Halloween 2025

 And so our beautiful October comes to a close.  

Today is Halloween, and I live in a house that will have no trick-or-treaters.  We have discovered a Roku channel that offers nothing but NYPD Blue, so we'll probably watch some more of that.  I used to watch the show in the 90's, and I forgot how compelling it is.  I stayed up later than I meant to last night as I hoped to see how a narrative arc about a serial killer would end, so I may go to bed early tonight.

In my adult life, I approach Halloween as the beginning of an important time that lasts three days.  I'm a theology geek, so I call it a triduum.  Halloween emerged from its pagan roots as a natural bridge to All Saints Day (November 1) and All Souls Day (Nov. 2). More on those holidays in the coming days.

This year, I'll spend Halloween writing a sermon.  This year, what scares me is the willingness of politicians to let SNAP benefits expire.  I can create an All Saints sermon that references the Biblical texts, our current political situation, and all the saints who have come before us.

I still have to teach, of course.  But the semester has revealed that my classes on MWF are nothing to fear or dread; no classes are, but I'm trying to use Halloween words today.  In Brit Lit, we'll cover Joyce's "The Dead," in a bit of serendipity.  In English 101, we'll sketch leaves and pinecones and acorns while we explore how sketching might impact our ability to describe things.

That class will probably be more openly enthusiastic than the Creative Writing class where I did the experiment yesterday.  Every semester, I know that each class will have a different dynamic, but each semester often surprises me in how that dynamic plays out. 

I will wear my candy corn earrings one last time.  Here's a picture that I took at the school's pumpkin patch a few weeks ago (look at that glorious blue sky!):

This morning, I'm thinking of past Halloweens:  in childhood, where I'd spend months planning my costume, the joy of all that candy.  I'm thinking of 2016, where Halloween was my first day as an administrator at a new job, and my first impression of people was the costume contest and the joy with which they approached the idea of a costume contest.  

I'm wishing I had time to bake, time for more contemplation.  Well, maybe next year when Halloween will be on a Saturday.  This year, I'll continue to enjoy these elements of my best life:  getting ready for my Sunday at the country church I love so much, fun classes to teach today, and cozy time in the evening as we cook together and then revisit quality TV from decades past, while I stitch a new quilt top for the well-worn quilt on our bed.

Spiritual Direction Book Launch

On Friday, October 24, I finished teaching at Spartanburg Methodist College and headed down to Columbia, SC.  I was intrigued by a book launch, and the stars aligned so that I could attend.  One of my grad school friends came with me; she and I are not only grad school friends, but also writers and creative people who have been fascinated by book launches.

That said, we weren't sure what to expect.  Melanie Dobson, the head of the Spiritual Direction Certificate program at Southern Seminary (LTSS), wrote the book, so it made sense that the book launch would be at Washington United Methodist Church downtown.  The event took place in the smaller chapel, a beautiful choice.

I knew very little about the book, but I knew I would buy it regardless.  I like to support writers generally, but I especially like to support writers I know.  I knew that my book purchase would also support All Good Books, an independent bookstore in 5 Points.  I was happy that they were there and set up early; we arrived early too, so we bought our books and settled in.

The book launch was great.  Melanie Dobson spoke a bit about how she approached both the book writing and spiritual direction.  Then we watched group spiritual direction happen.  Three members of her spiritual direction group were present and they came forward.  We watched a shorter version of what they do when they are together in their regular, private meetings.

There was an opening prayer, and then the directee spoke for five minutes.  There was a moment of silence to see what bubbled to the service.  Then each of the women spoke to the directee for three minutes each about what they thought God might be saying.  Then there was closing prayer.

Then came an interesting twist:  we did a bit of spiritual direction too.  We broke into smaller groups, 3-5 people who happened to be sitting near us.  One person volunteered to be the directee, and the rest of us gave insight.  It was slightly shorter, and slightly less personal, since we didn't know each other.  But it was deeply satisfying nonetheless.

Afterward, there was an actual meal in the fellowship hall.  I was expecting refreshments, but something more along the lines of cheese and crackers.  The meal was salad and soup and bread--but a much more extensive selection than I'm used to seeing:  4 soups, several breads, several crackers, and 3 types of salad greens with about 20 bowls of various salad toppings to choose from.  We also had dessert!  I regret that I took no pictures--it was really impressive.

The book signing was leisurely, which gave us time to meet others and to have more personalized attention from Melanie Dobson.  I did feel bad for her--it seemed like it might be exhausting, but I realize it could also be gratifying.

As the evening progressed, I found myself thinking about whether or not I wanted to do more with spiritual direction.  I earned the certificate and promptly moved on to being an MDiv student.  I'm just recording this whisper, because I want to remember it.

If ever I do decide to do more in the field, the book is an amazing resource, with lots of great ideas for how to do spiritual direction--it's the best resource I've seen on the subject.

Meditation for This Coming Sunday, All Saints Sunday

 The readings for Sunday, November 2, 2025:

First Reading: Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm: Psalm 149

Second Reading: Ephesians 1:11-23

Gospel: Luke 6:20-31

This Sunday we celebrate All Saints Day. It's a strange time of year for us Lutherans. We celebrate Reformation Day, we celebrate Halloween, we celebrate All Saints Day. To celebrate All Saints Day, we have the Gospel reading about the actions of Jesus which most frightened and disgusted some of his contemporaries. Would his actions have left modern people similarly outraged?

Think about his actions and your current life: what would make you feel most threatened? Jesus healed the sick, and most of us would be OK with that, especially if we're the sick people. We tend not to worry too much about technique or qualifications, if we feel better.

Do we feel threatened by Jesus forgiving sins? Probably not. We've had two thousand years to get used to the idea, after all. But if one of our contemporaries started traveling around, telling people their sins are forgiven--well, that's a different matter. Even if they make these pronouncements in the name of Jesus, we might feel queasy.

The action of Jesus that really seems to send people of all sorts into orbits of anger is his habit of eating with the outcasts of society. Most of us are prone to that discomfort. If you don't believe me, take a shabbily dressed person to a nice restaurant. See what happens. Suggest that your church operate a soup kitchen where the destitute will eat lunch every day; suggest that lunch be served in the sanctuary. See what happens. And it's not just your fellow church members--your local government might also chime in about what can and cannot be done on church property.

Here's the Good News. Jesus saw the value in all of us. Jesus especially saw the value in the least of us. When you're feeling like a total loser, keep that in mind. If Jesus came to your community, you'd be the first one invited to the table.

