Gone Fishing: Spiritual Formation in the Every Day

Yesterday I had a phone conversation with the church council president of the church in Bristol, TN where I am the Synod Appointed Minister.  At the end of the pleasant conversation, we were trying to figure out when we would see each other in person:  I am at church this Sunday but not next, and he is not in church this Sunday but will be next.

He said, "I'm going fishing.  I probably shouldn't tell you this, but that's where I'll be."

I said, "That actually fits in really well with where we are in the lectionary.  In this Sunday's Gospel, Peter has gone back to fishing, and that's where he sees Jesus again."

The church council president said, "I'll be thinking about that as I fish."

I was tempted to say, "My work here is done."  But I wasn't sure how it would come across over a phone line.  In person, I could have made it work.

I'm delighted, of course, when people come to church and find nourishment.  But faith formation can take place in so many ways, ways we might not expect.

I love the idea of taking an activity that doesn't seem sacred and finding the connections to Jesus and to the Gospel and to church history and to our ancestors.  Let me be alert for other opportunities.

 

Last Thoughts on the Create in Me Retreat; Last Weeks at Seminary

Here we are, the last week of April, the last week of seminary classes--wow.  Let me capture a few fragments from the past week-end.

--It was a great Create in Me retreat.  Closing worship was very moving, and I'm really glad that I rearranged my schedule to be able to stay.  I also helped with clean up, and then I got to spend the afternoon with a Create in Me friend who had flown in from Minnesota.  Her plane didn't leave until 7:45 p.m., so we had time to go to Sierra Nevada for lunch and a wander through their gardens and to pop by the Asheville Herb Festival at the Ag center.  We came back to my house, chatted some more, and then she took a nap on the sofa while I looked through resources for my seminary paper that's due on Thursday.

--I enjoy the retreat because of the wealth of supplies and the chance to create in mediums both familiar and new to me.  But I love the chance to catch up with friends.  Many of them I see only once or twice a year, but they are the kind of friends whom I would trust with my life.

--As I moved through the week-end, conversations swirled around me, which is part of the nature of the retreat:  one works at a table while others talk nearby, and sometimes, it's me doing the talking.  I was surprised by how many people have lost loved ones to Covid in the past few years.  I continue to be surprised by how many non-Covid deaths have been the "loved one was fine and then dropped dead suddenly."  I realize I'm getting old, and therefore, I'm more likely to have people in my orbit who die, both suddenly and in a prolonged way.

--As we wrapped up, someone asked me if they could have the butterfly that I made for my drop-in station as a sample.  I had left it at the gallery display area.  I was happy to give it away, and she acted so, so happy that I gave it to her.  That, in turn, made me even happier.

--I was able to get to yoga each morning.  We started with a song which is really a Psalm, 51:  1-2 and 10-12, and we learned some stretching moves to go along with them.  We also used the Graham Kendrick song.  All last night, these words were singing through my brain :  "Have mercy on me Oh God, according to your unfailing love, according to your great compassion, Blot out my transgressions, wash me away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin."

--Today will be a day of more grading than paper writing.  My Spartanburg Methodist College grades are due tomorrow, and I hope to have them all turned in today.  There should be time for a walk each day.

--Even though I have a lot to get done this week, it will feel more leisurely, since I'm not driving to Spartanburg each day.

Wounds and Scars and Doubting Thomas

Today in churches across Christendom, those of us following the Revised Common Lectionary will hear the story of Thomas, Thomas who wasn't there when Jesus appeared to the disciples (where was he?) and who didn't believe the story of resurrection.

And who can blame him?  What a strange tale it must have seemed.

We often focus on Jesus who blessed those of us who come later, who will believe without needing to experience the Resurrection with our five senses.  But what if there's another way to think about this story?

At the Create in Me retreat this week-end, we had Jacqueline Bussie as our Bible study leader.  We talked about the issue of wounds and shame, and Bussie looked back to Thomas.  Like many of us, she feels that Thomas gets a bad rap, but she points to a different angle.  She gives Thomas credit for being willing to sit with Jesus, wounds and all.  Many of us aren't comfortable with woundedness.  We don't want to let people talk about their scars.  We want to jump ahead to healing and wholeness and resurrection.

Bussie gives Thomas credit for being the most authentic friend to Jesus, the one who is comfortable with the wounds and the scars.  Perhaps it is Thomas' response that helps Jesus back to wholeness.

It's an interesting idea, and I wanted to be sure to record it for later.

The Feast Day of Saint Mark

Today is the feast day of Saint Mark. Looking back through my blog posts, I'm surprised to find out that I haven't written much about this feast day. It does often fall in a part of the month where I'm more likely to be at the Create in Me retreat. But it's also because it's hard to know who the real Saint Mark was. So many Marks, so hard to know for sure who did what.

Was he the author of the Gospel of Mark? The one who brought water to the house where the last supper took place? That strange naked man in the Crucifixion narrative? It's hard to say.

We do give him credit for founding the church in Egypt, and that fact alone seems important enough for him to have a feast day. I think of all the church traditions that can be traced back to northern Africa, particularly the work of the desert fathers and mothers, which led to so many variations of monastic traditions.

I also think of Augustine, the important thinker, one of the earliest Christian philosophers, who lived in Hippo. Would we have had Augustine if Mark hadn't been an evangelist to Egypt? It's hard to know. If Mark hadn't gone to Egypt, would someone else? Probably--but the outcome might have been completely different.

Today is also a good day to turn our thoughts back to those early evangelists, those early disciples. I often say that if you were putting together a team, you would not have chosen those men. But God's ways are not our ways when visualizing success.

So for those of us who are feeling inadequate, take heart. God's plans are greater than our own.

Favorite Classes

 I've spent all of my adult life as a teacher, and a good chunk of my adult life as a student.  When my American Lit class asked me if they were my favorite students, if they were the best class, I said, "If I made a list of my top 10 or top 20 classes, they would make the list."  Some of my students said, "Top 10 or top 20?"

I let the question go, but the answer would be, "It's complicated."  Should I compare them all, the upper class Brit Lit classes at FAU and the Developmental English classes at Broward Community College, as it was called then?  The students at the Art Institute of Ft. Lauderdale and the students at City College (not the famous one in NYC, but a South Florida health careers kind of school)--both closed now.   I have taught in schools in South Carolina and South Florida, but not many places in between, and those places are very different.  The University of Miami, where I taught for several years, is very different from FAU, which is very different than the local community colleges.

And yet, they are all more similar than different, all these schools where I've taught.  Most of the students are interested in learning, although not all in learning the same things.  All of the students want a better world with better opportunities--until recently, I'd have assumed we all did, whether in school or not.  I still assume that we all want a better world with better opportunities, although some people define that all more narrowly than I once assumed.

For me, what gets a class on my top 10 or 20 list is that I leave the room feeling better than when I came in--and that can happen for a variety of reasons.  I have often left the American Lit class feeling profoundly grateful for being able to teach a literature survey class one more time.  I enjoy teaching Composition too, but I have no doubt that I can do a variety of that kind of teaching until the day I die, or the day that AI becomes capable of doing it.  Literature survey classes have not come my way as an adjunct as often, and with the anti-Humanities feelings these days, it is a wonderful surprise to have the opportunity again.

