The Election of a New Bishop

I don't have much information about the Presiding Bishop-elect, Bishop Yehiel Curry.  I do know that many people whom I love and/or respect are overjoyed at his election, so that fact makes me feel some easiness in my soul.  Still, I do not discount the size of the task at hand.

Last night I wrote an e-mail update to the congregation where I serve as Synod Appointed Minister.  I realize that they may not be nearly as interested in this bishop election as I am, but I wanted to update the ones who wanted more information.  My spouse encouraged me to include information/reminders about the fact that I serve at the discretion of the bishop of our synod, and I thought it was a wise suggestion.

Here's what I wrote:

Dear Faith Evangelical Lutheran Members,

I write with good news of our national denomination and its impact on us at the local level. The national church gathers in a Churchwide Assembly every few years to conduct the national business of the church, and this year, a major task was to elect a Presiding Bishop.

I know that it hasn't always been easy to follow the Churchwide Assembly proceedings as they were livestreamed, so I thought I'd write to us all to let us know that Bishop Kevin Strickland, our bishop of the Southeastern Synod, came in second in the election for Presiding Bishop of the ELCA (the national leader of the church), which means he remains our bishop of our synod.

I don't know as much about our bishop-elect, Bishop Yehiel Curry, who comes out of the Chicago Metro Synod, where he is bishop of that synod. But I do know that plenty of people whom I respect are happy that he was elected, which makes me feel like the ELCA will have good leadership.

As I looked at the roster of candidates from the beginning to the end of the election process, I was happy to see such a wide range of faithful people from so many parts of the country, people with all sorts of backgrounds. One must be ordained in Word and Sacrament to be nominated for Bishop, and I was happy to know that so many people are answering God's call this way, both at the individual level and by the willingness to serve on a national level.

I am selfishly happy that Bishop Strickland will continue to be our bishop; he is the one who approves people like me who are serving as Synod Appointed Ministers, and not every bishop would be as supportive as he has been. Had Bishop Strickland been elected Presiding Bishop, a new incoming bishop for our synod might have had very different ideas about who should be leading churches; I serve at the discretion of the bishop, and a new bishop would have been an unknown quantity.

I look forward to seeing what the coming years will bring for the ELCA, on both the national and local levels. I know that the world needs the kind of vision that churches like ours have for the future, and I look forward to hearing more from our new Presiding Bishop-elect.

Peace,
Minister Kristin

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 3, 2025:

First Reading: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm: Psalm 49:1-11 (Psalm 49:1-12 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Second Reading: Colossians 3:1-11

Gospel: Luke 12:13-21

Here is another Gospel where Jesus tells us how to live, and he does it both directly ("Take heed and beware of all covetousness; for a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions") and through the use of a parable.

In this parable we meet a common figure in Jesus' parables, the person saving up treasures on earth. Recognize yourself? We've moved away, many of us, from needing larger barns, although I've met more than one person who moved to a bigger house, just to have room to put all their stuff. In fact, the average square footage of new construction grows increasingly large, while the US family grows smaller. Barn, silo, house--it's all the same to Jesus. And it all goes back to the human need for security. We store up treasures because we're so afraid of the future.

It will be interesting to see how the next decade might change us. Will our houses grow increasingly large when fewer people can afford to buy a house? Will we trust more in God, since we've seen how much we can trust in our economic institutions? Or will the events of recent years make us that much more graspy and scared to share?

Jesus comes to preach the radical Gospel of sharing. One aspect of his good news? We have a Creator who will provide for us. That news is supposed to free us up to give away what we have. Not just our surplus, but all of it.

Most of us don't even do a good job of giving away part of what we have. We're not good at sharing. We're good at hoarding, although if you look at the US savings rate, you might argue we're not even good at that. Most of us fill our longing for security by buying more and more and more--and wondering why we feel so empty.

We live in spiritually dangerous times, and the Gospel speaks to that. But most people, if they think about this concept, would tell us that the spiritual danger lies in a different place than Jesus tells us. Ask most people about spiritual danger and they'll talk about a toxic popular culture (video games, movies, song lyrics), public violence, private violence, wanton sexuality, moribund government, fundamentalists of all stripes, liberals, conservatives--the list could go on and on.

But again and again Jesus tells us to look to how we treat the poor and oppressed, that we will be judged based on how we treated the marginalized. Jesus rarely preaches about the family (he never mentions homosexuality), and when he does, he sounds downright anti-family. Again and again, Jesus tells us to pay attention to how we think about our money and how we use it.

Usually, as we get more money, we want more money. We turn our attention to building our wealth and securing our wealth--and it takes a lot of time and attention. That process takes time and attention away from what matters: our relationship with God and our care for God's Kingdom.

Again and again, Jesus calls us to recalibrate our values. Again and again, Jesus reminds us to turn to God. Again and again, Jesus calls us to have the courage to trust God and not our money.

The Feast Day of the Bethany Siblings: Martha and Mary and Lazarus

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

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

In more recent years, scholars have questioned whether the Mary and Martha in John are the Mary and Martha in Luke.  There are good reasons to believe both that they are the same and that they are not.  For now, I'm going set that question aside.

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

The Greek word for the work she is doing is "diakonia," which is not the word for housework, but for the work of the church.  Perhaps it is this work that has left her busy and distracted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recap: Sermons and Potluck Lunches on July 27

We had planned to have worship in the outdoor pavilion at Faith Lutheran yesterday.  But it's been both stormy and unpleasantly hot in Bristol, Tennessee, so church leadership decided to have worship in the fellowship hall.  It was our Blessing of the Backpacks Sunday, so we were almost at full capacity in the fellowship hall; it felt good to sing in close proximity.

But if you watch the video of my sermon, you'll notice some toddler noise in the beginning.  I'm always happy for the noise of small children, but I was also a bit relieved, in a guilty way, when the two moms took the toddlers to a nearby Sunday School classroom.

After the worship service, we had a delicious lunch, with shredded pork barbecue and a potluck of sides and desserts.  We lingered and talked, and it felt like the kind of Sunday that people hope for when they seek out a church.

To read the sermon manuscript, see this blog post.

To view the recording of the sermon, head to my YouTube channel:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHdrZn3Yn7E&t=21s

Sermon on The Lord's Prayer for Sunday, July 27, 2025

July 27, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Luke 11: 1-13


If you were reading this passage in your Bible, you might say, “Ah, a new chapter, a new subject.” But that’s not the way the Gospels were written. Chapter and verse breaks were put in later, for a variety of reasons, but originally, they weren’t there—each Gospel was one long manuscript. The Lord’s Prayer takes on extra nuance if we read it in context of the chunk of text that comes before it, the Good Samaritan text and the story about Mary and Martha.


Both of these are often taught and preached as a stand-alone story. Indeed, we’ve just seen that approach ourselves: 2 weeks ago we had the Good Samaritan as our Gospel reading and last week Mary and Martha.


My New Testament professor was convinced that those two stories, plus the Lord’s Prayer and the teaching on it, were designed to go together, that they speak to each other. The Good Samaritan shows us how we are to love our neighbors, and it stresses that everyone is our neighbor. The Good Samaritan uses his own resources and enlists the help of others, namely the innkeeper.