That's the good news about All Saints Day and Reformation Day. We tend to forget that all the saints that came before us were flesh and blood humans (including Jesus). We think of people like Martin Luther as perfect people who had no faults who launched a revolution. In fact, you could make the argument that many revolutions are launched precisely because of people's faults: they're bullheaded, so they're not likely to make nice and be quiet and ignore injustice. They're hopelessly naive and idealistic, so they stick to their views of how people of faith should live--and they expect the rest of us to conform to their visions. They refuse to bow to authority because they answer to a higher power--and so, they translate the Bible into native languages, fund colleges, rescue people in danger, insist on soup kitchens, write poems, and build affordable housing.

The world changes (for the better and the worse) because of the visions of perfectly ordinary people--and because their faith moves them into actions that support that vision. If we're lucky, those people are working towards the same vision of the inclusive Kingdom that Jesus came to show us.

The Feast Day of Saint Simon and Saint Jude

Today we celebrate the lives of Saint Simon and Saint Jude--two of the disciples about whom we really don't know much.  

Jude was the disciple called Judas, but not Judas Iscariot, so some traditions shorten the name.  The Gospels of Matthew and Mark call him Thaddeus.  Once we thought he wrote the book of Jude in the New Testament, but now, scholars don't.  He is known as the patron saint of lost causes and hopeless situations--and hospital workers.

Simon isn't Simon Peter, but Simon the Zealot.  The Zealots were a subset of the Jewish people who were nationalist in the extreme.  Perhaps they are an offshoot of the Maccabees or maybe they were a more simple form of terrorist, rising up against the Romans for any variety of reasons.  He is the patron saint of curriers, woodcutters, and tanners.

We celebrate them together because tradition has it that they travelled together as missionaries.  Tradition tells us, but not many original sources.  Were they really martyred in Persia?  That's the most widespread tradition, but there are others that say Armenia, Britain, Egypt, and points in between.

When I contemplate the 12 original disciples, I'm struck by the wide variety of people called by Jesus.  I'm amazed at how Jesus could keep them a cohesive group--and when he didn't, it still worked anyway.  That gives me hope for today.

Recording of Reformation Sunday Sermon

It was a good Reformation Sunday at Faith Lutheran, in Bristol, TN.  I preached a sermon that was typical, in some ways, circling back to Luther.  But I took a different approach this year, my third Reformation Sunday with this congregation.  I urged us to compare ourselves to the older Luther, who spent the last part of his life translating the whole Bible into German, not to the younger Luther who nailed those 95 theses to the Wittenberg door.

You can view the sermon here on my YouTube channel.

You can read the sermon manuscript in this blog post on this theology blog.

My Sermon for Sunday, October 26, 2025, Reformation Sunday

October 26, 2025, Reformation Sunday

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott





John 8: 31-36




Typically, I tend to approach Reformation Sunday through a historical lens—and a very old history, at that. You probably do too—it’s an occupational hazard of being a Lutheran. We hear the word “reformation,” and we think of that day back in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the Wittenberg door.

Even when I try to think about more recent history, the examples I come up with are still a hundred years old, like the reformation that leads to modern day Pentecostals. That Reformation happened in LA, the Azusa Street Revivals that began in 1906.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s wonderful to know our history. But the danger is that we think that the time of Reformation is over. We think the Holy Spirit might be somewhere taking a long, well-deserved nap.

This problem of seeing Reformation as a historical phenomena compounds as we grow older, at least for most people I know. When we’re younger, many of us grow up hearing the stories of past generations and wondering where we’ll fit into that story—or how we’ll break out of the old stories. We dream of the mark we’ll make on the world: maybe it’s writing a great American novel or making a film that will capture our time in a way that others don’t. Maybe we’ll break a sports record. As we get older, most of us settled into lives more ordinary. If we’re lucky, we have successes, sure. But they’re likely not the ones that people will make into banners that will hang on church walls 500 years from now.

Even when we see possibilities of the God doing a new thing, like the election of a bishop for the national organization that we had this past summer, we may look closer to home and wonder why God doesn’t ever do a new thing closer to where we live. I know that the search committee of Faith spent a lot of time in the past year working with two synods and with Redeemer Lutheran over across the state line. For a time, that might have felt like a new way of being church was about to emerge, only to have it all end rather abruptly.

Here is where our historical lens can fail us, as we look at that distant church door in Wittenberg in 1517 and feel like we’re failures as we compare ourselves to a young Martin Luther. We might look at our own faith journey and wonder if there’s anything we feel as strongly about that we would say, “Here I stand. I can do no other.” These days, what kind of stand would we have to make to result in being taken before our newly elected bishop to make an accounting of ourselves? It’s tough to imagine.

But how would our stories about ourselves change if we compared ourselves not to young Luther, but to Luther in his later years? Not Luther, the transformer of the Church, but Luther, the translator of the Bible into German?

When Luther made his stand, he needed to lay low for awhile, which turned into 10 months hidden away in Wartberg Castle. He needed something to do—so he translated the New Testament into German. He went on to translate the whole Bible into German, a project that would take the rest of his life. We might say that’s how he spent his retirement years.

It's a project that he wouldn’t have had time to do, had his life not taken the wrenching path that it did when he nailed his theses to the door. Luther didn’t want to create his own religion. No, he wanted to improve the one he already had. If we could go back to 1516 and talk to him, he would not have had a vision of creating a name for himself as one of the most influential thinkers of the Christian church. Like many of us, he was looking for ways to get through the day with his integrity intact. In 1515, he was made an administrator, in charge of overseeing eleven monasteries in his province—no time for Biblical translation there.

The 95 Theses are very different than the kind of theological writing that he also completed while sequestered in Wartberg Castle. The 95 Theses, published when Luther was still a very busy man, are like underdeveloped wisps of thoughts. I hear the word Theses, and I think of something a graduate student would produce. That’s not what Luther created in 1517.

In the 1520’s, on the other hand, Luther produced his best writing—writing that he had time to create because his life had taken an unexpected turn, because he faced the change and made the best of it.

So, if we sit here on this Reformation Sunday, wondering where the Holy Spirit is in our own lives, rest assured that God isn’t finished with any of us yet. If we sit here on this Reformation Sunday feeling bad because we haven’t done the important work we were put on earth to do, rest assured that there is time. Is there enough time? That depends on the work and the larger world.

But here is good news: the work that God gives us to do is not ours alone. We don’t have to finish it. We are here in the church that Luther built—but although he gets the credit, he was not the only builder. In fact, if others hadn’t published his 95 Theses and distributed them beyond the church door, we might be sitting in a very different kind of church.