Tonight I have the second to last class meeting of one of the best classes I've taken as a student, the seminary class that looks at the Christmas and Easter texts without all chapters about the life of Jesus in between.  It's a topic that interests me, but I've taken plenty of classes that interest me.  This class impresses me because of the quality of the discussion; at the end of every class, I always wish that we had more time.

Today is the start of the retreat that means so much to me, the Create in Me retreat.  In the past, when I've had a Thursday night class, I've skipped it to be at the retreat.  Today I won't be at the opening night activities.  Just as with Quilt Camp two weeks ago, I can't bear to miss this class.

I know it could be otherwise, and I am so grateful that my seminary years are ending this way, on a strong note, that makes me wish we had more time.

More Thoughts on Pope Francis

Since Monday, I've been thinking about Pope Francis, and there are better minds than mine who can explain his importance and where he fits historically.  I've particularly enjoyed a conversation with that appeared in The New York Times, and I've made it a gift article which you can access here.  David French, David Gibson, and Leah Libresco Sargeant do a great job of explaining what the Pope can do (not as much as many of us think) and what the Pope means in our current age.

I've been thinking about Pope Francis as the pope who prioritized the poor and the dispossessed.  That's one big reason why he mattered to me.  Of course I wish he had done more to move women into positions of leadership, but that was likely not reasonable of me to expect/wish.  The pope can't issue orders and force change in the way that we think.  The Pope can call a council and changes can come out of that.  But the Pope can't declare that women are now priests--as I understand it, that's outside of the Pope's power, which as David Gibson says, "The pope has supreme authority in the Catholic Church, and it’s supremely limited. There are certain things that the pope can’t do and he won’t do."

I find it fascinating that we live in such a secular age, and yet, the passing of the pope can make so many of us sad.  In some ways, that's the power that a pope has, that a president or prime minister is unlikely to ever have.

Francis provided a powerful model of how to live a faithful life, and his faithful priorities were often similar to mine.  I will miss him greatly.

April 24 update:  I also loved a conversation in The New York Times between Ross Douthat and Father James Martin, a gift article which you can access here.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, April 27, 2025:

First Reading: Acts 4:32-35

Psalm: Psalm 133

Second Reading: 1 John 1:1--2:2

Gospel: John 20:19-31

This week's Gospel returns us to the familiar story of Thomas, who will always be known as Doubting Thomas, no matter what else he did or accomplished. What I love about the Gospels most is that we get to see humans interacting with the Divine, in all of our human weaknesses. Particularly in the last few weeks, we've seen humans betray and deny and doubt--but God can work with us.

If you were choosing a group of people most unlikely to start and spread a lasting worldwide movement, it might be these disciples. They have very little in the way of prestige, connections, wealth, networking skills, marketing smarts, or anything else you might look for if you were calling modern disciples. And yet, Jesus transformed them.

Perhaps it should not surprise us. The whole Bible is full of stories of lackluster humans unlikely to succeed: mumblers and cheats, bumblers and the unwise. God can use anyone, even murderers.

How does this happen? The story of Thomas gives us a vivid metaphor. When we thrust our hands into the wounds of Jesus, we're transformed. Perhaps that metaphor is too gory for your tastes, and yet, it speaks to the truth of our God. We have a God who wants to know us in all our gooey messiness. We have a God who knows all our strengths and all our weaknesses, and still, this God desires closeness with us. And what's more, this God invites us to a similar intimacy. Jesus doesn't say, "Here I am, look at me and believe." No, Jesus offers his wounds and invites Thomas to touch him.

Jesus will spend the next several weeks eating with the disciples, breathing on them, and being with them physically one last time. Then he sends them out to transform the wounded world.

We, too, are called to lay our holy hands on the wounds of the world and to heal those wounds. It's not enough to just declare the Good News of Easter. We are called to participate in the ongoing redemption of creation. We know creation intimately, and we know which wounds we are most capable of healing. Some of us will work on environmental issues, some of us will make sure that the poor are fed and clothed, some of us will work with criminals and the unjustly accused, and more of us will help children.

In the coming weeks, be alert to the recurring theme of the breath of Jesus and the breath of God. You have the breath of the Divine on you too. In our time of a ravaging respiratory virus and staying safe distances away, this imagery seems even more vivid, as we've all learned the power of the breath.

But God's breath transforms creation in ways that viruses can only dream of. God's breath can transform us too.

Watching My Easter Sermon

I have just seen the breaking news that Pope Francis has died, but I'll wait to blog about that when I've had more time to consider what I want to say. 

Today my blogging time is short.  I have a paper due for my seminary class this evening, and I need to make a short presentation.  So let me post a link to the recording of my Easter sermon and say that if you want to read a version, you can read this blog post.

Sermon for Easter 2025

April 20, 2025, Easter

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Luke 24: 1-12



When I first thought about this sermon, I was fresh from last Sunday’s Palm and Passion texts, and I saw some similarities. I had it all planned out in my head, how I could once again preach about the contrasts. We have Mary Magdalene and the other women who believe even though they have yet to see the risen Jesus. That strange encounter with men wearing dazzling clothes is enough to convince them. The women bring the message back, but it’s not enough for the disciples and the others. They decide the women are telling an idle tale.


Let me reassure those of you who are afraid that I’m now about to take sides in a gender war: I don’t fault the men for responding this way. They have seen what happens to people who are crucified. It would not be possible to live in first century Rome without being aware of crucifixion; people were crucified along roadways and on city gates—the public nature of it was the point, because it was meant as the ultimate in deterrence, showing what happens to those who are not loyal to Rome, and the Roman empire made sure that no one could avoid the sight. My New Testament professor commented on the lack of description of crucifixions in both the Gospels and other literature of the time, and she said that you wouldn’t describe it because everyone knew what it looked like, much the same way that we don’t need to describe our phones—we all have one, and we all know what they look like. People did not survive this execution—Rome made sure of it. So this doubting of the story of the empty tomb makes sense.


Let’s be honest—they are probably not only doubting the women, but doubting themselves. They must look back on the expectations that they had and wonder how it had all gone so wrong. Some of them must be doubting the original decision to follow Jesus at all. How could they have been so stupid? They are likely doubting each other. Think about the horrible week they have had. Not only have they lost their beloved teacher in the most horrible way imaginable, but Judas has betrayed them, and so has Peter. It’s no wonder they take the cynical route, not believing in anyone.


Peter’s reaction makes me think that the women are convincing on some level. He leaves to go investigate. Peter has often been criticized for being skeptical, since he’s the one named in this Gospel, but he shows us a healthy reaction. Isn’t that what Jesus said all along? “Cast down your nets in deep water.” “Come and see.”


What I love about the Easter stories, the one today and the ones we’ll hear in the coming weeks, is that we have so many points of entry, so many places where we might find ourselves identifying with those first witnesses of the resurrection. You might be a skeptic, like like Peter, or a cynic like the others who first hear the women, but the resurrection story is for you.


You might be like these women, up before the rest of the world awakens, up to attend to the caretaking duties that no one else wants to do. You might be the one who makes sure that the customs are followed—and we all have a variety of reasons for tending to the customs that make sense to us. I think of those ancient women, the ones who stayed with Jesus until the horrible death was complete, the ones who came to tend to his dead body. I think of that first Easter morning, and I wonder how many of them were thinking about the customs that needed to be followed and who would really notice if they slept in and ignored custom and propriety, just this once.


