Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, May 10, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 17:22-31

Psalm: Psalm 66:7-18 (Psalm 66:8-20 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Peter 3:13-22

Gospel: John 14:15-21


In today's Gospel, we get a hint of Pentecost. Jesus tells his followers that he will never leave them orphaned or desolate, to use words from several different translations.

Every year as Ascension Day approaches, I think of those poor disciples. They have such a short time with their resurrected Lord, before he goes away again. How on earth do they cope with this?

I also see this situation as a metaphor for our own modern one. You may be feeling a bit whipsawed by grief and loss yourself. You may recover from one crisis, only to find yourself staring down the maw of the next. As I've gotten older, I've noticed that these crises seem to be increasing in frequency and severity. I look back to the dramas of my high school and college years, and I understand why so many elders chuckle dismissively at the troubles of youth. We forget, however, that trouble feels like crisis, no matter what our age.

But Jesus offers this comfort: we will never be alone.

Notice what Jesus does NOT offer: our God is not Santa Claus. Our God is not a fix everything quickly God (at least not all the time).

I have some acquaintances who claim to have lost their faith on September 11, 2001. They had been faithful in their church attendance, but once that disaster happened, they declared they couldn't believe in a God that would let such terrible things happen. No talk of free will would deter them in their determination to let go of their faith.

Earlier generations had a similar difficulty with Auschwitz (perhaps you do too). How can God let such awful things happen?

Evil has real power in the world, and we forget that at our peril. As Christians, we are called to take a longer view, and we are called to believe that God will eventually emerge victorious--but that doesn't mean that this victory will happen in our lifetimes. We are part of a larger story, and we all have our part to play. But we must be aware that we might be like Moses or the early apostles: we may not see the fruits of our labors; we may not get to the promised land (at least not in this life). The Good News that Jesus delivers should give us comfort: all of creation will be redeemed eventually, and that redemption has begun.

Return to that promise of Jesus: we are not orphaned. We are not abandoned. Even in our darkest days, when we feel at our most unlovable, God sees our value. God remembers our better selves. God knows what we could accomplish. If God can use deeply flawed people like Saul who becomes Paul, God will also weave us into the great fabric of Kingdom life.

Retreat Chef

I have spent this week-end down at the Isle of Palms (near Charleston, SC), being part of a team that cooked for a retreat.  I used to cook for larger groups more often, so I knew I could do it.  But I'm also relieved that we're coming to the end of the retreat, and it's been a success.

We were helped by the fact that it's a group of people who are easy to cook for:  no dietary restrictions, no allergies.  We made pork tenderloin last night, and everyone ate it, and many went back for seconds.  Most of the participants spend much time in caring professions and providing care for family members--it's been years since anyone cooked for them, and they haven't been shy about expressing their gratitude.

It's an amazing kitchen--that helps too.  The kitchen has 2 dishwashers, 2 stoves, and 3 refrigerators.  It's got lots of equipment and all the basics, like dishes and silverware, every type of pot and pan, baking containers in every size and shape.

It hasn't all been cooking.  There's been Bible study and worship and lots of great conversation.  Back in October, on a chilly morning walk, when I agreed to help with the retreat, I hoped it would be this kind of experience.

It's been interesting being back at this retreat center, which is one of two Lutheran retreat centers in South Carolina.  I first came here as part of a campus group long ago in 1983.  My family came here in 1984 with a church group; it was the beginning of summer, and I wondered how I would last without seeing my college friends for a WHOLE SUMMER.

Now I'm thinking about coming back here at some point this summer to reconnect with old friends. 

I haven't done much grading, but I still have time.  Grades are due on Monday and Tuesday--plenty of time, but as I tell my students in the waning days of a term, not as much time as we once had.  I haven't done much writing, but there is plenty of time--a WHOLE SUMMER.

World Labyrinth Day 2026

 Today is World Labyrinth Day.   It's celebrated the first Saturday of May.

For more on labyrinths, this website is full of information. 

