The Long Drive Home from a TEEM Week

Soon I will put the last of my stuff in the car.  Sunrise comes later this much further north (at 7:57), so I'm not going to leave until 6:30 or 7.  Gone are the days when I would leave at 4 a.m.; driving that many hours in the dark is just too tiring.  Is this a sign of getting older or just a sign of being more cautious?  Part of it is wanting to linger in a lovely hotel room a bit longer, which is always balanced by knowing how much driving lies ahead and wanting to get that over with.

I've been in Indianapolis, taking the last required classes, another task done on the path to ordination in the Lutheran church (ELCA, the more progressive expression of the of Lutheranism in North America).  

We spent the first two days of the week studying Lutheran Liturgy, then a Wednesday workshop on Lutheran Polity, and we finished the week on Thursday and Friday studying Hebrew prophets, those prophets from the B.C.E. time period, the ones at the end of the Old Testament part of the Christian Bible.

I've studied those prophets before during an Old Testament class during my first year at Wesley Theological Seminary.  That class was asynchronous, and the material was not nearly as compelling as the last 2 days have been.  The history of the centuries before the Greek and Roman empires is much more clear to me now, and especially how we get from the time of David and Solomon to the Assyrian  and Babylonian exiles.

I came back to my hotel room on Thursday and made this Facebook post, which was just as true at the end of the day on Friday:  "Today and tomorrow, our TEEM group is doing a deep, scholarly dive into (B.C.E.) Hebrew prophets, a topic which seems very timely in ways I both did and did not expect."

I was impressed with various teaching techniques throughout the week.  During our Lutheran Liturgy class, Bishop Strickland had breaks where we sung, along with information about how we might use the songs in worship. Dr. Parker, our OT Prophets class instructor, had a variety of artifacts to show us or techniques (like using an imprinting device in clay) to show us how people wrote.  We worked in small groups for a break in lecturing, and that small group work will lead to papers we need to write.  For some of the prophets, we read the work out loud in a variety of ways, which made it more interesting to hear and understand.

I always learn a lot in classes that I take, both in subject matter and how to present the subject matter.  I go home with ideas for how to improve my own classrooms.

I've been with this group of classmates twice now, and my time with them is over, at least this time as a TEEM cohort.  It was a strange goodbye yesterday.  Any time of parting makes me think of all the other times of leaving, makes me melancholy and missing all the people who have passed through my life.

So maybe it's good to have a transition time of driving in the car, before hurling myself back into the rest of my life.  I do feel happy that I'm returning to regular life that is life giving, unlike pre-pandemic years when I would be returning to a toxic workplace and a boss bellowing about how I shouldn't leave ever again.  I know how lucky I am.

The Second Half of TEEM Week

 Last night over dinner, my TEEM cohort exchanged notes over how tired we are.  This onground intensive is, indeed, intense.   We eat breakfast at the hotel, head over to the Synod office meeting space, and we're meeting from 8 until 4 or 5, depending on how long we took for lunch. Lunch is brought in, and we try to be back on task by 1 so that we can be done closer to 4:00.

Monday and Tuesday, we learned about Lutheran Liturgy, the way worship is structured. Yesterday was a 1 day workshop to teach us about Lutheran Polity, how the larger church operates--after a morning studying governing structure, we took a deep dive into church constitutions. We finish the week with Old Testament prophets.

I feel like I had more energy back in June, but let me remember that I only did the workshop and the last half of the week.  Plus, I wasn't in the middle of an onground teaching semester.

I've gotten good ideas for my sermon that I'll preach on Sunday, which happened in June too.  We've also had good worship this week, which has been nourishing.

I've been thinking about my past experiences with the onground intensive model, which has only been for the spiritual director certificate program.  I do wonder how the spiritual experiences compare with low residency MFA programs.

I love the idea of an intensive that blasts requirements out of the way in one week--but having said that, it's not my favorite way to learn.  I'm grateful to have had so many different kinds of educational opportunities throughout my life.  I also realize that my preferred way of learning:  onground, over 12-16 weeks, once or twice a week--it's not a way that can work for most people who are employed full-time, especially not older folks.

I'm also grateful that my current work life doesn't involve sitting at a desk all day, the way we've been doing this week or the way I did as an administrator.  Yes, we do try to move during breaks, but my step count at the end of 8 hour desk days is much lower than my regular teaching days.

I am grateful for so much as we head into the end of this week.  I am most grateful for all my jobs that allow me to be away so that I can be part of this educational experience and for my spouse, who is self-sufficient and holding down our 2 home fronts.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for October 18, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 45:1-7

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 33:12-23

Psalm: Psalm 96:1-9 [10-13]

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 99

Second Reading: 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10

Gospel: Matthew 22:15-22

This week's Gospel contains a saying of Jesus that is probably familiar: "Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's" (Matthew 22, verse 21). Even people who have never set foot inside a church are probably familiar with this saying, although they may attribute it to somebody else, like Shakespeare or Ronald Reagan.

I love how Jesus realizes that the Pharisees have set a trap for him, and he manages to avoid entanglement. This passage also shows Jesus reacting to the legalistic outlook of the spiritual leaders. He seems to tell us not to be so rigid in our formulas of our finances. We know what we must do. We have bills and obligations (among them, caring for the less fortunate); we cannot escape those worldly cares. But in figuring out our tithes and taxes, we should not lose sight of the larger spiritual picture.

God calls us to more than a rigid formula of living. Instead of dividing up our budget into rigid categories, we should always be on the lookout for ways to love each other. Some days/months/years, that love might be manifest in monetary ways. But in a way, just writing a check is much too easy. God calls us to be involved with each other's lives. That doesn't mean we need to hop on a plane to personally respond to every huge disaster. Look around--you'll see plenty of opportunities just outside your door.

What if you gave 10% of your time? There's 168 hours in a week. If you gave 17.8 hours to God, how would you need to change your life?

The reality is, that God wants and needs more from us than a mere 18 hours a week. God wants an ongoing relationship with each and every one of us. And that relationship should transform us to do the tough work of transforming creation, of creating the Kingdom of Heaven right here and now.  That transformation, too, will come from relationships.

In these days of all sorts of insecurity, the message of Jesus seems more prescient than ever. If we save up our treasures on earth, moth or rust or inflation or deflation or bad policies or war or climate disruption or any other kind of ruin you want to name will leave us bankrupt.

The way we live our lives moves us closer to God or further away. If we devote our lives to God, our whole lives, not just an hour on Sunday, then we'll find a relationship that we can count on. And that relationship can help us transform not only ourselves, but our families, our communities, everyone we touch.

Spiritual Lessons: A Meditation on Columbus Day

 Writing time is short this morning, so let me run a Columbus Day post that I wrote some years ago. It's one of my favorite meditations on Columbus.

Today we celebrate Columbus Day: October 12 was the actual day of the first sighting of land after almost 2 months at sea. I’m always amazed at what those early explorers accomplished. At Charlestowne Landing (near Charleston, SC), I saw a boat that was a replica of the boat that some of the first English settlers used to get here. It was teeny-tiny. I can't imagine sailing up the coast to the next harbor in it, much less across the Atlantic. Maybe it would have been easier, back before everyone knew how big the Atlantic was.

In our spiritual lives, we may be feeling a bit like Columbus. Let’s ask some questions prompted by Columbus Day, questions that may lead us to some meaningful meditations.

Below, when I talk about our spiritual lives, I’m talking about our individual lives and expressions of spirituality, as well as our corporate spiritual lives, the lives we live in the company of fellow believers.

--In our spiritual lives, are we the explorer or are we the native populations of new continents? Or are we members of the Old World? In other words, are we always striking out for new lands? Or are we waiting to be discovered? Are we so tied to our traditions that we can’t even imagine how our lives could be different?

--As spiritual people, how long are we willing to be at sea? I’m part of a church tradition, mainstream Protestantism, that looks back longingly to the 1950’s, when it seemed that everybody made time for church. Many of us hope that we will soon return to a time when church returns to its central location. But we may have only started our time at sea, on a voyage of discovery. Can we trust God? Can we continue to hold onto our faith when we're in the middle of a vast ocean, with nothing but our instruments and the stars to guide us, with no sense of how far away the land for which we're searching might be?

--We may be certain we’re on a quest to find one kind of wealth. In the process, we may discover something completely different, something far more valuable? Will we recognize the value of what we find?

--The explorations in North and South America changed our cooking forever. Imagine a culinary life without corn, sweet peppers, tomatoes. Imagine life without chocolate. What ways can our spirituality enrich our cultures?