I think about the unnamed followers, the ones who might have been too stupefied by grief and disorientation to respond at all. Like them, we may be in an Ash Wednesday time of our lives, not a time of miracles and wonders. Like those followers, we may be whipsawed by the way that life has changed all of a sudden; we may be gobsmacked by the way that all that we thought we knew about the world and our place in it has been shattered. We simply cannot bear one more time that needs us to pivot. Maybe our understanding of who we are as a people has been stripped bare. In this mental state, we may have stopped listening to the women when they talked about the empty tomb. We might have taken on that protective shield of cynicism. We may have assumed the news after the words of an empty tomb would be something catastrophic, not something miraculous. We may turn away, unable to bear any more bad news.


I want to stress that none of these mental states—or any of the other mental states we might experience—not one of them means that we are more or less worthy of this redemption. As Jesus makes his appearances, he doesn’t say, “You there—you, who are still back in the tomb where I am no longer to be found. If you can’t snap out of it, I’m off to find better followers.” Jesus doesn’t come back to call the followers morons for not perceiving what he was up to. No—as we will see in the coming weeks, he comes back and cooks for them.


One of the benefits of having a God who has been fully human, as Jesus has been fully human, is that Jesus understands how hard it is to understand. Jesus understands our human exhaustion. Jesus understands our inability to believe in miracles. Jesus understands all the ways that grief and horror weigh us down and threaten to drown us.


The men in the tomb understand too—the reason why I think they are angelic messangers is that the same verb is used here as is used for the angel choirs that sing in the skies over Bethlehem to the shepherds on the night that Christ is born. These are messengers with knowledge to impart, and they seem comfortable with the idea that the followers of Jesus still might not be grasping the full importance of what he has told them. I imagine them saying with great gentleness, “Remember how he told you.” And then, they do remember.


In other Gospels, the women are told to go and tell the disciples that Jesus is risen. In this Gospel, the women are told to remember, to remember all that Jesus told them, all that he has promised. These women are the first witnesses, just as Elizabeth is the first witness before Jesus is even born, as is Anna, the first witness to proclaim that the Messiah is come when Jesus is presented at the Temple. These women are the first, but they will not be the last to proclaim that Christ is risen.


And so, too, every Easter, we are told to remember. We may be looking for the living among the dead. We may be unable to get the taste of ashes out of our mouths. We may have forgotten the promise of abundant life that Jesus offers to us. Happily, it’s not an entrance exam, but an ongoing revelation. Christ is risen.


Jesus is not captured by the tomb. The forces of evil do not have the final word or the last laugh. I do realize that at times, it may look that way. The inbreaking Kingdom of God that Jesus proclaims forces us to live in an essential mystery—that Kingdom is happening now, it’s underway. But that flourishing life that God intends for creation isn’t fully formed yet. We have to live in the now and the not yet at the same time. We have to believe that a better life is possible, even if we don’t have it all figured out. Christ is risen.


Paul tells us that the last enemy to be destroyed is death. The angels in the tomb proclaim that the destruction of death is in progress. Rejoice. Redemption Day is here. Resurrection is underway: for Jesus, for the world, for each and every one of us. Christ is risen--he is risen indeed.

Prayer Loom Reborn

Nine years ago, my spouse and his father made a prayer loom for our Maundy Thursday dinner and worship (for more on that experience, see this blog post).  That summer, I used it for Vacation Bible School (this blog post tells about it and gives pictures).  Eventually, we moved the prayer loom to the back of the church sanctuary.  I liked seeing it and occasionally someone returning from communion might touch it, but I imagined it had been thrown away by now.

This morning, I woke to the happy news that the prayer loom has found a new life.  One of my friends at my Florida church used it for a class project and posted pictures on Facebook, along with a shout out to me.  Here's the picture:

I look at it and can see parts of the original, still there.  It reminds me of how our prayers build on each other, weaving a web, weaving a net, keeping us from falling into the abyss.

Good Friday and Modern Evil

Last night, as we stripped the altar, one of our members read Psalm 22.  It's a Psalm that always hits me, but in different ways each year.

I have spent part of the week reading about the horrible prison in El Salvador where the Trump administration is shipping people without giving them their day in court.  I realize that there are many abuses of human rights in the world, but that's the one that has seemed inescapable this week.  This week is the first time I've seen more pictures than just the one of a bent man with a shaved head.  The pictures of men forced to kneel with no space between them has made me ache in all sorts of ways.

sketch by Jill Ross

 

I have forced myself to look at these pictures.  My brain reminds me that the federal government through the decades has always been in cahoots with shady/criminal people/governments, but it's often been at a remove:  the CIA does the dirty deed, while the administration claims surprise.  Now we have a president who muses about sending citizens to prisons abroad, a vomitous development.

Last night I thought of innocent people whisked away, all people whisked away without a chance to defend themselves.  When the lector read verse 11, I almost cried out loud:  

"Do not be far from me, 

for trouble is near,
and there is no one to help."

On this day when we remember the crucifixion of Jesus by a variety of earthly powers, it is good to remember all the ways that the power of empire has not been transformed.  But it is also imperative to remember that every faith proclaims that the powers of evil do not have the final word. 

Psalm 22 ends this way, declaring that the power of good will not be overcome:

"future generations will be told about the Lord
31 and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn,
saying that he has done it."

Sermon for Maundy Thursday

 April 17, 2025, Maundy Thursday

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

You might have expected our Gospel reading to focus on the eating of a meal—aren’t we supposed to be observing and remembering the Last Supper?  Isn’t this event so consequential that it becomes the foundation of one of our two sacraments?

Yes, those things are true.  The Last Supper does become the meal that the earliest Christians shared every time they were together, a literal meal, where people shared their food so that no one went hungry.  This meal, the memory of all these meal, they become our sacrament that we celebrate every Sunday.

Tonight’s Gospel gives us the undergirding philosophy, both of the sacrament and of the mission of Jesus in the world.  “Love each other.”  It seems so simple.  The reaction of Simon Peter shows that love is never simple.  

In the Gospel of John, these men have been together for several years.  In our modern times, we might wonder why Simon Peter reacts so negatively to the idea of Jesus washing his feet.  Some of us have seen the footgear worn by first century desert residents—those sandals left most of the foot exposed.  It’s not like Jesus would be surprised by Simon Peter’s feet, the way that our friends might be surprised if they ever saw our feet.  And in our age of pedicures and shoes that protect us, our feet aren’t likely to offend our friends.

What might be lost on us is that Jesus is taking on a task usually left to slaves and servants and people on the lowest rungs of society.  Peter objects to the idea that Jesus would debase himself in this way.  

What does this type of service look like today?  If Jesus appeared in our houses, we might not flinch if he wanted to wash our feet.  But our bathrooms?  Would we draw the line at our bathrooms?  If Jesus wanted to go get the meat for dinner and headed off to the local slaughterhouse, would we stop him?