Below is  a poem-like thing with some of my favorite pictures of labyrinths I have known and loved:

We have walked labyrinths
made of fabric, made in fields,
laid out in tiles
or offered by cathedrals.

We have relied
on the promises of the labyrinth:
one path in, no dead ends,
no false turns, not a maze.

We have trusted
that the path leads
to a center that can hold
us all in all our complexities.

May Days and Feast Days

Here we are in the merry month of May--how can it already be May? The first day of May has ancient roots as a celebration of Spring and new growth and the return of warm weather. More recently, the first day of May has become a celebration of workers.

So let's think about some ways we could make the day special:

--The traditional way would be flowers, traditionally flowers that we would leave on dark porches for people to discover when they woke up. It's probably too late for that approach, but it's not too late to appreciate flowers. You could buy some flowers or a flowering plant. Or, for future enjoyment, you could do what we did: buy some seed packets, plant them, water them, and see what happens.

--It is probably also too late to weave long ribbons around a Maypole. But we could braid ribbons or strips of cloth and meditate on the types of joy we'd like to invite into our lives.

--Today is a good day to think about workers, workers of all sorts. We're having more of a national conversation these days about work, about gender, about who takes care of children and elders while people work, about the locations of work. I look forward to seeing how it all turns out--I'm holding onto hope for positive change, even as I'm afraid we can never make the improvements that need to be made.

--If we're one of the lucky types of workers, the ones who aren't under threat by bosses or by globalization or by robots, we can support those who aren't as lucky. Send some money to organizations that work for worker's rights. I'm impressed with the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, which works to protect the migrant workers in the fields of Florida, but you certainly have plenty to choose from.

--Can't afford to make a donation? Write letters on behalf of the unemployed, the underemployed, everyone who needs a better job or better working conditions. Write to your representatives to advocate for them. What are you advocating? A higher minimum wage? Safer worksites? Job security? Work-life balance?

--Today, Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Lutherans celebrate the feast day of Philip and James; others will celebrate May 3. These are not the most well-known disciples. Today you could reread the Gospels, a kind of literary Easter egg hunt, to try to find them.

--Can you create something that weaves these strands together? Here are some possibilities: a sculpture made out of ribbons that explores the world of migrant workers. A poem that celebrates flowers and contemplates the ways that we love some blooms (flowers) but not others (algae, cancer). A painting that uses weaving in some ways to think about the past century of efforts to enlarge the workplace and make it safer. A short story that updates the story of Philip--who would he be today?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, May 3, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 7:55-60

Psalm: Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

Second Reading: 1 Peter 2:2-10

Gospel: John 14:1-14

The Gospel text for this Sunday has much to say to modern people.  I come back again and again to the beginning:  "Let not your hearts be troubled."  We are in a time period where so many of us have troubled hearts.

I worry about our hearts becoming hard as stones once we all decide that we're tired of being troubled.  History shows us this trajectory.  Right now many of us are steadfast in our resistance to becoming a country/world that doesn't seem true to our values.  But what happens when we grow tired?

I look at the way part of this passage has been misused, verse 6:  "Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'"  I think of all the ways that passage has been used to persecute those who believe differently.  Are we ultimately on that path?

I worry about the ways that so many of us are engaged in binary thinking, the either-or, in or out thinking that can get us into so much trouble.  We spend much time with ideas exactly identical to ours.  We can go for weeks/months/years without meeting someone with different political ideas than ours.  We live in a different kind of segregated world than that of half a century ago, but it's no less dangerous a segregation.

This morning, I came across a quote from Thomas Merton, in this post from the ever-wonderful Parker Palmer:

"This is of course the ultimate temptation of Christianity! To say that Christ has locked all the doors, has given one answer, settled everything and departed, leaving all life enclosed in the frightful consistency of a system outside of which there is seriousness and damnation, inside of which there is the intolerable flippancy of the saved — while nowhere is there any place left for the mystery of the freedom of divine mercy which alone is truly serious, and worthy of being taken seriously.”