The story of Martha shows us the dangers that can come from being the Good Samaritan to the larger world. As we discussed last Sunday, Martha is distracted by the kind of work that still has power over us. She is doing the work of diakonia, which can be interpreted as the work of discipleship. Martha’s work is similar to the work that the Good Samaritan does: the work of making people healed and whole. But she’s likely doing this work on a larger scale.


It's important work. But if we approach it the wrong way, we run the risk of becoming like Martha: tired and irritated and exasperated by it all—and much too caught up in the exhaustion to remember why we’re doing this.


It’s a question that has permeated much of Christian teaching through the centuries: how can we stay grounded at the feet of Jesus, like Mary, while doing the work that Jesus calls us to do, like Martha. In today’s Gospel, we get the answer.


We pray.


Jesus knows how hard this simple action can be, and so he gives us the words to use. Many of us have prayed them so often that we might forget how radical they are. We pray to God in the familiar way that we would talk to a parent who loves us. This approach to speaking to any of the gods of ancient times would be unheard of. Indeed, if we look at almost any ancient god, we’d probably want to avoid talking to them if we could. We wouldn’t want them as parents. We certainly wouldn’t seek them out.


When we pray to this Divine power who loves us, we begin by praying for our daily sustenance, our daily bread. We can’t do much else if we’re starving. If we are ever confused about the work that God calls us to do, it begins with sustenance. A starving body can’t focus on much else beyond sustenance. Yet God does call us to so much more, both as individuals and as humans.


Once our daily needs are met, we can focus on larger issues. We pray for forgiveness. We may have been taught that we’re praying that God forgive our individual sins, but Jesus probably had a larger vista in mind. Some translations interpret this passage as a kind of debt relief ("forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors"). Scholar Marcus Borg notes that these two aspects--food and debt--would have spoken to Jesus' followers in the first century, who often found themselves short of bread and currency. Many Jews found themselves in a downwards spiral as they leveraged their land, and eventually lost their land, to pay an increasingly heavy tax burden imposed on them from Rome.

It's not so far away from the lives that many 21st century people lead—many of us face financial uncertainty, where we’re just a few unexpected bills away from hardship or catastrophe. Even if we have a more secure financial foothold, it doesn’t take much to make the stock market wobble, which means our portfolios, too, are precarious.

In addition to financial forgiveness, we pray not to be led astray. I like the language "save us from the time of trial," but all the variations speak to me, and sometimes I include them all, praying not to be led into temptation, to be delivered from evil, and to be saved from the time of trial. We are praying that we can resist all that calls us away from the best selves that Christ calls us to be.


You may be wondering where the rest of the Lord’s Prayer went. It’s in the Gospel of Matthew. In Luke, we get this shorter version. There’s a benefit to brevity. A short prayer means that we can pray whenever we have a minute or two—which means we can pray throughout the day.

Notice that Jesus doesn't tell us we have to be in a certain mood to pray. We don’t have to be ready to forsake our bad behaviors or be in a repentant mood. We don't have to wait for the right time of day. We don't even need to come up with the language for ourselves. Christ provides it.

And then at the end, after the prayer itself, Jesus gives us imagery to teach us how God will listen to us: as a loving neighbor or better yet, a parent. Jesus once again reminds us that our God is a loving God. We are to ask for what we need. We should not be afraid to yearn. God has not abandoned us to our own devices. We have chosen to partner with a powerful force when we pray--and yet, it's not a distant force. God loves us, the way a parent loves a child, offering love and protection and comfort.

It seems so simple. But often, we can find it hard to pray—not hard to find the words—Jesus has given us the words, and if we want to fill in with our own petitions, we’ve got a great template. However, it can be hard to remember to actually do it—to be in conversation with God as we go about the day. Martha may be doing important work, the work of the church—but she has ceased being mindful of why she is doing the work. Perhaps Jesus, witnessing her, begins to formulate the prayer which could keep her grounded as she remembers who has called her to do the work in the first place.


Martha’s sister Mary offers another glimpse of the contemplative life, a life which might seem attractive in its silence and stillness. I’ve looked at monastics and envied them their life that is set up to return them to prayer at set hours during the day. But most of us aren’t living in those kinds of communities. I’ve envied monks like Thomas Merton who have a hermitage made out of gardener’s shed and the command from his superior to meditate on Jesus and to write. Most of us have other commitments that we must attend to. Those commitments can claim so much of our attention that we forget to pray.


Notice the shortness of this prayer that Jesus gives his disciples. It’s a prayer that only takes a minute or two. And yet, that moment or two can recalibrate us, centering us in the work that God calls us to do, reminding us of the One who has called us to do it.


Jesus isn’t just talking the talk. Throughout the Gospel of Luke, we see Jesus praying more than in any of the other Gospels, and he often prays after the most intense miracles. The disciples know that Jesus has tapped into something different than the prayers that they’ve seen modeled by priests and Levites. They’ve seen Jesus do great miracles without burning himself to a crisp. They know that he’s tapped into a powerful force with his prayer life.


We are not called to burn ourselves to a crisp like Martha. We are not called to be silent like Mary. We are called to continue the work of Christ, loving our neighbor the way the Good Samaritan did.


Jesus tells those first disciples to talk to God with both familiarity, like when one talks to a family member, and insistence, as one might talk to a neighbor whom we need to share resources. Jesus assures us that we will not be give scorpions or snakes when we ask for what will sustain us.


What work does the world need us to do? Ask, seek, knock—tap into the same powerful force that propelled Christ and centuries of followers to show the world a new kind of love. What do you need as you do this work? Ask, seek, knock—Jesus assures us that God will answer.


Ask, seek, and knock—and know that God will hear and God will not leave you in the cold night needing help. Ask, seek, knock—the world needs what we will find when we do.

The Feast Day of Saint Anne

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Feast Day of Saint James

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wearing Masks, Wearing Other People's Faces

 This week, during an education time, we used May Sarton's poem, "Now I Become Myself," as a tool for self-discovery.  I'll post the whole poem below, but we focused on the first stanza:

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,

We asked ourselves what masks we're wearing and how we are wearing other people's faces.  It led to such interesting conversation, I wanted to preserve the idea here.  I think it would work well for writing classes and in retreat settings.

I have a vision of doing some mask making, along with writing.  It wouldn't have to be complicated mask making--I've done fun things in the past with paper plates.  It might help people think about the concept in a different way and reach different levels.

Now I Am Become Myself

          by May Sarton

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before—"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)

Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!

The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.

All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.

As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.

Now there is time and Time is young.

O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 27, 2025:


First Reading: Genesis 18:20-32

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Hosea 1:2-10

Psalm: Psalm 138

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 85

Second Reading: Colossians 2:6-15 [16-19]

Gospel: Luke 11:1-13


This Sunday's reading shows Jesus teaching the disciples to pray. Many of us have been praying since childhood, so we may have forgotten, or never known, how radical this idea would be: we're allowed to talk directly to God????!!!!!

And then the next question might be: what should we say?

Jesus knew what he was doing when he gave us this prayer. Anyone who knows humans knows that we do better when we don't have to make everything up as we go along. Most of us have memorized this prayer as children. In fact, I know grown up children of non-religious parents who were taught this prayer--perhaps as a sort of spiritual immunization? I imagine parents saying, "Learn this prayer--you never know when you might need it."

It surprises me how often we probably need this prayer. It's good to have prayers pre-written for us. There are times when we try to pray, and we can't come up with what to say. This prayer that Jesus teaches us covers many of the concerns that we would bring to God, if we didn't feel so muted.

