ours to do.  That old spiritual, “There Is a Balm in Gilead,” says, “If you cannot preach like Peter, If you cannot pray like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus, and say he died for all.”

There are many ways to tell that love of Jesus, to let our lives be a sermon that is complex and nuanced.  Most of us will never be invited to preach a sermon at the National Cathedral, a sermon for all the world to see and hear. But let’s not ignore the powerful witness of the way we live our lives as members of the body of God; our lives can do powerful speaking without us ever needing to say a word of speech.  Our lives can be a sermon, and for all who see our lives, we can be a powerful witness to God’s power to transform those structures that would break us, keep us blind, hold us bound and captive, and crush us into dust.

Let your life be a sermon.  Let your life be a testament to the ways that God keeps all the promises made through the ages.  

Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul

Today the Church celebrates the conversion of St. Paul. Take a minute to imagine how the world would be different if we had had no Saul of Tarsus. There would have been no Saul persecuting the Christians, no Saul to have a conversion experience on the road to Damascus, no Paul who was such a singular force in bringing Christianity to the Roman empire.

Early Christianity would have had some traction even had there been no Paul. Those disciples and apostles had a fire borne of their experiences to be sure. But it was Paul and his compatriots who brought Christianity to populations apart from the early Jews. Without Paul, Christianity might have withered on the tiny Palestinian vine, since the other disciples and apostles didn't have the same fervor for converting people outside the immediate geographical area, and they certainly weren't interested in bringing a new message to Gentiles.

Would someone else have come along? Probably. The Holy Spirit does work in interesting ways. But Paul was a fascinating choice, a man with extensive training, a man who could speak to multiple populations. For those of us who feel we don't fit in anywhere, we should take comfort from Paul's story. The Holy Spirit can use misfits in fascinating ways. The Bible is full of them.

Some criticize Paul's letters for their inconsistencies. I would remind us that Paul was writing to real congregations who were facing real problems. I imagine that he would be aghast at the idea that anyone centuries later would use them as a behavior manual to teach right behavior. It would be as if someone collected an assortment of your e-mails and centuries later saw direct communication from God in them.

For those of us who have found Paul troubling in terms of his ideas about women, about married people, about slaves, I'd recommend Classics scholar Sarah Ruden's Paul Among the People: The Apostle Reinterpreted and Reimagined in His Own Time (Pantheon 2010), which I first wrote about here. She gives a window into the ancient world which I had never really peered through before. Her depiction of sexual relations of all sorts makes me shudder, and more than that, makes me so glad to be alive today. The Roman empire really was a rape culture in all sorts of ways. Viewed through this lens, Paul's ideas on relationships seem radically forward-looking.

I also find it helpful to remember that Paul expected that Christ would return within the lifetime of everyone hearing or reading his words.  He wasn't writing guidebooks for the centuries.  He would be astonished to realize that we're still reading his letters--much the way that I would be if someone from 2000 years in the future told me that future communities treasured my blog posts or e-mails.

Here is a prayer for today:

Triune God, you work in truly wondrous ways. Thank you for the ministry of Paul and all the ways that we have benefited from his missionary fervor. Let us use the life of Paul as inspiration for our own lives. Let us trust that you can use our gifts in all sorts of ways that we can't even imagine. Give us the courage to follow your calling to the far reaches of whichever empires you need to send us. Give us the words that congregations need right now. Grant us the peace that comes from having partnered with you.

A Sermon to Emulate

All yesterday, I heard much talk about Bishop Budde's sermon at the worship Service of Prayer for the Nation, which was held at the National Cathedral. This morning, I decided to watch the whole sermon, not just the last few minutes which have gotten such attention, when she spoke directly to the incoming president, urging compassion to persecuted groups, like people here illegally and gay, lesbian, and trans children.

Bishop Budde is the Episcopal Bishop of the Archdiocese of Washington D.C., so it is no surprise that she knows how to craft a sermon.  I watched parts of the service that came before it:  an hour of gathering music (diverse selections), a wide variety of worship leaders and readers, that beautiful cathedral.  The whole service, 2 hours and 18 minutes, is here; the sermon itself is here; you can read the transcript here.

I then watched Bishop Budde's conversation with Rachel Maddow which was a different kind of conversation than I was expecting; you can watch it here.  They were both very thoughtful about what it means to give a sermon, that it's a different kind of speech than the kinds of speeches that usually flood our airwaves.  Bishop Budde talked about the need for compassion, and the tone of the ending of the sermon, about how compassion needs to be manifest in a given time.  I didn't think the tone was particularly angry or confrontational, particularly not in the context of the whole sermon.  

There was discussion of her courage, which she shrugged off.  Bishop Budde pointed out that the worship service that happens with each inauguration usually includes a direct address to the president, so what she did was not so unusual.  And those of us paying attention have seen her bravery before, in June of 2020, when she spoke out in the wake of the murder of George Floyd when President Trump talked about sending the U.S. military out to quell protests.