Peter objects because Jesus is the leader, therefore everyone should line up to serve him.  Jesus once again tries to teach the disciples that the inbreaking Kingdom of God will not be like the earthly kingdom of Caesar or Herod or Pilate or the religious leadership.  

What does a life of service look like?  Jesus models a life of service that is much more complex than washing feet or fixing a meal.  In our Gospel tonight, with its lack of emphasis on the meal that will become the sacrament, we are reminded of the scope of Christ’s love, the mind-blowing expansiveness of the love that God shows for all of creation.

Jesus knows that Judas will betray him, but Jesus doesn’t send him away before the foot washing.  The Gospel of John is very clear about when Judas leaves so that we will know that Jesus includes him.  Peter will betray Jesus in a new way, with his denial of knowing him at all—but Jesus washes his feet too.  All of the Gospels remind us again and again—we are not so very far away from Judas or Peter in all the ways that we don’t understand what Jesus tries to teach us.  Jesus calls both men friend—and Jesus calls us friend too.

In so many ways, this last supper shows us the way we are to live in this kingdom of God that Jesus says is happening right now.  Think about the verbs we use:  Jesus blesses the bread, he breaks it, and he shares it.  It’s a metaphor for the whole human life.  We can’t share the bread until we break it.  This sacrament shows us that brokenness is part of human life, but that Jesus can transform that brokenness.  He does this by blessing—he blesses the bread, he blesses the disciples, and this meal prepares him to be a blessing for the whole world.

And it’s not just a blessing that we experience.  Jesus offers us a meal of liberation.  The Old Testament reading reminds us of how the Passover meal began, of the need to be ready for deliverance from bondage.  In the Old Testament, it was the bondage of slavery in Egypt.  Today—we are held captive by so many things:  disease, fear, loss, difficult circumstances of all kinds.  Jesus comes to tell us that we are free.

Jesus sets humanity free in many ways:  he casts out demons, he heals, and he invites people to dinner.  He shows us ways to resist the forces that want to keep us imprisoned or kill us; he reminds us again and again that the forces of love are stronger than the forces of evil that seem so powerful.

As we move through the stories after Easter, pay attention to where we find Jesus.  He doesn’t return to the blood soaked cross.  He leaves the tomb and never looks back.  He joins the disciples where they have gathered, and once again, they share meals together.  He joins followers on the road to Emmaus, and they only know who he is after they have shared a meal.  He cooks breakfast on a beach for the disciples who have returned to the fishing life that they knew before Jesus.

These meals transform these first believers.  They go from denying him, betraying him, forgetting what he has taught them to being a force that transforms the ancient world.  They do this by emulating him, by creating what is essentially a table ministry that includes the least powerful and the most powerful in their communities.

This Last Supper of Jesus is really the first meal in so many ways.  It becomes the foundational practice from the earliest days of the Christian church, and it continues to be foundational today.  It goes from a Passover meal that celebrates deliverance to becoming one of the sacraments that continues Christ’s redemptive work, a redemption now extended to all people.

Hear the good news, the good news heard by the Israelites in Egypt, the good news heard by first century followers of Jesus, the good news proclaimed across centuries.  Deliverance is at hand.  Evil does not have the final word.  Come and eat. 

Meditation on this Sunday's Gospel, Easter Sunday

 The readings for Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025:

First Reading: Acts 10:34-43

First Reading (Alt.): Isaiah 65:17-25

Psalm: Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 15:19-26

Second Reading (Alt.): Acts 10:34-43

Gospel: Luke 24:1-12

Gospel (Alt.): John 20:1-18

I've talked to many people who seem a bit amazed at how fast this season of Lent has zoomed by us. I've talked to several people who don't feel ready for Easter at all. Are we ever ready for Easter?

Some years feel more difficult than others.  This year, when we've had severe storms, devastating fire, political news designed to make us feel powerless, we may feel like we're more in an Ash Wednesday time.

Some years, we're ready to proclaim the risen Lord.  Other years we ask, "How can we celebrate Easter with the taste of ashes still in our mouths?"

Hear that Easter message again. Know that God is working to redeem creation in ways that we can't always see and don't often understand. But we get glimpses of it.

The earth commits to resurrection this time of year. Green sprouts shoot out from hard earth everywhere.  Even for those of us further to the south who have no real winter, this time of year brings new blooms, as the yellow tab tree blooms, and the bougainvillea seems more vivid.   Each spring, we are reminded of the cyclical nature of the world, which can bring us hope in the times in which we suffer. This, too, shall pass.

The social justice goals of past generations have come to fruition. We may be seeing ravaged populations today, but in a decade or two, we may see healing. Imagine going back to 1987 and telling everyone you saw that the Wall would soon come down, that the Soviet Union would soon be no more, and the world's stockpile of nuclear weapons would soon be reduced. No one would believe you. And yet we know it happened. We can pray for a similar outcome in Gaza and other places decimated by war.

We know that sometimes our bodies can produce miracles. We convince the cancer not to kill us this year. We abuse our physical selves with too much exercise or too much drink or too much smoke, but to our surprise, our bodies can heal.

But maybe we see those examples of resurrection as random and capricious. We taste the ash in our mouths. If we've heard the Easter story (and the Holy Week stories) again and again, we tend to forget the miraculous nature of them. Maybe we're tempted to downplay them even. Maybe we're beaten down and tired (tired of praying that the insurance company gets its act together before the next hurricane season starts, tired of praying for health and people getting sicker, tired of praying for peace in the world which never seems to come), too beaten down and tired to believe in miracles anymore.

Resist that pull towards despair, which some have called the deadliest sin, even worse than pride. We have seen miracles with our own eyes: Nelson Mandela walks out of jail to claim his place as president, for example; peace in Northern Ireland; peace in some parts of Eastern Europe. We're often too shy or scared to run out of our gardens to tell everyone else what we've seen, what we know.

We must remember we are a Resurrection People. Let us commit to new life. Let us rinse the ashes out of our mouths with the Eucharist bread and wine. Celebrate the miracles.

Holy Week Tuesday and Taxes

Today's reading from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours was the story of Jesus in the Temple overturning the tables of the moneychangers.  She includes a special section for Holy Week, so that part is not as random as it might sound.

Because of where Easter falls this year, today is the day that taxes are due.  In past years, I might not have noticed.  This year, because I knew we were likely to owe money, I didn't do the taxes until later.  I got our payments in the mail yesterday (we owe federal taxes and North Carolina taxes, and we will eventually get money back from South Carolina).  It's astonishing to me that we owe federal taxes, but here we are.  We owe because for 9 months, we had health insurance through the Affordable Care Act, and then my part time job teaching shifted to full time:   good news for long term finances, bad news for taxes.

In the next two days, I need to write a Maundy Thursday sermon.  Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem, but I want to make sure that my sermon is different than last year's sermon.  Last year I talked a lot about foot washing.  This year, I'll shift to something else, the idea of the sacrament and how it gives us strength.  At least, that's what I'm thinking right now, before I've really started.

My brain is working on several writing projects.  I have a paper due on Monday, with a presentation to class.  I know what I plan to write.  Unlike my sermon, I've done more thinking and research for that project.  I also have a paper due two weeks from Thursday.