In my sermon last week, I went off script. You may or may not remember that I talked about the dreams and visions that God has printed in our hearts—not our collective heart, but in our individual hearts. I’ve come back to that idea through the following week as I’ve thought about Reformation Sunday. I’ve thought of each one of you as I’ve prayed, and rather than feeling afraid, I’ve felt intrigued and curious about what God might be doing in our individual and collective lives.

This coming week, I’ll not only pray for us as individuals, but for Faith Evangelical Lutheran, as a congregation. I believe that God has a vision for us as a bigger group too, and I continue to pray for clear discernment of that mission for us all.

For those of us lucky to live long enough, we know that our vision for our future will change. What we wanted when we were young—those hopes and dreams might change as we age, particularly if those hopes and dreams of our youth required the body of our youth. We know change is scary. During the crises that create the opportunity for reformation, God promises to be with us.

It’s easy to focus on shattered dreams as the heartbreak that they are. But shattered dreams can make way for something better. Realizing that we’re no longer on the path we once assumed we were on can make way for us to find a more satisfying path.

So, if on this Reformation Day you’re comparing yourself to the Martin Luther who nailed those theses to the church door, comparing yourself and coming up short, take heart. If you’re looking at pictures of Faith Lutheran in past years and feeling sad about our current place in the world, take heart. Perhaps what will emerge will be the modern equivalent of the translation of the Bible into German.

What is that modern equivalent? Churches have been asking this question for decades. I am not sure, but I do know this: the translation of the Bible into a language that all could understand is one of Luther’s most significant contributions to moving the world from a medieval viewpoint to a more modern one. In fact, this project of Luther’s last years may have transformed the world in a much more profound way than the nailing of the theses on the Wittenberg door.

So, in this time of late autumn, let us remember the fullness of our heritage, both as ELCA Lutherans and members of Faith Lutheran, here in the far northeast corner of Tennessee. Let us remember that although the signs may point towards winter, the Holy Spirit is not done with us. I say again, God has imprinted in all of our individual hearts and in our collective heart as Church hopes and dreams that we are uniquely equipped to bring to fruition. Let us continue to discern the full bounty of God’s hopes and dreams and let us trust that God will help and guide us to that harvest.

Forbidden Fruit

Much of my teaching this week revolved around apples, which I wrote about in this blog post.  These are the Pink Lady variety: 

We also discussed apples in the Genesis story.  Of course, apples aren't in the Genesis story; it's just forbidden fruit.  So I also got to talk about Milton and "Paradise Lost."

It's interesting to think about how many of our ideas that we assume are Biblical are actually from British Literature.  And these days, I'm thinking about how many of our Biblical metaphors are from agricultural times that not many people understand these days.  

The bushel as a unit of measurement is probably not in the Bible, but I had my students lift the bushel box of apples, just so they would have a sense of how much it weighed.

Feast Day of Saint James, the James Who Is the Brother of Jesus

I did not realize until this morning just how many James exist in the circle of Jesus.  The more famous Saint James is the one we celebrate in July, the one that people celebrate by walking to his shrine in Santiago de Campostela in Spain from a variety of starting points.

James the Brother of Jesus was one of the early leaders of the Church, which may or may not tell us that he's not one of the ones that the Gospel writer of Mark presents as coming to Jesus to try to get him to be quiet.  Or maybe he is, and he changed his mind.  James the Just is another name given to James the brother of Jesus, which suggests to me that he would be capable of changing his mind.

There are places in Acts and throughout the letters that make up so much of the New Testament that make us think that James is one of the ones in charge of the early Church, along with Peter.  He seems to be one of the ones making big decisions for the larger group.  He's given credit for helping move the early Church to the inclusion of Gentiles.  There are other scholars who see James the Brother of Jesus as more traditional, that it was Paul who reached out to Gentiles and James who argued for staying with Mosaic Law.  Circumcision played a big role in these deliberations, according to some scholars.

The more I look for answers, the more I am struck by how much we do not know about the early Church or about Jesus as a historical figure.  From there, it's a short realization to how easy it is to make the early Church figures be who we want or need them to be.

Still, I am grateful for their work.  On this morning where I've been listening to Ezra Klein's podcast about how Artificial Intelligence through Machine Learning has the capability to destroy the world (more specifically, humans), it's good to remember that the end of the world has been forecast many times, and so far, we persist.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel for Reformation Sunday

The readings for Sunday, October 26, 2025:

First Reading: Jeremiah 31:31-34

Psalm: Psalm 46

Second Reading: Romans 3:19-28

Gospel: John 8:31-36

Here we are at another Reformation Sunday. As we celebrate the actions of Martin Luther centuries ago, you may be wondering what we’re experiencing right here.

Maybe you're feeling joy, as churches have spent the last year or two learning and relearning how to be together as church. Maybe you're inspired by technological developments. Maybe you're happy to be able to see people in person. Maybe you're feeling inspired by how churches have moved to be part of solutions to a variety of problems. Maybe you feel even more rooted in your community because of the work done by your church.

Maybe you feel a bit of despair this Reformation Sunday as you think about the Reformations you thought you were witnessing. Maybe you’re wondering what happened to all that reform. Maybe you’re feeling irritated as you wish we could just go back to being the church that we were in the 1950’s, before so many denominations lost their way. Maybe you’re tired of being the only one at work who’s living a liturgical life.

Maybe you’re in an angry space; maybe you’re saying, “Hey, I have some theses of my own that I’d like to nail to a nearby church door.” It’s been a tough few years/decades for many of us, as we’ve watched our denominations wrestle with various issues.

No matter where you are this Reformation Sunday, take comfort from the knowledge that the Church has always been in the process of Reformation. There are great Reformations, like the one we'll celebrate this Sunday, or the Pentecostal revolution that's only 100 years old, but has transformed the developing world (third worlds and those slightly more advanced) in ways that Capitalism never could. There are smaller ones throughout the ages as well. Movements which seemed earth-shattering at the time (monastic movements of all kinds, liberation theology, ordination of women, lay leadership) may in time come to be seen as something that enriches the larger church. Even horrifying theological missteps, like the Inquisition, can be survived. The Church learns from past mistakes as it moves forward.

Times of Reformation can benefit us all. Even those of us who reject reform can find our spiritual lives enriched as we take stock and measure what's important to us, what compromises we can make and what we can't. It's good to have these times where we return to the Scriptures as we try to hear what God calls us to do.

Once the dust settles, each of the previous time periods of Reformation has left the Church enriched, but enriched in ways that no one could have predicted--that's what makes it scary, after all. As we approach Reformation Sunday, I'd encourage each of us to tap our own inner Martin Luther. What is the Church doing well? What could be changed for the better? What part can we play?