I remembered that Diane Rehm had an interview with Bishop Budde, so I sought it out.  They discussed Bishop Budde's book, How We Learn to Be Brave.  This interview gave me such happiness and left me feeling nourished in all sorts of ways.  You can listen/watch here.

This week's Gospel, Luke 4:14-21, has Jesus giving a sermon of sorts, and I need to start writing my own sermon for Sunday.  It's been a week of sermons and prayers, not just Bishop Budde's.  It's interesting to consider those, in light of all of the readings for Sunday.  I look forward to seeing how all of these streams converge.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, January 26, 2025:

First Reading: Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm: Psalm 19

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Gospel: Luke 4:14-21

In this reading from Luke, we see Jesus in one of his early public appearances, reading in the Temple. The passage that Jesus reads from Isaiah gives us an idea of what God has in mind for us and our mission in the world: preach good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, set the oppressed free, give the blind their sight. In the years that follow, in the chapters of the Gospel to come, we see Jesus doing exactly what he said he would do.

We might be tempted to say: "Sure that was fine for Christ, but he was part God." The next part of this sentence is usually one designed to let us off the hook: so, therefore, I don't have to do what Jesus did (feed the hungry, visit the sick, work for the rights of the oppressed); after all, I'm only human.

Jesus was human too, and therefore, anything he did, we could do. In fact, some theologians posit that Jesus came to show us how to live God's vision for us right here on earth, in our own communities.

Interesting to think about church communities and individual Christians. How are we living out Christ's mission? Notice that Jesus doesn't say, "I came to show you how to model your church/synod/denomination according to modern business practices so that you can build up your endowment." Jesus doesn't say, "I came to give you this cool prayer--if you pray it three times a day, you'll get rich." Jesus does not say, "I came so that you might know to meet in a building once a week." Jesus doesn't say, "I came to revamp your worship service with music/media/atmosphere that's more accessible to the modern seeker mentality." Jesus has a very different agenda than the ones that modern people might want him to have.

As we will see in the coming weeks, Jesus focuses on community. Not just once a week, meet for an hour community, but a deep, committed group of people. He works with the people he meets, people like you and me, people who are far from perfect. He works where he is, in a distant outpost of a powerful empire. He doesn't say, "Well, I better move to Rome, because that's where the rich and the powerful people are, and they know how to get things done." He looks around, sees what needs to be done, and does it.

And it's important to realize that he does his work at great risk to himself. Empires realize that their future is threatened by communities that are deeply committed to the vision of God. They'd rather have us spend our hard-earned money--and work ever longer hours to get more money--on cheap junk made by oppressed people on the other side of the planet.

In the first weeks of this new year, it's a good time to think about how we might make this year different. How can we be part of the work that makes the scripture be fulfilled?

Prophets and Martyrs, Past and Present (Sermon Notes)

I think that yesterday's sermon went well.  You can read it in this blog post, and you can see it (which will have some additions to the text) through this video on my YouTube channel.

As I did my pre-writing, I thought about how postponing the Baptism of Our Lord Sunday gave me an interesting opportunity to make connections between John the Baptist, Jesus, Martin Luther King, and the inauguration (which gave me an opportunity to talk about modern politicians, who will never say the words of John the Baptist, "I am not the Messiah").

I didn't talk much about modern politics; I wanted a sermon that was more hopeful than that.  As we looked at the recording of my sermon, my spouse said to me, "I don't think I've ever heard a sermon that connected John the Baptist, Jesus, and Martin Luther King Jr."

We will now get back on track with the Revised Common Lectionary.  I am somewhat sad to miss the opportunity to preach on the Wedding in Cana and water turned into wine, but I think it's better to get back on track sooner rather than later.

We came back across the mountain in blowing snow, but at least it wasn't sticking, unlike two weeks ago.  This winter is so different from last winter, in terms of weather that makes me question if our decision to travel was wise.  But I'm glad that we had the opportunity to gather.  I am glad that I had the opportunity to declare a message of hope.  As I looked at the congregation, I was struck by how many families are dealing with heavy stuff:  health stuff, death stuff, work stuff.  Darker days may be coming, and I'm glad I didn't scrap the ending to my sermon.

Sermon for January 19, 2025 (Postponed Baptism of Jesus)

Last week we canceled worship service because of nasty weather and difficult driving conditions.  Today we'll celebrate the Baptism of Jesus, and next week, we'll get back in sync with the Revised Common Lectionary.

January 19, 2025 (Baptism of Jesus postponed)

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

We usually celebrate the baptism of Jesus much closer to the end of the Christmas season.  But because of last week’s weather delay, we have an opportunity to think of the baptism of Jesus in a slightly different context, as we prepare to celebrate the life of Martin Luther King Jr. with a federal holiday tomorrow.  Because the 20th Amendment to the Constitution mandates that the Inauguration will take place on January 20, we will also have an inauguration tomorrow.

We might think about baptism as the opposite of a political inauguration, a private event, something primarily for friends and family and churches to observe, but John the Baptist was doing a new thing.  And if we read the omitted passages, we’d be reminded that he attracted the attention of not just Temple officials, but also Herod and other political leaders.  John inspires such hope that people come out to the wilderness to be part of what he offers—harsh language included.