This morning, a happy surprise:  a line of a possible poem floated through my brain, and I opened a blank Word document to write it down.  In the past two hours, more lines have come to me, and I've written them down.  Will they cohere into a poem?  It's too soon to tell, but it's nice to feel that part of my brain click into gear again.

And, of course, there's the end of the semester grading that needs doing.  I'm keeping up, but at times, I feel overwhelmed with all that will happen in the next 4 weeks.  And then, I graduate with my MDiv.  Hurrah!

I am amazed that I am graduating, four years after I started.  It feels like no time at all, but of course, so much has happened.  At one time, in the early days, I thought it might take me six or seven years, or longer.  Of course, in the early days, I had a full-time administrator job, and I wasn't sure that the seminary would offer the classes I needed to take from a distance.

Let me shift gears one more time.  Let me think about going for a walk.  On Sunday, we had a freeze warning, and yesterday, we had record breaking heat.  I'm glad to be able to walk in the beautiful spring blooms.

Recording of Palm/Passion Sunday Sermon

If you'd rather listen to a sermon, I've posted my Palm/Passion sermon to my YouTube channel.  You can view it here.

And if you'd like to read along, I posted it yesterday here.

Sermon for Palm/Passion Sunday

April 13, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



The Palm and Passion Narrative in Luke



Today’s readings give us all sorts of contrasts, some of which we’re aware of, some of which may be lost on us. Let’s see if we can explore some of them, and by doing so, let’s see if we can hear the story in new and relevant ways.

Our Palm Sunday narrative, the first one we read, gives us Jesus entering Jerusalem on a colt. Two thousand years later, some of the significance might be lost on us. There’s prophetic significance, which many of us have been trained to recognize. After all, we often have our Holy Week Gospel readings paired with Old Testament texts that the first century Christians would have used to interpret and understand what they had witnessed in the life of Jesus and his resurrection.

A piercing piece of information in the Palm Sunday story is the entrance of Jesus. We might hear the story of Jesus on a colt and assume that he was tired or that he was riding on a colt because an Old Testament prophet peered into the future and said that the savior of Israel would enter Jerusalem on a meager animal.

But first century believers would have contrasted the entrance of Jesus with the entrance of Caesar or Caesar’s representative, Pontius Pilate, the Roman emperor, who would likely have also had a grand entrance into Jerusalem. In their book about Holy Week, Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan point out that it was standard practice for Roman governors of Judea to come to Jerusalem for major Jewish festivals. Passover was the biggest one. Let’s be clear—they weren’t in Jerusalem because of their deep reverence for God. No, they were there in case there was trouble.

Jesus enters on a young horse. Pilate would enter on a stallion—a much more impressive steed--and he would be flanked by calvary and soldiers. Every movement would proclaim that Rome was in charge. This imperial procession would be very different from Jesus, who entered with a throng of peasants, singing songs and glorifying God.

If we didn’t already know the implications of this contrast, we might think that the Jewish leaders would be happy at the proclamations of the people. But we know that these two contrasting triumphant entries set the stage for what is to come. Jesus enters on a colt, with people pledging allegiance to God, not Caesar. The contrast between the Kingdom of God and the Empire of Earth isn’t always this visible. We shouldn’t blame the religious leaders for wishing the people would quiet down. This kind of behavior isn’t the kind that will go well when imperial powers take notice. Anyone aligned with the Romans would see this as a piece of performance art that made a mockery of Roman power.

And those people in alignment with Roman power are in Jerusalem, and they will take notice of this demonstration. Jesus has been on a collision course with Rome for a long time as he taught resistance techniques and insisted on justice. This week is the time it will come to a boiling point.

The Holy Week texts show us all the ways that nearly everyone betrays Jesus, each in their own contrasting way. The crowds who are so enthusiastic on Palm Sunday demand Jesus’ death by Friday. What has changed their minds? What were they hoping would happen and why do they feel so angry that they would rather have Barabbas, a murderer and a terrorizing insurrectionist, back in the community than Jesus, the one who fed and healed them and drove out demons from their midst?

When we think about the betrayals of Holy Week, we probably think about Judas and Peter, but look at that Last Supper text again. We see that the disciples still don’t understand what Jesus has called them to do. In Luke 22: 24, the disciples show that they still don’t understand the nature of the Messiah with whom they have spent so much time. They seem to think that they are operating in a system with a familiar hierarchy, the kind of hierarchy announced with imperial processions and royal armies. If Jesus is the head of the organization, then who gets to be the greatest after him, the second in command? Once again, in verses 25-27, Jesus reminds the disciples of the different kind of system he has come to implement, one based on service, not being in charge. The inbreaking kingdom of God will be different from the world they have experienced. In God’s inbreaking Kingdom, the least will be first.

We might do some comparing of ourselves with these people of ancient times. We might think that we would never betray Jesus in this way, enthusiastic on Sunday, disillusioned and bitter by Friday. We might think that we would never be like those disciples, the ones who don’t understand what Jesus calls them to do. We might say that we would never sell out Jesus with coin or kiss. We might say that we would never deny knowing Jesus three times before the cock crows.

The good news of this Holy Week story is that Jesus does what he came to do, regardless of the reaction of those around him. Even on the cross, Jesus continues his mission of forgiveness and redemption. Luke is the only gospel where Jesus prays, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” While he is dying on a cross, Jesus asks for forgiveness for those who nailed him up there. In Luke, the thief on one side of him asks to be remembered, and Jesus invites him to come to Paradise too—redemption, even in the midst of death.

When I think about the contrasts in the Holy Week story, this contrast between life and death, between the world that crucifies and the one that redeems—this contrast is the greatest one. Jesus comes into our broken world, which tries in every way to break him, and even in the most gruesome death, Jesus remains unbroken by the forces which send everyone else whimpering away. Even in the agony of the cross, Jesus still proclaims that the Kingdom of God is at hand.

In a world that tries to slaughter all that we hold dear, that message is Good News. That Good News has been delivered by angel choirs in the skies over Bethlehem, through a distant star that spoke to wise observers far away, in the words and actions of Jesus, and in the lives of two thousand centuries of believers. Let us hear it with fresh ears this morning: The Kingdom of God is at hand. Let us go proclaim it.

Scraps from Quilt Camp

 It's been a great week, tiring but great.  Let me record some bits and pieces that I want to remember.

--In years to come, I will remember this week as one where I did a lot of sewing.  Yesterday, as I cut cloth into strips, I thought about how satisfying it is, the feel of the cloth, the sound of the scissors slicing through it.

--I asked for scraps that people would throw away because we'll need them for the upcoming Create in Me retreat.  I'm surprised by the amount of cloth that people would ordinarily throw away, and it's not just selvage and other bits of cloth that don't have a quarter inch bit for a seam allowance.  I've been scavenging the scraps too.  A lot of these scraps are high quality fabric.

--Yesterday, we had a small field trip.  No not to a quilt or fabric shop--I went with a friend I first made through the Create in Me retreat to see another friend we met through that retreat.  He works at Raven and Crone, the kind of store that I thought didn't exist in a physical form anymore.  It sells rocks and crystals, herbs and spices and teas, books, incense, jewelry, candles, bath products.  Delightful!  I bought three small polished rocks because they had beautiful colors and reminded me of childhood.  I bought a bag of loose tea.  Our friend who works there formulates and mixes them, and he was a chemistry major before he was a pastor, so I trust the tea.  Yesterday afternoon I brewed a cup, and it's delicious.

