Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, February 15, 2026:

First Reading: Exodus 24:12-18

Psalm: Psalm 2

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 99

Second Reading: 2 Peter 1:16-21

Gospel: Matthew 17:1-9


Here we are at Transfiguration Sunday again. We celebrate this festival on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, and it's such a familiar story that we may feel that we can get nothing new from it. But it's a story that bears repeating.

When I read the Gospel again, I'm not surprised by Peter's offer to build booths and celebrate the Transfiguration in a commercial way. Christ's command to tell no one makes me pause. Why can't we share this amazing moment?

Christ says this often. Go and tell no one--that seems to be a constant command. And it seems antithetical to the task of the Church.

In just a few months, we'll get a very different Pentecost message. Aren't we supposed to go and witness? Spread the good news? If Jesus is our role model, what do we make of his command to stay silent?

In some ways, perhaps Jesus knew the times he lived in. He knew that early fame would undo his purpose. He knew that people would focus on the physical plane--"This man can heal my blindness"--but not the spiritual plane, the one where we need healing the most.

He also knew that people who see visions, who catch a glimpse of something otherworldly, are often shunned by the community. What would have happened if James and John and Peter came down from the mountain and proclaimed what they had seen? How would the community have responded?

Jesus knew that he couldn't appear too threatening to the status quo too early. In the verses that follow, the ones not included in this Gospel, Jesus makes clear that persecution follows those who see visions. And that persecution still persists today. Our culture tolerates those of us who pray. It's less tolerant of those of us who claim that God replies to our prayers.

The life of the believer is tough, and one measure of its difficulty is knowing when to speak, and knowing when to hold our tongues. Sometimes we should keep our counsel. Sometimes we should testify verbally. Always we should let our lives be our testimony.

Christ also might have been wary of the human tendency to rush towards transfiguration. We yearn to be different, but so often, we shun the hard work involved. We might embrace transformation before we stop to consider the cost.

Like Peter, we might want to turn Christ into Carnival: build booths, charge admission, harness holiness. Jesus reminds us again and again that the true work comes not from telling people what we’ve seen, but by letting what we’ve seen change the way that we live. Our true calling is not to be carnival barker, but to get on with the work of repair and building of the communities in which we find ourselves.

Teaching from the Buddhist Monks Who Are Walking for Peace

Like many, I've been moved by the Buddhist monks who are walking from Texas to D.C. for peace.  I even talked about them in a sermon in early January, as something giving me hope.

Today they'll be at the National Cathedral, and I'm not sure of their time in D.C. beyond that.  It's hard for me to imagine any officials from the federal government meeting with them, the way that state governing people along the way have, but I'm willing to be happily surprised.

In this post on Diana Butler Bass's Substack, she gives the monks' answer to why they are walking.  I want to make sure I have this, should I want to find the words later, so let me post them here:

"Some people may doubt that our walk can bring peace to the world — and we understand that doubt completely. But everything that has ever mattered began with something impossibly small. A single seed. A first mindful breath. A quiet decision to take one step, then another.

Our walking itself cannot create peace. But when someone encounters us — whether by the roadside, online, or through a friend — when our message touches something deep within them, when it awakens the peace that has always lived quietly in their own heart — something sacred begins to unfold.

That person carries something forward they didn’t have before, or perhaps something they had forgotten was there. They become more mindful in their daily life — more present with each breath, more aware of each moment. They speak a little more gently to their child. They listen more patiently to their partner. They extend kindness to a stranger who needed it desperately.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And that stranger, touched by unexpected compassion, carries it forward to someone else. And it continues — ripple by ripple, heart by heart, moment by moment — spreading outward in ways none of us will ever fully witness, creating more peace in the world than we could possibly measure.

This is our contribution — not to force peace upon the world, but to help nurture it, one awakened heart at a time. Not the Walk for Peace alone can do this, but all of us together — everyone who has been walking with us in spirit, everyone who feels something stir within them when they encounter this journey, everyone who decides that cultivating peace within themselves matters.

One step becomes two. Two become a thousand. A thousand become countless. And slowly, gently, persistently — not through grand gestures but through ten thousand small acts of love — we can help make the world more peaceful.

This is our hope. This is our offering. This is why we walk.

May you and all beings be well, happy, and at peace."

Sunday and Salt

I was pleased with my sermon yesterday--it was a tighter composition than I'm always able to pull together.  And I feel like both sermons went well.  I preached on Matthew 5:  12-20, and I decided to focus on salt alone.  The believer as light metaphor is fairly easy to understand, and I feel like I've done that several times before.  But I didn't see any references to salt in my past sermons.

Yesterday morning, for the youth sermon, I made a big bowl of popcorn.  I left some of it unsalted and put it in sandwich bags.  I salted the rest and made more bags of popcorn.  

I'm not crazy about all the sandwich bags, but it's the easiest way for me to do my youth sermon on salt without getting popcorn all over the place, the way we would if I just passed around two big bowls.  Plus it minimizes germ spreading--no hands in the same bowl of popcorn.

As I divided the popcorn, I thought about seminary, about my Foundations of Preaching class.  In that class, we had a lot to do in a very short time, so I don't fault the professor for not talking about children's sermons much.  I'm glad that I'm old enough to have seen plenty of examples of both good and bad children's sermons through the years.

I did check with the parents before giving out popcorn--no allergies to popcorn or salt.  If I preach on this passage in the future, I might do the same for the adults.

To read a manuscript of my adult sermon, see this blog post.  To see the recording, I uploaded it here on my YouTube channel.

Sermon for Sunday, February 8, 2026

February 8, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 5:13-20


Like many Americans in the later decades of the 20th century, my grandmother was told that she had high blood pressure and needed to watch her salt intake, which she interpreted to mean that she could not add salt to food. One of my enduring memories of her is the way that she worked around this rule. We’d have tomato sandwiches, and instead of giving the tomatoes on the sandwich a sprinkle of salt, she’d have a handful of potato chips.


She knew what she was doing; she always said, “I’m just eating these for the salt. Tomato sandwiches don’t taste right without the salt.” And being the nutritional expert know it all that I was as at the age of 28, I would say, “Grandma, I’m sure your doctor would rather have you use a sprinkle of salt on your sandwich than eat those high fat chips.”


And now, I can’t read this passage and others like it without thinking about the use of salt, both in the ancient world and in our own world. The use of light, both the literal use and the symbolic use, hasn’t changed as much in two thousand years. But our relationship to salt is different. Or is it?

Think about your own feelings about salt. Do you salt your food before you even taste it? Guilty. Do you have a variety of salts and swear that you can tell the difference between them? Me too. Well, that’s not exactly true, but I do swear that kosher salt is different from all the rest.


At this point you may be saying, “Wait, is Jesus giving us cooking commandments or dietary instructions?” To which I would say, maybe not literally. But in terms of how to live life—yes, he’s using salt as a way of teaching us about the life of the faithful, and the ways that the lives of faithful people can add dimension and nuance to their communities—and in doing so to change the world beyond their communities.


We’ve lost some aspects of this metaphor. In the time of Jesus, his Jewish listeners would have heard the message about salt and remembered that salt was a symbol of the Covenant that God made with God’s faithful people. Sacrifices in the temple would be sprinkled with salt as a sign of that covenant.