We pray for our daily sustenance. We pray for forgiveness. Some translations interpret this passage as a kind of debt relief ("forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors"). Marcus Borg notes that these two aspects--food and debt--would have spoken to Jesus' followers in the first century, who often found themselves short of bread and currency. Many Jews found themselves in a downwards spiral as they leveraged their land, and eventually lost their land, to pay an increasingly heavy tax burden imposed on them from Rome.

Modern people increasingly can relate.

We pray not to be led astray. I like the language "save us from the time of trial," but all the variations speak to me. I often pray an expanded version of the Lord's Prayer and include them all, praying not to be led into temptation, to be delivered from evil, and to be saved from the time of trial. Sometimes I meditate on the fact that I expand and focus on this part of the prayer, while I tend to assume the regularity of my daily bread. I suspect that people in other countries would focus on other aspects of the Lord's prayer.

Notice that Jesus doesn't tell us we have to be in a certain mood to pray. We don't have to wait for the right time. We don't even need to come up with the language for ourselves. Christ provides it.

And then at the end, Jesus gives us imagery to teach us how God will listen to us: as a loving neighbor or better yet, a parent. Jesus once again reminds us that our God is a loving God. We are to ask for what we need. We should not be afraid to yearn. God has not abandoned us to our own devices. We have chosen to partner with a powerful force when we pray--and yet, it's not a distant force. God loves us, the way a parent loves a child, offering love and protection and comfort.

Jesus gives us a simple prayer. Most of us have already memorized it. But how many of us pray it outside of church?

Maybe it's time for a mid-year resolution, something simple. Try praying the Lord's Prayer daily. Maybe twice a day. Pray when you wake up, and say a quick prayer, asking God to help you become your best self throughout the day. Pray before you fall asleep, and say a quick prayer of thankfulness for your many blessings. You'll be amazed at the change in your attitude by Christmas.

The Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

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

Now it's a different story. We've had decades of feminist theology that has opened our eyes and our theology to the presence of women. Now scholars are doing an even deeper dive into ancient texts. I'm thinking of Diana Butler Bass's sermon in the summer of 2022 which alerted us to the research of Elizabeth Schrader who is looking at manuscripts and trying to see if Mary Magdalene has been literally erased and written over to transform it to Martha.  Her scholarship also leads her (and others) to suggest that Mart might have been one of the pillars of the first church:  Mary the Tower and Peter the Rock.  But over the centuries, only Peter the Rock endures.

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

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

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

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

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

Recording of July 20, 2025 Sermon

I got more positive feedback on this sermon than on any I've preached at Faith Lutheran Church.  It's about Mary and Martha and the different ways we serve, while stressing that Martha is doing important work, diakonia, the work of the church.  Yet she is still distracted by many things, and Jesus invites her to be free of her worries and anxiety.  He offers that invitation to us too.

You can view it here.

If you'd like to read along, the manuscript version is in this blog post (but the end is slightly different--there are several extra sentences in the recording).

I was intrigued that it spoke to people in different ways--I'm always intrigued when that happens.  My hope, of course, is that God speaks to people through the sermon, that they come away with connections.

We had a special guest, although I didn't know who he was until the end of the service--it was the pastor that served as interim before the interim that was before me.  He stood up during announcement time and talked about what a treat it was for him to visit and get to hear marvelous preaching.  I don't think he was just being nice/polite.

The sanctuary was filled with a positive energy all morning, and that doesn't always happen.  Happily, it's rarely a negative energy, but I can often tell when people are tired or subdued.

Yesterday was not one of those lower energy days, and I returned home happy that all had gone well and that people are still happy to have me as their minister, two years and two months into this adventure.

Sermon for Sunday, July 20, 2025

July 20, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Luke 10:38-42


For those of us who have been in churches for any amount of time, particularly if we’re women, we might have found ourselves asked this question: “Who are you, Mary or Martha?” The traditional approach to this story—particularly if we’re women—is that some of us are the kind of person who gets distracted by all the tasks that daily life might require and some of us know what is important.

I’ve asked that question myself, set up that binary. It’s only lately that I’ve come to see the question as taking us down a ______ path. It’s only lately that I see this binary as downright dangerous. The question reduces this story to a morality tale that tells women not to fuss over the housework but to shut up and sit at the feet of learned men in our orbit.

It's only lately that I went back to the text to look up some words that have been mistranslated, two words specifically. If we change the words to ones that are more faithful to the original, the story shifts significantly.

The first word is the one that describes what Martha is doing in verse 40. In our text, we see Martha being distracted by her many tasks. Task is a word that makes me think of work that needs to be done, but work that isn’t terribly important in the longer run. It’s housework or maintenance, for example. Other translations have a similar ______. The NIV says, “But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.” The Message translation is even more specific: “But Martha was pulled away by all she had to do in the kitchen.”

However, the Greek word means something totally different. The Greek word for what Martha is doing is diakonia. It’s the word from which we get “deacon,” an important church position. You might say, “Well sure, that’s how we use it now. But was it used that way in the first century?” The answer is yes-- it was also used that way in the time that the Gospel of Luke was written.

It’s a word that is linked to ministry, particularly the ministry that serves others. It’s a word that’s used to describe those who by the command of God proclaim and promote religion among the people, a word used across the Bible, a word linked to:

1. of the office of Moses

2. of the office of the apostles and its administration

3. of the office of prophets, evangelists, elders etc.

So the work that is distracting Martha is likely not the work in the kitchen. She’s not back there fussing over the dinner that she’s planning to serve to Jesus, although she may be managing others who are cooking for the larger community. She’s not cleaning the house hoping that Jesus doesn’t see what a sloppy housekeeper she is.

According to many Bible scholars, the more accurate translation is that she is doing the work of the church. It might involve service, as the work of the church often does. But it’s not busy work. It’s not inconsequential work. It’s not “women’s work,” which is so often dismissed as frivolous or so lacking in skill that women and slaves are left to do it. It is “diakonia,” which leads several New Testament scholars to suggest that Martha is a much more important figure in the early church than centuries of patriarchal teaching given her credit for being.

We’ve often given that credit to her sister Mary—perhaps precisely because she sits at the feet of Jesus, listening intensely. Surely she takes that knowledge out into the world to share it. And what Jesus says about her also leads us to think that if women were in leadership positions in the first century church, surely Mary would be.

Our translation reinforces this belief. Listen again to that last sentence: “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” Did you catch the adjective? The better part—through the centuries, those words have been used to further belittle women’s work, the kind of work we unreflectively suppose that Martha has been doing in the kitchen.

But better is not an accurate translation. The word in Greek is “good”—listen again, and see how the meaning shifts. “Mary has chosen the good part, which will not be taken away from her.”

It’s not a competition. One way of serving is not better than another. However, Jesus may be saying that one mindset is better than another.

Jesus tells Martha that she worries about many things, and the implication is that all of the issues that cause her anxiety aren’t really important. It's a story many of us, with our increasingly hectic lives, need to hear again--maybe every day.

We need to be reminded to stay alert. Busyness is the drug that many of us use to dull our senses. For some of us, charging through our to-do lists is a way of quelling the anxiety. But in our busyness, we forget what's really important. We forget to focus on Christ and living the way he commanded us.