In this quote, we see a way forward.  Even as so many of us are in despair about so many things, God is making creation whole again, in ways that we don't always perceive.

The Gospel text for this week includes an implicit invitation.  Jesus invites us to be part of this redemption of creation when he says, "Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. ¹³ And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. ¹⁴ You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it."

Where and how will you respond to this call?

Jesus Buys a Fixer-Upper

I have been up early, both fretful and hopeful, thinking about taxes, thinking about home renovation shows and real life fixer-uppers, working on some poetry ideas.

I was thinking of mid-life crises, how some of us buy convertibles and others buy run down houses to fix up.  I had planned to work on a poem about Jesus having a mid-life crisis and buying a run down house to renovate--the idea came to me on Friday.  But I worried that readers would reasonably point out that Jesus didn't exactly live until mid-life to be able to have a midlife crisis. 

My Jesus in the World poems can demand a willing suspension of disbelief, since Jesus is doing activities that he didn't do in the Gospels:  bowling, going to a holiday cookie swap, helping with hurricane clean up, and so on.  But I worried that mention of a midlife crisis would disrupt that suspension of disbelief.

Sunday morning, the solution came to me, and it's so obvious I hesitate to admit that it didn't come to me sooner.  I can take out the reference to a mid-life crisis.  Let the reader decide why Jesus is buying a run-down house to renovate. 

There are so many wonderful ways this poem could go--it's so wonderful to have a glimmer of an idea that's closer to fully recognized than just a whisp and to have poem creation to look forward to in the week to come.

Report from the Field: Good Shepherd Sunday

Yesterday was a good Sunday--we welcomed a new member, had donuts, and heard about Jesus as a good shepherd and a gate.  Before the worship service, I met with the two confirmands.  We are at the end of our time together:  I'm gone for the next two Sundays, then we have one Sunday to rehearse, and then it will be Pentecost, the day we'll also have Affirmation of Baptism, which is what we call Confirmation these days.

I felt my sermon was serviceable.  My spouse would have preached a more political sermon, while I worried that I had strayed too much into the realm of politics.  My spouse often hints that he thinks I preach too much on the same themes:  God loves us, the world of empire does not, here's how to survive in a world where the empire is too much with us.

He's not wrong.  When I think about the Good News that my people need today, as my Foundations of Preaching professor advised we do when crafting a sermon, I think about the horrors and sadnesses that my congregation is facing, less so about the horrors and sadnesses faced by the larger world.

The recording of yesterday's sermon is here on my YouTube channel.  If you want to read along, I put the manuscript in yesterday's blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, April 26, 2026

April 26, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



John 10: 1-10



Today is church holiday commonly known as Good Shepherd Sunday. This Sunday in the season of Easter comes to us each year, with the readings focused on shepherds and the idea that Jesus is the shepherd. I’ve thought, written, and preached on this text, and I’ve always focused on the sheep and the shepherd. This year, though, it’s the idea of Jesus as gate that speaks to me.


In some ways, it’s a metaphor that feels dangerous, like it could be misused. Indeed, it has been. First century Christians who heard today’s text would see themselves as the chosen sheep. Through the centuries that have followed, the Jews who came before the time of Jesus were often painted as the ones in verse 8: “All who came before me are thieves and bandits.” But most modern scholars agree that Jesus is much more likely talking about all the other false messiahs that were roaming the country side, taking advantage of people in a time of extreme political and economic insecurity and danger. Let us always remember that Jesus said he did not come to replace the Law and the prophets, but as a fulfillment of them.


The other danger with this text is how it has been used to exclude—even to the extent of justifying public policy. Listen to that first verse again, with the ears of a person who is running for office and wants your vote: “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit.” Anyone who wants to keep people out is likely to advocate for high walls or a big fences—and politicians through the ages have known that one way to win votes is to make us afraid of the thieves and the bandits or to make us want to keep some people out and some people in.