Salt was also used as a preservative—one reason why canned food often has a fair amount of salt. But in ancient times, before refrigeration, salt was the kind of preservative that meant you could have meat long after the point where ordinary meat would spoil. You could butcher an animal and not have to eat all the meat right away. You could get to the time of the year when it was impossible to find fresh meat, and if you had salted meat, you would have a much more interesting diet.


So, is that what it means in this context? What does it mean to think of ourselves as salt? Jesus is telling us that as believers, we enhance what is good. He is also telling us that faithful people elicit what is good. Just as salt brings forth some qualities of food that we wouldn’t have otherwise, followers of Jesus do the same for their societies. They make their societies better in ways that wouldn’t happen otherwise. Think about all the hospitals and universities and other types of schools and childcare centers that wouldn’t exist without the efforts of believers who took the words of Jesus about caring seriously. Similarly, many scientific developments happened because of a belief in a better world and that belief was often nurtured in communities of believers.

As I was driving this week, I listened to a show about vaccines, and one of the experts talked about polio and Jonas Salk, who created the polio vaccine. Because he refused to patent the vaccine, more people were able to get it across the world, and the disease was eradicated more quickly. Salk, who had Jewish immigrant parents, was educated in public schools, schools which were formed a century or more earlier by other immigrants who believed in education for all. The decision by Salk and other polio vaccine creators not to patent the vaccine so that more people could have access—that decision has inspired later generations to do the same.


As I listened to this interview with modern vaccine creators about the polio vaccine, I thought about another ancient use for salt. Long before our modern agricultural processes, people would use saline solutions to purify the soil and get it ready for planting. I thought about how previous generations can live faithfully, and not only enhance and preserve their own societies, but also prepare soil for future generations to grow and thrive.


Another darker use of salt has been a constant across empires, though, as a weapon of war. Across time, armies have sowed so much salt into the soil of adversaries that nothing else could take root.


As I go back to our reading from Isaiah, as I think about the relentless march of armies and world history, I think of what it would mean to read those passages in the context of being the salt that thwarts the evil that empires want to sow. If we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, care for those outside our family and friend groups, then we build a stronger society.


We might have been taught that good government should also want to do those things, but we know that it’s far more common for empires to rule by way of fear: fear of hunger, fear of exposure, fear of being cast out, fear of violence and imprisonment, fear of war. Those fears can keep more of us cowering in the shadows, not demanding the justice that God’s law, God’s law proclaimed by Christ, demands. If more of us cower, unsavory types can move in and make money from our collective misery. If we aren’t active in our societies, who will do the work of preserving, fertilizing, and enhancing so that our world is more in line with what God envisions for humanity, instead of what wealthy billionaires would inflict on us all? I know which one has a vision that is better for those of us outside the elite, and it’s not the wealthy billionaires. It’s God, the way God has been made known through the generations, through ordinary people like my grandmother.


My grandmother and I ate those tomato sandwiches in her breakfast nook, not the formal dining room. In that room, in addition to boxes of breakfast cereal and the everyday dishes, sat her hymnbook, her Bible, and her daily devotional. She began each day with a daily devotional and each meal was punctuated with prayer: prayers for her family, prayers for her church, and prayers for the world beyond. Those of us who joined her for meals saw a powerful, albeit quiet, example.


I have learned my grandmother’s lessons well, although not necessarily in the ways she might have foreseen. I will always salt my tomato sandwiches—with kosher salt, if it’s available. And I will spend every day looking for ways to be the salt in the larger world.


We live faithful lives, salty lives, in order to create the kind of soil that can support God’s vision, a vision of flourishing, not floundering. We live faithful lives, salty lives, so that society can be the kind of garden that will NOT be poisoned for the purposes of empire, so that those enemy poisons WILL NOT take root. We live faithful lives, salty lives, to nurture the next generations coming after us who will continue the work. We are not useless condiments, salt without flavor, just taking up space on the shelf. NO. We are here to keep our commitment to God. We are here to follow that commitment to the larger community. We are tiny grains of salt, each and every one of us good, each and every one of us able to overpower the evil that threatens to root itself in our communities. We are here to rebuild the ruins, to restore the streets, to repair every breach. In our doing, we will solidify the foundations of future generations.

Revisiting Reformation History

I am taking a Lutheran Foundations class at United Lutheran Seminary.  Because I went to a Methodist seminary, my Candidacy Committee required that I take this class on my route to ordination.  I thought it was a course in Lutheran theology, but it's much more than that.  It's a class that addresses the question:  what does it mean to be a Lutheran?

In yesterday's class, we went over the history of the Reformation, which was more than just Luther nailing his theses to the Wittenberg door.  Much of it was familiar to me from Church History class, but we spent a lot more time focused on the German part of the Reformation.

My professor stressed how the people of Luther's time must have seen these developments as God/Holy Spirit involvement.  Here's Luther, in a distant outpost of the Holy Roman empire, in a small university, causing all this disruption, and living to tell the tale.  I tend to think of Luther, and it was good to remember that he was about as marginal as it was possible to be, without being a peasant.

My professor pointed out that if you're the pope, and you excommunicate someone, you no longer have power over them.  Similarly, if you're the Emperor, and you put a price on someone's head outlawing them, you've played your highest card.  If that person persists in their actions, you've got no leverage left.

We talked a bit about Calvin too, less about Henry VIII.  At the end of class, our professor showed us a map of Europe showing which parts were Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist.  It's amazing to think about how these developments happened in a century, and people were very aware that they were living in a time of great change (unlike, say, people living in the 14-16th century, who were probably not thinking of themselves as living in "The Renaissance").

It's no wonder that Luther's contemporaries thought of him as having supernatural powers.  I'm trying to decide whether to use these ideas in Sunday's sermon or in a Transfiguration Sunday sermon.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, February 8, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 58:1-9a [9b-12]

Psalm: Psalm 112:1-9 [10]

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 2:1-12 [13-16]

Gospel: Matthew 5:13-20


With the Gospel for this Sunday, we get our mission statement from Jesus. We are to be the salt of the earth, the light of the world. Maybe you read the Gospel for Sunday, and you despair. Maybe you've felt much more like a flickering candle lately. Maybe you yearn for verses about dimly burning wicks and the assurance that God will not extinguish you for your lackluster burning.

Jesus tells us that we are to let our light shine, but he doesn't tell us how hard it will be some days. As a child, I always thought that once the light was lit, the hard part was over. I would just shine and shine and not hide my light under a bushel and not let Satan pfff it out (as that old song goes).

I did not anticipate the days and months I would feel like I had no light at all, no wick to light, no oil left in the lamp. I did not anticipate the days that I would wish I had a flicker, a guttering flame.

How do we keep our light from going out? I feel certain that it's in the various disciplines that we adopt to strengthen our spiritual lives: praying, journaling, reading the Bible, reading other spiritual literature, being in nature, fasting, feasting, tithing, charitable giving, working for social justice, practicing gratitude, caring for those who need us, noticing the wonders of the world.

It's important to realize that we can't keep our lights lit if we see this activity as a once-a-week duty. I suspect that even a once-a-day duty isn't enough. We need to develop disciplines that reorient us throughout the day. We need to build in breaks throughout the day to attend to our wicks and lights.