A Hymn Festival on a Sunday Afternoon

On Sunday afternoons, it's hard for me to want to do much else, but this past Sunday, we decided to make the effort to go to a hymnfest at the local Lutheran church in Arden, where we live:

It was a great event.  Mary Louise (Mel) Bringle, the hymn writer, was there, and it was interesting to hear her insights about how she wrote the hymns.  For example, she told us about writing a hymn for Christmas and trying to be aware of the fact that Christmas is not part of a cold season in the Southern hemisphere; in parts of Australia, Christmas is a holiday of picnics and sunbathing on the beach.  She talked about realizing how there aren't many hymns that talk about all of creation, the flora and the fauna (or "critters" as she called them).

She presented each hymn, telling us the way she came to be writing the song (someone sent her the music or she realized a lack), then she spoke about the composing process for a few minutes, and then we sang them.  It was a good mix of her insight, our singing, and special musical presentations.  There was a festival choir, a violinist, a guitar player, and handbells.

It was great to sing, great to explore new music, great to have something different on a Sunday.  We usually spend Sunday "visiting" other worship services or just watching a variety of programs and shows.

Even better, we had a chance to see friends we don't often see, because of my work schedule.  I worry that by the time I'm retired or working less, I won't have as many friends as I once did--we're none of us getting younger.  Sigh.

Let me focus on the good, though.  Let me rejoice that there are opportunities to gather and sing and learn about the process of writing a hymn.

Recording of My Sermon for Sunday, October 20, 2025

Yesterday's sermon on Luke 18 went  well.  Unlike some pastors, I focused on justice less than prayer.  I don't see the parable of the poor widow demanding justice as a parable that tells us to pray always, unless we're praying for justice.  It was a good opportunity to talk about the difference between justice and charity, which I did with the youth sermon.

You can view the recording of the sermon here on my YouTube channel.

You can read a version of that sermon in this blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, October 19, 2025

October 19, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Luke 18: 1-8

We have heard this story, and variations of this story, so many times that it carries a certain danger. We may be so sure that we know what it says that we may not fully appreciate all that is actually happening here.


When we see a widow in a parable, we immediately think we know all about her. We assume that a widow is poor, and while that’s certainly true of many widows, both in the time of Jesus and today, there’s nothing in this text that says she’s poor.

The widow demands justice, and we assume that she’s been ill-treated. That might be true, but we don’t know. We’re told that she cries out for justice, but we don’t know the nature of her claim. New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine cautions us to remember that we assume the widow has been treated unjustly because she says she has; but as we know from sad experience, many people think they’ve been treated unjustly when they really haven’t.

Past parables train us to see a judge figure as God. But clearly, this judge isn’t supposed to be God, since this judge is unjust and respects no one, including God, which says he’s not a stand in for God. He finally does the right thing because he’s tired of the persistent demands—much the way that many injustices finally are addressed.

Parables almost never have a tidy message, which makes me wonder if Jesus really said this explanation at the beginning. It doesn’t even sound like Jesus, Jesus who so often wants to leave us puzzling over the parable. Many Biblical scholars say that it’s more likely to be an explanation tacked on later, most likely by the writer of the Gospel of Luke. In fact, if we look at both the book of Luke and the book of Acts, books written by the same person, we see this theme threading its way through, about the need to pray without ceasing.

The end of today’s reading is even more odd. Jesus tells us that we’re not to confuse the judge with God. And then, we get an explanation for the parable. We’re supposed to be persistent, just like the widow is persistent. But then Jesus tells us that God will act swiftly when we demand justice.

Really? We demand justice, and God delivers? Really? Anyone with a knowledge of human history might beg to differ. We can point to any number of oppressed populations who have been praying for justice, demanding justice, generation after generation. This is true of our time, just as it was during Christ’s time, just as it was before Jesus walked the earth. Justice rarely comes quickly, in a human timeline, because it requires powerful people giving up their power.


In fact, if we look at the Bible as a whole, we don’t see much to reassure us of the truth to the ending to the today’s Gospel. Much of the rest of the Bible doesn’t suggest that God acts quickly, at least not in the span of a common lifetime. Forty years of wandering in the wilderness is not immediate, Assyrian and Babylonian exiles don’t see immediate justice, and centuries of Roman rule undercut the idea of God acting swiftly.

But let’s consider the parable from a different angle, and come away with a different explanation for why justice takes so long. If parables exist to help us learn about the nature of God and God’s rule, which is one of the main reasons that Jesus uses them, what can we learn from this parable? If God is not the judge, who is left?

I’ve spent a lot of decades thinking about the feminine face of God, but it’s only recently that I’ve thought about this particular passage as giving us some interesting insight into God. If we think of God as the widow crying out for justice, the nature of the parable shifts radically. It becomes a much more powerful exploration of that old question about how a just and all powerful God can allow injustice in the world. It doesn’t explain why God doesn’t just leap in and fix things with just a word or a gesture. But perhaps it gives us insight into God’s process, showing the how of God’s process in creating a more just world, if not explaining the why of the process.

If we look at our lectionary readings week after week, if we consider the whole of them, from the Old Testament to the Psalms to the Gospels and other New Testament readings, we’ll see that like the widow, God does cry out for justice. Most months, at least one Old Testament reading comes out of the prophets. Hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, through the voice of these prophets, God has called out for justice. Humans have free will—we don’t have to respond to God’s demand for justice. But God will not stop crying out for justice.

In preaching and teaching, Jesus, too, demands justice. Jesus tells us of a different world that God has envisioned for us. And in the letters to the first Christian communities, we see a vision of a just world that doesn’t mirror the larger empire.

If God is the widow demanding justice, then who is the judge who turns a deaf ear again and again? One possible explanation: Humans. And it’s one that fits with the message delivered by prophets both ancient and modern, and the message that Jesus delivers. It’s humanity that has fallen short, and it’s humans that need to act to bring society into a closer alignment with what God intends for us. It is humanity that must insist that even while justice is being delayed, it will not ultimately be denied.

The widow demands justice, which is different from charity. She doesn’t want a hand out. Likewise, God demands not only charity of humans, but justice. Our world is not just when the people who make the food for restaurants and hospitals have to be on food stamps. Our world is not just when the salary of a teacher cannot afford housing, a situation that is common across the U.S. Our world is not just when the people who work 40 or more hours a week at stores like Wal-Mart aren’t paid enough to be able to buy necessities for their families. Sadly, our world has no shortage of situations that might move us to petition hard-hearted judges for justice.