Jesus, though, is not a politician.


Notice that Jesus doesn’t call himself the fence. That metaphor would be different, one of exclusion. Jesus is the gate, which is a much more welcoming metaphor. A gate can open. Is Jesus the only gate? We might talk ourselves into believing that our way of understanding Jesus is the only way, that those who don’t enter through the gate of Jesus are on their way to Hell. But that might not be what Jesus means.


In the book of John, Jesus uses several metaphors to explain himself as Messiah: food, drink, and light. Note that these metaphors show Jesus as essential to life; humans won’t last long without nourishment, hydration, and light. In today’s Gospel, Jesus uses another metaphor of something that is essential to life: safety, the safety that comes from inclusion.


Many people might have heard this Gospel preached as Jesus being necessary to keep us from eternal damnation. In this preaching, Jesus is the gate that allows people to escape Hell. We tend to think of salvation in terms of the afterlife—whether we’re going to Heaven or going to Hell. Where will we spend eternal life?


But Jesus offers us a bigger pasture: safety and protection in the life we’re living now. In the book of John, Jesus often circles back to the idea of what makes life-giving community. He often preaches this vision of life-giving community by using metaphors, and the symbol of the shepherd is one of the most vivid and judging by what images find their ways into churches, one of the most beloved and meaningful. It’s not hard to understand the appeal.


Jesus as a gate gives us a slightly different vision than Jesus as the shepherd. A beloved vision of Jesus as a shepherd is of the shepherd who goes after the one wandering sheep. I’ve preached at least one sermon that ponders the strangeness of this metaphor. If the shepherd goes after one sheep and leaves 99 sheep behind, those sheep are unprotected. A fence with a gate gives those sheep more protection.


It’s not just the shepherd and the fence with a gate that gives an individual sheep protection. The rest of the sheep give protection too. We don’t often hear sermons that preach about the value of sheep. Most of the sermons I’ve heard—or preached—talk about the stupidity of sheep, not the wisdom of being part of a herd. I am thinking of a Far Side cartoon, with one sheep standing on its hind legs saying, “Wait! We don’t have to be sheep!”


I first saw that cartoon on the office door of a professor who wanted students to stand out and be unique, to resist conformity. Although I first saw that cartoon over 30 years ago, not much has changed. We live in an individualistic culture, one that sneers at those who follow the crowd. Many of my students dream of becoming an influencer—maybe through social media, maybe through rising in the ranks of business, maybe by being an athlete. My students are not alone in this yearning. In the U.S., we aren’t raised to want to be someone who follows.


But Jesus comes to remind us that we belong to a different herd. Jesus is the one in charge, not the flashiest sheep who has learned to play the popularity game and rig the algorithms.


Being part of the herd frees us in many ways. We don’t have to analyze the trends. We don’t need to figure out the latest ways to attract the attention of the most powerful people, the ones who will give us a job promotion or money or attention of some other sort. We just need to remember to listen for the voice of the shepherd, the one who has our best interests in his heart, the one who knows our deepest yearnings, the one who wants our flourishing. We need to remember to listen to and for Jesus, and the right flock of sheep can be instrumental in keeping us focused and helping us listen. If we’re lucky, we can find a community like the one described in our reading from Acts.




When Jesus calls himself the gate, he reminds us of what’s inside the gate: a flock of sheep who will help us stay true to the abundant life that Jesus brings us. That life begins in our current life. We don’t have to wait until we’re dead. But it can be hard to remember that the Kingdom of God is inbreaking and ongoing, right here and now, not in some later time. It can be hard to remember when the uglier parts of life are also crashing in right here, right now. As we saw with the road to Emmaus story last week, even if we know the voice of the shepherd, the horrors of the world can plug up our ears.


Luckily, Jesus is the shepherd who walks beside us, teaching us, reminding us of the wisdom we once knew—his wisdom.