As I read the text for this Sunday, I was struck by the yearning that the people must have felt.  Look again at the first sentence of today’s Gospel:  “the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah.”  I know that many of us approach presidential elections and inaugurations and new years with the same emotions:  expectations, questions, hopes and fears about what will be different, what will be the same.

Many of us approach presidential elections as if we’re looking for the Messiah, but it’s rare to find a politician who echoes the words of John, a politician who says, “I am not the Messiah.”  I find those words a soothing mantra, especially as I think about the problems that plague society, the problems that we can’t seem to fix:  “I am not the Messiah.”  But it’s not a response that’s likely to win elections.  We want our leaders to fix what is wrong, to lead us to a promised land, to save us.  

Think about the restraint of John the Baptist, who could have seized power, but does not.  He understands his role in a way that so few people do.  And yet, we know the end of his story.  Even as he has stepped away from power, he cannot save himself.  We know the ending of John’s story:  another victim of King Herod.

Throughout history, prophets, politicians, and messiahs often share a similar fate; even those who can avoid death are likely to find themselves silenced in other ways.  This week-end, I’m thinking of Martin Luther King, Jr., a modern prophet who continues to inspire with his vision of the future, a future when people wouldn’t be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.  In some ways, his vision doesn’t seem so radical.  We could look at the words of some of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the U.S. and see similar language.  But King’s vision of the future was so threatening to so many that he was killed—just like John the Baptist and just like Jesus.

And yet, the threat of death did not deter them.  We see all three men willing to undergo great difficulties to speak the truth about the world as they saw it.  We see three men willing to call attention to the problems of the world and offering a compelling vision of something different.  We see people respond and for a moment, the arc of the moral universe does bend towards justice.

However inspiring, let us admit there is still so much work to do.  The rest of that Martin Luther King quote does tell us that the timeline is long:  “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”  It’s easy to forget how long that arc might be.  As with the inbreaking kingdom of God that Jesus proclaimed, we live in the tension of both the now and the not yet.  I think of the speech that Dr. King gave the night before he was assassinated, when he invoked Moses, saying “ I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.[252]”

When we look at the life of Jesus, the life of Martin Luther King, we might be tempted to see them as people apart from us, people able to do great things that we cannot.  We might feel despair.  The words of John the Baptist might not comfort us after all, when we think about all the ways we’ve fallen short.  We may not be the messiah, but we might now hear that phrase as criticism of all we have not done to bend that arc of the moral universe to justice.

But hear again the good news, both in the reading from Acts and in the Gospel.  We are not the Messiah—but we are not alone.  In baptism, the Holy Spirit comes and clothes us with power from on high (as Jesus will describe the process at the end of the book of Luke).  The coming of the Holy Spirit equips us to do what we might not have dreamed would be possible.

The baptism of Jesus is one of the events that each Gospel writer includes—but each Gospel writer presents it in a slightly different way.  In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is one of many who come to John to be baptized.  In Matthew and Mark, the heavens open and the Spirit descends as Jesus comes up out of the water.  In the gospel of John, John the Baptist reports what happened when he baptized Jesus.  In all of the Gospels, baptism happens, but in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is baptized with all the other people, and then later, as he prays, the Holy Spirit comes.  In fact, the Gospel of Luke will show Jesus in prayer more than any other Gospel does.  The mission of Jesus begins with baptism, but Jesus lives that mission in a position of prayer.  Similarly, Martin Luther King had an abundant prayer life, a prayer life that fortified him to go out and change the world.

Jesus is at prayer when he gets that message that so many of us long to hear, the message of God’s boundless love.  Jesus is not out healing the sick or including the outcast at the dinner table when God speaks this message of love.  Jesus prays and hears this message.  

We live in a noisy world, full of people determined to fill our ears with a different message, most of them not containing much good news.  The beauty of a spiritual practice like prayer is that it silences all the other voices and allows us to hear God’s voice, calling us to a life that will let us bloom and flourish.

This message is not one reserved for Jesus alone.  Hear again the word of God, delivered through a prophet who lived centuries before John. Hear again the message from God that Isaiah gives us in our first lesson for today:  

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

  I have called you by name, you are mine.

 2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

  and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

 when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

  and the flame shall not consume you.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, January 19, 2025:

First Reading: Isaiah 62:1-5

Psalm: Psalm 36:5-10

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

Gospel: John 2:1-11


Today's Gospel presents the first miracle of Jesus, the turning of water into wine at a wedding. No doubt that some preachers across the country will take this opportunity to talk about weddings and the sanctity of marriage; they'll see the participation of Jesus as his sanction of this institution. Perhaps others will talk about miracles, while others talk about the proper way to treat one's mother.

I'm less interested in the marriage issue than in the miracle issue. In this Gospel, Jesus resists his mother's urging to help out with the wine. Why does he do that? Does he have a splashier miracle in mind as his announcement that he's arrived? Is it the typical rebellion of the child against the parent?