--Of course, if I was looking through the Native American lens, I might say, "Imagine life without smallpox." What are the possible negative impacts implicit in the collision between secular culture and sacred culture? Can we mitigate those? Should we mitigate those?

--These explorations wouldn’t have been possible without the patronage of the wealthiest of society members. In our current world, many of us are some of the wealthiest people on the planet. North Americans may not feel like it, but we’re the Isabella and Ferdinand of our time. What projects should we be funding? What spiritual projects will make the kind of lasting legacy of funding the voyage of Columbus?

Sermon for Sunday, October 11, 2026

October 11, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 22: 1-14



The idea that the reign of God is like a banquet is probably not unfamiliar to us. You may have grown up singing about the welcome table, either as a grace before a meal or as a hymn. We partake in the Eucharist, also called Communion, also called The Lord’s Supper, every week as part of our service—this sacrament is rooted in a meal, unlike baptism, our other sacrament. This church enjoys eating literal meals together, as most churches do.


What are we to make of this parable that gives us God as a king celebrating his son’s wedding with a banquet? So far, it’s not troubling: we might nod along, recognizing that the King represents God, and the son Jesus.


But then, this parable gets dark very quickly. Unlike other parables, where potential guests offer reasons for why they can’t come—an RSVP done politely—in Matthew’s version, we get neglect. The Greek translation of their response is much closer to “They didn’t take notice of the King’s invitation.” They just didn’t care.


Later it gets even worse. The invitees kill the slaves sent to fetch the wedding guests. These last few weeks in parables have not been kind to those on the lower rungs of the social ladder—they’re ignored or beaten, and this week, they get killed. The King is enraged and sends in troops to destroy the invited guests who have behaved badly and to burn their cities. Yikes. What, exactly, is it that Jesus is trying to teach us about God?


Some Bible scholars say that today’s Gospel is perhaps trying to tell us more about earthly rule than Heavenly rule. The book of Matthew was written in a time period in history when Rome has just behaved like this king, killing people and destroying the temple. Maybe this parable represents the trauma of war, of the experience of an empire that is mightier than its subjects, and in some ways, mightier than any individual ruler.


What if we take Jesus at his word? What is Jesus trying to tell us about the reign of God? But before we go further, let me remind us that it’s a parable—it’s not an allegory with one to one correlations. It’s a parable, and parables are meant to knock us off balance and leave us with puzzles. Maybe we’ll figure out the puzzles, the contradictions. Maybe we won’t. Maybe we can’t. But parables offer us the possibility of a richer understanding because we’ve done the puzzling.


We have several other versions of this parable. The most familiar one is in the 14th chapter of Luke; there’s also one in the non-canonical Gospel of Thomas, along with a similar story out of the Jewish Babylonian time period. But those texts have significant differences from Matthew’s text. Our former bishop of the SE Synod, Julian Gordy, tells us that the differences can tell us what a particular text is trying to say.


So let’s look at the differences in the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke. In the book of Matthew, we have a king and a wedding feast for a son; in the book of Luke, it’s a man creating a banquet for guests. These differences give us insight into what the Gospel of Matthew may be trying to say.


Saying no to an invitation from the king is significantly different than saying no to a rich man’s banquet. And it’s more than a banquet in our reading today—it’s a wedding banquet for the king’s son. This invitation is exceptional. Saying no is not just disrespectful, it’s rebellious.


The reaction of the King to the man who doesn’t have a wedding robe might seem extreme—but maybe not. We’ve seen the king in action before. It’s not wise to wear casual clothes around this kind of King who kills people and burns cities in retaliation for individual behavior. Again, maybe Matthew is telling us about earthly empires.


But what if this parable really is trying to teach us about the community of God? It’s not an easy parable like the version in the Gospel of Luke. The easy part of the parable explores inclusion. Both parables are telling us something about the community of God being open to the people who have never experienced it before. In the words of a more ancient time, both parables seem to teach us that God continues to expand the covenant. But the Gospel of Matthew gives us a vision that is much less comforting. Even when we’re chosen, we might be banished.


The language at the end might tell us that we’re looking at a text that teaches us about judgment and end times, that language about weeping and gnashing of teeth. And Matthew’s Gospel does often circle back to judgment, both in the current time period and at the end. The book of Matthew often tells us not to judge each other, but reminds us that God will judge eventually.


This parable in today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew’s tells us that we are chosen, but not to sit around in our non-wedding clothes. Kingdom living should change us. Luther says, “The Law doesn’t save you, but it does command you.” This parable shows us a relation between grace and obedience. In more modern language, we are chosen and called to participate in what God is doing here. Now that we’re at the banquet, there are expectations. Our good works won’t save us, but they are required, according to some theologians, like John Calvin, and others from the non-Lutheran streams of thought. But even Luther told us that faith should move our feet (an older version of one of the ELCA’s mottos, God’s work, our hands).


Scripture reminds us that we have some power and some agency. Unlike the underdressed person in the parable, we have a voice. We can clothe ourselves with gentleness, with what is true, what is honorable, what is just, what is commendable, what is pleasing and worthy of praise, those qualities from Paul’s letter today, the one we just heard a few minutes ago--theologians from the time of Paul and onward have given similar advice.


Or we can go back to Jesus. Jesus showed us how to live as the community of God. We share what we have, knowing that it will be multiplied to be enough. We invite everyone, even though some won’t accept. We heal our societies in the ways that we know how to do, and we remember that even when it seems there is no way, we pray to the one who shows us again and again, that there is a way out of no way, a way that is different from the ways of earthly empire.


God invites us to a wedding feast—not an ordinary banquet. Let us say yes—today and every day, let us respond to the invitation with a resounding YES.

Hurricane Remnants and Travel

Last June, when I left Indiana after the first TEEM onground intensive that I attended, I thought ahead to our next gathering in October, where I anticipated autumnal shifts with still-warm days.

I did not anticipate a hurricane affecting the weather that far inland.  But here we are.  I've changed travel plans, and instead of leaving on Sunday, I'm leaving in a few hours.  There's already a bit of rain here, but nothing like what is expected later this morning.

We are supposed to have record breaking warmth in the 80's in the early part of the week, and cooler temps by week's end.  I have packed a variety of clothes--lots of layers for my upper body, some with sleeves and some not, and shorts for my lower body which is odd-shaped and hard to fit for long pants in this time of my life.

This hurricane has turned out to be a normal-ish hurricane, not a monster that zoomed up several categories just before landfall--how refreshing!  It moved ashore as a category 2, very survivable for most structures--not a fun way to spend an evening, but likely not life threatening for many.

I am still glad I changed my travel plans.  I should be able to stay ahead of the storm remnants today, and it will be good to head into the week being better rested.

When Jesus Plans Your Family Reunion

 On Sunday, I went through my old files looking for a St. Francis poem that I thought I had written--but I was thinking of an Ash Wednesday poem.  While searching, I found an old manuscript of Jesus in the world poems, many of which I had forgotten writing.  

Because my time is short this morning, I'll post one of them here.  Let me make sure to mention that the people in this poem are not based on real friends and relations.  It is published for the first time here.

Reunion



We let Jesus plan our family reunion,
and we won’t be doing that again.

He searched through the stunted
branches of the family tree and invited
them all: Weird PopPop Walter, who went to war
and was never the same, Cousin Buddy
who married that poor little black girl,
Aunt Leona, who we never forgave
for stealing all of Mamaw’s silver.

And then Jesus went and invited strangers
to our feast. People we didn’t know
from Adam’s housecat. We’re lucky
they didn’t rob us blind.
Where Jesus thought all these people
would park, I don’t know.

We usually cater these events, we told
him that. But no, Jesus had to go and change
things. Price of admission, he informed us,
was that we had to bring our favorite food, enough to share.
How could I do that?
My favorite food was Mamaw’s sweet
potato pie, and no one’s made it since she died.
But one rainy day, with restless
children to entertain, I set
one to work peeling potatoes and taught
one the secrets of pie crust.
The smell of those pies baking made me weep
with missing her, which alarmed
the children. To distract them, I dug
out the old quilts she made, and we lost
the rest of the day to looking at photo albums.

Fired by insider information, the children pestered
everyone at the reunion, and we told each other stories
we hadn’t thought of in years. I hope my girl stopped
thinking of herself as fat and sees herself as sturdy
like her Great Aunt Lillian who did the plowing
herself after flu felled all the menfolks.

But the greatest miracle of all was the singing.
Descended from northern Europeans, we keep
our mouths shut to keep from freezing, but Jesus
got us to open up. Jesus built a big bonfire,
and we spent the night singing while the leftovers multiplied
to feed us again.