Jesus reminds us again and again that he offers us something that the world can’t: nourishment, the spiritual water that will never go dry, and the safety of community. Jesus is the gate that opens to the green pastures and still waters. With Jesus as our shepherd, we can walk through the valley of death, we can face down evil, and we don’t need to be afraid.


Jesus is the gate, not the fence. Walk through that gate. Claim your community. Let your soul be restored.

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. 

A Different Kind of Getting to Know You Exercise

Let me remember to record a really neat getting to know you exercise that we did the first night at the Create in Me retreat.  It's something that could be modified for non-retreat groups, and I'll give some ideas at the end of the post.

Advent

Our retreat theme was "Nature, Imagination, and Liturgy," so our opening exercise revolved around the liturgical seasons:  Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Pentecost, and Ordinary Time.  

Epiphany

When we checked in, we had a nametag with a piece of colored paper in it--we sat at the table that had a larger sheet of colored paper that matched the color in the name tag.  It was a great way to make sure that we mingled new folks with returning folks.

Lent

The color of the paper matched the liturgical season (purple for Lent, for example).  We had a sheet of facts about the season, along with a small, blank banner.

Christmas

There was a table of all sorts of supplies.  Our project was to make a banner that matched the season, along with a song or prayer or poem.  We only had 20 minutes.

Ordinary Time

I admit that I was skeptical at first, as we sat there, every table staring blankly at the blank banner.  But it was a room of creative people, so soon we sprung into motion.  The energy level and discussion level rose.

Pentecost

When we were finished, we went around the room, explaining the banners and presenting our song or prayer or poem.  I was impressed with what we created--and impressed with how this exercise helped us get to know each other through a joint task and some friendly competition.

Easter

Could I create a non-religious variation for the first week in class?  I've used getting to know you Bingo, which is good.  The banner creating meant that people didn't have to move around the room and approach strangers, which is a plus for a lot of people.

Holy Week

I have a vision of this exercise, but with secular holidays and seasons, along with the holiday of Christmas, which is universal for my students.  Could non-creative students rise to the challenge?  I think they could.  Let me tuck this idea away.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, April 26, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 2:42-47

Psalm: Psalm 23

Second Reading: 1 Peter 2:19-25

Gospel: John 10:1-10


In this week's Gospel, Christ mixes metaphors a bit, talking about sheep and calling himself a doorway for the sheep to find pasture. He also warns of thieves and robbers, and we might ask ourselves who are modern day thieves and robbers? Who are the ones who would lead us astray?

Well, there are lots of contenders, aren't there? But the ones I'm finding most insidious these days are all the electronic activities which steal so much of our time away from us. I see more and more people bent over their phones, oblivious to the world around them.

You don’t believe me? Try an Internet fast and see what happens. Could you go for a day without logging on? Could you go for a week?  How long can you go without touching your phone?

These days, many of us rely on the Internet as we shift our work and education activities to be online so that we can work remotely. In some ways, it's a wonderful thing. In some ways, it robs us further of time and attention.

We might tell ourselves that we use our online time to stay connected to family and friends, and I will admit that it’s easier to stay in touch with some people via Facebook and/or texting than it was with e-mail or old-fashioned paper letters. Often, I find myself wondering how my friends and family are REALLY doing.

But do I take the time to ask?  Do I write to them or call?   No. I’m too busy racing off to the next Internet diversion.

We might tell ourselves that the Internet allows us to stay current with what’s happening in the world, and in some ways, it’s a wonderful thing. I can read newspapers from all over the world, often for the price of my Internet connection. Not only that, I can read the opinions of others about those articles. In some forums, I can trade ideas with people. But all of that staying current comes with a price: it takes time away from other activities. Some of those displaced activities might be trading ideas with real people in a real conversation.

Very few of us will find real community via the Internet. We often think we don't have time because we're all very busy these days. But what is really sucking away our time? For some of us, it is, indeed, our jobs. For some of us, we're taking classes.  For many of us, it’s our Internet lives: we’ve got a lot of stuff to read, videos to watch, plus games to play, plus status updates, and all the information we can Google now, and so we do (whereas before, if it required a trip to the library, many of us would have stayed ignorant). 