Maybe we could tie these spiritual disciplines to other breaks we must take during our days. You've probably done this practice at one point in your life: we could say a prayer of gratitude before we eat. We could listen to spiritually uplifting books or music during our commutes or workouts.  As we wash our hands throughout the day, we could remember our baptismal promises.  Many charitable activities force us to keep to a schedule.

It’s important to remember that we are often the only light of Jesus that many people will see throughout the week. How would our attitude and behavior change if we saw our lives through this prism? We are the instruments and tools that God uses to deliver God’s light into the world. How can we make ourselves better at the task?

Some of us think that we need to lead people to Jesus by talking to them about our faith. But our lives and our actions have already done all the talking before we ever open our mouths. Keep that in mind as you interact with people. Let your life do the shining. Be the salt that adds savor to everyone’s surroundings. Glorify God in this way.

The Feast Days of Anna and Simeon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Halfway Point of Winter

We are at the halfway point of winter--halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Today is Candlemas, where Christians celebrate the presentation of Jesus at the Temple, and pagans long ago celebrated the goddess Brigid (and the feast day of St. Brigid was yesterday), and some Wiccans today will be celebrating at Imbolc, or a variation of any number of pagan holidays. It's also Groundhog's Day. It's one of those times when we can almost perceive the shifting of the seasons. It's not spring yet, but it will be soon.

Candlemas is the feast day that speaks to me. Candlemas celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple. It's the last feast holiday that references Christmas. We could see it as the final festival of Christmas, even though most of us have had the decorations packed away since even before Epiphany.

This morning I'm thinking of Simeon, who held onto the promise of the Messiah throughout his very long life before he saw it fulfilled. He waits and he waits and he waits. But finally, at the end of his life, he does hold the Messiah, the light of the world, in his hands.

Simeon holds the baby Jesus. Imagine it: to hold the light of the world in your hands. In so many ways we still do. We carry the light of the world inside us. How can your body deliver light to the world?

Some churches and monasteries will bless the year's supply of candles. I love this tradition, although it's never been mine. Today would be a good day to light a candle and to think about our own lights. Are we dimly burning wicks? Take heart--the Bible promises that we can still be useful. Does our light burn pure and true? Take care to protect that flame.

The holidays of early February (Groundhog Day, Candlemas, St. Brigid's Day, Imbolc and Oimelc ) remind us that the light hasn't really left us. Spring will be here soon.

A Poem for the Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland.  She is one of the early Christians, living from roughly 451-525 (AD/CE) who stood at the intersection of Christianity, Druidism, and the other pagan religions of Ireland.  This time period was also a time of societal collapse--the Roman empire was in slow (albeit sometimes spectacular) decline/collapse, and if I'm remembering my history correctly, Ireland and England were attacked by various tribes from the northern parts of Europe.  It would have been a difficult time.

Brigid is one of those extraordinary women who did amazing things, despite the patriarchal culture in which she lived.  She founded founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare.  She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination.  The illustrated manuscript, the Book of Kildare, was created under her auspices.  Unfortunately, it's been lost since the Reformation, so we know it by its reputation only.

Monastic, administrator, artist--it's no wonder that her story calls to me from across the centuries.

I didn't really know much about Brigid until about 2011 or 2012, when I read several blog posts about her.  In 2013, I drove all the way to Mepkin Abbey on her feast day.  I thought about her life as I drove across cold landscapes.  I finally wrote a draft of the poem that appears below.

Years ago, I wrote this:  "I will try to imagine Saint Brigid through a more realistic lens.  I will write a poem where she tells me that she accomplished all sorts of things along the way, while all the time struggling to create her great illuminated work.  I will imagine something that she did that we know nothing of.  I will imagine that she will feel sad when she realizes that modern people don't even know of her great work, but instead of her institutions at Kildare and beyond.

I will think about a woman at midlife 1500 years from now, a woman who reads about my life.  What will amaze her?  How will she see the ways that I did, indeed, live an authentic life, even as I lost sight of that fact in the daily minutiae?  If she blogged about me, what would seem important enough to include?  How would she finish this sentence:  In the last half of her life, Berkey-Abbott accomplished ______________  ?"

I have yet to write about Brigid's lost work, but I did write the poem that imagines Brigid through a more realistic lens.  It was published in Adanna, and I'm happy to repost it here.  If you want additional background on Brigid, see this blog post.


The True Miracle of Saint Brigid


You know about the baskets
of butter, the buckets of beer,
the milk that flowed
to fill a lake.

You don’t know about the weeks
we prayed for the miracle
of multiplication but instead received
the discipline of division.

I managed the finances to keep us all fed.
By day, I rationed the food.
At night, I dreamed of a sculpture
manufactured of metal.

I didn’t have the metal
or the time, but in the minutes
had, I illuminated
any scrap of paper I could find.

Lost to the ashes:
The Book of Kildare, but also
my budget ledgers, flowers
and birds drawn around the numbers.

Making Valentines as Support for Social Justice

Over on Facebook, I've been watching an event take shape, something that we can do to support people showing up to demand social justice in Minneapolis:  make Valentines!

On the face of it, it may seem pointless.  Surely we should send money.  Or perhaps our troubled time demands more:  going to Minneapolis to be part of the protests.

But for all sorts of reasons, many of us can't do that.  But we can make Valentines.  

Here are the details:

Love Casts Out Fear

Pocket Valentines for Our Neighbors

This Valentine’s season, we’re reclaiming love as an act of courage.

Saint Valentine is often remembered for hearts and romance—but at the heart of his story is something deeper. Valentine was a Christian martyr, a witness to love that refused fear, even when it cost him his life.

In that same spirit, we’re inviting people of all ages and all beliefs to create small, simple Valentines that will be shared with immigrants, protestors, and neighbors in the Minneapolis area as a reminder:

 Love casts out fear.
 Love overcomes hate.
 You are not alone.

Bethlehem Lutheran Church and Nokomis Heights Lutheran Church both in Minneapolis have generously agreed to serve as a collection points for these Valentines. Nokomis Heights is a bilingual congregation and you are welcome to send message in English and Spanish.

You do not have to be Christian to participate.
You do not have to quote the Bible.
You just have to believe that love still matters.

⸻

 What to Make

Please keep Valentines:
• Small (index-card size or smaller)
• Lightweight
• Easy to pass out
• Easy to slip into a pocket, coat, or backpack

Think simple, durable, and human.

Great ideas:
• Cardstock or heavy paper
• Handwritten notes
• Simple drawings or hearts
• Short messages of love, courage, dignity, and belonging in English or Spanish

Please avoid:
• Glitter, bulky items, or anything fragile
• Candy or food
• Political party slogans

The goal is connection—not clutter.

⸻

 What to Write (Kid-Friendly & Open to All)

These Valentines may be received in moments of stress or uncertainty. Keep messages short, gentle, and easy to read—something that feels like a hand on the shoulder, not a lecture.

Simple messages like:
• “You are loved.”
• “You belong.”
• “Love is stronger than fear.”
• “You are not alone.”
• “We’re glad you’re here.”
• “You matter.”

These are perfect for kids, classrooms, families, and groups.

⸻

 Optional Bible Verses About Love & Neighbor

If you’d like to include Scripture, short verses or paraphrases are welcome. Please keep them brief and compassionate.