And then, why does Jesus change his mind?

You might make the argument that Jesus shouldn't care about whether or not the wedding guests had wine. You might argue it's a trivial miracle. But scholars would remind us that to run out of wine at a wedding would be a serious breach of hospitality. The whole extended family would suffer great embarrassment and shame—and there might be rippling effects through a community with strict codes that modern readers can scarcely imagine.

At a Create in Me retreat at Lutheridge, Bishop Gordy, head of the Southeast Synod of the ELCA, led a fascinating study of this text. He sees the this first miracle as showing us that Jesus was not so focused on his own agenda that he couldn’t act on the need for compassion for this couple who is about to experience great humiliation.

Bishop Gordy also pointed us to the abundance in this miracle. Just like the loaves and fishes miracle, Jesus provides more than humans can use—not just enough for the given situation. The wine doesn’t run out. Indeed, they have wine left at the end of the wedding feast.

And it’s good wine. God doesn’t just give out leftovers and lesser quality. We’re the ones who operate out of a scarcity consciousness. The miracles of Jesus, particularly in John’s Gospel, remind us that not only will there be enough, there will be great abundance.

What does Jesus need for this miracle? Water and jars. What could be simpler? Gail O’Day notes that the jars were used for purification. The old forms aren’t destroyed, just filled with newness and new purpose.

We often hesitate to ask God for what we truly need and want. We’re afraid of rejection. We’re afraid that the task is too hard. The miracle stories remind us that God can use the materials at hand to give us more abundance than we can use.

Perhaps this could be the year that we rid ourselves of our scarcity thinking. We worship a God of abundance and great giving. Rejoice in this good news.

Plough Monday and Blessing the Tools of Our Work

I saw a post from Eleanor Parker about today:  "Today is Plough Monday, the first Monday after Epiphany. This was traditionally the first day back at work after the Christmas holiday, and it was celebrated by blessing tools of work - a way of starting off the new year well, but also an excuse for some last Christmas festivity!"

My first thought is that she had dates wrong; it feels like it's been a small ice age since Epiphany.  But I knew better--she's an expert on medieval times and customs, after all.  Then I looked at the calendar:  a week ago was Epiphany, so today is, indeed, the first Monday after Epiphany.

I love the idea of blessing the tools of our work as we settle into our post-holiday rhythms.  I love the idea of blessing the tools of our work periodically, since work takes up so much of most of our lives.  Most of us would be blessing electronics, and I do love this laptop where I do so much work.

As I got to campus last week, on Monday which was Epiphany, I said a prayer for all of us:  faculty gathered for a day of meeting, training, and eating before the semester started, a prayer for the students who were getting ready for class, a prayer for all the support staff who make our lives better.

I would like to be the kind of person who offers these kinds of prayers at the start of every day, at every arrival and departure.  It's much easier to be aware of these kinds of prayer opportunities as the calendar changes, as semesters start, as we look back at how our ancestors lived.

Cancelling Worship Service

If this was a normal Sunday, we'd be heading to Bristol, Tennessee by now, where I am the Synod Appointed Minister for Faith Lutheran.  But this morning, we've cancelled service.  Since we had bulletins and music prepared, I recommended that we do tomorrow's service a week later, on January 19.  The Baptism of Our Lord seems more important than the Wedding at Cana, the lectionary reading for Jan. 19. 

I spent part of yesterday morning looking at weather reports and special weather statements, and I was certain that canceling worship and Sunday School was wise--and I am still certain.  We've had a lot of snow and ice, and while many roads are passable, some would have frozen again overnight.  My spouse and I had decided that we would not make the trip across the mountains, regardless of whether or not the church decided to go ahead with worship.

But I also thought we should cancel so that everyone could stay home in good conscience.  I know that there are some folks in every church group who will be there if the doors are open, no matter how ill advised it is to travel.  We can help people stay safe by canceling activities.

And there's the issue of the parking lot and how to get it cleared in time for worship.  The forecast was for snow all of yesterday afternoon.  Most of our members are older and should not be out shoveling the parking lot on a Sunday morning, with temperatures under 20 degrees (it was forecast to be 7 degrees).

When the sun came out late Saturday, I felt a brief pang of guilt.  Even though I was sure that canceling worship and Sunday school was the right thing to do, I still wondered if we had made the right call.  Happily, I only let myself think that for a minute.  The facts were still the same, no matter how long we had sun yesterday afternoon when the temperature was still below freezing.   The roads would be bad, the parking lot would be covered in snow, and we needed to keep people safe.

I felt a bit better throughout the evening as I saw other churches at a variety of elevations make similar decisions, to cancel.  In the South, even in the mountains, we don't get many winter storms these days.  Last winter, Faith Lutheran only canceled worship once because of a winter storm, and they canceled for the same reasons we canceled today:  too much risk of slipping on ice.

And yet, there's still a part of me that feels a twinge of guilt, which I find interesting.  It's not like the roads cleared overnight.  It's the same twinge of guilt that makes me want to lace up my shoes and take a walk--the roads aren't clear yet, but I still need exercise.