The story of Mary and Martha is often summed up as Martha does housework, Mary meditates at the feet of Jesus, and we should figure out a way to combine these approaches. In some ways, this interpretation gets to part of what the story teaches us. All of our busyness takes our focus away from God.

That’s true, regardless of the work keeping us frazzled. Maybe it’s the chores of daily life. Maybe it’s our caretaking duties. Maybe it’s the work that we do for pay. It’s also quite possible that church work, Martha’s work, paradoxically, takes our attention away from God. It would not be the first time we have seen Jesus in the middle of this conflict between God’s hope for us and religious politics and expectations.

We have been trained to see this story as a tale of two women, one frivolous and one serious. It’s far more likely that both of these women are early disciples of Jesus, and in fact, when we see Martha again in the Gospel of John, which was written later than the Gospel of Luke, Martha is one of the first to proclaim Jesus as Messiah in that Gospel, just a few chapters after the Samaritan woman at the well does the same thing.

It's far better to see this story as one which tells us how to serve, both others and ourselves. It's a story that reminds us to ask ourselves what is a good choice, and the good choice in one setting may not be the same in every situation.

Jesus calls to us, just as he called to Mary and to Martha in this story. How can we be more fully present to the presence of God? How can we learn to ignore all the work that calls us away from the good part, the sitting at the feet of Jesus, doing nothing else but listening?

Walking Humbly

 My sister got me this Michael Podesta print for a graduation gift:

I love this Bible verse, and I loved it before it became so popular.  I first heard it at a worship service at a gathering of Lutheran college students, back in the days when we called campus ministry Lutheran Student Movement (LSM).  My college boyfriend loved it along with me, and we used it as one of our wedding verses.

I put the print on our fireplace mantel, where it sits beside the TV, the extra lightbulbs, and the fresh batteries.  It seems like some sort of visual poem.  Or maybe it just speaks to a lack of storage solutions.

The longer view also presents a visual poem, or maybe just a visual record.  I am struck by the Podesta print on the middle shelf, the print that I got as a graduation present--graduation from undergraduate school, back in 1987.  The quote is by Emerson:  "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."

I haven't been in full trail blazing mode since then, but I have been on less-traveled paths, and I feel mostly fortunate.

Trinity Test Site, in History, Film, and Poetry

On this day in 1945, the United States exploded the first atomic bomb at the Trinity test site in New Mexico.

Robert Oppenheimer named the site, and when asked if he had named it as a name common to rivers and mountains in the west, he replied, "I did suggest it, but not on that ground... Why I chose the name is not clear, but I know what thoughts were in my mind. There is a poem of John Donne, written just before his death, which I know and love. From it a quotation: 'As West and East / In all flatt Maps—and I am one—are one, / So death doth touch the Resurrection.' That still does not make a Trinity, but in another, better known devotional poem Donne opens, 'Batter my heart, three person'd God;—.'"

I love a scientist who loves John Donne. Metaphysical poetry and atomic weapons: they do seem to go together in intriguing ways.

I think of Oppenheimer watching that explosion. In one book I read, the author states that these scientists were fairly sure what would happen, but not certain. There was some fear that they might somehow ignite the earth's atmosphere and destroy the planet. But they proceeded anyway.

Oppenheimer says that he watched the explosion and thought about The Bhagavad Gita: "I am become Death, the shatterer of worlds." Once we had a crew of guys come to cut down a tree. The leader with the shaved head took off his shirt and tattooed across his back was the same line; it was a big tattoo--I could read it from inside the house. On that same day, from the gay guys' apartment complex on the next street, I could hear disco music, The Village People and Donna Summer, in an endless loop, interrupted by the buzzing chain saws from the tree crew. Some day I'll use these details in a poem or a short story. Or maybe having recorded them in my blog, I won't feel the need to use the details elsewhere.

I thought with the film Oppenheimer, more people might know the history, but the significance of this day can get a bit lost.  I hadn't remembered until doing some digging this morning that the explosion was scheduled for this date because Truman had an important meeting with Allied leaders in Potsdam on July 17. Bomb as savior?

Oh, so many poetry possibilities! There's the desert aspect, the prophets that so often emerge from wilderness areas. There's the fact that this part of the country has become a detonation point for various immigration fights through the last four (or more) decades.

Those of you who have been reading this blog and/or my poems for awhile now will be saying, "Haven't you already explored this poetic terrain?"

Indeed, I have. Yet I think there may be more to do.

But for today, let's look back.

This poem was first published in The Ledge in the early part of this century:


Ash Wednesday at the Trinity Test Site


I didn’t develop a taste for locusts until later.
Instead I craved libraries, those crusted containers of all knowledge,
honey to fill the combs of my brain.

I didn’t see this university as a desert.
How could it be, with its cornucopia of classes,
colleagues who never tired of spirited conversations,
no point too arcane for hours of dissection.
I never foresaw that I might consume too many ideas,
that they might stick in the craw.

I never dreamed a day would come when I preferred
true deserts, far away from intellectual centers.
No young minds to be midwifed,
no hungry mouths draining my most vital juices,
no books with their reproachful, sad sighs, sitting
in the library, that daycare center of the intellect.

The desert doesn’t drown the voice
the way a city does. No drone
of machinery, no cacophony of crowing
scholars to consume my own creativity.
In the desert, the demand is to be still, to conserve
our strength for the trials that are to come.

Here, the earth, scorched by the fissile
testing of the greatest intellects of the last century, reminds
us of the ultimate futility of attempting to understand.
The desert dares us to drop our defenses.
In this place, scoured of all temptations, all distractions,
the sand demands we face our destiny.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 20, 2025:


First Reading: Genesis 18:1-10a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Amos 8:1-12

Psalm: Psalm 15

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 52

Second Reading: Colossians 1:15-28

Gospel: Luke 10:38-42



The Mary and Martha story will now forever remind me of my seminary class on Luke, where we looked at the Mary and Martha story, the one where Martha says she needs help. It was such a revelatory session that I wrote the following blog post about it, so I would be sure to remember.

First we read the text out loud, or, my professor did. Here is Luke 9: 38-42 (NRSV, updated edition):

38 Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him.[k] 39 She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus’s[l] feet and listened to what he was saying. 40 But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” 41 But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, 42 but few things are needed—indeed only one.[m] Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

And what did we seminarians notice? Martha doesn't specify what kind of help she wants and needs. For centuries, we've assumed it's some kind of help in the kitchen; for centuries, that's the only kind of work women would be doing. But that's not what the text says. We also see Mary as a passive figure, a very static part of the story. She might as well be the lamppost for all that she does.

Another word about Mary's choice. My professor disagrees with the word choice of better. She likes a translation that says "Mary has chosen what is good." It's not a competition.

It's interesting to consider this text in the context of what comes before and what comes after. In Luke 9 and 10, we've had lots of action: believers being sent out and coming back to report. We know that some of these believers were female.

We also have the story of the Good Samaritan just before Mary and Martha, and the Lord's Prayer just after, which the disciples receive when they ask Jesus to teach them to pray.

My professor presented this argument: perhaps we are seeing Martha's call story. In Martha, we see the dangers of the Good Samaritan model of discipleship: serving, and serving, and serving until there's nothing left to give. And what replenishes? Prayer.