Great options:
• “Love casts out fear.” — 1 John 4:18
• “God is love.” — 1 John 4:8
• “Love your neighbor as yourself.” — Mark 12:31
• “Let all that you do be done in love.” — 1 Corinthians 16:14
• “Nothing can separate us from love.” — Romans 8:38–39 (paraphrase encouraged)
• “Do justice. Love kindness.” — Micah 6:8 (excerpt)

Paraphrasing Scripture into everyday language is encouraged—especially for kids.
⸻

 Send to:

Love Cast Out Hate
C/O Bethlehem Lutheran Church
4100 Lyndale Ave S
Minneapolis, MN 55409

OR

Nokomis Heights Lutheran Church
5300 10th Ave S
Minneapolis, MN 55417
⸻
Love that can fit in a pocket can still change someone’s day.
⸻

 Why This Matters

In a time when fear is loud and cruelty is normalized, small acts of love become radical. These Valentines won’t fix everything—but they will remind someone that love still shows up, still walks the streets, still believes people are worth protecting.

Sometimes resistance looks like a protest.
Sometimes it looks like a pocket-sized heart.

⸻

 How You Can Help
• Make a few Valentines
• Invite friends, kids, classrooms, or congregations to join
• Share this event widely
• Hold the recipients in love and prayer

Love is not naïve.
Love is brave.
Love still shows up.

New Bishops, New Weather Reports

 Once again, I am looking at weather reports.  But I'm also looking at pictures of the installation service (right term?) for Sarah Mullally, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, the head of the Anglican church worldwide.  These pictures were posted widely on Facebook, so I'm hoping it's O.K. to post them here.  

Posted at the St. Paul's Cathedral Facebook Site

In this context, I mean Anglican as in the Church of England, not the group that broke away because the Church of England is too radical.  Ordaining women would be seen as evidence of that radicalism, not to mention choosing a woman to lead the whole church.

Posted at the St. Paul's Cathedral Facebook site

I'm struck by how young she is in terms of her career as a pastor.  She had a career as a cancer nurse before her ordination in 2002; she was in her first bishop position in 2015.  She was born in 1962, so some folks (me) might see her as young, while others might sigh and wish for even younger leadership.

Posted on the Canterbury Cathedral Facebook page

The above picture first grabbed my attention.  What must it be like to be the stonecarver, engraving her name into the wall?  Does one have to work up to that position?

And what must it be like to be the one to see their name on the wall?

It's a tough time to come to leadership, but one thing my Church History class taught me is that it's always a tough time to be a bishop or an Archbishop or even a pastor.  I'm hoping for easy weather for her, for all of us.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, February 1, 2026:

First Reading: Micah 6:1-8

Psalm: Psalm 15

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:18-31

Gospel: Matthew 5:1-12

Here we are again, at one of the touchstones of our faith, the Sermon on the Mount (alternately called The Beatitudes). Those of us who have been going to church for many years have likely heard it so often that we zone out at the reading of it. We might say to ourselves, "Yeah, yeah, blessed, blessed, got it."

Now is a good time to revisit this text. Now is a good time to use that old technique from the ancient practice of lectio divina: sit with this text, reading it several times, and take note of what jumps out at you. That might be God talking to you through the text.

You could also use a similar technique from literary analysis. In my literature classes, I often ask, "Which character speaks to you?" Here I would ask, which verse speaks to you?

Are you that person who mourns? Are you hungering for righteousness? Are you making peace?

Maybe you have a darker glimmer:  maybe you've forgotten to notice your hunger for righteousness.  Maybe you need to do more to make peace.  Maybe it's time to repent, in the way that John the Baptist calls people to repent, to turn away from our ways to the ways of God. 

The text reminds us of how to act when we're turning to the ways of God.  We are to treat ourselves and others with mercy, with compassion, with comfort. The text reminds us that just because we follow Jesus, our path will not be easy. On the contrary, we will likely face persecution. But Jesus doesn't let us off the hook. This text tells us how we are to act and what we are to value.

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that God's way is not the world's way. Read this text one night as you watch T.V. and marvel at the difference in values. The world worships wealth and power. The world worships beauty and power. The world worships those who boss the rest of us around. The world worships those who ship our jobs away, those who buy low and sell high, those who ignore the rules and succeed.  The world exalts those who trample on others to get what they want.

Our Gospel this week reminds us of God's rules, the way that we succeed in God's eyes. Our Gospel this week gives us God's promise that we will be comforted, that even though we may be meek in the eyes of the world, we will be filled with good things.

Snow Days and School Days and Anxiety

This morning, I'm feeling oddly anxious.  I have much less reason to feel anxious this week than last.  The ice storm wasn't as bad as we feared it might be.  I had been worried that the seminary class that I'm taking starts Thursday, and I haven't gotten a Zoom link or seen a course shell uploaded in Canvas--this morning, it's there.  We have power, internet, and water, and I have another remote learning day today, so I don't have to worry about the roads.  My spouse had jury duty today--also cancelled.

So why the anxiety?

I've been trying to get to the bottom of my anxiety, trying to understand.  I'm sure part of my anxiety stems from my schedule ramping back up again--so, even though this week includes some extra time at home, most weeks won't be like this.  I've also been feeling anxiety about taking another seminary class with worries about all that could go wrong trying to take root in my brain.  What if the Zoom link doesn't work?  What if the class requires too much of me?  What if this class is the one that breaks me?

I do have to laugh at myself.  I've been taking online classes for 5 years, and I've never run into problems I couldn't solve.  I explored the course shell, and the assignments look manageable.  I have the textbooks.  And then there's the larger situation:  I'm not a 25 year old, just starting out on my life's journey.  I have a full-time job that doesn't depend on this seminary class.

My anxiety might also be sadness masquerading as anxiety.  Why am I sad?  Well, I've enjoyed these snow days, even as I felt anxious about all the ice that might fall.  I'm sad to see this snow vacation come to an end, sad even as I have at least one more day to enjoy.

Let me make a list of some moments that I don't want to slip away:

--I've enjoyed the cooking we've done,  from the seafood stew on Saturday to last night's homemade pizza made in cast iron pans.  I've baked bread, both an oatmeal bread on Saturday and a pumpkin bread this morning.

--We watched Sinners on Saturday--what an amazing movie!  If it hadn't gotten so much Oscar buzz, I might have skipped it, thinking it would be too gory a horror movie.  Thankfully, the gory parts weren't too gross, and the horror bits weren't haunting.

--I've done a lot of sewing and sorting of fabric.  I decided that I was ready for a change from the Christmas fabrics that I had been using, so yesterday I made the shift back to the same type of project, sewing log cabin patchwork out of scraps, but using a wider variety of fabrics.

--Yesterday I took an unintended nap.  I had laid down in the late morning to watch the glitter snow that developed in the morning but was only visible when seen through sunshine.  The trees gleamed through their ice glaze.  Next thing I knew, I was waking up from a deep kind of nap.

Sunday Snow Day Short Worship by Way of Technology

On Saturday afternoon, my spouse suggested that I make some sort of recording for parishioners, since we weren't having any sort of worship service at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  While I thought it was a great idea, I decided to wait until Sunday morning, so that I would have time to think about the best approach and write down a few thoughts/prayers.