Jesus planned our family reunion,
and we might let him do it again.
Maybe in five years or so.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, October 11, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 25:1-9

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 32:1-14

Psalm: Psalm 23

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23

Second Reading: Philippians 4:1-9

Gospel: Matthew 22:1-14

Today's Gospel sounds impossibly harsh. The kingdom of heaven is compared to this story of a king who can't get people to come to the wedding feast? Is God really like the King who murders people who won't come to the party and burns their city? Is God really like the king who punishes a guest who comes in the wrong clothes? And such a punishment!

But perhaps our brains are too quick to see God as judge. Maybe we're losing the point of the parable.

So, let's look at this parable from a different angle: what's keeping us from accepting the invitation to the wedding feast? If the wedding feast is the kingdom of God, what keeps us away?

What activities keep us from accepting or even hearing the invitation? Is it the work we do to earn the money to pay our bills? Have we let that work take over our every waking hour? Does our work wake us up at night?

Or maybe we don't have enough work, and we worry about how we will pay for our obligations. We can't accept God's invitation now, because we need to work our multiple part-time jobs or fill out applications or research our new career field.

Jesus is quite clear on this issue, and he instructs us again and again. What good will it do us to work ourselves this way, to devote ourselves to earthly things, like work and earning money?

Or maybe we reject God's invitation because we feel inadequate. We'll accept at a later time, when we've improved ourselves. But that's the good news of God's grace that we find throughout the Gospels. We don't have to wait. God loves us in all of our imperfections. In fact, we may find that what we see as an imperfection is what God will need and use to work for God's purposes.

Perhaps we should see ourselves in the wedding guest that didn't have the right garment. What clothes do we need to invest in to make ourselves better wedding guests? Maybe we need to clothe ourselves in the garments of love and acceptance. Think of what attitudes you need to wrap around yourself, and work to shed the ones that do not serve you.

Life is short, and Christ returns to this message again and again. We think we will have time to get to the things that will be important. We'll do it later, when the kids are older, or when we don't have to work so long and hard. We'll do it when we retire. We'll wait until we have more money. Once we lose that 20-100 pounds, we'll buy the right clothes and go to feasts to celebrate sacred occasions.

But God calls us to focus on the important things now. The apocalyptic tone of the recent readings may seem overly dramatic, but apocalypse dramas remind us that everything that is precious can be gone in an instant--and so the time to focus on what we hold dear is now.

It's a luxury that so many do not have, to appreciate what we have while we still have it, to be able to tell our loved ones that we love them while they're still with us.

Recording of Sermon for Sunday, October 4, 2026

We had a pretty good Sunday at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  My sermon focused more on Saint Francis, whose feast day was yesterday, than on any of the readings, but my sermon did circle back to the Gospel at key points.  I focused on rejected stones becoming the chief cornerstone. 

I always think about myself when I was a parishioner--would I have liked the sermon I preached or would it leave me yearning for something deeper.  I would have liked it.  I do realize that not everyone would like a sermon steeped in history, so I don't do that week after week.  But from a pastoral point of view, I think it's important to remember that we are part of a Christian tradition that stretches back across centuries.  I always try to talk about how the traditions still have relevance for us today--an easy task with St. Francis.

You can watch a recording of my sermon here on my YouTube channel; if you'd like to read along, I put the manuscript in this blog post.  

Sermon for Sunday, October 4, 2026, the Feast Day of Saint Francis

October 4, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 21:33-46


The parable in today’s sermon doesn’t need much explaining. We read it and see the landowner’s son as Jesus and the servants as the prophets. Even the earliest listeners who might not have heard the parable and thought about God and Jesus would have understood the message.


None of us probably see ourselves as the tenants who brutalize the messengers from the landowner and kill the landowner’s son. Jesus might tell us otherwise. The hopeful message of today’s Gospel is that even rejected stones can become the building block of something new, something lasting.


Today, October 4, we celebrate the life of one of these rejected stones. Today is the feast day that celebrates the life of Saint Francis of Assissi, who was born in 1181. He died 800 years ago yesterday, which means he was 44 years old. Most people have encountered this saint through concrete statues in our gardens, but we may not recognize him as a saint so much as we see a monk.


Many of us are familiar with the Saint Francis who was kind to animals. We celebrated that aspect of him last week, with our blessing of pets as part of worship. But Francis’ view of animals was more radical than many of us may realize. He called all creatures his brothers and sisters. Many of us think of our pets as our family, and we forget what a departure from the history of human treatment of animals this is.


For that matter, treating all humans as equal is a fairly radical, at least in western belief systems. When I teach literature of the 19th century, I remind my students that the evolving belief that we find in some of the literature, that women should have the same rights as men, would be as baffling a notion to most 19th century people as if I suggested that our computers have rights.


Of course, in a time of artificial intelligence becoming ever smarter, this idea may come to be one we’ll need to think more seriously about in our lifetimes.


Francis saw nature as one kind of testament to God, a way to know God, much the way most of us think of scripture. Others had this idea before Francis, but his popularity as a saint has made this idea a popular one. Most of us are quite happy with our Bibles as testament, but for those who have a more troubled relationship with Christianity, the idea that one can find evidence for God outside of scripture is important.


Francis was groundbreaking in other ways. He took Jesus’ preaching about including the outcast to new levels. Like Mother Theresa, Francis lived among the lepers, at a time when very few others were willing to do so. He traveled to Egypt, both to do missionary work, but also to reach out to Muslims to try to find a peaceful path out of the attempted genocide of the Crusades.


Let that sink in. He went to Egypt to try his hand at peacemaking with Muslims, even while other good Christians were trying to slaughter them. Francis’ contemporaries saw Muslims as a marauding force, murderous and not quite human. And Francis goes to negotiate with them. Not only did he treat animals as intrinsically valuable parts of God’s creation, worthy of respect, but also Muslims. And lepers. Basically, he treated all parts of creation as worthy of respect—which is an idea very much ahead of his time, and perhaps very much ahead of our own.


Francis founded 3 religious orders, 2 of which survive to this day. In one of his orders, he and his brothers went out as friars, living among the people who needed them most, like lepers. Francis came from a wealthy family, and he spent that wealth in pursuit of not more wealth, but care for those whom society had abandoned or tried to slaughter.


As a founder of religious orders, Francis wrote down rule books for how to live in community, rule books which are still being used today. He also created new ways of worship. He is given credit for creating the first Nativity scene. He is also the first to have living animals as part of a Nativity scene. He wanted worshipers to engage with all of their senses. Here in the 21st century, we’re still trying to find new ways of doing that. Think of what Francis might have done if he had access to our technology.


Of course, he might have been a back to basics man, as evidenced by all the ways he tried to include living creatures in worship. He is often depicted as preaching to the birds and other woodland creatures; he probably had some members of his religious community there with him too. I imagine Francis with an outdoor pavilion like ours, finding new ways to engage our senses by taking us out of our buildings and fortresses.


Let’s be very clear, though—in being ahead of his time, Francis was not seen as a chief cornerstone. The religious rulers of his time rejected him in the same way that the rulers of the first century rejected Jesus.


There has been a growing movement to have a season within the season of the time after Pentecost, the season of Creation, also called the Season of Christ in Creation or the Feast of Creation. It’s an ecumenical idea, grounded in the ancient liturgical tradition of the Orthodox church. This year, some churches began celebrating on September 1, the World Day of Prayer for the Care of Creation, and for those congregations, this season within a season ends today, on the feast day that celebrates Saint Francis. Our liturgical materials that come from Sundays and Seasons have given us some liturgical elements that celebrate this new season during the past six weeks.


Francis has become one of the cornerstones that Christ foretold, building a stronger church. In a few weeks, on Reformation Sunday, we’ll hear about another cornerstone, Martin Luther. It’s good to remember that cornerstones don’t begin as cornerstones, not necessarily. They often look like the rubble left from once impenetrable fortresses.


In today’s parable and so many other teachings, Jesus declares that God has given us a good garden. Saints like Francis call us to care for that garden more deeply than we have in the past. These messages continue to resonate for a reason. We live in a time when all of creation groans, and so many of us yearn for something better, for deliverance from the murderous forces that surround us. May we be like Saint Francis, stepping forward to show that there is a different way to live in God’s garden. May we be the cornerstones, holding up the structures that will nurture future generations.

A Banquet and Archived History

Yesterday I drove down to Columbia, SC to meet my parents so that we could all go to the James R. Crumley Archives banquet.  In years past, I've seen pictures of the event, and I've always been curious.  This year, schedules aligned, and we could go.

Each year, as far as I can tell, the banquet is held at a different place.  So far, the Archive has not had a permanent home.  That's about to change:  Newberry College has donated land for a building and now the capital campaign begins.  We heard a bit about that new development last night.