It's not just money that is needed. Make no mistake, it is important to help people with short term solutions of food or money to cover the rent for a month. But it’s even more essential to change the systems that keep people needing us to operate food pantries and other forms of charity. We should be working towards a society where food pantries close because no one needs them anymore, not because there is so much need that they can’t keep the shelves stocked.

This parable tells us so much, in so few words, about why justice is so slow. God counts on humans to move the cause of justice forward. Humans are like the judge – many of us don’t want to be bothered. Just like the judge, the ones with the power to make the world more just will resist as long as they can.

The parable gives us good news. Although it may not be swift, justice will come. It will come because those of us who demand it have worn out those who resist. If we pray without ceasing, in the end, justice will come. Justice will come faster if our prayers move our feet, our hands, our economic decisions, and our votes.

So, this parable is about prayer after all. But it’s also about so much more than prayer. We need to pray without ceasing for justice. We also need to show up in courts of law and other places where decisions are made to plead the case for justice, and to do that without ceasing. We need to show up even when it looks like it’s a futile mission, even when it seems likely that our demands for justice will be met with violence, the way Christ’s demands for justice were met with his crucifixion. Through his resurrection, God shows us that although the powers that be may say no to our demands for justice, those powers do not have the final word.

God envisions so much more for creation than we do. We need to expand our imaginations, to listen to our demanding widow God, who reminds us again and again that a better world is possible, this world, our world, here on earth. We can be like that judge who finally relents and says yes, yes to that relentless invitation to be part of creating God’s vision for this world on earth.

The Feast Day of Saint Luke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Different Slant of Sunrise

Last week, I took my usual morning walk up to the chapel at Lutheridge.  The sun has shifted since summer, and I was struck by sunrise from a different angle as the light hit Dedication Altar:

I tried to take several pictures to capture as many of the trees with their fall leaves as I could.  It's hard to get that longer view.  But the light against the tree trunk to the right of the altar is interesting too.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, October 19, 2025:

First Reading: Genesis 32:22-31

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 31:27-34

Psalm: Psalm 121

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 119:97-104

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 3:14--4:5

Gospel: Luke 18:1-8


For many years, this Gospel lesson troubled me. I tend to approach Jesus' parables as teaching us something about the nature of God, so I always look for the character who is supposed to resemble God. In this parable, of course, I immediately assume that the Judge is the God stand-in. But what does that say about the nature of God? Do we really worship a God that is so distracted that he'll only respond if we beat the door down several times?

What does it say about us that we are so quick to see God as the male, corrupt judge?

Maybe God in this story is the widow. How would this change our view of God, our view of religion, if we saw God as the more helpless characters in Scripture, as opposed to an authority figure?

It's a scarier view of God, to be sure. Most of us, if we're honest, would say that we prefer God the smiter to God the helpless widow. Even viewing God as a parent allows us to abdicate some responsibility. We’re 3 year olds, after all, praying to our parent God; we’re allowed to have temper tantrums and to refuse to do the right thing.

This parable teaches us that we're to cry out for justice day and night. If you're having trouble praying, turn your attention towards the people who are suffering in this world. Pray for whichever population is being slaughtered today. Pray for the survivors of genocide. Pray for those on the run from slaughter chasing at their heels. Pray for the people, whomever they might be this week, who are suffering from a natural disaster. Pray for all who need to have continuing courage to resist dictatorship. Pray for all who sit in prisons throughout the world. Pray for the poor, beleaguered planet as it swelters beneath a merciless sun.

If the stones can cry out for justice (a line from a different Gospel), so can you. And you can take comfort from the fact that God cries out for justice right along beside you.

Remember, the parable promises a positive outcome. Go back to the first verse: "And he told them a parable, to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart." That's the lesson of the parable. Always pray. Don’t lose heart.

Recording of Sunday Sermon for October 12, 2025

Our tech person was out yesterday, but we managed to record the sermon at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, TN.  The camera was closer to me, in selfie mode, which I found distracting at first, watching myself in the camera that was a few pews away.  You can find the recording here on my YouTube channel.

You can read the sermon manuscript in yesterday's blog post.

Sermon for October 12, 2025

October 12, 2025
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Luke 17:11-19





My heart sank a bit when I read the Gospel for today, specifically when I got to the last sentence. I did a mental scan of this congregation, and I thought about how many of us have suffered through sickness and death in the past year. I’m not betraying any confidences when I observe what a tough year it’s been.

So what do we do with this last sentence of the Gospel? “Your faith has made you well?” What does that say to the people who aren’t healed? We could say, Well, they’re not healed yet. But we know that not everyone gets healed, no matter how strong their faith. However, if we only paid attention to wider culture, we won’t hear this message. If we have disease, it’s somehow our fault. We didn’t eat the right food or do the right work outs. We had our shots or we didn’t have our shots. On and on I could go. We may know that the reasoning is flawed, but it’s hard to escape it.

This last sentence that Jesus says might make us think that this idea is Biblical, that a strong faith can make us well, that if we’re sick it’s because our faith is flawed. Again, it’s the reasoning that is flawed.

I wish today’s reading used a different translation. Think about how we might understand this text if we used a different translation of the Greek word: “Your faith has made you whole.” Not well—whole. We can be sick and still be whole. We can be spiritually healthy, even if our bodies aren’t in the full bloom of health or if disease is impossible to cure.

“Your faith has made you whole.” That translation makes more sense to me. After all, the other 9 lepers are also made well. Jesus cures them of their leprosy. Jesus doesn’t have pre-conditions. They don’t come back to say thank you, but Jesus doesn’t take away the cure of the physical disease that afflicted them.

It’s a disease that afflicts them in more ways than just the physical. Leprosy was seen as one of the most contagious diseases in the ancient world, and lepers were banned from society. Jesus doesn’t only restore them to physical health, but, as we’ve discussed with other healing stories, Jesus restores them to community.

Of course, Jesus can only do so much. The Samaritan returns to his role as an outcast in Jesus’ society. He’s not as much of an outcast as he was when he was a leper. But he’s still a foreigner. As such, he’s the only one who doesn’t need to go show himself to a priest, the way the other 9 must do. If we wanted to give the other 9 the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they are simply following Jesus’ instructions. Of course, they could say thank you, the way the Samaritan does, and then make their way to the priest.

Why does only one leper return to say thank you? Why is it the Samaritan who does so, not the others? By now, we’re probably not surprised that it’s the person on the bottom of the societal structure who returns to say thank you. We’ve had reading after reading of outcasts who understand the true nature of Jesus, the bleeding woman and the Syro-Phoenician woman, among the people who take risks and ask for healing, and Jesus grants them their deepest desire.