I decided that it should be more than just a prayer for all of us stuck inside because of the weather, although I did want to do that too.  I decided on reading the lectionary selections for the day, having a bit of a meditation, and closing with prayer and a benediction.

I use the live recording feature of Facebook every morning as I do my morning watch devotional time that I started during Covid.  But that's with my South Florida church's page, not my own.  Happily, it was just as easy on my own page.

I tagged the church in the space where one puts the date/title and a short description.  As I broadcast, one of my morning watch people who usually watches the 5:30 a.m. broadcast joined us.  Within 15 minutes of finishing the broadcast, the member who manages the church's Facebook page had linked back to my post.

I was also able to capture the recording and put in on my YouTube page and then to send the link to the church's e-mail list.  You can view it here if you like--it's open to all.

Certainly more people have viewed it than just the church membership of roughly 40 adults.  Right now, the number of viewers is at 456, and I have no idea what counts as a viewer.  I've tried some experimenting on my own, but the viewer count doesn't go up--but perhaps that's because it's my page?

I did hear from church members who appreciated my effort, so that alone made me feel it was worthwhile.  If it reaches others who find it meaningful, that's great too.  On a week-end so full of troubling news and difficult weather, I'm glad I was able to minister in some form.

Hurricane Prep, Winter Storm Prep

It's been an interesting process, preparing for this widespread winter storm.  In some ways, it's reminded me of hurricane prep, especially in terms of making sure we have the supplies that we need, in case we're cut off from the world for several days.  

But of course, a winter storm is different than a hurricane.  I haven't been worried about the perishable food in the refrigerator--if we lose power, we can put the food outside.  I have been researching carbon monoxide risks with a propane heater that's rated for indoor use, something we never would have needed in South Florida.

Just like with a hurricane, it's hard to know what part of the storm will arrive with what intensity.  So far, we're doing fairly well here, but that could change this afternoon.  And let me be clear, when I say we're doing fairly well here, I am not leaving the house because of the wintry mix that fell and keeps falling and the slick surfaces.  But we have electricity, and so far, the tree branches seem to be their normal shape.

I have gotten most of my information through various online weather sites, not the TV news.  I wonder if the coverage is the same kind of intensity as hurricane approaching coverage.  One of my colleagues at Spartanburg Methodist was so freaked out by it all that she left town, and there was a moment when I wondered if she took the wiser approach.  If the ice had been thicker, if we were out of power for a week or more, I'd say that she was the smart one.  I may yet--we still have hours of precipitation yet to fall.

I do wonder how much of my jitteriness has also been because of Hurricane Helene.  I filled up the stock pot with water, to go with some of our jugs of water left over from Helene--just in case the water system goes down.  Before Hurricane Helene, I wouldn't have thought I needed to worry about that here in the mountains.

I'm glad we decided to cancel worship.  I would not have been able to make it across the mountain, and I am guessing that the roads in Bristol, Tennessee are as bad or worse than they are here.  

My spouse suggested that I do an abbreviated worship, and so I experimented with that this morning.  I did a Facebook Live broadcast on my Facebook page, and then I captured the video so that I could put it on my YouTube channel (you can view it here).  The Facebook post has already gotten more views than almost anything else I've done there.  I don't really know what counts as a view, so I am not reading too much into this.

I'll close with a prayer I wrote for the Sunday devotional time:  

Creator God, as we wait for the storms to pass, give us patience and strength. Help us to remember that you are with us in every kind of weather, both the literal weather and the other types of storms that threaten us. Inspire us to be the light of the world, today and every day.

Epiphany Stars and Haiku-Like Creations

It is lovely to have a morning where I'm not racing around doing storm prep.  Yesterday I decided that I should leave even earlier than my usual MWF time of 7:15-7:30, so I was out the door just after 6.  I was able to get more gas for the car and stop by the grocery store one last time.  It turned out to be a wise decision.  I was able to get some ice melt granules, the ingredients for the seafood stew (recipe here) I want to cook today, and treats.

I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of student attendance yesterday.  Thursday night, the e-mail announcing distance learning on Monday went out.  I decided that I would hold class as normal, to respect the students who did come to class.  My 9 a.m. class was only missing 2 students, the normal absence rate.  By my afternoon class, the e-mail from the school president had gone out, telling students that we're looking at a significant ice storm and that they should go home if possible.  Still, I decided to have class.

Let me record the poetry writing experiment that I did with my English 102 students.  

On Wednesday, we looked at versions of the arrival of the Magi, which I described in this blog post.  Yesterday, I brought in poems inspired by the text, along with epiphany stars with words on the back.  

I began by having them choose three stars and writing the words on a piece of colored paper that I gave them.  I then talked about the ways I've used the stars as a pastor, the ways I describe in this post.  I had them think about the words while I passed out the first poem, Jan Richardson's "Wise Women Also Came."  As I read the poem, I had the students underline words and phrases that struck them for any reason, at least three.  We did the same thing with T.S. Eliot's "The Journey of the Magi."  We also had a bit of conversation.

I gave each student three more stars, and then we returned to the yellow sheets of paper.  I had them write one of the lines that they had underlined on the yellow paper.  Then they wrote one of the new star words.  Then they wrote words that rhymed with the star word or words that started with the same letter.  They wrote another line from the poem that they had underlined and another star word.  Then they wrote a New Year's resolution, theirs or someone else's.  Then another line from the poems and another star word.  I put this sentence on the board (You will ___________) and asked them to imagine that they met a wise sage that could foretell the future from the stars; what would they want the sage to fill in the blank or to say to them?  Then I had them write another line from the poem.

Now they had a lot of stuff on the yellow paper, and we moved to the condensing part of the creation process.  I showed them my collage with the haiku-like creation I created a few weeks ago with my neighborhood friend and creativity partner:

Here's the haiku-like creation that I wrote:

Wise ones return home
but by a different way
empire's long shadow.

I do tell them that there's so much more to haiku than just the syllable count, but for now, we're only focusing on syllables, as a way to try condensing ideas and lines into something that might be more profound, but it doesn't have to be.

We took the last 10 minutes of class for students to try their hand.  They came up with some interesting short/haiku-like creations.  If I had more time, it would be interesting to add collaging to this process, to see if images prompt anything different.

This experience has been so fruitful that I'm adding it to my list of possibilities for my creative writing class.  

And now, since the day is not going to improve in terms of weather, let me go out on a walk.  I am not likely to have a chance to walk outside again for the next few days, in the storm and its aftermath.

How Are You Different? Have You Changed? Questions to Assess Spiritual Progress

Many of us approach spiritual practices with an eye to doing them better and better.  We think we will master the technique.  There are all sorts of dangers to this approach of course--chief among them, that when we think we aren't mastering them, we may give up.

Take meditation, for example.  I used to try to empty my mind, and I would declare, "I'm no good at this."  But even the process of trying gave me a window into the way my brain spends its time.

I am now good at seeing various thoughts spiral and saying, "Hmm, my mood just took a dip because of what that person said to me.  Let me process this."

Once I thought that if I got really good at this process, there would come a day when my mood wouldn't dip at all.  My spiritual director at the time said that the goal of the process is to become more aware, that I wouldn't ever reach a time when others had no power to affect me.

At first, I was disappointed, but I've come to see the comfort in her words.