(l-r Don Poole, Ina Berkey, Jane Mitcham,Tom Berkey)

But most of last night's banquet was to celebrate the accomplishments of the honorees:  an individual, a church, and a synod of the ELCA.  It was enough of a program to justify the banquet, but not so overwhelming/long that people started leaving early.

(l-r Honoree Dorothy Jeffcoat, Don Poole, Ina Berkey)

Before the event, we had been invited to be part of a program that told the story of African American Lutherans in the southeast.  That program turned out to be a documentary that's available to all (go here to watch), along with some segments about Atlanta from a forthcoming documentary in the same series.

It was a lovely evening with good food, good stories/speeches, and even better, the chance to reconnect with others from the region.  I was happy to be reminded of all my connections:  to individuals, to various churches, to synods from the southeastern United States, to Newberry College, and to church camps.  But more than that, I was happy to hear the stories of all the good happening in the world, in small ways and in big ways.

A Prayer for Blessing of Pets

Many congregations are doing some sort of Blessing of the Pets this Sunday.  We did ours last Sunday because we had already scheduled our last outdoor worship service when I had the idea of adding a Blessing of the Pets to our autumnal activities.  We didn't do it in 2023 because I had just arrived in June.  In 2024, we had Hurricane Helene, and last year, I was away doing a workshop for my mom's church's retreat in Williamsburg.

I got to last Sunday without having written any liturgy or prayer, or a blessing of any kind.  So I wrote one, by hand, because my computer mouse had stopped working, and writing by hand was faster.

I want to preserve the prayer, so I'm transcribing it here.

Creator God,

Please bless all of your creatures gathered here together, the humans, their beloved pets, and this piece of Eastern Tennessee.  Please bless those who couldn't be here with us.  And we ask your blessing on our wider world, with so many who need so much.   And let us always remember that you are more loyal than our most faithful pets, and you love us in the same generous way we love our pets.   

Celtic Spirituality and October

I met Tim Brown at the onground intensive for TEEM students back in June when he came to talk to us about stewardship.  He's well versed in that subject, but also in saints old and modern, about all things ELCA, and about Celtic Christianity/history/spirituality.

This morning, he made this post on Facebook, and I wanted to preserve it:

For the ancient Celts, October signaled the end of their Autumn and opened the door for the shadowed half of the Celtic year.

Samhain (which literally means "summer has ended") marks the final feast day of the season, and the convergence of the shadows and the weather inclined the Celts to believe that spirits were able to walk among the living causing mischief, curses, and sometimes blessings.

Practically it meant bringing in the cattle and the sheep down from the summer hillside and into the byre and the stable, now full of the harvested hay brought in throughout August and September.

It was also the time to slaughter the animals and prep them to last as far through winter as possible with salts, cold storage, cottaging, and drying.

The very last bits of barley, wheat, turnips, and apples were picked from the now naked fields, because come November the faeries would start breathing on all the fruit, frosting them and making them inedible.

While the sun still glowed it was also time to get the wood and peat stacked and ready for use. No one wanted to chop and gather in the frigid days coming.

This was a joyous month for the Celts, as the whole family was regularly gathered in the house and the barn: baking, salting, prepping, and preserving, envisioning the coming winter feasts and the cozy days ahead.

The summer sun now became the warm, dim room, and the noisy insects would be replaced with long talks and stories from family and visiting friends.

October has come.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 4, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 5:1-7

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20

Psalm: Psalm 80:7-14 (Psalm 80:7-15 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 19

Second Reading: Philippians 3:4b-14

Gospel: Matthew 21:33-46

Today's Gospel contains a parable that seems to tell the story of Christ, in the vineyard owner's son, who is killed by the tenants. I suspect that when modern readers, many of whom own property and/or manage people at work, read this lesson, they identify with the vineyard owner far more than they do with the tenants. But what would happen if we thought about ourselves as the tenants?

Notice how the tenants are so stuck in their self-destructive ways that they can't change. Now, as we settle into the season of autumn, as we race towards the end of the liturgical year, it might be useful to do some self-evaluation. What are our habits that get in the way of us living as the people of God? By now, you might despair to realize that these are the same patterns you've wrestled with before. But take heart. As you continue to attempt to make changes and go astray, each time you try to get back to a more wholesome way of living, it should take less time to make the necessary adjustments.

The Gospels that we've been reading give us reassurance that we can go astray, and God will still welcome us back. Now all this talk of going astray may not be the most useful image for us. Many of us have grown up in churches that berated us with talk of sin and tried to make us change by making us feel ashamed. We live in a toxic culture that tells us that we're not doing enough, not earning enough, not buying the right stuff. Many of us spend our days with voices in our head telling us those same messages. Who wants to come to church to hear the same thing? We've tried, we've failed, we know, we get it.

The danger is that we might quit trying to live the life that God envisions for us. God doesn't want us to live the way we've been living. Many of us might agree--we don't want to be living these lives.

So take a different approach. What would a healthier life look like? What would a God-centered life look like? How would it feel?

Now think of one step that you can take in this direction towards a life that God envisions for you.

Remember that God promises that no matter how far away we are from that vision, God will meet us more than half-way. If we're feeling like a rejected stone, remember that God has great plans for rocks of every shape.

Michaelmas or The Feast Day of St. Michael and All Angels

 If we lived in an earlier culture, a time more marked by the agricultural shifts of each season, we would celebrate Michaelmas today. It's one of the harvest holidays, one of the quarterly celebrations that kept people rooted to traditions of the seasonal cycles.

I am more interested in the idea of a hinge holiday, the way we shift from one direction to another. In Holidays and Holy Nights, Christopher Hill explains, "In summer we celebrate our at-homeness in the world. Michaelmas balances that feeling (for) in autumn we feel our not-at-homeness, the sense of wanting something else, something we can't name. We feel like wayfaring strangers... Summer is static - in Latin, solstice means 'the stationary sun'" Summer is the sacrament of natural harmony with God... while autumn we fall away from the dreaming paradise of summer back into the conflict of light and dark" (pp. 36-37).

Today, the Church celebrates the role of angels in the divine plan, my prayer book tells me (The Divine Hours, written by Phyllis Tickle). Our Orthodox brothers and sisters handle the question of angels better than most Protestants. Most of the Lutheran churches that I've been a member of don't talk about angels much, and based on the ideas of some of my students, many Protestant churches do talk about angels, but with a very shaky theology.

I'll never forget one time teaching Paradise Lost to South Carolina students in my Brit Lit survey class at a community college. One woman seemed particularly confused about all the angels in the story. "How could there be angels," she asked, "when nobody has died?"

It took me a few attempts to understand her question. She knew about angels from church, but only in the sense that we become angels when we die--which is a very recent idea about angels. I explained the more ancient idea about angels, which is that they are a species completely separate from humans. We got into a bit of a theology lesson, but I could see that she wasn't happy with these ideas about angels. She was much more comfortable with the idea of the angels being Grandma and Grandpa who died when she was a child. The idea of angels as a separate kind of entity with no free will? No thanks.

In a way, I understand. Angels are scary. Death is scary. It's rather brilliant to come up with the idea that we become angels when we die--and yet, this shaky theology defangs several concepts which should, in fact, be scary. We will die--and before that, everything we love will die. How do we cope with that idea?

Some of us cope by clinging to the idea that there is a Divine God with a plan and a vision that's vaster than anything we could develop on our own. This God has more power than we can conceive of--including legions of angels, angels that are there for us too.

Some of us cope with the scariness of death by marking the seasons--we're entering the autumnal season marked by many holidays that remind us that death is unavoidable and perhaps nearer than we'd like:  Halloween, All Saints, All Souls, and Día de los Muertos.  In some ways, today's constellation of holiday and feast day is a start to that season, that shift towards a much darker time of the year in terms of less daylight, at least in the northern hemisphere.  

Let us take a moment and notice as the light lingers.  Let us mark the shift.

Recording of September 27, 2026 Sermon

We had a great Sunday yesterday.  We had planned to have worship in the outdoor picnic pavilion on church grounds, and I suggested we include a pet blessing.  I'm glad we did it, but I'm not sure we'll do it again.  I had a brief youth sermon about authority and then sent them out to be the hands that blessed the pets, instead of bringing all the pets together in the front.

My adult sermon talked about pet blessings and how we make decisions as Christians, both individually and as Church.  I felt good about it.  It's not my most brilliant sermon, but it's solid.  If you'd like to see the recording, I posted it here on my YouTube channel, and if you'd like to read it, I created this post yesterday.