Happily, I have gotten better at ignoring that voice that wants me to feel guilt.  And so I shall stay indoors a bit longer, give the roads a chance to get clear, and go for a walk this afternoon--and look forward to next week, when it will be safe to assemble as a congregation again.

A Delightful Snow Day

 We had a delightful snow day yesterday.  I will say from the beginning that one reason why it was delightful is that we didn't have to go anywhere.  I'm grateful that Spartanburg Methodist College moved to remote learning yesterday.

I thought it might start snowing earlier than it did.  I went to the grocery store early, even though we didn't need much.  We brought in some dry wood in for the fireplace, and the small heater that is approved for indoor use with butane, just in case the power went out.  I decided to take my walk earlyish, and I hoped that it would start snowing as I was walking.  But that didn't happen either.  I did a bit of remote work with students and course shells, and finally, the snow started falling.

It was the best kind of snow, the kind that falls gently, with no ice, the kind that doesn't take down electric lines or freeze the plumbing.  There were moments throughout the afternoon where I couldn't take my eyes away from the beautiful scenes outside.

Every so often, I walked outside to take a picture.  But I didn't want to linger too much.  I didn't want to spend the snow day in an emergency room because I slipped and broke my wrist.  Happily, it never seemed very slick.

As I was walking back to the house, I was struck by the color of the door and the evergreens growing just off our porch; the picture looks more vivid on my phone:

We made a pot of chili and a cast iron skillet of corn bread and watched a bit of TV.  It was a delightful day.  

This morning, I walked to the street to take another picture. 

We also measured the snow; we only got just over an inch.  I don't know what to expect at this point.  We won't have temperatures above freezing until Monday.  I am not planning to drive anywhere today.  Happily, I don't need to go anywhere.

I did decide that we won't try to make it over the mountain tomorrow for church at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I wrote to church leadership suggesting that we cancel activities, but it's up to them.  If they have worship, I'll send the sermon, but I'm recommending that we save everything for next Sunday.

Epiphany Stars, Water Words

I saw this picture that a friend of mine, Diane Roth, posted of water words surrounding a baptismal font:

You may have seen many of us doing star words last week, as a way to celebrate Epiphany, and as a way to have a word to take with us through the year:

What to do with these words?  We could meditate on what God might be saying to us, or we could see where the word appears in our reading.  We could consider the opposite of the word.  We could just flip the star over and enjoy a blank side.

I like the idea of water words for the Baptism of Our Lord Sunday, which will be this Sunday.  It's good to remember that even if we missed Epiphany, it's not too late to have this kind of experience.

How to Help Those Who Survive Disasters Like the Fires in California

I don't have much to add to what has already been documented about the fierce fires consuming the Los Angeles area right now.  The pictures are scary, and I imagine the situation on the ground is even worse.  It's not a wildfire in a remote wilderness place after all.  It's in an urban area.

There are many explanations as to why these fires are so ferocious.  I know that some people will see the coverage of famous movie people losing their homes and assume that everyone who experiences loss in these fires will have the resources to recover.

But if we take a minute to consider, we know that cannot be true.  The famous movie people will be the ones talking on camera, but there are plenty of others who won't get that airtime or who can't afford the exposure.

There will be many agencies contacting us to donate money to help.  If you want to help in this disaster or any other, I recommend Lutheran Disaster Relief.  They did amazing work in North Carolina in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, and I have no doubt they'll do the same in California.  Lutheran organizations are often the first ones on the scene and the last to leave.

If you go to the home page, you can choose from US disasters or global disasters, and of course, you can learn more about the organization.

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, January 12, 2025:

First Reading: Isaiah 43:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 29

Second Reading: Acts 8:14-17

Gospel: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

In this season of New Year's resolutions, consider this question: How would your life changed if you believed that God loves you the way you are, right now, before you even make any changes to become a better person?

It's true. God's not waiting for you to become more spiritual before God claims you. Even if you never get to the point where you pray more often, where you give away more money, where you become that good and patient person you are sure you can be, God loves you, marks you, claims you, is deliriously happy with you.

You don't have to lose that twenty pounds for God to find you worthy. You can have a wrecked household budget, and God still loves you. God loves you even when you are crabby, grumpy, all those emotions we try so hard not to feel.  God loves you before you kick the addictions and in the midst of all your wrong choices.

Is your wounded elementary school/high school/adult child within you leaping up for joy yet? When you were a new kid at school,God would have made sure to include you at lunch so that you wouldn't have had to spend your lunch hour hiding out in the library. God would choose you for the volleyball team, even if nobody else would, and God would never say hurtful things about your serve. God wouldn't make painful comments about your frumpy wardrobe, your golf swing, your decorating skills, your home repair skills, your kids, your career.

I worry that I'm veering towards goofiness, but I think that during our long years through the nation's educational systems, most of us learn all the ways we are inadequate, and most of us never unlearn those lessons. Even as grown ups, often the focus (in pop culture, in our jobs, in our families, in churches even) is on our failings, on all the ways that we would measure up if we just did this thing or that thing or another thing.