My professor also suggested we read canonically. What happens if we consider this passage next to John's text, where we see Mary and Martha and their dead brother. Both characters are more fully formed and both engage Jesus. In fact, Martha gives one of the most powerful testimonies to the identity of Jesus in the Gospel of John.

My teacher reminded us that there is some doubt that these are the same women (they now have a brother, and the houses are in substantially different locations), but if they are, they have grown spiritually.

It's an exegesis that makes me so sad to think of the ways we've wasted this story and reduced it to a morality tale that tells women not to fuss over the housework but to shut up and sit at the feet of learned men in our orbit.

It's far better to see this story as one which tells us how to serve, both others and ourselves.  It's a story that reminds us to ask ourselves what is the good choice, and the good choice in one setting may not be the same in every situation.

Big Decade Birthday

Today we have another chance to celebrate the human thirst for liberty and to ponder who gets to enjoy equality and who does not. It's Bastille Day, the French equivalent (sort of ) of our Independence Day. I see this historical event as one of many that launched us on the road to equality. It's an uneven success to be sure. More of us in the first world enjoy more liberty than those in developing nations. But that thirst for freedom and equality found some expression in the French Revolution, and I could argue that much liberation theology has some rootedness in that soil (yes, it would be a problematic argument, I know).

Today is also my birthday.  This one is a big one:  I am 60 years old today.  I remember when others in my life have had this milestone birthday, and in my younger years, I remember thinking, Sixty--what must that feel like?

My spouse turned 60 last year, so yesterday morning, I asked him, and he said, "It just felt strange."  His birthday, September 26, was the day Hurricane Helene came to Appalachia, so his landmark birthday was strange indeed.

I have my usual birthday strangeness--oh yeah, it's my birthday.  It's a work day for me, which is fine.  I have never taken my birthday off.  If there's been celebrating, we've done it around work, and I'm fine with that.

I don't have special plans today.  My parents were in town for Music Week, so yesterday they came with us to Bristol for church, and then we all went for brunch at the restaurant of the hotel by the Birthplace of Country Music Museum.  It was lovely.  It was enough.

Turning 60 does make me think about how few turning of the decade birthdays are likely left.  I'm not at midlife anymore.  I don't know anyone who has lived to be 120.  But I certainly don't feel like old age has begun, and I realize how lucky I am not to feel my sixty years in every bone and fiber of my being.

Let me get ready for my walk.  Perhaps the birds have left me some birthday black raspberries.

Sermon for July 13, 2025: The Good Samaritan

July 13, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 10:25-37


If we made a list of the most famous Gospel stories, the ones that Christians and non-Christians alike know, the Good Samaritan would be at the top of the list, eclipsed perhaps only by the Christmas and Easter texts and the Prodigal Son, and maybe a multiplying of loaves and fishes. Think about how much we see references to Good Samaritans in our culture. We’ve got Good Samaritan laws that protect us if we try to help but things go wrong, and some places have Bad Samaritan laws to prosecute us if we don’t help. We’ve got hospitals and other charities, like Samaritan’s Purse, named after the major character in this story. But this story has so much more depth to it than just a parable about why we should do good deeds. In fact, we’ll return to it as we look at the texts for the next 2 Sundays, the Mary and Martha text and the Lord’s Prayer. They come right after each other, and many a Biblical scholar says that we should read them together. Happily, the Revised Common Lectionary lets us do that.


Today’s parable is a text about how we should treat each other, but it’s also a text about how NOT to treat each other. And let’s always keep in mind the question that prompts Jesus to tell this story—and it’s not just one question, it’s questions, plural. Jesus responds to a questioner, an expert in the law, a questioner who already knows the answers—or at least, thinks he does.


Throughout the ministry of Jesus, people ask the first question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” The answer is always the same: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, Love your neighbor as yourself.” But that’s not enough for our legal expert. No, he wants Jesus to answer another question that has reverberated, both through the ministry of Jesus and down the centuries. He wants Jesus to settle the question once and for all—who is a neighbor? Who deserves this love? What if my neighbor deserving of love has wrong beliefs or acts in ways I think are wrong? What if their very existence is wrong?

Jesus answers as he so often does, giving us a parable that contains more than a simple story, and this parable contains signals that may be lost to us as readers in the 21st century. Think about the road from Jericho to Jerusalem. New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine notes that it’s an 18 mile stretch of rocky path that goes from 2500 feet above sea level, about the height of the mountains around Asheville, down 825 feet. In the late 60’s, the Romans paved it so that Rome could move troops efficiently and destroy Jerusalem. In short, it was a dangerous road, both for individual travelers and for whole culture.


That’s not to say we should blame the traveler for what happens to him—although that might be our first inclination. If we can blame the victim, maybe we can convince ourselves that it won’t happen to us: beaten up, robbed, left for dead in a ditch.

But then, help arrives—except that it doesn’t. Jesus names the next two travelers as a Priest and a Levite—people with extra money, people with authority, people respected by the larger culture. What might a modern equivalent be of these two travelers? A doctor and a lawyer, perhaps. A bishop and a seminary professor, maybe. A pastor and a teacher. I could go on and on.

We might expect them to stop, and we might see it as hypocrisy when they don’t. They might have very good reasons for not stopping—chief among them that it might be a trap—the man in the ditch might be a decoy, and people who stop to help might find themselves under attack. There are other reasons why they might not stop. Some people might mention purity codes, but Judaic law allows for one to stop and make sure a dead body is a dead body not a living victim—the priest could have done that without risking ritual impurity. And another point of interest: a priest who is not in the Temple in Jerusalem is technically off the clock. Would he see himself as obligated?

Clearly not. Which brings us to that most famous Samaritan. You probably remember from past sermons that Samaritans were despised groups of people on the lowest rungs of society. What would our modern equivalent be? A custodian, perhaps, or a day laborer of some sort, the driver who delivers the Amazon packages, the person who works in the chicken processing plant, or maybe the person who cooks the food at McDonald’s.

The Samaritan, the one who commands no respect, the outsider goes the extra mile—so many extra miles! Binding wounds, taking him to an inn, paying for care, promising to return to check on the victim and to pay any additional costs involved in caring for the victim. The Samaritan goes above and beyond the call of duty, while the priest and the Levite ignore the call completely.

In this Gospel, it's easy to see the Good Samaritan as a Christ figure: the outsider who stops to help, who takes charge of the victimized who have been left to bleed to death by the side of the road, the one who finds care for the victim and pays for it. We could also see the man in the ditch as the Christ figure: ambushed, left for dead, cared for, and restored to life.

Maybe it’s because I’m doing intense chaplaincy training this summer that led me to notice part of the story that is rarely emphasized. It’s not only the Samaritan who restores the victim to life. The Samaritan starts the process of rescue, and hands off the rest of the care to the innkeeper.

In chaplaincy training we’ve been focusing on self-care and care for others. We’re encouraged to take a self-care break after each patient encounter if possible, and we have spent time discerning what that self-care looks like. It’s very different from any other professional setting I’ve experienced, settings where we’re expected to do the self-care on our own time, off the clock, so that we can more efficiently do what the boss is paying us to do. In chaplaincy training, we’re reminded again and again that a chaplain, or any member of the care team really, can only do so much without burnout. Mind you, we’re not allowed to say we’re done with our day and go home after an hour of work. We still have care taking to do. But we are expected to minister to ourselves as well as to others in the hospital.