Sermon for Sunday, September 27, 2026

September 27, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Matthew 21:23-32




In the church of my youth, both childhood and teenage youth, we would not have had a pet blessing service. We didn’t have pets in church ever—it was before the days of emotional support animals, and the wider use of service dogs. I remember asking if our family dog would be in Heaven with us, and the adults hesitated—except for my 5th grade Sunday School teacher, a crusty old guy, who probably wasn’t as old as he is in my memory, who had no doubts when he told me that no, our pets did not have souls, and therefore could not go to Heaven.


These days, theologians might strike a more nuanced tone—Sunday School teachers too. Pastors declare that God loves all of creation, making it much harder to declare that humans have been put in place to have God’s favor exclusively. Some activists would remind us that as creatures with the power to reason, we have special responsibilities to take care of all of creation. Of course, that distinction raises other concerns about non-human animals with great reasoning and problem solving skills.


Our ancestors might be baffled at the idea of a pet blessing part of worship. Some of today’s worshippers might be wishing we had a pet blessing more than once a year—much the same we might should bless backpacks more than once a year—not so much because backpacks need more blessings, but because it’s such a tangible reminder to pray for our students and all who work with them in schools and after school.


We are not the first generation to wrestle with the question of what Christians should be doing—both in worship and in the world. In today’s Gospel, we see that these questions are there from the beginning. Even Jesus gets asked: “By whose authority are you doing what you are doing?” In other words, where did you get your training?


It’s always a good question to keep in mind as we try new approaches—or as we cling to old traditions. Some people who declare themselves to be church growth experts might advise us to try all sorts of activities to “see what sticks” and to keep doing whatever gets us the most enthusiastic response is what we should be doing. By that metric, we might ditch everything and only offer a fish fry dinner every Friday. And our bishop might have similar questions to those of the chief priests and elders in today’s Gospel—by whose authority are you making these decisions?


In meaningful ways, the chief priests and elders in the Gospel are doing due diligence. Let’s situate today’s Gospel in the timeline of the life of Jesus. Jesus has been attracting attention and followers, and he’s traveled to Jerusalem with the triumphal entry that we celebrate on Palm Sunday. We’re at the point after he’s thrown money changers out of the Temple, but before he’s hauled into court proceedings.


The chief priests and elders need to decide who Jesus is: some scruffy vagabond preacher who will go away or implode on his own? A rebel stirring up problems with both the Romans in charge and Jewish leadership? Is he a serious threat? Or – could he really be the Messiah?


Bible scholar N. T. Wright reminds us that the only one who would have more authority over the Temple than the chief priests and elders would be the Messiah. Jesus was certainly acting like he had more authority than the chief priests and elders, but many others had done that too, and it had not ended well. Then, as now, there are plenty of people who see themselves as the ones having the answers that no one else has received. But could Jesus really be the Messiah? Is he acting this way because God gave him authority?


In fact, this question is a central one that threads through the Gospel of Matthew, this question of how we know the Messiah and how we know that Jesus is the Messiah. I raise that question not to challenge anyone’s faith, but I ask it because it is a Gospel question.


Those of us gathered here have probably settled the Messiah question for ourselves or at least come to a comfortable unsettledness—that’s why we’re here, after all. But like first century Christians, we may be wrestling with how we live our faith as followers of the Messiah.


Jesus answers the question in today’s Gospel by reminding the listeners that God has sent messengers before, most recently in the form of John the Baptist. Some hear and change their lives. Some hear and agree, yet do not have the moral courage to change. What is the faithful response?


We hear the parable of the sons, and we understand the implications. It’s fine to proclaim Jesus as savior. But if our lives are the same as the guy down the street who lives his life in service to profits and money, what good is that proclamation? If a belief does not influence the way we live our lives, it is not a true belief.


Of course, ideally, we would be like neither of these sons. Our actions would match our words. I’ve said it before and it’s worth repeating: the most effective testimony that we can give is living faithful lives, where our actions match our faithful words.


We do that by considering who and what has come before us. We don’t throw out traditions just because they are old. We don’t adopt every new trend that comes our way, just because we hope to attract new members. When people ask, “By whose authority do you do these things,” we’ve done the discernment work, and we can answer. God looked at this creation before and after humans and pronounced it good. We ask God’s blessing on backpacks to remind us to pray for our students and their challenges. We ask God’s blessing on pets to remind us that God has provided us a supportive and loving creation that is good and good for us.


Jesus gives authority to those first believers, and it has been handed down through the ages to us. Let us use our gifts of wisdom and discernment as we decide what traditions to keep and what new ideas to develop. It is our responsibility for what we loose on earth will be loosed in Heaven and what we cling to on earth will be with us in Heaven.

More Thoughts on Housing

ELCA pastor Clint Schnekloth has been doing some interesting thinking and writing about housing and the Church's responsibility in this time of housing lack; this piece about the vacant (not abandoned so much as underused and underutilized) church space is his latest, and this piece has some specific examples of responses by individual churches.

My church is much smaller, both in terms of space and members, than Schnekloth's church in Arkansas.  We have had members who needed temporary housing, which has led me to ponder our own use of space.  We don't have an educational wing/building with unused space.  It would take some radical rethinking to transform any of the rooms below the sanctuary.  It's a country church, with the sanctuary and restrooms on the first floor, and in the basement, a kitchen, a small fellowship hall, two bathrooms (one with a walk-in shower), three classrooms, one storage area, and a pastor's office.

As a very part-time minister who is only at the church on Sunday, I would be happy to give up my office to be a one room sleeping area for someone in crisis, even if the crisis lasts weeks.  But would the person who comes after me be happy with that decision?

And let me also remember that the Church Council has more say in this than I do.  My church in Bristol is amazing in terms of the members being responsible for the vision and the mission.  They've had very temporary pastors for over a decade now.  I don't want to undercut them.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 27, 2026:

First Reading: Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 17:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 25:1-8 (Psalm 25:1-9 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16

Second Reading: Philippians 2:1-13

Gospel: Matthew 21:23-32

Before we dig into today’s Gospel, let’s situate it in the timeline of the life of Jesus, according to Matthew. Earlier in the 21st chapter, Jesus has entered the city of Jerusalem in an event we’ll celebrate as Palm Sunday. It’s a triumphant entry, followed by Jesus throwing money changers out of the Temple.

In short, it’s becoming clear to those in charge of all sorts of societal institutions that Jesus will cause trouble. So the beginning of our Gospel shows the leaders of the Temple trying to determine what they should do. If he’s truly sent from God, we imagine they might take one path; if he’s just a scruffy vagabond preacher type, they might take another. But how to know?

They ask a question about Jesus’ authority, and in classic form, Jesus responds with a question. He asks them about the baptism of John, and in doing so, some Bible scholars see him as aligning himself with John and prophets like him. He certainly doesn’t look to the Temple elders for authority.

Here, as in other places, the questions of Jesus are seldom about coming up with the right answers. Jesus asks questions to make the ones who hear the questions think about transformation. And here, as in other places, Jesus offers a parable to help us think further about the questions.

In today’s Gospel, we have another parable set in a vineyard, which those Temple authorities would hear as a story about Israel, the people and the land, since several ancient prophets used that language. For us, listeners in the 21st century, it may be the language of two sons that feels familiar.

Think about how often we have stories of two sons in the Bible: Cain and Abel, Esau and Jacob, the Prodigal son and his disgruntled brother. It’s tempting to approach these parables with the air of a detective. Which brother is the one who is doing the right thing, the good thing? Which one should we cheer for?

Here, as with many a story of siblings, the answer is neither one. Both sons are wrong. Both have acted in a less than upright way. More important, we have been both of these sons. We will be both of these sons.

This parable reminds us, though, that ultimately our actions are important. It’s not enough to say the right things. Action is required.

This idea may fly in the face of what we believe to be good Lutheran theology. What about the idea of grace? Many of us were taught that we're such dreadful humans that there's nothing we could do to justify the gift of salvation. God swoops in and redeems us, even though we're fairly hopeless people. That was the message I got from many a church event, Lutheran and otherwise.

But as a grown up, going back to revisit these passages, I'm amazed at how often God requires more of us than just saying we believe in Christ, more than just accepting Christ as our savior, more than just having faith. In the words of Luther, faith should move our feet. In the words of James, faith without action is dead. We don't confess belief in Christ so that we can say, "Our job here is done." We don't confess belief so that we can collapse and snooze on the sofa. We confess our faith and go to work in the vineyard.

The good news is that the invitation to do the work is ongoing. We may disappoint God—by saying yes and not showing up, or by saying no thanks. God remains steadfast, offering us opportunity after opportunity to be part of the kingdom team.