This story of healing goes a bit deeper. This story of healing reminds us that there’s more to wellness than physical health. There’s a deeper way to be made whole than to be free of sickness.

Once again, Jesus tells us that a life of faith is not about quantity, but about quality. All of the lepers had a similar faith, if we want to assume the best—perhaps their calling out to Jesus for healing isn’t faith but desperation, if we assume the worst. Still, they all have enough faith or hope to call out to Jesus. Jesus heals them.

One leper turns around, turns around to return towards Jesus. He returns to show his gratitude. These two actions—his turning back to Jesus and his gratitude—they show wellness beyond the physical.

It’s gratitude that redirects the Samaritan back to Jesus. Gratitude is the foundation, not faith. It’s a subtle message, an intriguing idea that gratitude can move us towards God. The Samaritan shows us a way to be whole that we may not have made a daily practice—the practice of gratitude and thanksgiving that can ground our faith.

I want to believe that gratitude is easier for us than giving up all our money or forgiving over and over again. But I’ve met enough people who have so much and who don’t have a scrap of gratitude. They are like the man in the parable from a few weeks ago priding themselves on their economic fortune rather than acknowledge the work of those who have made it necessary to build bigger barns.

It’s human nature to assume that our successes come to us because we are talented and that our lack of success is not our fault. If we assume that our success is justly ours, we may not ever find our hearts moved to gratitude. We may find ourselves spiritually starved and stunted.

It’s gratitude that can make us whole, make us more faithful people who can do the harder work of forgiving and sharing our resources and working to restore peace and wholeness for the wider world, a world where we no longer see the stark divisions between insider and outsider described in the recent letter signed by a majority of bishops from the ELCA.

Gratitude is one of those spiritual practices that is easy to start. Decades ago, many of us kept gratitude journals, a simple practice of writing down a list of things we’re grateful for, and doing that each and every day. Some days, we listed profoundly good luck. Other days, the list was more basic: gratitude for a bed to sleep in and a stomach that was full.

Keeping a daily gratitude list is a great way to end the day or to start it. If we do this practice for a few months, we’ll find that we are more profoundly whole. It’s a simple task, and in our Old Testament lesson, we get a warning about how hard it can be to do the simple tasks that can make us whole.

In another story of healing from leprosy, Naaman has a simple task, to wash in the Jordan. But he wants the healing to be different, We hear him grumble: “sure, I get healing but can’t I go to Damascus? Those rivers are just as good—maybe even better!”

His servant is the one who turns him around, who redirects him to God, by saying, “if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult [than washing], would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” To paraphrase, the servant says, “You want it to be even easier than it is? Why are you being so obstinate?” Naaman’s story has a happy ending, because he has the capacity to recognize good advice, even if it comes from his underlings.

Once clean, Naaman returns to the prophet Elisha to acknowledge that Elisha’s God is the one true God. Keep in mind, it’s Elisha’s people and God whom Naaman has been fighting. Here, too, Naaman’s gratitude redirects him to God.

Gratitude like that of Naaman and the healed Samaritan can be such a simple task. Yet we know how difficult it can be to do the simplest practices that can lead us to spiritual healing and wholeness. We have known this basic fact about human nature since ancient times. “If it’s free, it’s worthless. If it’s easy, why do it? If it’s quick, I can always put it off,” we might hear ourselves saying. Eventually, though, this current of thought can lead from postponement to inaction to refusal to see that we have anything to be grateful for.

It's the daily practice of gratitude that can turn this tide. It’s gratitude that can turn us around, as the Samaritan turned around, that can reorient us to back to Jesus, back to wholeness.

Today and every day, let us wash in the river of gratitude. May the current of the river of gratitude turn us in a different direction, away from all the distractions that swirl our way. Let us swim in the river of gratitude each day and allow that gratitude to orient us to God. By doing this practice, we will be made whole.

And for that, we can be grateful.

Peace in the Middle East?

It has been a week of Nobel awards; this morning, along with many others, I'm waiting to see who wins the Peace Prize.  It's been a week of grim anniversaries:  the 2 year anniversary of the war in Gaza is the primary one that consumed much of the news.  But it's also a week where there might be a chance for peace in the Middle East.

I've also been alive long enough to know how impossible it seems to have peace in the Middle East, and how fragile any progress can be.  I've seen deals rejected, deals that seemed like good ones to me.  I've seen people dig into paths that will lead to certain ruin.

There are people wiser than I am who have many more words than I do.  But it seems like we might be at a hinge point here, and I wanted to note it.  

I've been thinking of other intractable conflicts which suddenly were solved, most notably the one in Ireland.  When that was signed in the late 90's, I thought that it had a slim chance of success.  And here we are, decades later, and peace has held.

May it also be so now. 

Spring Schedule Wrinkles and the Ironing

I didn't write a blog post yesterday, and I didn't walk.  I was feeling grumpy and tired and there was an on again off again drizzle, plus I've had a dry cough for a few days.  It's the autumn game that I haven't had to play in the past few years:  is it a cold or is it allergies or is it dust or is it the change in the weather back and forth?  Do I have a fever or should I simply turn the AC back on?  I had a wrinkle in my spring schedule, and I spent a lot of time composing an e-mail to try to sort it all out--happily, by the end of yesterday, it was sorted, but it took time and mental energy.

Long story short:  because I went to a Methodist seminary, I still need to take at least one class at a Lutheran seminary.  The Lutheran theology class is offered once a year, a synchronous class, and the day and time that it's offered changes each year, which makes planning hard.  Last year, there was a conflict with a class that I was teaching, plus I was finishing up MDiv classes, so I decided to wait another year.  I had hoped that it wouldn't be a time conflict with my teaching schedule, but Tuesday, I discovered that there would be a conflict.  

Happily, I was able to strategize with my department chair, and we rearranged classes.  I had to let go of the American Lit class that conflicted with the Lutheran theology class on Thursday morning, but at least I can keep on my slow track to ordination.

I ended yesterday with some retreat planning and then went right to bed, as I will do tonight.  Last night's retreat planning was for Quilt Camp, tonight is Create in Me.  In the Spring, if I feel sad about my schedule, let me remember that taking classes in the evening, the way I did for much of my MDiv program, was not my ideal schedule either.

I began this morning by looking at the travel pictures of friends.  One of my friends just got back from a month long trip following the Mississippi River from its headwaters in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico.  Just looking at the pictures makes it sound phenomenal and makes me wish that I was at a retirement point.