--We have had amazing food.  That's not unusual for non-summer camp, but I do remember a day when even adult camp was not this delicious. 

--We did chair yoga on Wednesday.  It's amazing how much we can stretch in just twenty minutes.

--I've been walking a bit each day.  There are some folks here at Quilt Camp who are grateful for a chance to stretch in this way.  We have different kinds of conversations as we walk.  When people are absorbed in their quilting, it's harder to talk, so it's great to take a break.

----One of my walking friends knows a lot about plants, and she's identified some that I didn't know.  Beautiful!

--Yesterday we walked down my street.  I told them I wouldn't invite them in because my spouse was spackling and I didn't want them to risk ruining their clothes.  

--As we walked down my street, I was struck as I often am, on a daily basis, by gratitude.  I am grateful that I live in this neighborhood, in this church camp, in this town, in this part of the Appalachian mountains.  I am hugely grateful that we sold our house in Florida, at a time when someone still wanted to buy it.  It's a good place to weather the political and climate chaos that is surely upon us.

Last Full Day of Quilt Camp

 It's been a good few days at Quilt Camp.  I have two quilt tops I've been working on, and while I've made progress, they are still not done.  It looks like this one should be done when I stretch it on the design wall:

But stretched on the bed, it's not wide enough yet:

My other quilt top is similarly not finished yet.  Happily I have time and scraps and love doing the work.  Fortunately, we're not depending on the quilts I'm making to keep us from freezing to death in the winter.

At Quilt Camp, the projects of other quilters inspires me too.  Yesterday, I loved seeing these notecards made of scraps sewn on cardstock:

Here's the back of those cards:

And here's an abstract design:

Last night I came back to my nearby Lutheridge house because I have seminary class on Thursday nights.  I only have a few class meetings left, and this class which explores Christmas and Easter without the ministry in between, is one of the best classes I've ever taken in all of my student years.

Today is another day, the last full day, of sewing and socializing.  It's going to be wonderful, and I'm already feeling sad that Quilt Camp is soon over.  

Ways to Greet the Day: Lost Lenses or Fabric in Our Hands

It has already been a strange morning.  I put on my glasses that I use to read the computer when my contacts aren't in, and I thought my vision was odd.  I took them off and realized I didn't have as much trouble reading the computer screen as usual.  I thought it was my left eye that was strange.  Could I have left a contact lens in?  I touched my eye, and it didn't seem to be there.  The contact wasn't in the lens case.  Long story short:  last night, I took the lens out of my left eye, put it in the right side of the case, and left my right contact lens in my eye all night.  So I put the lenses in their proper case and later, I may or may not put them in my eyes.

I have that kind of flexibility today because I'm not driving down to Spartanburg; today is the first full day of spring Quilt Camp at Lutheridge!

Yesterday was also strange.  I did a lot of prepping to get ready for my time away, and then I headed over to the audiologist to get her help with my hearing aid.  It has a protective part at the end, designed to be removed, and when I took my hearing aid out on Monday, the protective part stayed in my ear.  Happily, it was easy for her to remove.  I didn't panic on Monday--well, after the first bit of panic--because I reasoned that the tip is designed to be in my ear canal for long periods of time.

Once I got back from the audiologist, it was off to work.  It was a good teaching day.

I drove back to North Carolina and stopped at the Faith Center on my way in.  I don't have as much to unload as the Quilt Camp folks who come with two sewing machines, a chair, and an extra table, but it does take me several trips back and forth to the car to get all my cloth around me.

I went to dinner with some friends; most Quilt Camp meals will be served at the dining hall, but meals don't start until the first full day, today.  I'm really looking forward to breakfasts that are much more than my usual bowl of enhanced oatmeal.

Since I am up early anyway, I'm the one who opens the Faith Center for those of us who want to greet the sunrise with fabric in our hands.  Let me close this post so I can get ready. 

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Palm Sunday, April 13, 2025:

Liturgy of the Palms 

Psalm
Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
Gospel
Luke 19:28-40

Liturgy of the Passion 
First reading
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm
Psalm 31:9-16
Second reading
Philippians 2:5-11
Gospel
Luke 22:14-23:56 or Luke 23:1-49


Those of us who have been going to church for awhile have heard these stories dozens of times. If we go to many or all of the Holy Week services, we'll hear these stories again and again this week. As we enter Holy Week, how can we hear them differently?

This year, what would happen if we imagined these stories from the perspective of a variety of characters? I imagine that many of us hear these stories and imagine ourselves one of the disciples. But what if we told the story through the view of the palms? What if we thought about the donkey's perspective? The poet Mary Oliver did just that in "The Poet Thinks About the Donkey," a poem that you can find here: https://predmore.blogspot.com/2016/03/poem-poet-thinks-about-donkey-by-mary.html.

The journey that takes us from Palm Sunday to Good Friday offers us some serious reminders. If we put our faith in the world, we're doomed. If we get our glory from the acclaim of the secular world, we'll find ourselves rejected sooner, rather than later.

Right now, we live in a larger culture that prefers crucifixion to redemption. For some of us, we see a brutal world that embraces crucifixion: no second chances, perhaps no first chances.  The world hurls a new challeges at us while reminding us of old fears, like world war that ends in nuclear blasts.

The Palm/Passion Sunday readings remind us that the world has always been this way, although the particulars change. Jesus and the disciples lived in an empire far more brutal than the ones that Northern Hemisphere, western culture Christians inhabit. We may find comfort in our smaller communities, but we are called to live in ways that will likely bring us into some sort of conflict with the larger culture.

We may not end up hanging on a cross, but we may be among those weeping at the foot of the cross. We may have seen this ending coming, as we have watched our loved ones headed towards an ending that might have been avoidable. We may find ourselves asking, weeping, lamenting: "Is there no other way?"

We know that the story doesn't end on Good Friday. We know that God will make a way when humans cannot see a way. We know that God promises resurrection, even when we can only see ruin every direction we look.

We worship a God who has been working through time and outside of time to transform this human condition. We don't always see it, but Easter assures us that the process is in place and that resurrection will break through, even in the most unlikely circumstances.

Viewing Yesterday's Sermon

You can view my sermon for yesterday at Faith Lutheran Church.  It's here, on my YouTube channel.

If you'd like to read along, I posted it in this blog post yesterday--have fun noticing the changes!

I also linked to it on my Facebook page, using this post to describe it:  "My sermon for this morning is here: Mary's extravagant hospitality of washing feet which happens before Jesus does the same to his male disciples--was she the inspiration?"

Unlike some Sundays, I felt that it went well, and I continue to feel that way, listening to it today.

Sermon for Sunday, April 6, 2025

 April 6, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

John 12:  1-8

Today’s Gospel might seem easy to interpret as we read it today, taken out of the context of the larger book of John.  Mary takes the correct path, Judas doesn’t, be like Mary.  But this reading is much more complex than it seems at first.  It benefits us immensely when we consider it in the context of the larger narrative trajectory.