The end of this parable makes clear that the stakes are high: we may think we’ve already done the work. We may think we’re part of God’s team. We might be rather self-righteous about that. At the end of this parable, Jesus reminds us that the last shall be first. And when we look at that list, it’s clear that those who would be last in the hierarchical society of Jesus would also be last in our time. Jesus tells us that these people on the margins might be the ones who recognize the Good News before the rest of us do.

We have time to recognize the truth, the truth told to us by people like John the Baptist and Jesus. We have time to change our minds. We have time to think about our own claims to righteousness and to change course.

When we look at the totality of Jesus’ teaching, we hear a more complete good news. Even when we fall short, God will still love us. If we've said we'd do the work, and we fail to do it, we have other days when we can show up. God will still welcome us.

There's plenty of work to be done: weeding out the thorny vines of injustice, tending the seedlings that can grow to produce good fruit. We can each do the tasks that are ours to do. God invites us to be part of a much grander vision. Let us say yes to that invitation today and every day. Let us say that we will do the work, and then, let us do it.

Of Apple Farms and Alternate Futures

Later today, I will stop by my favorite apple orchard on the way home.  I will be buying apples today and then again later in October--all for the sake of writing projects for my classes.  Tomorrow my Nonfiction Writing will have 3 kinds of apples, and we'll discuss the kinds of reviews we could write.  Then on Friday, we'll write those reviews.

I have a memory from a past autumn of driving to my favorite orchard and seeing a farm for sale.

This morning, I went back through my blog to find the reference, and I did; this post from September 29, 2011 has this bit:  "I continue to try to convince myself that a farm for sale is not a sign about my life's direction. I'm trying not to think about the proud tradition of poet-farmers in this country. I'm reminding myself that a farming life would leave me too exhausted to write. Too exhausted and broke to boot."

Each time I make the drive, I try to remember which property was for sale, and today will be no different.  But I do wonder if the house that was part of the property has since been torn down. It was looking old and tired 15 years ago:

Fifteen years ago!  I didn't ever call to find out how much the farm would cost, but I assume that even 15 years ago, I couldn't have afforded a 38 acre farm.  It is one of those choices, though, that still intrigues me.

If I see a farm for sale today, on my way to the apple orchard, I might make a different choice.  I would imagine keeping my teaching job in Spartanburg, while also running an apple orchard, while also teaching online classes part-time, while also preaching part-time in Bristol, Tennessee.

And then, I probably would make the same choice I made in 2011.  I would back out of the driveway and try not to look back.

I am so grateful to have arrived to living in this area, even without buying a farm 15 years ago.  If I had bought that farm, I might have missed out on my dream jobs that I have now:  teaching English classes at a small, liberal arts college (a dream job for my whole adult life) and preaching every Sunday at a small, country church (only very recently recognized as a dream job).

God's Generosity: Youth Sermon and Adult Sermon

It was a good Sunday at Faith Lutheran, in Bristol, Tennessee.  I didn't have any brilliant new ideas for a youth sermon, so I went with a standard approach, modified a bit from last time.  I encouraged a thought experiment, stressing that no actual money would be given out.

The text was Matthew 20:  1-16:  laborers in a vineyard arriving at different times, all paid the same amount of money at the end, regardless of arrival time.

The 4 youth who are regulars, I asked if they would make a banner for the church.  It would be an all day project, from 9-6, and I'd pay each one of them a thousand dollars.  They agreed--no surprise.

What if I included some newer members of our youth church?  They could come at noon and be paid the same.  A bit of hesitation, but nodding heads.

What if toddler Malachi joined us at 3 p.m.?  Same amount of money, but starting much later.  Wrinkled noses, less agreement.

Now what if I included some adults, let's say, Carl, Pete, and Diane?  They could come at 5 p.m., work for an hour, get $1000 each--are we O.K. with that?  Definitely not.

After the thought experiment, a brief talk about God's generosity and ideas of fairness.  The adult sermon covered much the same ground.  I think that the youth sermon was more engaging, as it often is, on some level, even though the ideas are developed differently.

You can see the adult sermon here, on my YouTube channel.  If you'd like to read along, I posted the sermon manuscript in this blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, September 20, 2026

September 20, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 20:1-16



Children have fierce notions of fairness. It’s fairly common for children with siblings to wonder which one is the favored one. If we’re lucky, we have parents who insist that all children are loved equally. My mom went so far as to make sure my sister and I had the exact same amount of Christmas presents to unwrap, so that we wouldn’t read anything into the pile of gifts.


Today’s parable explores the issue of fairness: that everyone should be treated fairly. But today’s Gospel asks us to consider what fairness means. Is it complete equity? Is it proportional? Needs based? Yield based equity? Is it promise based, or is it contractual justice?


Obviously, we’re not reading a capitalist management textbook. The householder pays all the workers equally, no matter how much work they’ve done. For most of us, we’d see this as a quick route to bankruptcy—by way of spending all of our cash, or the slower route to bankruptcy, by way of demoralizing your most dependable workers, the ones who show up to do a day’s work for a day’s pay, not the ones standing idle.


The workers standing idle might tempt us to a different reading of the parable, 2 different readings, depending on our relationship to work and depending on the translation of the text. If we read the words as “standing idle,” we might see these workers as lazy, people who could be working but are not—and they are rewarded for their laziness, paid just the same as those who have been working all day.


The Greek word is “argos.” It can mean “at leisure.” It can mean “free from work.” It can mean “lazy.”. It can mean what the late hired laborers offer as a reason for their idleness: “because no one has hired us.”


If we’re tempted to see Jesus teaching us a lesson about the value of capitalism and bosses and workers, you’d be about to hear a different sermon that frankly does not seem to be supported by the majority of Christ’s teaching.


It’s also tempting to see this parable as about God’s relationship to Jews and Christians, and while it’s one standard interpretation, it poses dangers. Throughout the Scriptures, a garden is often used as a way of talking about God’s relationship to people of the Covenant, and in today’s parable, the garden is not only for the Jewish people. From there, some interpreters see this text as showing a shift in God’s favor from Jewish people to Christians, but that interpretation isn’t supported by the text.


It’s much more likely that this parable isn’t about the workers at all. It’s much more likely that Jesus is trying to show us how God is generous in ways that humans are rarely generous, particularly humans who are in charge of workforces, of land, and policy decisions about justice and fairness. Consider that the landowner hires people and offers to pay them. He makes every laborer the same offer. Those of us who have been in charge of workplaces know how rare this generosity is. I’ve been part of the hiring process from both sides, and it is just exhausting, this measuring of worth, and it starts even before the worker is hired, with paperwork and evidence of past education, training, and work.


The landowner isn’t having any of it. He has work that needs to be done, and there are workers waiting to be hired. He makes every one of them the same generous offer.


And how do the workers respond to this generosity? We don’t know about the workers hired later in the day, but we do know how the ones hired in the morning feel: envious and exploited. They worked longer hours, and they are paid the same amount of money as the ones who only worked an hour???? Outrageous. Shouldn’t the ones who worked longer now get more pay? Ten day’s wages, surely, if we do the math.


The vineyard owner doesn’t engage. He says that they made an agreement, and both sides kept the terms, and thus, the workers have been treated fairly. You can almost hear the vineyard owner saying, “If you want fairness next time, I can do that, but you won’t like that as much as you think you will.”


Again and again, Jesus shows us that our legalistic approach to life will not serve us very well. And much more importantly, Jesus reminds us that it’s humans who have this mind set, not God. It’s humans who stretch their clenched hands wanting more—but with this clenched hand mindset, we can’t open our hands so that God can fill them. A clenched mindset means we can’t open our hearts, our minds, our boundaries of what’s acceptable in an alternate approach to justice.


Instead of seeing this reading as a parable about workers, it’s much more useful to ask what this parable tells us about God. God doesn’t make contracts—God makes covenants. God isn’t a boss rewarding us only for merit—and thank goodness! And the covenant isn’t dependent on human behavior—what a relief, because we all fall short. God isn’t keeping a ledger sheet; Luther would remind us that we can’t be redeemed by our works, but only by God’s grace.


God doesn’t bestow grace on us because we deserve it. We don’t get privileged treatment because we were early to say yes to God. We don’t get payment because we worked hard and had a higher yield than others.


On the contrary, God’s generosity extends everyone, from those dependable workers that labor long, to the ones hired last, the ones that have been waiting because it seems that no one will ever call upon them. In the business world, we’d say that there must be a reason that no one has hired them, and we’d avoid hiring them too. But the vineyard owner hires these laborers, at the close of the working day, for the same rate, when he could have hired them for far less. It’s no way to run a business.