And then we work hard on self-improvement, and we've still got those messages: well, great, now you can focus on changing this next enormous thing.

All this effort towards self-improvement can make us a bit self-absorbed, and we forget to work on some of the real and serious problems in the world. What would happen if we decided that God needs us to be the person that we are, right here, right now, without any changes? What if we declared ourselves to be good enough?

Try it for a week or two or three. Tape the words of God to your bathroom mirror: "You are my beloved son/daughter; with you I am well pleased." Act like you believe that God loves you. Silence those voices in your head that tell you otherwise. Cease that negative self talk. And minimize the amount of time you spend with people who don't value you.

We don't have time to waste with all negativity. God loves you before you ever make a self-improvement plan. In your baptism, God has already declared you perfect. Perhaps this year, instead of endless self-improvement plans, remember that God needs you just the way you are, without any changes, and God has a purpose that includes us, in all our imperfections.

Epiphany 2025

I am one of those people who always checks the weather.  In part, it's because I want to make sure I'm dressed for whatever is coming, and in part, because I want to be prepared in other ways.  On Saturday, the church council president texted me to ask if I was concerned about the weather.  On Saturday, the weather service for Bristol, TN was forecasting the wintery mix to begin falling in the middle of the afternoon.  I thought we had plenty of time to clear out of town before that happened, and I wasn't too worried about travel across the mountains.  Plus I knew that the forecast for our side of the mountains didn't call for any moisture at all.

I had a great Sunday planned, and the energy in the church was wonderful.  The church was still decorated for Christmas, and during the children's sermon, I gave them each a fabric angel.  

We talked about how God speaks to us, through angel choirs and stars, and that the most important thing to remember is that if you hear a voice telling you that you're worthless, it's not God talking, but someone else.  If they remember nothing else from our time together, I hope they remember that one message that I bring up periodically.

Then I had the youth help pass out the Epiphany stars:

My sermon talked about our Christmas to Epiphany journey, how God spoke to people then and how God still speaks to people now.  I thought it went well.  You can view it for yourself and decide; it's posted here on my YouTube channel; you can also read a version in this post on this blog.

As we processed out to "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," I looked out the plate glass door to the church and realized it was snowing.  I wasn't really concerned, since it had just started.  

We had planned to take communion to a parishioner in the hospital on our way back, but I became more and more concerned about how rapidly the weather conditions were deteriorating.  So we decided to just keep pressing ahead.  We got onto I 81, and then I got really concerned about how the conditions were deteriorating, how much slush there was on the interstate, which had been treated with a de-icing agent, but was still slick in places, with icy rain/sleet/snow falling from the sky.

Happily, we were headed south, so even though we climbed in elevation to get across the mountain range, the wintry mix changed to rain.  We stopped at the welcome center on the NC/TN border to chip away at the ice that had formed on the windshield and wipers.  The whole front of the car was cased in ice, something neither one of us had ever seen before (and my spouse grew up in Indiana in the snowy 70's).

It took much longer than our usual commute home, but we made it home safely.  We made a stir fry and settled in to watch Street Gang:  How We Got to Sesame Street.  The documentary of the early days of Sesame Street was just what we needed for Epiphany Eve.  It was wonderful to be reminded of the magic that can happen when people are set free to experiment, to try something new, to see what happens.

And here we are, another Epiphany.  It makes me sad that for many people, this date will be associated with violent domestic attack on the U.S. Capitol, instead of a day of thinking about insights and new information.  Of course, the Epiphany story has always had a shadow side, a jealous ruler (Herod) and insecurity that leads to a bloodbath.

Today and every day, we would be wise to think of our own power, our own feelings of inadequacy, how we attempt to control the elements of our lives or how we don't.  We would be wise to think about all the strangers who show up to tell us of a different way, a different paradigm.  We would be wise to keep our eyes trained to larger vistas.

Sermon for January 5, 2025

 January 5, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

John 1:1-18

On Friday, I invited two friends to come to my house to cut out stars, to enjoy some cookies, and to be together.  You might be feeling some pity towards me right now, that my idea of fun is to cut paper into star shapes with my friends.  But of course, the advantage to paper cutting and cookie eating is that we can also have great conversation.

One of my friends talked about a retreat that she led, where one woman asked why God doesn’t speak to us the way God once did.  My retreat leader friend asked the group of 100 women to raise their hands if they had ever felt God speaking to them in some way.  About half raised their hands.  Then she asked how many of them had ever told anyone about the experience.  Most hands went down.  

As we think about stories of God speaking to us, we might be on the look out for burning bushes or angel choirs.  But as I think back to our collection of Gospel texts in recent weeks, I’m struck by the variety of ways that God does speak to us.  Let’s consider our readings from Advent to Christmas.  Before we move away from our Advent to Christmas journey, let’s look back, to see the types of crucial information that we’ve been given, to think about the ways that God might be communicating, and how we can train ourselves to pay attention.