In the chapter before this one, John 11, Jesus has raised Lazarus from the dead.  Before he does this act, both Mary and Martha have testified to the power of Jesus.  And now, the world will know his power.  It’s one thing to heal the sick, but quite another to raise the dead.  Because people have come to comfort Mary and Martha, there will be witnesses.  Jesus raises Lazarus and withdraws to a place called Ephraim.  Chapter 11 ends in outside turmoil, with various people going to the religious leaders and the religious leaders demanding that anyone who knows where Jesus is must turn him in.

But in our reading for today, we don’t have a sense of this turmoil that is closing in on Jesus.  On the contrary, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus give a dinner for Jesus.  When you read “Martha served,” you might think about the other story that features Mary and Martha, when she complained about not getting help while Mary sits at the feet of Jesus—but that was the gospel of Luke.  This text does give us insight into the idea of what it means to serve, but it widens it considerably.

Take a minute to imagine this table, before we get to the disruption of perfume and feet.  Imagine having a meal with Lazarus, who had been in the grave for four days.  This dinner doesn’t happen immediately after the resurrection of Lazarus, but I imagine it will be a topic of dinner conversation.  It also mirrors the larger movement of the Gospel of John, which ends with Jesus in service, grilling fish and bread for the disciples’ breakfast.  

Mary takes her costly perfume and washes the feet of Jesus and wipes his feet with her hair.  This behavior would seem strange to us, in the 21st century, and it would have been unusual and shocking to her fellow dinner companions.  Those of us who have participated in foot washing services for Maundy Thursday might see this act as one of attending to a delicate part of the body which has remained hidden, but that would be less likely the case with first century people.  Their feet would be crusty with dirt and mud and all the nasty gunk that comes from not having modern sewage systems.

Most people would wash their feet before coming into a house, and wealthy people would have slaves to perform this basic act of hospitality.  Mary takes a task of hospitality and elevates it by adding expensive perfume to the act and by wiping the feet of Jesus with her hair.  And Jesus tells everyone to leave her alone.  Jesus elevates her by saying that she understands what is about to happen to him.   Mary bears silent, powerful witness to Jesus—Mary, not the men.  In two weeks, we will see a similar dynamic on Easter morning, where the women are first witnesses to and believers in the resurrection of Christ.

We may be tempted to see a gender commentary that may not be there:  Mary the female, understands, and Judas, the male, does not.  But think of all the times that Jesus has instructed us to care for the poor.  Judas has a point.  Is this the best use of the money?  We may have had similar experiences if we’ve visited other churches that are more ornate, where we worry about the people donating all of their retirement money to fund a pretty building.

Judas has a larger problem with money, and we might not see it because of the detail about his thievery.  But his larger problem is his fear of not having enough.  His scarcity consciousness mirrors the response of the disciples at the second Passover that’s in the Gospel of John, where Jesus feeds the five thousand men, plus the women and children who followed him.  The disciples protest that they can’t possibly feed the crowds with five small barley loaves and two small fish—but not only do they feed everyone, they gather 12 baskets of leftovers.

Again and again, across Gospels, Jesus proclaims the inbreaking Kingdom of God, and he often does this in the language of abundance.  It’s not just language:  there are acts of abundance that demonstrate what Jesus means when he talks.  In today’s Gospel passage, Mary shows that she has understood his message and his mission, and she has embodied it.  She has taken her money and used it to glorify and worship Jesus.  She doesn’t just utter empty words, like Judas.  She doesn’t speak at all.

And here’s an even more radical possibility:  perhaps through her action, she teaches Jesus too.  In the next chapter of John, Jesus mirrors her action by washing the feet of his disciples.  They protest.  They are still thinking that the kingdom Jesus talks about is a kingdom that will be like earthly kingdoms.  Imagine Herod or Pilate or Caesar washing feet:  it’s impossible!  On Maundy Thursday, we’ll hear the text about Jesus washing the feet of his disciples and the larger lesson he wants them to remember.  Jesus comes to serve, and our mission is to serve.

Oh, that sentence is so simple.  But we know that Christians through the ages have argued, much like Jesus and Judas argue, about the best way to serve.  If bank accounts are slender, the arguments are more fierce.  Should we buy something special to make worship more beautiful or should we increase our donation to Lutheran World Relief?  Should we have the church dinner catered or should we cancel it and give the money to the food pantry?

Scholars and theologians have spent centuries arguing over what Jesus meant when he told us we’d always have the poor with us.  Gospel commentators have written about Mary and Judas offering us two different paths to discipleship.  But I think that Jesus is telling us to expand even further in terms of setting our minds and expectations away from scarcity and towards abundance.  We can have beautiful worship AND feed the poor.  We can follow the path of Jesus, resurrecting what was dead and then having a wonderful meal with friends who extend their hospitality beyond the meal and onto our feet as an exuberant measure of hospitality.

I thought about ending this sermon by passing out oil and fancy towels and having us wash each other’s feet, but instead, I’ll take this opportunity to say that for Maundy Thursday, in addition to having communion together, I plan to offer an optional healing element by anointing foreheads, not feet, and saying a prayer.  I’ll stand here, and as you come away from communion, if you’d like your forehead anointed, you’ll come over.   It won’t be expensive nard—my New Testament professor says that nard smells awful to modern noses.  It will be unscented olive oil.  In this way, we’ll follow in the footsteps of Mary, by adding an anointing to the meal we share.  And if we think it’s meaningful, we can add this element to our weekly communion or offer it once a month.

As we come to the end of Lent—next Sunday is Palm Sunday!—let us examine our hearts to see where we are like Martha, who prepares a meal and where we are like Mary, who anoints with special oil and exceptional hospitality.   If we discover places where we are like Judas, and  if we take an honest inventory, we will—let us pray for our hard and judgmental hearts to expand beyond isolating, tight-fisted scarcity.  Jesus comes to offer abundant life—let us look for ways to recognize that life and to help that abundance expand.

A Great Teaching Day: Nuclear Apocalypses and Civil Rights Primers

Yesterday was a great teaching day, although I didn't fully savor it.  I had several seminary projects due last night, one of which was a presentation, so that stress was simmering in the background.  My commuting has gotten a bit nightmarish, with slow downs and stops that add an hour to my trip home.  By the time my seminary class started, I was more stressed than normal.

So let me savor the teaching day here.  In my Nonfiction Writing class on Tuesday, we sketched out the remaining class days--there are only 6 of them, or there were on Tuesday.  My students wanted to think about propaganda yesterday, so we began with the Daisy ad from LBJ's 1964 presidential campaign, the ad which combines a cute toddler pulling apart a daisy with a nuclear explosion.

I knew that we were going to discuss the ad, so I spent yesterday morning watching this video that compares The Day After to Threads.  It talks about The Day After as a form of propaganda/teaching.  We only watched the first part, because I didn't want to expose them to Threads, which is quite graphic and gruesome.  We had a good discussion.  The students had never seen either film, but the commentary was understandable (as we watched it, I wasn't sure that it would be).

Then I went to teach my American Lit survey class.  It was the day to discuss Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail."  I wanted to use some music to set the mood as they came in, so I cued up this album (by the magic of YouTube):

I had the CD cover on the screen, and one of my students walked in and said, "That looks like they're having fun."  Hmmm.  So I used it as a later teaching moment.