Scholar Jeanne Stevenson Moessner notes that the Good Samaritan knows how to practice care for others and self care at the same time: ". . . the Samaritan finished his journey while meeting the need of a wounded and marginal person. . . . He relied in a sense on the communal, on a type of teamwork as represented by the inn and by the host at the inn" (p. 66). She goes on to talk about the types of care that the inn might represent: an AA meeting, a shelter, a round of chemotherapy, or even, a church.

In other words, part of what this parable lifts up is that we can care for others but we don’t have to be the sole provider. In fact, if we see ourselves as the only one who can provide care, we’re on a fast path to burnout and despair. Our world needs us to avoid burnout and despair. There are so many broken and bleeding bodies in the world’s ditches. This parable is one of the most famous for a reason—we’re in a world where people are ambushed and countries are attacked and it feels like the whole world is broken and bleeding.

Jesus answers the simple question of who is our neighbor. Jesus also answers the more thorny question: how to be a neighbor and how to love our neighbors. It’s not by being judgmental and telling others how they are failing morally. No, we are called to help as we are able, in all the ways that we are able, and to enlist others who will help.

You may have heard that old news adage, “if it bleeds, it leads.” But all too often, we only hear about the bleeding. We don’t hear about the ones who rescue. We hear about all the people who might be a threat to us, not the ones who do good in the world. The Good Samaritan may be one of the more famous parables, but it certainly doesn’t influence news programming, which focuses on the ones doing the breaking, not the ones doing the bandaging.


Happily, we, too, have an inn where we can bring our broken and bleeding attention spans. We can use our time here in this building to repair our souls. We can take spiritual practices with us into the world to repair ourselves on a daily and an hourly basis. In her powerful novel Father Melancholy’s Daughter, Gail Godwin says that the opposite of sin is “to heal what is split in the world.” It might seem like the world is too far split apart to heal it—but Jesus insists, over and over again, that we can sew a seam of love and repair the fabric of life throughout all of creation.

Saturday Snippets: the Prodigal Samaritan and Other Meanderings

Here we are, practically at mid-July.  Let me capture a few snippets that I want to be sure to remember:

--Last night, we had some folks over for dinner, some Music Week friends and family.  I offered invitations on Thursday, and the ability to be spontaneous made me happy.  I was also happy that my spouse was able and willing to take care of the important details, like buying the grillables, while I was at work.

--My spouse bought pork chops and country ribs because they were on sale.  Happily, all our friends and family eat pork.  But even if they didn't, we'd have had enough.  I finally made squash casserole, and we had watermelon too.  We had a pan of roasted potato pieces and a big salad.  One friend brought a bowl of peach chunks, which went so beautifully with pork and also worked for dessert with the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies I made earlier in the week.  

--We had seven people around the dinner table, which is about all we can fit comfortably.  It's a small table for our small space.  I'm glad we were able to make it work.  I'm grateful for friends who understand the challenges of a small space.

--I'm also grateful for a dishwasher, which made clean up so much easier.

--One early morning over oatmeal, I was talking about my dream coffee maker.  It would have several parts.  One would be a single serving, pod-like, machine.  One would be a traditional 10 cup coffee brewing contraption.  It would also make espresso and steam/froth milk (and the steamer needs to be detachable and dishwasher safe).

--Of course, such a machine would take up too much valuable counter-top real estate, even if I could bring myself to afford what a company would charge for such a contraption.  But it is the one counter-top appliance that I use every day.

--This morning I'm finishing my sermon on the Good Samaritan.  Earlier this week I said I was writing a sermon on the Prodigal Samaritan, and I have mused about what that parable might be.

--I have a lot to say about the Good Samaritan.  It's rare to have a Gospel reading that could go in multiple directions.  I often feel like I can barely eke out one sermon.  I'm grateful that this sermon came together easily, because it's been a jam-packed week.

--It's been a wonderful week.  I am not sure I could keep going at this pace, but I'm glad to know that I can hang in there for at least one jam-packed week.

A Look Back at Music Week

What a week it has been!  Today is the last day of Music Week at Lutheridge.  The pastor of my South Florida church and his wife have stayed with us.  She participates in Music Week, while he goes off to photograph waterfalls.  My mom and dad have stayed at Lutheridge lodging, but we've seen them every day, often for the evening meal.  My spouse has also participated in Music Week.  I have still been deep in C.P.E., but I have done evening activities:  worship service on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and the hymnfest last night at the gorgeous St. James Episcopal church in nearby Hendersonville.

The week has zoomed by.  Each morning, I've gone for a walk with my pastor's wife, who is a dear friend.  

We've left the house at 6 a.m., take our walk, had heart-to-heart conversations during our walk, and then returned for oatmeal.  Then I've gone off for chaplaincy training.

One morning on our walk, we noticed a car up the road that had stopped.  As we approached, the car pulled forward and told us to be careful, as there was a mother bear and 4 cubs down the driveway.

I couldn't get a shot of all of the bears, but I am sure that there were 4 cubs.  That made me so happy.  Various neighbors have seen a mother bear with two cubs, which made us wonder about the other cubs.  Now it seems we might have multiple bears in the neighborhood.  I'm glad to see that they've survived.

We are at the midway point of chaplaincy training.  I've spent part of the week writing a document about what I've learned so far and what I hope to learn in the remaining time.  It's a more complex document than one might expect.  We also spent a day in our cohort discussing what we've written and experienced.  A major part of CPE is the processing of it all, and I'm grateful for that aspect.

Summer is zooming by!  In some ways we're at the midway point of summer, but in fact, we're slightly past the midway point.  My online classes that I teach will end in just a few weeks, and my onground classes begin on August 12.

Our houseguests leave today, but my mom and dad will stay for the week-end.  I'm glad that we can all take the time to be together a bit longer, to linger in the midpoint of summer.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 13, 2025:

First Reading: Deuteronomy 30:9-14

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Amos 7:7-17

Psalm: Psalm 25:1-9 (Psalm 25:1-10 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 82

Second Reading: Colossians 1:1-14

Gospel: Luke 10:25-37


This week's Gospel presents one of the stories that even non-Christians are likely to have heard before: the story of the Good Samaritan. Those of us who go to church have heard it so regularly that we may have lost sight of the message. The fact that we hear it so regularly should tell us how important the message is.

We could focus on the fact that it's the lowly Samaritan (a foreigner! one of the most despised/feared members of society!) who helps the victim, not the priest and the Levite, who hold high status in the Jewish society. We could focus on the victim, who, after all, invited trouble by traveling alone. In the details of how the Samaritan doctors the victim, binding his wounds with oil and wine, we see the foreshadowings of Christ's crucifixion.

But go back to the story again. Note the first few verses of the Gospel; in many ways, these verses sum up the whole Bible: Love God and love each other more than you love yourself. Most of us, when hearing those commands, say, "Great. I'm on target. Love God--check. Love other people--yup, most of the time." The story of the Good Samaritan is told to demonstrate what Jesus means when he gives us the Great Commandments. And here we see the size of the task that Christ gives us.

Many of us think of Love as an emotion, something that we feel. Here Jesus shows that that kind of emotional love is cheap, and not at all what he has in mind. We show our love by action, what we do for those who need us. It's not enough to see our fellow humans and think about how much we love them. Frankly, many of us can't even do that. Monitor your thoughts and feelings as you drive around town, and be honest. Are you really feeling love? Most of us are lucky if we can pull off feeling benign neglect. Many of us go through our days feeling murderous rage. Many of us go through our lives numbed by depression and pain, and trying desperately not to feel anything.