Think back to that first Sunday of Advent, the Sunday after Thanksgiving, when we gathered to hear the apocalyptic message about signs in the sun, moon, and stars, about people fainting with fear.  It’s interesting to look back to see what all has happened geopolitically since then.  Take, for example, the fall of the dictator of Syria—should we be fainting with fear or will this be a new opportunity for peace?  Is this a sign of redemption drawing near?

I am not a person who sees God speaking to us in terms of geopolitical developments like this one or any other.  But I do see the value in using these upheavals to remind ourselves of what the Gospel lesson of the first Sunday of Advent told us:  stay awake, because the day of redemption draws near.  We live in a time where it may seem that geopolitical turmoil is the only constant across the world, and we might get used to this background noise of governments overturned, civilians slaughtered.  Let us use the news to remind us to stay alert, to pray, and not to let all the news of world events weigh us down.

As we think back to our Advent time together, we might remember the Gospel readings focused on John the Baptist, who preached a message of metanoia, of turning around, of renouncing the lives we had been leading.  Does God still deliver messages through fiery prophets like John the Baptist?  Certainly.  But in our world where more and more people can find a megaphone, it can be hard to discern if we’re hearing the voice of God or someone who wants us to turn our lives upside down for reasons that will ultimately lead us away from God as we turn to more and more distractions.

By the end of Advent, we found ourselves in communities very different from the wilderness where we traveled to hear John the Baptist.  The fourth Sunday of Advent reminded us of the importance of intergenerational community, of new life in unlikely wombs and the ways that believers young and old need each other to help discern how God is speaking.  That need didn’t end with Elizabeth and Mary, and it didn’t end when Jesus entered the world to become flesh.  God still speaks to us through our communities, through friends and mentors, through the lives well lived that shine as examples for us.

Christmas Eve tells us of the reason for all this watching and waiting—the kingdom of God, breaking into the world.  Shepherds hear the angel’s message, and they don’t deliberate about what to do next.  They go to see the wondrous event.  Some of us will get this kind of message from God—we will hear of something amazing happening, and we will go and see.  Some of us will stay by the manger, pondering these things in our hearts.

Epiphany reminds us that God’s message may come in small ways that are easy to miss.  It would be hard to miss an angel visitation or an angel choir—but many did.  However God’s message to the magi comes in the form of a new star.  They are the ones who hear this message because they are the ones who have been studying the sky, keeping watch at night.  They know that something new has appeared.  Epiphany reminds us of the need to raise our eyes from the minutiae that can consume us, the need to stay alert as we study the expanse of what we don't fully understand, as we appreciate the mystery. 

It’s a delicate balance, all these ways of being alert and awake.  Some of us have been trained to keep our heads down so that we don’t attract the attention of those who would harm us.  And yet, if we do that, we may miss seeing those on the margins or in the wilderness, like John the Baptist who call us to new ways of being true, of returning to the life of flourishing that God intends for each and everyone of us.  If we keep our heads down, we may miss out on the connections that we can make within our families and communities that will help us discern the path that can lead us to a more authentic life with God.  If we keep our heads down, we may miss the angel and star shaped messengers that tell us that God is still at work in the world, doing a new thing.

The star you hold in your hand may not be giving you the message you hoped to hear.  Is it the message that you need?  Or do you want to pick your own star?  If you want to sift through other messages and choose a new star, that’s fine.  Discernment between choices can work that way too.  Or maybe you don’t want a word at all.  Maybe you’d prefer this angel made of scraps of cloth and foil to carry with you into the new year.

Wise people year after year are led by that steady voice that tells them to look where they haven't found success before or to keep looking even when it seems futile. Wise people are the ones that find a way to ignore what the world tells them should be important, who stake out their part of the sky to watch and to wait.  

As we prepare to leave our Advent to Epiphany journey, the message I hear is one of God reaching out to humanity, again and again, as we see in today’s Gospel, God becoming flesh and moving into the neighborhood, as Eugene Patterson puts it in his translation, “The Message.”  In the last six weeks, we’ve seen God use different ways to communicate in the hopes that something penetrates and gets through.  God still works this way today.  Maybe it’s geopolitical change that gets our attention or terrorist attacks or other types of death.  Maybe it’s something different in the natural world.  Maybe we will hear God in the voice of a fiery prophet or in the greeting of a family member.  Maybe we will find God as we ponder our impossible blessings and try to make sense of it all.  Maybe God’s voice will come in a majestic form, like an angel choir, or in something smaller, a yearning that can no longer be ignored.

And of course, our Advent to Epiphany journey reminds us that all along the way, God will try a new way of reaching out.  Those of us who are watching, waiting, listening, staying open—we will be more likely to be the ones to greet God, our God, who longs to gather us back from all the ways we have been in exile.

To hear the preached version of this sermon, go to this post on my YouTube channel.

Preparing for Epiphany

Some years in church, it's easier to work in Epiphany than other years.  Last year, New Year's Day was on a Sunday, which was a Lessons and Carols Sunday, which meant I could be away.  January 7, the following Sunday, was the Baptism of Our Lord Sunday.  But this year, the Feast Day of Epiphany (Jan. 6) falls on the day after Christmas II; if I had been in charge of the Lectionary, we'd be doing Epiphany tomorrow, instead of the first chapter of John.