Praise be to God—God is not running a business. God is tending a vineyard in ways we won’t always understand, but God will always invite us to be part of this creating. We can react to God’s generosity in any number of ways, and today’s parable shows what happens when we respond with envy.


A far better response is to release all of the tight and clenched parts of our lives and say yes to God’s invitation. A far better response is to open our hands and respond to God’s generosity with gratitude. And let us always remember to say daily prayers of thanks to our triune God who gives us so much, each and every day.

Lutheran Safe Houses

For several weeks now, I've found my brain returning to an idea that doesn't exist as much as I can tell.  I wish we had a nation-wide network of Lutheran safe houses.  I don't mean that term in the 60's radical kind of way, as a shelter for people out in the world working to overthrow any number of societal forces.

It would be great to have houses with individual sleeping spaces with doors that lock, and communal spaces like bathrooms, kitchens, and living spaces--perhaps sleeping spaces with private bathrooms too.  People could stay as they were traveling or if they needed a retreat.  Houses could offer long term housing too.

We used to have more of these kind of spaces, although Lutheran ones were probably more likely to be connected to campuses.  I'm thinking about Catholic Worker houses and other dwellings connected to monastic traditions--how many of them still exist?

Is there a website or some other network that lists them all?  I did a quick internet search and didn't come up with one.

Longtime readers of this blog know that I'm never far from contemplating communal housing, particularly communal housing with a religious connection.  I've had this on the brain even more intensely because one of my church members in Bristol could really use this kind of resource as she waits for a unit to open in one of the places for low income seniors.

Would it be cheaper than the cheap motel which costs $430 a week that we're helping her pay for?  Hard to say--but I'd feel better about our church money going to a local Lutheran safe house.

The Feast Day of Hildegard of Bingen

 September 17 is the feast day of Hildegard of Bingen, mystic, herbalist, musical composer, naturalist, and Abbess. Her life was full of accomplishments, an amazing feat considering she lived in the twelfth century (she was born around 1098 and died in 1179).

Until recently, I had never thought of the twelfth century as a high water mark of feminism, but female monastics did amazing things during that time period. By studying them, I come away with a new appreciation for the medieval Church, where talented women found a cloistered kind of freedom. In many ways, the cloistered life was the only way for medieval women to have any kind of freedom. Cloistered life offered the only protection available to women who lived at the edges or outside the margins of society: widowed, artistic, not wanting to be married, weird in any way.

But Hildegard's life shows that freedom was constrained, since women monastics answered to men. For years, Hildegard wanted to move her group of nuns to Rupertsburg, but the Abbot who controlled them refused her request.

We all face constraints of various kinds, and the life of Hildegard shows what could be accomplished, even during a time where women did not have full rights and agency. She was an Abbess, and because being in charge of one cloistered community isn't enough, she founded another. She wrote music, and more of her music survives than almost any other medieval composer. She was an early naturalist, writing down her observations about the natural world and her theories about how the natural world heals us. She wrote to kings, emperors and popes to encourage them to pursue peace and justice. She wrote poems and a morality play and along the way, a multitude of theological meditations.

She did all of these things, in addition to keeping her community running smoothly. Yes, I'm thinking about Hildegard as an administrator, a woman who could be efficient and artistic at the same time. It’s no wonder that I find her inspiring.

It's interesting to think about the different types of groups who have claimed her as their own. Feminists claim her importance, even though she didn't openly advocate equality. Musicians note that more of her compositions survive than almost any other medieval composer. Her musical works go in different directions than many of the choral pieces of the day, with their soaring notes. New Age types love her views of the body and the healing properties of plants, animals, and even minerals. Though her theology seems distinctly medieval, and thus not as important to modern Christians, it's hard to dismiss her importance as a figure from church history.

I often say that it's odd I'm drawn to monasticism, as I'm a married, Lutheran female who has all sorts of worldly commitments, and thus cannot fully vow obedience. But as I think about church history, I'm struck time and time again by how often monasticism has offered a safe space to women that no other part of society did. I shouldn't be surprised that it's a tradition that speaks to me still.

It’s a tradition that speaks to many others too: have you listened to the Hildegard of Bingen channel on Pandora?  At one time, the channel was one of the most popular on that streaming service.

Maybe today is a good day to tune in that medieval music. We could listen while writing letters to those in charge, letters which demand more work towards social justice. Or we could focus on other writing projects, as Hildegard of Bingen did. We could plant a healing herb garden.

Today, on her feast day, let us say a prayer of thanks for Hildegard of Bingen and other medieval matriarchs of Christianity.

The Ghost in the Machine and the Holy Spirit

In late 2022 and early 2023, I first heard about ChatGPT and the current incarnation(s?) of artificial intelligence, I heard a lot of experts telling us that machines/programs/AI can't learn the way humans can learn.  Then they'd explain the creation process of these technologies and how humans programmed them to learn, and I thought, that process sure sounds the way my students learn.

Now I'm hearing a few people talking about the technology and issues of morality and spirituality.  Granted, more people are talking about how AI might kill us all--this week, at least, more people are talking about those dangers.  I saw one pastor post his notes from a Carey Nieuwhof webinar on AI and the Church and this bit intrigued me:  “AI doesn’t have the Holy Spirit. You have the Holy Spirit. AI doesn’t pray.”

When I was growing up in the 1970's, almost every Christian faith tradition taught that humans were God's supreme creation, the best of the best.  Many of those traditions taught that only humans go to Heaven.  It's a different faith scene now--says this pastor who is thinking about her first blessing of the pets as part of a worship service, at least first as one I've led.

This morning, I find my mind coming back to AI, to our beliefs (hopes?) about how human neurons are superior to silicon neurons.  I think about an NPR show back in the early days of this century that had philosopher Daniel Dennett as part of a panel discussion on Artificial Intelligence. He said that he thinks that silicon based life forms (like computers) are eclipsing carbon based life forms (like you and me). Further, he said that computers are using humans to assist in the evolution of computers. The part of me that loves sci-fi was intrigued, and continues to be intrigued. The part of me that doesn't understand machines was horrified at the thought of enabling them to take over the world and enslave us.  The rest of the panel scoffed at Dennett's idea.

Now it seems like prophecy--or that Dennett was keeping up with the research in a much more comprehensive way than most of us.

I am aware of the dangers of anthropomorphizing this technology, and yet I keep thinking of Claude or ChatGPT praying.  What would those prayers sound like?  Would God hear them?  How would God respond?

This morning's pondering took me back to other times when I've tried thinking about God in different ways than I was taught in childhood.  It's made me think of a poem I wrote a long time ago, when I looked up at the pre-dawn sky and thought about how many astronomical objects are cold, hard rocks as far as we can tell. It led to this poem, which has become a renewed favorite of mine, after the spouse of a dear friend told me how it had stuck with him and made him think about the universe differently. It was published in my first chapbook Whistling Past the Graveyard.


Geology, the True Life Science


Our planet—warm, gooey corner
of a cold, lifeless cosmos,
a primordial ooze which forms
the perfect building blocks for life,
a miraculous exception to the universal
rule. The official astronomer’s story.

But perhaps God prefers rocks and minerals.
Why else create such a diverse abundance?
Maybe animals and humans are the experiment
gone horribly wrong, an accident of pumping liquids
surrounded by decaying flesh.

Bones calcify, kidneys form stones, arteries harden
with plaque—instead of medical disaster,
perhaps our bodies move towards their ultimate evolutionary
destiny, seeking God’s pleasure.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, September 20, 2026:

First Reading: Jonah 3:10--4:11

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 16:2-15

Psalm: Psalm 145:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-6, 37-45

Second Reading: Philippians 1:21-30

Gospel: Matthew 20:1-16


I've often thought that these parables that use work metaphors are less useful to those of us toiling in the 21st century--and I've wondered how the contemporaries of Jesus would hear this parable.  Would they hear it as a typical tale of how rich landowners abuse those forced off the land?  

Outrage is the classic response to the idea that the workers who toiled all day getting the same wages as those who show up one hour before quitting time. We howl, "But that's not fair."  But is this parable designed to teach us a lesson about capitalism?

The poet in me immediately searches for a new way to frame this parable. What if, instead of toiling in the vineyard, we're invited to a party? Those of us who come early get to drink more wine, eat more goodies, and engage in more hours of intense conversation. We get to spend more quality time with our host. Those who come later will still get to drink wine, eat goodies, converse, and have quality time. The wine won't have soured, the goodies won't have molded, the conversation won't have dwindled, the host won't be tired and wishing that everyone would just go home. The party will still be intensely wonderful. But those who come late won't have as much time to enjoy it.