So, as we assess spiritual practices, perhaps we shouldn't ask ourselves questions about our mastery of the practice.  Maybe better questions are "Have you changed since starting this practice?  How are you different?"

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, January 25, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 9:1-4

Psalm: Psalm 27:1, 5-13 (Psalm 27:1, 4-9 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:10-18

Gospel: Matthew 4:12-23

Here we are this week, still in the early days of Jesus' ministry. We see him call the disciples with that famous offer to make them fishers of people. He goes out to preach and teach.

But notice that early on, he's also ministering to the physical needs of people. He's not here to talk to them about their spiritual ailments. He tells them that the kingdom of heaven has come near, but he doesn't go around haranguing people about their selfish natures and the need to pray more.

Notice that his fame spreads, and it's probably not because of his brilliant teaching or a glimpse of heaven on earth. People will come from far and near if one of their physical ailments can be lessened.

Jesus also addresses, at least indirectly, their emotional ailments. As he heals and teaches, he's creating a community. It's exhausting work. But again, he knows that people aren't going to overthrow their established way of doing things unless they get something substantial in return.

Notice that Jesus doesn't talk in terms of eternal salvation, at least not in this part of the Gospel. He doesn't promise a place in Heaven if people will just endure their ailments during this life. He doesn't tell people that they'll be popular in Heaven to make up for being outcast on earth.

No. He creates a community and includes all of these people.

His ministry addressed the very real, the very physical, the very present needs of the people around him. It's an example we should keep in mind, as we order our own lives, and as we think about the future of our individual church and the larger Church.

As we think about outreach, we should keep the example of Jesus in our mind. We should ask ourselves what our lives show others about Christian life. As we think about our individual lives and about what God has called us to do, we should keep God's example in mind. What is our larger purpose? How can we effectively minister to a broken and hurting world?

Many of us aren't comfortable talking about our faith, and perhaps that's for the best.  Let people evaluate us by our actions, actions that show our Christian faith in action.  

What would this look like? We can help out our coworkers who need it. We can invite lonely people over for dinner. We can be the person who always has a smile ready. We can be the person who's willing to listen. We can donate money/time/attention to worthy causes and projects.  

We can be the light of the world that God needs us to be--and that the world needs us to be.

Recording of Sunday's Sermon (January 18 sermon)

My sermon on Sunday went well.  I've posted the recording of it here on my YouTube channel.  You can read along in this post on my theology blog.

Sermon for Sunday, January 18, 2026

January 18, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



John 1:29-42


In the Gospel of John, we don’t see the baptism of Jesus the way we do in the other Gospels. In the other three Gospels, we observe the baptism itself. In the Gospel of John, but we don’t see it as it happens, but we do hear about it—here, in today’s reading, through the testimony of John the Baptist. Today’s Gospel reading gives us the testimony of John the Baptist, and it also offers essential questions that can point us to a more faithful life.


We might think of testimony, not questions, as the way that souls are saved, and we get testimony in today’s reading. In the Gospel of John, we find out about the baptism of Jesus because of John the Baptist’s testimony; in short, readers and hearers of the Gospel find out about it secondhand, unlike the other 3 gospels.


Then, John the Baptist has a chance to do what he has urged others to do. He has spent his ministry preparing himself and others for the one to come—and now, here he is, the Messiah, Jesus. When Jesus walks by, John points him out to his own disciples. In essence, John the Baptist is handing over his ministry to Jesus. He’s giving up his power, something we almost never see in human life. John could have claimed the title for himself, and if you go back to earlier passages that aren’t included in today’s reading, earlier in the first chapter of the book of John, we see religious leaders asking John the Baptist the same questions they will later ask Jesus: “Who are you anyway? Are you the messiah, the one we’ve been waiting for?” It’s a question that we still ask: are you the one who is able to deliver us from this oppressive regime?


John is very clear: he says, “I am not the Messiah. I am not even worthy to untie his sandals.” Think about how easy it would have been for him to say, “Yep. I’m the Messiah. Give me all your money. I am the one you’ve been waiting for—worship me regardless of what I do or say.”


Fortunately, John knows his role in the story—he is not the Messiah, as he reminds people again and again. His role is to prepare people for someone greater than himself and to point to the Messiah, which he does faithfully. One Bible commentary that I read this week pointed out that while many of us like to ask the question “What would Jesus do?”—an equally compelling question would be “What Would John the Baptist do?” While it’s not as easy to put on those rubbery bracelets that were once so popular, it’s the central question that leads to faithful lives. What are we doing to align ourselves to the work of John the Baptist? What are we doing to point others to the Messiah?


Jesus asks another central question that can lead to faithful lives: “What are you looking for?” We have a sense of what John the Baptist and his disciples wanted: deliverance, change, the long-awaited Messiah. What’s less clear is what kind of Messiah they had in mind.


Christians know that they’ve found a savior in Jesus, so we might think the question is no longer relevant. But considering the question from all directions is a fruitful spiritual practice.


What are we looking for? We might long for a time not so long ago when everyone went to church; we might say we need deliverance from the misguided society, in whatever ways we think our current society isn’t living right, acting right, in our right minds. Or maybe we are the ones not living the righteous lives that we yearn to experience. Maybe we have habits that we’d like saving from or relationships where we need a savior to come and offer redemption. Maybe we once had a sense of where we were going, but we feel like we’ve lost our way.


Notice the response of Jesus. I’ve read this passage numerous times through the years, and I always focused on Jesus saying, “Come and see”: come and see where Jesus is living, come and see what Jesus is doing. As I returned to the passage earlier this week, I was struck by this sentence: “They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day.” An earlier translation says they abided with him. Think of that, an afternoon to simply be with Jesus. Not going and doing, but being.


Wouldn’t you love to have been a fly on the wall to observe that afternoon of abiding with Jesus? And we might ask, why don’t we get a record of what happened? It seems important, especially when we hear that Andrew goes out to find his brother. It must have been compelling: Andrew says, “We have found the Messiah.” What did Jesus say? What did Jesus do? In just a few short hours, Andrew is ready to commit to Jesus and to testify to others. How can he be so sure?


Well, for one thing, he’s had a good teacher in John the Baptist. In the Gospel of John, much of the first chapter is devoted to John the Baptist, who has drawn people out into the wilderness for baptism. Some of them don’t go back to their old lives. Perhaps living this discipleship with John the Baptist has prepared Andrew for a new level of discipleship with Jesus.


Or maybe something else happens that afternoon, when two of John the Baptist’s disciples follow Jesus home and never leave him again. They experience the peace of abiding in the true savior. Jesus knows what he’s offering when he says, “Come and see.” The writer of the Gospel of John can assume that we, too, will know what Jesus is offering—perhaps that’s why we don’t get an accounting of what happened that afternoon, because the Gospel itself is a testimony to the Messiah, who has come to be with us.


What will others see when they look at our lives as a testimony and a witness? That’s the third question that emerges from today’s reading. What do people see when they look at our lives? People pay attention to our actions. If our actions don't match our words, people don't accept our words. But it's worse: people see us as hypocrites, one of those Christian types they hate so much. But wait, it's even worse: if our actions habitually don't match our words, people begin to assume that ALL Christians are hypocrites. And the worst might happen if we say we are committing evil in God’s name and we actually do it—what do people learn about God from those actions?