Happily, I've thought of a way to make it all work.  I wanted to do a repeat of the Epiphany stars that I did for my Florida church in 2017, and happily, I thought of this possibility before it was too late.  I took advantage of some post-Christmas sales and bought some glittery cardstock.  I downloaded some templates.  I invited some neighborhood Create in Me friends over to play.  

I knew that I would be creating stars for Sunday, and it was fine with me if my friends helped or if they created Epiphany cards to give away.  We had a great time doing a mix of projects, and in the end, I got my stars done in record time.

I wrote words on the back of each one.  As we talked, words came to me, and I used them.  I want to believe it's the Holy Spirit at work, but it may be my own brain.  I had looked at some word lists, like this one, but in the end, I went my own way.

I will be suggesting that members of my congregation use them in a variety of ways.  They're portable, which means they could travel through the year, in a pocket, a backpack, or a car.  We could use the word to inform our reading through the year or to inform the way we view popular media or the news.  We could use the word and think about the variety of meanings, as well as the kind of meditating that we'd be doing if we had pulled a word that meant the opposite. 

But most important, I want us to use the stars to train ourselves to listen for what God might be saying.  We won't always have an angel choir or a John the Baptist yelling at us.  We live in increasing amounts of noise, and a star word might be what we need to focus our brains to look away from what the powers and principalities of our time want us to stay focused on, the stories that cause us to feel fear and pain and powerlessness.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, January 5, 2025:

First Reading: Jeremiah 31:7-14

First Reading (Alt.): Sirach 24:1-12

Psalm: Psalm 147:13-21 (Psalm 147:12-20 NRSV)

Psalm (Alt.): Wisdom of Solomon 10:15-21

Second Reading: Ephesians 1:3-14

Gospel: John 1:[1-9] 10-18

When I was younger, the Gospel of John confounded me. What kind of nativity story did John give us? Does he not know the power of narrative, the importance of a hook in the beginning?

I missed the Nativity stories. Where were the humans responding to the good news that the angels gave them? What happened to the baby Jesus?

Look at verse 14, which may be familiar: "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father." As a child, I'd have screamed, "What does that mean? How does word become flesh?"

If we've been alive any length of time, we understand this passage in an intuitive way. Words become flesh every day. We begin to shape our reality by talking about it. We shape our relationships through our words which then might lead to deeds, which is another way of talking about flesh.

Think about your primary relationships. Perhaps this coming year could be the year when we all treat the primary people in our lives with extra care and kindness. If we treat people with patience and care, if we say please and thank you more, we will shape the flesh of our relationships into something different. Alternately, if we're rude and nasty to people, they will respond with rudeness and cruelty--we've shaped the flesh of the world into a place where we don't want to live.

In the past few years, we've seen this passage and the ideas behind it playing out on all sorts of larger stages. We seem to be living in a much uglier world. How can we begin to reweave this frazzled and frayed fabric of our lives?

It's time to think about the New Year, and some of us will make resolutions. What can you do to make your words and beliefs take flesh? How can we do more to make a reality from the wonderful visions that God has for our lives? How can we make God's word flesh in our lives?

Setting Spiritual Intentions for 2025

As you set your New Year's goals and intentions, as you make resolutions, do you also set some religious/spiritual goals, intentions, and resolutions?  And then do you track what you're doing?

I am conflicted over the whole process of making goals and tracking.  On the one hand, I know that the research and the life experience of many of us tells us that making specific goals and keeping track can keep us more focused/disciplined than if we didn't do such a thing.

On the other hand, we can use the process as a way of beating ourselves up, feeling like we're never good enough, and this mental process can lead us further away from the disciplines that could bring us closer to God.  We need less of that, not more.

So here are some ideas that I'm thinking about; perhaps you'll want to join me in these aspirations.

Prayer

--Praying more often throughout the day:  I do a good job of spending some time in prayer each morning.  I use Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours, and I use my church's Facebook site to lead a devotional time.   But I rarely do the other prayers.  I like using the prayer manual because I don't have to be able to articulate my own prayers.

--Writing down my prayers:  I've often thought it would be great to write down my prayers, to have a record.

--Having a prayer partner:  It's the spiritual equivalent of having an accountability partner, someone who helps us show up.

Experiencing Something New

Maybe we want to try a new spiritual discipline.  Maybe we want to go on retreat.  Maybe we want to worship with a new community.  

Or maybe the something new would involve taking something away and seeing what comes to fill the space or how long we could maintain the emptiness.

Charity and Social Justice

I can always do more in this area, and sadly, I don't anticipate the need to do more going away anytime soon.  I'd encourage us to look for ways to share our joys.  If we love to quilt, we can make quilts for a charity group or we can teach children to quilt.

Share Our Joys

The idea of sharing our joys feels like something that deserves its own category.  I have been a bit appalled by how many people are sharing their anger on social media.  Let's share our joys!