Maybe Jesus tries to tell us about a different kind of work.  Maybe God's work is like that enriching job, the one where you were challenged, but not overwhelmed. God's work engages you on every level and you look up at the end of the work day, amazed at how time has passed and how involved you have become. At the end of God's work day, you're amazed at all you've been able to accomplish.

God calls us to partnership in an amazing creative endeavour. We're called to transform the world, to help reclaim the world for God's vision. In Surprised by Hope, Bishop N. T. Wright reminds us, "But what we can and must do in the present, if we are obedient to the gospel, if we are following Jesus, and if we are indwelt, energized, and directed by the Spirit, is to build for the kingdom. This brings us back to 1 Corinthians 15;58 once more: what you do in the Lord is not in vain. You are not oiling the wheels of a machine that's about to roll over a cliff" (208).

The ways that we can do this Kingdom work are varied, from helping the poor, to enjoying a good meal, to writing a poem, to consoling a friend, to playing with your dog, to painting . . . the list is as long as there are humans in the world. Wright assures us that "God gloriously honors all kinds of ways of announcing the good news" (226).

Do the kind of creating that involves you on many levels, that makes you lose your sense of time, that leaves you unmoored in your wonder at the beauty of creation. That's the work that God calls us to do.

Satisfying Sunday

Yesterday was a fairly good day.  At church, as I was moving through the communion liturgy, I could feel my throat about to crack, and sure enough, I went into a coughing fit.  Because I was at the words of institution, I felt weird about having someone else speak the words--Lutherans believe that only ordained or specially appointed ministers can consecrate the bread and wine.  I think it would have been fine, as long as I was there, but I don't really know how members feel.  So I drank some water, coughed a bit, and powered through.  People were kind.

I have spent most of the week wondering if I'm fighting off a cold:  I'm more tired and less hungry, and my throat has felt a bit scratchy off and on.  And I'm still not here.

I felt good about my sermon, although I'm aware of all the ways it could be improved; you can view it here on my YouTube channel and read it in this blog post).  We spent Sunday afternoon as we usually do, watching other people's sermons from churches where we feel a connection.  No one else preached on the Gospel.

I wanted something else of depth before we reverted to our usual viewing of old TV shows like Whose Line Is It Anyway?  We watched this podcast of David Brooks interviewing philosopher Meghan Sullivan. My spouse and I both have solid liberal arts educations along with graduate degrees, so it wasn't groundbreaking for us, but it felt nourishing.

I did some stitching in the evening so that I stayed awake past 7:15--success!  I'm making smaller squares, the first level of a log cabin square--but they're not all the same size.  I may put them aside and go back to the quilt I'm making for my cousin's first child who graduates from high school this year.

And now, another week:  week 6 at one school, week 3 at another.  We've got sanding to finish at the fixer-upper house.  The work at Faith Lutheran continues.  Onward!

Sermon for Sunday, September 13, 2026

September 13, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 18: 21-35



Last week’s Gospel instructed us in how to deal with disagreement in the context of community. Today’s Gospel continues the teaching—the work of forgiveness is never done. By now, we all know that Jesus isn’t telling us to keep a ledger book to track how often we’ve forgiven. Jesus is showing us how our forgiving becomes less a ledger book and more a repair manual.


Like last week’s text, today’s teaching, boiled down to that pithy 70 times 7, or 77 in newer translations, that number has been used to insist that we forgive some very hard to forgive actions: domestic violence for example. It can be a damaging text, taken out of the context of last week’s passage and the parable at the end of today’s Gospel.


Last week’s text reminds us that forgiveness doesn’t come without a change in someone’s behavior and/or belief, which is true repentance. If we’ve tried to sort out differences, not just one on one, but in the presence of community, and reconciliation can’t be achieved, we are eventually allowed to stop trying. Today’s parable tells us that forgiveness involves more than just an apology, which some people see as short hand for repentance. True repentance involves a change in behavior. True repentance involves a change in attitude too.


The slave in the parable shows neither a change in behavior nor a change of heart. Consider his predicament: the slave owes 10,000 talents. One Bible scholar notes that 1 talent is approximately 20 years of wages. It’s a shorthand way of saying he owes more than he can ever repay.


The fellow slave owes a hundred denarii, a much lesser amount—one denarii is one day’s wages. But the slave who has just had his much greater debts forgiven, literally in the same hour, on his way out of the palace, orders the other debtor slave thrown in prison. Luther tells us that repentance must be constant and daily, but the forgiven slave can’t even manage an hour! The king revokes his forgiveness and orders the non-repentant slave not only thrown into prison, but tortured.


Here we have another hard teaching, especially if we look at all of chapter 18. On the one hand, if someone is non-repentant, we’re allowed to cast them out, as verse 17 tells us we must. But we’re also required to forgive and forgive and forgive. And yet, if one remains non-repentant, the punishment is harsh. We’re told that God will refuse to forgive us, if we refuse to forgive.


It shouldn’t be a surprise. Jesus teaches us to pray “forgive us our debt, as we forgive our debtors.” If we don’t forgive, the Lord’s prayer says we won’t be forgiven. The parable elaborates on the prayer. It can also give us a bit of spiritual whiplash, with its depiction of extreme mercy in the early part of the parable and severe judgment at the end.


Christian teaching often sums up the idea of forgiveness as we are supposed to forgive and forget, but that idea is much too simple. Again and again in his theology, Luther tells us that the work of repentance continues until death. Luther saw humans as deeply sinful and that the work of turning away from sin takes humility and a daily effort. Part of that work is seeing where we are not the creatures God calls us to be and asking for forgiveness and turning away from the sinful behavior. Daily. If we’re not doing that, we can’t have an expectation of forgiveness for ourselves. We’re like the people in Luther’s day who wanted to pay money for an indulgence to avoid having to face the consequences for sinful acts.


The practice of rooting out sin sounds hard, and it can be, and that’s where we see the advantage of community. We are not the only ones discerning where we need to change. We are not alone in our discerning of whether or not the behavior of others in our community needs to change. The parable also continues to show the importance of having a group of people to help discern righteous action. In the parable, it is fellow slaves who notice the unjust behavior and report it to the king. Jesus shows us the role that community plays in right relationships—between humans and between humans and God.


Of course, this work will never be fully complete. God offers the gift of grace, an ongoing gift, because we are not made perfect in this lifetime, as Luther reminds us over and over again. We will fall short of being the people God calls us to be. We will cause harm. Others, too, will fall short, and we will need to repair relationships.


Scholar N. T. Wright reminds us that we must forgive others, not in a spirit of forgetting what was done, but in a move towards reconciliation, not revenge. He uses an interesting metaphor in explaining the last part of today’s Gospel: “Forgiveness is more like the air in your lungs. There’s only room for you to inhale the next lungful when you’ve just breathed out the previous one. If you insist on withholding it, refusing to give someone else the kiss of life they may desperately need, you won’t be able to take any more in yourself, and you will suffocate very quickly.”


Theories of social justice remind us of the importance of not just forgiveness but of accountability. In our own time, we’ve seen how these processes can work on an international scale. There are many examples, but one of the most successful recent ones is the truth and reconciliation committees in South Africa that allowed the nation to heal from the terrible wounds of apartheid. In the 1990’s, Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu developed this approach in which victims explained the damage done to them, and perpetrators could confess what they had done, in the hope of both amnesty and reparations given to the victims. Some perpetrators still had punishment, particularly if they didn’t show repentance. It’s a compelling example of restorative justice taking the place of retribution. It’s a vivid and modern example of Matthew 18 in action.


Reconciliation is so important that it is now part of Just War Theory, the school of Philosophy that recognizes Matthew 18 on a geopolitical scale, that wars can be unavoidable, but they can be fought justly. In recent decades, the need for a just and lasting peace was added, a realization that without ensuring a just peace, the seeds for the next conflict are sown.


Bible scholar John T. Carroll says, “To be sure, Matthew’s Gospel emphasizes the importance of forgiveness in the lives of individuals and for the health of communities: blessing comes to those who are merciful (5:7). Yet justice matters too. There is and needs to be accountability for harmful actions and abuses of power.”


Our reading from Romans tells us that even like-minded people can disagree about any number of issues, but we find a way not to be torn apart. Our Old Testament reading reminds us of the way that reconciliation can happen, even after the most soul wrenching actions, if there is repentance. Our Gospel tells us what can happen if debts are forgiven without repentance. The king in the parable made forgiveness too easy, and thus, true repentance didn’t happen. Our Divine king does not make forgiveness simple, but the gift of grace that we can never earn is ours, ours so that we can continue with the repair work that must be done: repair to ourselves, repair to our relationships, and by doing so, repairing the larger mechanisms of both our communities and the larger world.