Happily, those of us hearing this sermon are not likely to go out to commit atrocities in the name of Christ. Happily, those of us hearing this sermon are much more likely to live lives that make others want to know what we’ve discovered.


We are surrounded by examples of people who have lived faithful lives that have borne witness to Jesus. There’s this church, of course, the people here in the pews, and the ones who have come before us. Tomorrow we have a federal holiday to celebrate a 20th century faithful disciple, the Reverand Martin Luther King, Jr., who began his adult life following in the footsteps of his father, the Reverand Martin Luther King, Sr.—both men were Baptist ministers.


In any time when I feel despair about the violence in the world, I remember the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his approach of nonviolent resistance rooted in love. It’s a social justice movement that transformed the world, encouraging other oppressed groups to work to ensure that their rights were protected. It’s a movement that led to more of us having more opportunities with more doors opening. It’s a movement that led me to be here, as your minister. Most of us are old enough to remember a time when women could be Sunday School teachers, but not church council presidents or ministers, jobs that went to men. And now, we acknowledge that God calls a much wider variety of humans to ministries of various sorts.


That change happened in our lifetimes. And now, if one of our youth members of the church decided to go down the path of ordination, it won’t be as hard. We will have prepared the ground, in the way that John the Baptist did, by pointing the way to Jesus. We will have planted the seeds, by living lives of faithful witness, lives which inspire people to go and bring others back with them.


Our lives of faithful witness may lead us to big and bold actions, like the ones that the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. inspired. Our actions may be on a smaller scale: visiting the sick or teaching a group of students or saying kind words to those who are having a rough time. Undergirding our actions, an active prayer life can keep us connected to our Creator who yearns for each part of creation to experience a life that is oriented towards flourishing, not towards withering.

We’re surrounded by lives of faithful witness that show us what can happen when we decide to be like John the Baptist, pointing people to the Messiah, when we commit to following Jesus, saying “Come and see” to those who yearn for a different world, a world where power is used responsibly, where we are pointed to the one who is better qualified to lead and redeem us.


These are the essential questions: what would Jesus do? What would John the Baptist do? What can we do? Begin that work, continue that work, today and every day.

Crystalline Shards and Fragments

 I am feeling fragmented today, so let me capture some fragments:

--Part of why I'm feeling fragmented is the shifting forecast.  Will we be able to go to Bristol on Sunday?  It's very unclear.  There's a system that will likely snow on part of the Carolinas--but will it be closer to the coast?

--So, should I write a sermon?  Yes, I probably should.  And if church is cancelled this Sunday, I can probably tweak it so that it works for next week.  This Sunday is the call story of Peter and Andrew in the Gospel of John, and next week is the same story in Matthew.

--Why do we have these two call stories?  I'm assuming it's because of where the moving holidays fall, specifically Easter and the Baptism of Jesus.  

--If I have to write a sermon about each, what on earth will I say?  The Gospel of John has the words "Come and see."  The Gospel of Matthew has the fishing for humans language.

--My brain zings back to class planning.  It's not unpleasant, but it does remind me of why/how the times when I'm teaching in-person classes is SO different from the times when Spartanburg Methodist College is on a break.

--All of my classes have met for their first day.  They all feel good, with at least a few students who seem bright-eyed and ready to get going.

--So now the easy part is over.  Now I need to focus on what we're going to do each day.  I have broad ideas.  I understand why some people start the semester with day by day course plans, but I never have done that.

--If I did that, would I feel like I have more time to focus on other things?  I would feel that way, but I would probably not do the other things, like poetry writing.  

--I think about sermon writing, which I do every week.  If I had a weekly poetry assignment, like a paid column, would I be more focused week after week?  Yes, if I had a paid gig, I would.

--I think I will walk this morning.  It's going to be cold and windy all day, so I might as well walk early.  And maybe there will be snow flurries!

--I was hoping for a bit of snow yesterday afternoon, but alas.  We prepared as if there might be snow:  charging the phones, bringing the portable heater inside, making a pot of chili, that kind of thing.  Despite the lack of snow, it was cozy and nice.

--We're getting a bit more light outside, a very filtered light just before sunrise.  I think that it might be snowing now.  Or perhaps it snowed more last night than I thought.  But as I look across the trees, it does look snowy.

--When I took the last of the recycling to the curb a half hour ago, the air itself seemed crystalline. There weren't many snow flurries, but I could feel tiny shards of ice on my face--not altogether unpleasant, but not the joy of snow either.   

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, January 18, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 49:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 40:1-12 (Psalm 40:1-11 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:1-9

Gospel: John 1:29-42

Today's Gospel continues the story of Jesus' baptism, and it has lessons for each of us. Notice that Jesus doesn't get baptized and go home to sit on the sofa. He doesn't say, "Well, I'm glad I got that spiritual landmark over with. Now I don't have to do anything else until I die and get to go to Heaven."

No. Jesus goes out and tackles his mission. What is his mission? The same as ours: to proclaim that the Kingdom of God is revealing itself right here, right now, that God is breaking through our mundane daily life to transform us into better people in a better world.

But notice that Jesus doesn't go around yakking about this all the time. He's not the type of guy that drives most of us crazy, all talk and no follow through. When people ask about his mission, he says, "Come and see."

And what will people see? They will see a man healing the sick, comforting the poor in spirit, feeding everyone regardless of their finances, eating with the outcast, and supporting the lowest people in society's social stratum:  women, children, demon possessed, tax collectors, the diseased, and the like. They will see a man who sacrifices his social life and prospects for a long life so that other lives will flourish--and by doing so, he will flourish in ways that wouldn't be possible otherwise. 

When people accept Jesus' invitation to come and see what he is doing, hey will see a man of constant movement.

What do people see when they look at our lives? People pay attention to our actions. If our actions don't match our words, people don't accept our words. But it's worse: people see us as hypocrites, one of those Christian types they hate so much. But wait, it's even worse: if our actions habitually don't match our words, people begin to assume that ALL Christians are hypocrites.

It's tough, this mission of being God's hands in a world that needs so much.  So, let's start with a simple approach.  Each morning, ask God to help you be the light of the world today. Remember that the world watches you, waiting for your light. Remember that when your light shines, other people see it. Forgive yourself for days when you're a dimly burning wick (to use the words of Isaiah's, in last week's readings) and remember that God does not extinguish a dimly burning wick.  Even a dimly burning wick is better than no flame at all.

Martin Luther said that faith should move your feet. We are called to be people who are moving and acting, not people who are waiting to go to Heaven.  Take heart:  even the smallest movements can lead to great changes down the road.

Prayers for Healthy Choices

While I set New Year's intentions, they aren't usually wildly different from year to year:  there are health goals and creativity goals and spirituality goals.  Most years, my sister joins with me on one or more.  We often adopt a word or phrase for the year.  This year, it's an advertising slogan, but we like it:  "2026:  The year that incremental becomes monumental."

This year, we've got some additional people trying to make incremental health changes that will become monumental.  I sent out this e-mail this morning, and because I like the prayer, I wanted to include it here:

"I wanted to let us all know that I prayed for us this morning, and I'll do so every morning. Some times, it helps to know that someone prays for us. It's a simple prayer:

Give us the strength to make healthy choices, the wisdom to forgive ourselves for past unhealthy choices, and the courage to go forward.