There's a way out of this pit. We must go through life behaving as if we love each other. We can behave ourselves into love. We don't have to start out by stopping for every crime victim we see. We don't have to start out by giving away our money.

Although these are worthy goals, we can start where we are. When someone cuts you off in traffic, offer up a prayer for them. Smile at your snarling comrades at work. When someone wants some sympathy, offer it. Leave the waitstaff a more generous tip. Help out, even when you don't have to. Stop keeping track of who has done what, especially if keeping that list makes you feel aggrieved, because you've done so much more than everyone else. Instead of keeping track of your losses, keep track of gratitude. Share what you have, and it's especially important to share what you have with people who haven't had the lucky breaks that you have had.

In this Gospel, it's easy to see the Good Samaritan as a Christ figure: the outsider who stops to help, who takes charge of the victimized who have been left to bleed to death by the side of the road, the one who finds care for the victim and pays for it. We often lose sight of the fact that we are called to be Good Samaritans to the world.

Once you start looking for opportunities to bind the wounds of the world, you'll find it easy to do that task daily. And then you'll fulfill the greatest commandment. God makes it clear that we show our love for God by loving each other.

Praying for Peace in the World, With Map and Candles

This year, because of CPE,  I can't participate in Music Week the way I have in the past.  But I can go to evening worship.

Last night when we arrived at the chapel, a map of the world was spread out across the center of the worship space.  We picked up battery operated tea light candles as we entered.

Photo by Piper Spencer

The focus of last night's worship was praying for peace in the world.  Near the end of the service, as we sang "Dona Nobis Pacem," we were encouraged to put our candles on a part of the map that we were praying for, and to widen our focus so that we didn't include just the U.S.

Photo by Piper Spencer

As you might be able to tell, the map is not to scale, so I wasn't sure exactly where I placed my candle.  But I thought that aspect worked symbolically too.  If I just pray for peace in the U.S., that peace is much less stable when the rest of the world is not peaceful.  I don't necessarily need to be able to visualize a specific country when I pray for peace in the world, although that prayer practice has merit.

When in doubt, without a doubt, let us pray for peace in the whole world.

Recording of July 6, 2025 Sermon

My sermon yesterday was recorded, and you can view it here.

If you'd like to read along, you can see the sermon manuscript here.

Sermon for July 6, 2025

July 6, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20



On Friday, July 4, I sat down to finish this sermon—but then it took a radically new direction after I read the Declaration of Independence. Then I turned to the Gospel for today again.  I read the Gospel and then read the Declaration of Independence. Both of these readings have dangerous ideas that might take us to freedom, taking us to freedom by upsetting the status quo. Both are democratic, in ways that we expect and in surprising ways. As you might imagine, Jefferson’s dangerous ideas in the Declaration of Jesus are significantly different than the dangerous ideas of Jesus.

This Gospel text might feel so familiar that you’re puzzled right now—you might ask, “What dangerous ideas are you seeing in this go and deliver the good news text? Isn’t that what disciples do?”

But Luke’s version is very different. Here, instead of just sending out the 12 disciples, as in the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Mark, in the Gospel of Luke Jesus sends out “72 others.” Who are these others? Why aren’t they named?

Maybe their individual identities aren’t important. If we look at the Gospel of Luke, Jesus often travels with a crowd, and many scholars think of this crowd as the unnamed disciples, which doesn’t mean that they are less committed. Some scholars theorize that people in this crowd do get named in later passages, like Mary and Martha who we will meet in the Gospel for July 20.

Scholars agree that the same person who wrote Luke also wrote Acts. Both books show a widening of mission. Unlike Mark and Matthew, books that often seem to say that Jesus comes for the Jews, at least at first, the writer of Luke presents a picture of a much more inclusive Jesus. In the book of Luke, Jesus empowers not only the disciples but at least 72 other people, and by the end of the book of Acts, the Jesus movement looks like a much more democratic movement than any other we see in the first and second centuries.

We can point to all the ways that early Christians failed to be democratic, just as we can look at the ideals of Jefferson and see where he was not nearly as inclusive as we would have liked. But failures of carrying out the ideals don’t mean that the ideals themselves are bad.

Jesus offers a radical vision of evangelism. He sends out these 72 in pairs. From what we are told, he doesn’t spend time training them or testing them. The 72 don’t have to spend time shadowing him first. No, they just head out.

They will know where they are going and when they get there by who shows them hospitality. I read one account of a seminary professor who taught this passage to seminary students and asked which aspect would be hardest. The seminary professor thought it would be the traveling with no money, but one student said, “Having to eat whatever is in front of you.” That vulnerability is one of the key aspects of Jesus’ approach to evangelism.

Like the ones who go out, the ones who offer hospitality don’t face a difficult test either. They won’t be judged on how complicated their dinner is, on how well they can follow a recipe. They only need to share.

The disciples offer peace and then as they leave, they tell people that the Kingdom of God is right here and right now. In Luke, we don’t see an evangelism that is about saving souls for Heaven. It’s about equipping people to live the Kingdom of Heaven right here and right now.

What a radical idea. Jesus sends people out without training, without resources, without a master plan. And it works! They come back to report success, and Jesus relays to them a message of greater success, Satan overturned, and the names inscribed in Heaven. These first believers go out and spread the word, and thus they survive the persecutions of Rome, the downfall of the Roman empire, and all the upheavals to come.

As we celebrate Independence Day, we see a similar story: colonists who don’t have much in the way of training or resources as they fight against the great empire of their time. They know they’re taking a risk as they sign their names to that Declaration of Independence. They bind themselves together in a bid for freedom. They pledge their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.

Those colonists and those first Christians risked everything—from a distance of centuries and from the advantage of knowing how it has turned out so far, we might applaud their efforts. It’s worth asking, though—would we do the same?

Like Jefferson, Jesus calls his followers to sacrifice one kind of freedom, living comfortably by following the rules made by men—in doing so, they get a much vaster and deeper freedom. But Jesus gives his people better chances for survival. They go with nothing, so they are hardly a threat. If they are rejected, they don’t need to stick around to try to convince the people in the town—they keep moving. Unlike the signers of the Declaration of Independence, they will not attract the attention of authorities—unless they find a home that welcomes them, they’re not in one place long enough. Jesus’ plan relies on hospitality and vulnerability, not weapons and confrontation.

Jesus uses peacemaking as a way of winning the victory over the all the forces of evil, demons and illness, Satan and the Roman empire and all the other government forces that enslaved the people of the first century. The travelers begin by announcing peace and leave with the reminder that the kingdom of God has come near. Biblical commentator and scholar Amy Oden says, “As Christians, we can reliably root our lives in these two proclamations — ‘Peace to this house!’ and ‘The kingdom of God has come near.’ This is the good news that we have to share! These keep our gaze on God’s activity right in front of us, rather than turning it to blaming, accusing or judgmental analyzing, symptoms that reactivity holds our lives in bondage.”

Both Jefferson and Jesus offer dangerous ideas in a time of clear and present danger. They are ideas with the power to change the world. Indeed, they already have.