Of course, chances are good that even if I was at that retirement point, I'd be staying home, baking goodies, reading, writing, and doing some sewing.  My friend's trip sounds like nothing but fun and feasting, but because I had a chance to talk to her before I saw the photos, I knew that the trip had challenges:  the rain, the extra time that it took to go through small towns, the set up of the campsites that took longer too.

So let me continue with the work at hand, and the work of appreciating the life I have.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, October 12, 2025:

First Reading: 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7

Psalm: Psalm 111

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 66:1-11 (Psalm 66:1-12 NRSV)

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 2:8-15

Gospel: Luke 17:11-19

We've spent a lot of time lately wrestling with texts which offer us guidelines for discipleship which may seem close to impossible for modern people to follow: give away our wealth? Surely Jesus didn't mean that.

This Sunday's Gospel gives us a task which should be easier. We need to practice gratitude. It seems like it should be such an easy thing, but some people find it easier to give away their money than to be grateful. We focus on the prayers that we perceive of as unanswered. We find ourselves obsessing over people who seem to receive better blessings than we do. We nurse our disappointments, our hurt, our anger. We are in spiritually dangerous territory when we do this.

If you can pray no other prayer, get into the habit of saying thank you. If you think you have nothing over which you'd like to offer thanks, think again. Do your body parts work as well as can be expected? Even if you're not in the best health, you can probably focus on something that's a blessing. Once I saw Arthur Ashe on the Phil Donahue show, where he had appeared to talk about his recent diagnosis: he had AIDS. But he seemed so cheerful, and when asked about that, he said that he focused on what his body could do. He grinned and said, "I've never had a cavity." If only more of us could follow his large-spirited lead.

When you think about what's lacking in your life, you might focus on your lack of funds. But compared to the rest of the world, you've extremely wealthy. Want to know just how wealthy? Even if you're in the lower tiers of poverty in the US, you're still fairly well off compared to the rest of the world. You're still likely to have safe water and electricity and some sort of roof over your head--even a TV!

My friend Sue used to do a type of gratitude exercise with her children. When they saw a magnificent sunset or a field of flowers or a tree ablaze in autumnal leaves, they’d yell, “Great show God!” It could be a bit startling if you were the one driving the car and not expecting this outburst. Yet the spirit was infectious. Even today, when I see something beautiful in nature, I murmer, “Great show, God.”

The beautiful thing about cultivating a garden of gratitude is that it opens our hearts in a unique way. Being grateful can lead to those other spiritual disciplines that seem so hard taken out of context. We’re saying “Thank you” more often, which puts us in a space where prayer comes more naturally. We are aware of all the blessings that we have and we’re more inclined to share. Our hearts and our brains and our hands move in unison to work with God to create the kind of reality that God wants for each of us to experience.

Sunday Sermons: Faith and Magical Powers

 My sermon for yesterday went well.  I wish I had a recording of my youth sermon to go with the recording of the adult sermon.  For the youth sermon, I gave them each mustard seeds and said I was sure that they had that much faith.  I said, "So, instead of going outside to move a tree with our faith, let's move this piano over to the baptismal font with just our faith alone."

I then crouched beside them in the aisle and said, "Ready?  Let's say it together:  'Move piano!' Ready?  Move piano!"

My voice was loudest, and I said, "Hmmm.  Does this mean we don't have enough faith?  Do I not have enough faith?  Do I need to go back to seminary?"  The youth shook their heads.  I then talked about faith not being a matter of magic powers.  I ended by talking about the time a few weeks ago when faith did move the piano--when a group of people stayed after church and moved the piano, and then the next week moved it back.  Faith in community can do marvelous things.

I did also acknowledge that I myself did not help move the piano--and that's what's great about community. We don't all have to have the same measure of faith to get things done.  Community can get things done that will seem like miracles to future generations.

In some ways, the adult sermon was much less dynamic.  But that's O.K.  I try to create the two sermons to go together, so that there's Good News for everyone, whether they prefer it in a youth sermon or a more cerebral adult sermon.

The recording of my sermon is here on my YouTube channel.

You can read the manuscript in this post on my theology blog.

Sermon for Sunday, October 5, 2025

October 5, 2025
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Luke 17: 5-10



By now, you might be echoing the cry of the disciples: “Lord, increase our faith!” We’ve had weeks of Jesus telling us how hard it is to be a disciple, how much is required. This year, our teachings have circled around the issue of money and possessions. For this week’s Gospel, we skipped right over the first 4 verses of Luke 17, which tell us that we need to forgive, and forgive a lot.

And not only that, we have to be prepared to forgive the same person over and over, who keeps needing forgiveness for the same action, over and over. For some of us, that might be harder than the need to give away our possessions.

Humans seem constitutionally incapable of letting go of our fierce grasp: on our possessions, on our grudges, on our anger and our rage. Jesus’ response might frustrate us. But maybe we need to hear the words of Jesus in a different light, a different tone, than we might be inclined to hear it, particularly after weeks of Jesus giving us hard teachings about the cost of discipleship.

Let me say again the words of Jesus, as neutrally as I can: “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” How do you hear those words? I’ll say it again and pause for a moment for you to consider how Jesus might have said them: “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

You might hear them as a challenge. You might go outside and start ordering trees around as you test your faith. You might feel despair when the trees stay put or when you talk to your unproductive flowers that continue in their not-blooming or when your weeds flourish even though you told them not to. You might hear the words of Jesus as words of criticism, or worse of condemnation, and you might go away resolving to try harder to have enough faith. Maybe next year, if you have a rugged enough self-improvement plan, you can be the kind of faithful person that trees obey.

Of course, when you hear the words of Jesus, you might say, Why would I order the tree to be planted in a place where it will not thrive? One of my Lutheran pastor friends, Diane Roth, points out that the absurdity of this faith demonstration should alert us to the possibility that Jesus isn’t really suggesting that the disciples don’t have enough faith.

What if we heard the words spoken in a different tone of voice? Imagine Jesus saying them as encouragement when the disciples ask for more faith. Imagine him saying, “C’mon, guys, you’ve got this. You have all the faith you need. You’ve gone out and healed the sick and cast out demons and fed multitudes. What more do you think is going to happen? Do you want more faith so that you can do absurd things, like waste a perfectly good and well-rooted tree? That’s not the nature of what a faith filled life looks like.”

If the Gospel stopped at verse 6, it would be easier to continue preaching this Good News. But Jesus then gives us this strange teaching about masters and worthless slaves, the slave who will work in the field all day and then cook dinner and then clean up and then fix their own dinner—doesn’t sound like a worthless or unproductive slave to me.