I've actually seen the real photograph--there was a display of Civil Rights photo at the Ft. Lauderdale Museum of Art.  As I recall, it's part of a three part set.  I said to the class, "What you can't see on this side is the firehose of water being aimed at peaceful protestors."

We talked about protest, about the rights guaranteed by the Constitution, about the unjust situation that King described in his letter.  We talked about modern issues of injustice that need our attention and how we might affect change (write letters, protest, run for office, write a poem or a song).  I talked about how the Civil Rights protestors of the 50's and 60's came from a church background and what that meant.  And then to conclude class, I had them write about the best way to do that, while we listened to two songs from the album, "This Little Light of Mine" and "(Ain't Gonna Let Nobody) Turn Me Round."

It was a good mix of history, modern politics/issues of social injustice, civics reminders (your legislators will take notice if you write or call, and they may change their minds), literature, and song.  It was less a focus on literature than most class meetings, but it felt important.  And it will lead nicely to Claudia Rankine's Citizen:  A Lyric on Tuesday. 

A Week of Interviews and Contracts

It has been a whirlwind week, and I'm not talking about the "will he or won't he" tariff chaos.  It's been a week where I have multiple seminary assignments due--from here on out, they will be more spread out.  I do think that if I was smart, I would go ahead and get the final projects done, and maybe I will.

I had an interview this week.  On Tuesday, I interviewed to be part of the Summer 2025 cohort of the CPE program at the Asheville VA Hospital.  I wasn't sure what to expect--after all, it's not like a job interview, where people are trying to determine if they want me to be part of their lives for what could be a long time.  

My mom sent me this e-mail, which I thought was charming in so many ways:  "Hope all goes well. You are a dynamite young lady who can ace this interview. Keep us posted! Mom."  It's been a long time since anyone called me a dynamite young lady--I certainly don't feel young anymore.

The interview went well, I thought.  It was the kind of interview where I could tell that the three people on the interview team had read my extensive application materials and thought about them and come up with incisive questions.  I answered them honestly.  The interview lasted 45 minutes, so there could have been plenty of places where I stumbled.

For example, they asked me what I hoped to learn outside of skills, what kind of self development did I hope to experience, and I said that I wanted to learn more about how to be present to people with problems that aren't fixable. I felt like it was a good answer, but they might have found it problematic.

Happily, they must have found more about me to like than reject.  Yesterday, the day after the interview, I sent a thank you e-mail, and I got a reply offering me a spot.  I wrote back to say yes.  

You might be asking why I am doing CPE this summer--aren't I graduating?  Yes, I am on schedule to graduate with my MDiv degree, but I still have requirements to complete before I am eligible for ordination.  One of them is CPE, a kind of chaplaincy training.

I also got my teaching contract for next year, signed it, and made some inquiries about health insurance.  Happily, our health insurance continues through the summer, even though technically I'm between contracts for a few months.  It is so nice to be at a place where I'm treated well.

Here it is Thursday, and it feels like I should be done with my tasks for the week.  But I still have two papers due today to finish, and seminary class tonight,  along with teaching tasks--and it's time to start thinking about my sermon for Sunday.

Well, let me get to it.  The weather seems iffy, so I'll get a walk in.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, April 6, 2025:

First Reading: Isaiah 43:16-21

Psalm: Psalm 126

Second Reading: Philippians 3:4b-14

Gospel: John 12:1-8

I've always had some amount of trouble with this Gospel; I suspect it's because I would have been that disciple who said, "Just think what we could have done with the money that went to buy that expensive oil. Doesn't Jesus know the electric bill is due? We could have helped the poor. And she went and poured it all over his feet!"

I know that traditionally we use this Gospel lesson to make us think forward a few weeks to Good Friday, when Jesus' dead body will be anointed with funeral oils. But there's still something about this Gospel that makes me restless.

Perhaps it is Jesus saying, "The poor you will always have with you." I'm uneasy with the way so many people through the centuries have used this line to justify their unwillingness to work to eradicate poverty. A shrug of the shoulders, that verse out of context, and poof, we don't have to worry about our riches.

I've been trying to sit with this passage in a different context, in the context of the whole Gospel of John. Jesus says that the poor we'll always have with us, but we won't always have Jesus (at least not in human form). I'm trying to see it as Jesus telling us that we must treasure the moments in life that are sweet. Did Jesus know what was about to happen to him? Different theologians would give you different answers, but even if Jesus didn't know all the particulars of his upcoming execution, he must have known that he was stirring up all sorts of worldly trouble for himself. He must have known that he wouldn't have had many more of these occasions to sit and savor a meal.

I'm sure he's also speaking towards our impulse towards anger and self-righteousness. I can criticize the decisions of others in how they spend their money and what they should be spending their money on ("Imagine. She calls herself a Christian and look how much she spends on books. She could get them from the library and send the money she would have spent to Habitat for Humanity"). It's not always easy for me to know how to allocate my resources of time, treasure, and energy.

Truth be told, I find it easier to work on many a spiritual discipline than to sit and savor a meal with those whom I love, the ones, whom, like Jesus, I won't always have with me. I find it frighteningly easy to slide into the behavior of the disciples, that self-righteousness which precludes being able to enjoy a meal together.

In these days that feel increasingly hectic, let us remember to take time to focus on what's truly important. Let us put aside the anger and judgment that can make it so hard to live in community.

Five Years of Morning Watch

Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of morning watch, the morning devotional time that I do for my Florida church and anyone else who wants to tune in.  I started doing it during the early days of the pandemic, when my church was looking for ways to stay connected.  I still went to church on Sunday mornings, where, for a few Sundays, a core group of us gathered to do parts of the service live and stream it to our members at home.

We also brainstormed other things we could do, like a Compline service. I volunteered to do something in the morning. One of the brainstorming group suggested that in addition to some sort of reading, that we have time for something creative.

At first I thought about choosing the readings, and then I thought, why do this? I have Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours; she's done this work for me. I did the readings for the day, took a five-seven minute pause to do meditation, writing, sketching, yoga, whatever gets us grounded for the day. And then we came back for closing prayer, also from The Divine Hours, and I gave some closing thoughts, a benediction of sorts.  I did the first one on March 31, 2020, and I'm still doing it every morning.

The video is short enough that I think I can add it to this blog post.  Here's the very first episode of Morning Watch to air live, on this day in 2020:

It hasn't changed much. I do show the sketch I'm working on; my dad made a comment that he wanted to see what I was working on, so I started holding the sketch close to the camera.

I've continued to do morning watch, and it's interesting to scroll back through a selection of posts that Facebook gave me when I did a search. Here I am with much longer hair. Here I am in a variety of rooms (the house near the beach, the downtown condo, our Lutheridge house, my seminary apartment, vacation/travel destinations). Here I am with Christmas lights in the back, and here I am almost always with construction happening in the background. I won't link to all those posts, as I'm almost sure it's only interesting to me.

This blog post tells a more complete story of the early days. It also contains this link to the first day when I used Phyllis Tickle's work--on March 30, I had technical difficulties, so I didn't post that broadcast. It's gotten 187 views. Later broadcasts get much fewer views. But I hear from people who find it meaningful, so I'll keep doing it.

To be honest, even if I didn't get encouragement, I'd probably still do it. It helps me to stay faithful to this method of formation.