Jesus was a hinge point in history, as did Jefferson. Paul was part of that first wave of laborers in God’s Jesus-shaped vineyard: Paul was there, helping to shape the new communities that he cultivated, with ideas that still guide us today. We, too, are standing at a point where humanity is poised to go in a radically different direction from what has come before.

Paul is not the first or the last to tell us that we’ll reap what we sow. Do not grow weary of doing what is right. The ripe crops await, and the laborers are few. Today and every day, say yes to Jesus, who calls us to a new harvest, a harvest based on hospitality and vulnerability, a harvest ripened by love.

The Boss and Me

I have noticed that I am standing up straighter as I make my rounds during the work day.  Sadly, I still have a fairly hunched over posture when I sit at the computer.  I also try to smile and project a peaceful presence throughout the day.  

On Thursday,  a much older man said to me, "You look like somebody who knows she's the boss."  I smiled, and he said, "No really, you look like the person who's in charge of this place."  I said, "I assure you, I am not the boss."  It was a kinder interchange than it sounds here on the page.

In some ways, it felt evolved--instead of being complimented on my looks or my smile, the man might have been complimenting me on something career related.  But it also made me think of that whole pre-Covid movement for women to claim their authority, to act more like men who were in charge, that whole Bosslady trend that spawned a billion TikToks and memes and merchandising.  I am not the Bosslady, nor was meant to be, to paraphrase Shakespeare or T. S. Eliot.

As I took my walk back to the elevator, I thought about other ways I could have responded.  I thought about Bruce Springsteen and all the song lyrics I could have offered in response:  "Tramps like us, baby we were born to run."  But I suspect that most people wouldn't get that reference.  I thought about how I would be happy to be more like Springsteen, a man who really is the boss in so many ways.  But his touring schedule would be exhausting.

I thought of Bruce Springsteen yesterday as I was taking a walk around camp.  Because I had the federal holiday off of work, I went later than usual.  I saw the campers gathering for Morning Watch, and I heard the blast of music, the opening chords to Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A.," an interesting choice for Independence Day.  I thought of politicians who have tried to co-opt the song without listening to the lyrics.  It is such an amazing song, and it was my Springsteen entry drug.  I remember buying the record that contained the song (yes, on vinyl) in the early days of fall semester 1984, where I was at Wal-Mart buying a fan for my dorm room that had no air conditioning.  I have never loved another Springsteen album the way I LOVED that one:  all the songs are great, and there's a narrative arc (or maybe it's just a theme that connects them all) when one listens straight through.

The playlist for the campers' Morning Watch went to John Mellencamp's "R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.," a much happier song lyrically.  And later, I heard them singing "The Star Spangled Banner," voices drifting down the hill to where I stood at the berry brambles, eating as many black raspberries as were ripe.  

It was a perfect start to Independence Day 2025, which included hamburgers AND hot dogs, a watching of Independence Day (which I had not seen again since I saw it in the theatre on the week-end it was released), and a neighborhood potluck.

Fourth of July Morning in the Mountains

 Fourth of July morning, birds in full-throated song, a cool morning compared to morning temperatures elsewhere in the northern hemisphere.  A huge budget bill passed yesterday, and yes, it sounds apocalyptic, but I've seen apocalyptic budget bills, and other types of legislation, come and go, and sometimes it is every bit as bad as predicted, sometimes less, sometimes the world goes sidewise in another direction that has nothing to do with the bill.

Fourth of July morning, a Friday, which means a three day week-end.  Music Week starts on Sunday, which means I have some shopping and cleaning to do.  I need to think about what's in the study that I use on a daily basis--the study is about to become a guest room.  I will still be reporting for work at 8 a.m., Music Week or no Music Week.  I will need some of the clothes and shoes that are in the closet in the study.

Fourth of July morning, with a sermon still to write.  I think it will be a sermon that looks at dangerous ideas, Jesus' dangerous ideas and Jefferson's.  Too brave?  This will be the 3rd early July sermon with this congregation--let me do a quick look to see what I've done before.  Cool--I haven't done it before.  Part of my sermon writing problem this week is that I have too many ideas, which is not always the case.

Fourth of July morning, a baking morning.  I made cookies because I'm going to a neighbor's backyard party later today.  Today is going to be an eat with abandon day.  Or maybe it won't.  My counting of calories and writing them down is working--I've lost the weight I gained in May when I had a few weeks of abandon.  Being alcohol free is working--today will not be a drinking day.  Freedom!

Fourth of July morning, a day that may or may not celebrate freedom, a day that may or may not tell us what independence means.  I'm thinking of those founders of the U.S. who signed their names to a document that was treason, in the eyes of their government. They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. Each July 4, and most other days too, I think about my own life, my own beliefs. To what would I pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor?

Fourth of July morning, and I can't resist posting again these favorite pictures, me dressed as a Colonist fighter, my Dad with a British soldier coat, both of us standing in front of a painting of British soldiers:

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

Fourth of July morning, a good day to say prayers of thanks for those who have done the hard work of fighting for liberties of all sorts and to pray for those who are still oppressed. Let us pledge allegiance to our God who yearns to set us free.

Notes on the Halfway Point of Summer

I am at the end of week 4 of chaplaincy training.  July has begun.  We are at the halfway point of summer camp at Lutheridge.  Let me make a few notes.

--My cold has a long tail.  I can go through much of my day only coughing occasionally.  I'm no longer blowing my nose each hour.  But I still have a slightly scratchy throat.  If I talk for too long, I need a drink of water, and I don't feel like I can count on my voice.

--I have been wearing Saucony running shoes to work every day.  I am channeling that 80's woman commuting to work on public transportation--but I'm not changing into heels when I get to the office.  It's a new level of frumpiness for me.  But I am able to spend much of the day on my feet without excruciating back pain at night, so I'll stick with frumpy comfort.

--Music Week at Lutheridge starts on Sunday.  It will be a different experience for me this year--but I'm hoping I still get some quality time with friends and family who are coming through for Music Week.

--We are at so many halfway points:  summer is halfway over, Lutheridge summer camp is halfway over, the year is halfway over.  I wonder where we will be at the halfway point of next summer.  Hopefully I will be meeting with my candidacy committee to proceed to endorsement, which is usually a halfway point to ordination, but in my case, I'm doing things a bit out of order.  At Lutheran seminaries, students would do CPE much earlier, often in the summer after the first year, and then they'd get to endorsement sometime in the following year, before internship (year 3 of seminary) and the last year of seminary. 

--This week, my sketching was lifted up as one of my gifts that I should use in ministry.  I never really thought about my sketching as one of my gifts. I still think of myself as not good at visual art at all.

--As I've been training in various office spaces, I've discovered art supplies stashed away--a delight!  I found a tin box of Crayola markers, but much better quality markers than the Crayola label would imply.  The red marker is missing, which makes me wonder what happened to it.  Did someone love it and take it?  Did it run out of ink?

--I arrived early to rounds and discovered a guitar in the corner of the small conference room.  I strummed it, and to my untrained ears, it sounded like it was in tune.  I assumed that it belonged to someone who might not appreciate me playing it.  But no one is sure who owns it or how it came to be there.  Was it a person who once did music therapy?  That seems most likely, but why would that person leave the guitar behind?

--I looked up the chords to "This Land Is Your Land."  I reminded myself that I am not a guitar player.  I thought about getting my ukulele and bringing it on rounds--but I need a year or two of practice before I might be able to count the ukulele as one of my spiritual gifts