We have thousands of years of history with the idea of slavery, so it’s really hard for our 21st century ears to hear Jesus talking about slaves and masters, even harder to think about God in this way, and even harder to use that language of worthlessness about ourselves. Let me just acknowledge that a good number of us have spent a lot of time trying to undo the messages beamed at us by our society, messages that tell us that we’re too old or too male or too fat or too female or too young or too unattractive or that we spent too many years learning the wrong things to be of any use at all. And now Jesus wants us to see ourselves as worthless slaves? Where is the message of innate dignity and worth of humans here?

I’ve seen some Bible commentators remind us that slavery in Roman times was different, just as it was among Native tribes in North America or for indentured servants. In many cultures across centuries, slaves might work their way out of slavery, so maybe we’re wrong to see the master as a force for evil. Maybe the master and slave have a system of mutual accountability. Frankly, though, I think this explanation is a stretch, and the fact that this kind of parable has been used to support slavery gives me even more hesitation.

In fact, I think it is just as likely that Jesus is reminding the disciples, and by extension us, that God’s system of accountability is very different than the world’s system of rewards. Here, once again, it’s good to remind ourselves that with God, we’re in a grace-based economy, not an outcomes/measurability/profit/efficiency economy that the world wants to use to decide our worth.

Jesus doesn’t give the disciples a self-improvement plan when they ask him to give them more faith, and that’s how we can tell that it’s God speaking. Just for fun, I did a Google search: “How can I increase my faith?” I didn’t get strange parables from the internet, but instead, I got all sorts of offers for easy 5 or 12 or 25 step plans, if I just would send some money to whatever organization put the thing together.

If we look at the two parts of today’s Gospel together, we get an oddly comforting message. If you have a brain that is constantly telling you that you’re not good enough, the type of brain that most of us have at least some of the time, we hear the sermon as one of impossible goals. But if we look at it a different way, through the lens of grace, we can hear the Good News that Jesus proclaims again and again.

We don’t need faith the size of a mulberry tree or the confidence that comes from being able to exert power over rooted objects. We just need a grain of faith, and we can do the good work that is ours to do. A mustard seed grows into one of the bigger trees and becomes difficult to root out. With faith the size of a mustard seed, we too can live lives that will be remembered, the way that the writer of the letter to Timothy remembers those who have gone before. I’ll read that passage from 2 Timothy again, and let you insert your name and the names of your mothers and your grandmothers:  ”I am grateful to God—whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did—when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. 4 Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. 5 I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother ________ and your mother _________ and now, I am sure, lives in you _____________.”


God gives us the faith we need, just a small seed of faith, to do the work that is so valuable in our fractured world. To put it in an old southern saying, Jesus calls us to rise above our raising, but not to lose track of our dependence on grace, not to get above our raising.

And for those of us in a state of despair, for those of us with brains that are saying, “I don’t even have a mustard seed’s worth of faith,” well, I would say that you are here, wrestling with this text, trying to live faithfully. Take heart with this reminder from verse 7 of the passage from 2 Timothy: “ 7 for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”

We have what we need, a spirit of power and love and self-discipline. We have the assurance that through God’s grace-filled economy, that faith will flourish, like a mustard seed. To paraphrase the Psalmist, all we need is to put our trust in the Lord, that we may be inspired to do good work—and then we will realize that we have come to a safe land where we can dwell, a land with safe pasture for us all.

The Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi, with Photos

Today we celebrate the life of St. Francis. We often remember St. Francis because of his work, "The Canticle for the Creatures." Many people see him as one of the early environmentalists. I have no problem with animal rights crusaders and the environmental movement, but it's important to remember that St. Francis spent many years of his early ministry living with lepers and caring for them. He gave up everything he owned--and he was rich--in a quest for a more authentic life. He inspired others to follow the same path, and he founded two religious orders that still thrive.

Who are our modern day lepers? The homeless? The mentally ill who can't find medication? The elderly? What modern sicknesses scare us the way that leprosy scared us for hundreds of years?





Lately, I've been thinking about the care we offer our pets and contrasting that care with the amount of care we give ourselves. We often do no better at taking care of ourselves than we do of taking care of the poor and outcast of our society. I've known more than one person who cooked better meals for their dogs than they do for themselves. You can probably offer similar examples: humans who make sure that their pets see dentists, even when the human members of the family don't take care of their teeth, dogs who see therapists, pets who get wonderful treats that humans deny themselves--the list could go on and on.







Will your congregation celebrate the life of St. Francis by having a service where pets are blessed? Will it be its own service or will it be a bring-your-pet-to-church service?







What do we do about the animals that aren't so easy to love? How do we handle humans who aren't so easy to love? St. Francis shows us a model; can we follow it?





Why is it so hard to achieve balance in our societies? Why can't we take care of the destitute in the same way we take care of our pets? Why does self-care often fall to the bottom of our to-do lists? Why do we practice self-care and then not do the larger work of caring for the world? Why do so many of us care for creation so badly or not at all?







What would we be willing to give up if it meant we could have a more authentic life? What benefits might we find? What paths should we consider that we haven't pondered yet?







Here's a prayer that I wrote for today:


Creator God, we don't always take good care of your creations. Please give us the generosity of St. Francis as we wrestle with the best way to use our resources. Please open our hearts the way you opened the heart of St. Francis so that we can take care of the members of our society who are at the lowest levels. Please give us the courage to create communities which will allow the light of Christ to shine more brightly.

Changes in Church Leadership

This morning, the Church of England announced that Sarah Mullally will be the 106th archbishop of Canterbury, the first woman to lead the Church of England.  She's not new to leadership--she's been the bishop of London.  But this situation will bring new challenges--she's in charge of a much larger church body of Anglicans, many of whom do not believe in having women in leadership positions.

I'm also intrigued by her previous training as a cancer nurse.  She's 63 years old, and now I'd like to know more about her call story--research for another day.

Tomorrow, my own denomination, the ELCA (the more progressive Lutheran expression in the U.S.) also heads into a new phase.  It's the day that Yehiel Curry, our newly elected bishop, is installed in Minneapolis.  He is black and male, married with children, born in 1972, so relatively young.  The top 3 leadership positions are now held by non-white believers.

Having new leadership may lead to changes, both for the ELCA and the Church of England.  Of course, it may not.  I am under no illusions about how long it can take to shift these institutions.

But I have studied enough church history to know that these shifts can happen quickly.  I could talk about the power of the Holy Spirit not being bound by humans, but I also know that humans themselves can make institutions shift quickly.

In these days that can be so dark, I'll take hope wherever I can find it.