Peace be with us all!"

Recording of Sunday Sermon

Yesterday was a good day at church to celebrate the baptism of Jesus.  My youth sermon focused on God's message of being well-pleased with Jesus, even before he's done anything, which is so different from much of our experience in the world.  I put this idea in the context of going back to school.  It is likely the same youth sermon I preached last year, and it's a theme I return to periodically.  I am not worried about the repetition.  I want the youth to remember.

My adult sermon went in interesting directions.  I had the idea of ending with the monks walking for peace yesterday morning, the morning of the Sunday I was to preach the sermon.  That's not unusual for me; I often create the last paragraph the morning of the sermon.  But yesterday, it was a whole new page.  I was happy with it.  I referenced the picture below in the sermon, a picture posted by Sandra Cline, which she titled "Buddhist Monks with a Lutheran Monk."  It's a picture of the monks walking across the now-closed campus of LTSS, more commonly known as Southern Seminary:

The recording of my sermon is here, on my YouTube page.  The manuscript is in this post on my theology page.

Sermon for Sunday, January 11, 2026

January 11, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 3:13-17



Ah, John the Baptist—it’s been a few weeks since we spent time with him, and now, here we are, back at the river Jordan, back with John the Baptist who has been doing a new thing. Baptism the way that John practiced it did not exist before John did it, not that we’ve been able to tell. To be sure, there were ritual baths and sometimes they did symbolize purification, like after a woman had given birth. But those baths were in human-made, enclosed spaces, very private. John the Baptist was out in the wilderness, far away from society, and people came from far and wide, came to be baptized in untamed water, people from every part of the wider community. Baptism brings them together.


John the Baptist is so compelling that Jesus, the Messiah himself, comes to the river Jordan to be baptized. The Gospel of Matthew is the only one that includes the conversation between John and Jesus in which John says that Jesus should be the one doing the baptizing. Jesus’ response strikes me as odd. Instead of praising John for preparing so many people through his ministry, Jesus says, "Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." I don’t know about you, but my brain trips over the words proper and righteousness.


Wasn’t Jesus already righteous? If the Messiah isn’t righteous enough, what hope for the rest of us? Is Jesus talking about John’s need to be proper to fulfill righteousness? Surely not, with John’s total commitment to his ministry.


For the ancient world, the word righteousness was a much more comprehensive concept than what 21st century people envision. We might look at the word and say, well, a righteous person is someone who does the right thing—it’s part of the word, after all. But historically, righteousness is so much more than right behavior.


New Testament scholar Eric Barretto says, “The Greek term is incredibly difficult to define, and even more difficult to comprehend theologically. The term can encapsulate complex notions of justice, uprightness, correctness, innocence, and redemption.”


Throughout the Bible, righteous is a word that means more than just doing the right action or having the correct moral scaffolding to support that action. Righteous is a word that also connotes relationship, a right relationship with God.


But it’s hard to imagine that Jesus and John aren’t already in right relationship with God. Again, we ask, why, exactly, does Jesus need to be baptized and why does John need to be the one to do it?


Let’s return to the question of what John is doing out there in the wilderness, before Jesus shows up. We already know the answer to this question. We wrestled with it in Advent when we asked about John’s persistent presence in our Advent space. He was baptizing people, of course.


But why?


Many of us might assume that John baptizes people for repentance of sin. But that’s language that comes from the Gospel of Mark, not the Gospel of Matthew. If we look earlier in the third chapter of Matthew, verse 11, John the Baptist says, “I baptize you with water for repentance” -- repentance yes, but not repentance of sin.


Let’s take a closer look at the word repentance. Many of us hear that word and we think about saying we’re sorry. Or maybe we think about renouncing our bad behaviors. But the Greek word is very different: it’s metanoia. It means a turning around. It means transformation. In this instance, John the Baptist uses it in a very ancient way, the way of the prophet, calling people to be in right relationship with God. This right relationship with God will also result in right relationship with the whole community.


John called first century Jews to be transformed into the righteous people that prophets have always known that they can be. Jesus hears the call and comes to the river Jordan, a river that symbolizes escape from the bondage of past oppressors, like the Egyptian Pharoah and entrance into new life in a promised land.


Jesus comes to John at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, a metanoia point. It’s the beginning of a new phase of life, much the same way we see baptism today. God claims us in baptism, but in the Lutheran church, when we baptize an infant, that infant is claimed for God by parents, godparents, and a whole faith community. That whole community, in turn, commits to that baby. And then, later, on the cusp of adulthood, during Confirmation we ask youth to affirm that they will continue with the promises that adults made for them. To refresh our memories, we promise to live among God’s faithful people, to hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper, to proclaim the good news of Christ in word and deed, to serve all people as we follow the example of Jesus, and to strive for peace and justice throughout the earth (ELW p. 236). Martin Luther encourages us to remember our baptism every day when we use water, and today, I encourage us to remember our baptismal promises by dipping our fingers in the font as we move around the sanctuary, when we’re sharing the peace, when we’re making our way to and from communion.


The baptismal story of Jesus is also one of community. John and Jesus are involved in a communal effort of fulfilling all righteousness. Jesus will continue the work that John has begun, the work of calling people home, calling people into a community based on love, calling people to the life of flourishing that the Creator wants for all creation. And many theologians see baptism as a time when the Holy Spirit comes into the world, in the form of a dove descending, the Holy Spirit set free to do that work of community building, set free to work in and through Jesus, set free to work in and through us all.


For many of us, January can be a dry time. The holidays are now behind us, and while we get an additional minute or two of daylight a day, spring can still feel far away. And then there’s the weight of the larger world.


I’m not going to elaborate on all the griefs that reports from the larger world have been giving us. Instead, I’m going to offer one of my comforts of this past week-end. I’ve been reading about a group of Buddhist monks who are walking from Fort Worth, Texas to Washington D.C. They’re walking for peace, and the whole walk is a form of prayer in movement.


We could spend time debating whether or not this is a good use of their time, but I have been astounded at how many people show up, even on dreary days, to cheer them on. Yesterday they arrived in Columbia, South Carolina, where thousands of people walked to the statehouse with them. Once there, they prayed for peace, Buddhist prayers, Christian prayers, prayers of all kinds. They spent the night in the dorms of the old campus of our Lutheran seminary, where hundreds of people coordinated to cook them meals, carry their bags up the flight of stairs to their dorm rooms, and to be of assistance in any way they could.


I have taken heart in the ways that people have responded, at the ways that these Buddhist monks have reminded us that a better way is possible.


For those of us feeling like a bruised reed or a dimly burning wick, our Gospel today tells us to take heart. One of the beautiful aspects of life in community is that we are not doing everything, all by ourselves. Some days, we’re the ones making the journey. Other days, we’re the ones assisting with meals. Often, we are present in our prayers, while others do their portion.


Hear God’s words again: God is pleased with Jesus, and God is pleased with you. Jesus did not come to earth to snuff out our wicks, whether they are burning brightly or dimly lit. No, Jesus comes to show us—or remind us—of the way. The way to God is through community. Let every day be one of repentance, of metanoia, of choosing the practices that we promise to do at baptism and confirmation. Let us live into our baptismal promises, today and every day, doing what is necessary to fulfill all righteousness, to transform our lives into ones of flourishing.