And if you’re like me, once you’ve spent so much of your day staring at screens, you may find it hard to reconnect to humans at the end of the day. You may feel your brain gone fuzzy. You may find yourself irritable at these humans who demand that you respond. You may withdraw before you ever have/take/make time to reconnect.

The Internet also takes time away from our relationship with God. I’ve found useful websites that allow me to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, but for the most part, I’m not noodling around the Internet looking for ways to enhance my relationship with God—or with anyone else, for that matter. I suspect that if I’m brutally honest, even my relationship with myself suffers when I spend too much time on the Internet.

Now the Internet is not the only tool and resource that allows us to sidestep the hard work of relationship. Some of us drug ourselves with television or with spending more hours at work than the work requires or with the relentless pace of the activities that our children do (and need us to drive them to) or any of the other countless activities that humans use in ways that aren’t healthy.

These activities can not only keep us from relationship with humans but can deafen our ears to the voice of that shepherd that goes out looking for us. Our Bible tells us over and over that God yearns to be in relationship with us. But if we’re too busy for our families and friends, we’re likely not making time for God either.

So, try an Internet/phone sabbath, even if it’s just for a few hours a week. Try doing it every week. Talk to a loved one.  Read a book. Play an old-fashioned board game. Listen for the voice of God who calls to you across space and time. Answer.

A Tale of Three Butterflies

 For most Create in Me retreats, we have a community art project, something we can work on together.  Some times, the work stays at Lutheridge, like the cross as tall as a human, made of clear plastic, filled with broken things.  One year, we knotted a quilt for Lutheran World Relief.  This year, we made a huge butterfly, decorated with bits of nature.  I brought it back to my house because Lutheridge didn't really have a place for it, and it had so much glue on it that I wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave it beside a trail to decompose, as we had once thought we would do:

Here's what it looked like at worship yesterday:

It began as a series of fan blades.  Here's what it looked like when my spouse and I first constructed it last week:

I felt a keen sense of failure and despair at this early stage.  My friend on the planning team had sent me this picture when describing what the group had in mind and asking if my spouse could build the base for it:

I wrote to my friend to tell her that we might not have created what she had in mind.  She wrote back the most perfect reply:  "It will look just as it should--a unique community effort."  I so needed those words, to know that I hadn't let the team down.

In the end, I like what we created better.  One friend used the leftover dried flowers that she created for her drop in station.  We used some of the leftover wood circles that had been cut for a prayer project.  We used interesting bits that people found during outdoor time.  

And in the end, yes, it looked just the way it needed to look--many good life lessons/reminders here.

Long Lasting Labyrinth Made of Braids

Yesterday, I posted this picture after we finished setting up the labyrinth at the chapel at Lutheridge:

Early on, the Create in Me retreat ended with closing worship and a labyrinth walk.  We have occasionally used the labyrinth that was created at the old tennis court, but it's not very accessible--and right now, it's still under downed trees.  So back in 2009, we created the braided strips that make the labyrinth.

How do I know that?  I went back to my blog and found this blog post that describes making the strips.  I also found this blog post which is a photo essay, and this post, which describes the experience of using the strips in words.

I have many reasons for why I continue to blog:  this ability to quickly find answers to the "what year was that?" or "how did this project go?" questions is one big reason why I keep blogging.

On the braided strips, we wrote prayers, along with gratitude and appreciation.  This morning, I thought about those prayers from 2009.  How many of them have been answered?  I thought about all of the people:  those of us we prayed for, those of us who did the praying.  Who is still alive?

I thought of all the ways we've used these long, braided strips:  for every Create in Me retreat since (almost 2 decades!).  Other retreats have used the braids, even non-Lutheridge retreats.  Other people have been inspired to try something similar.  I love that it's a budget friendly way to create a labyrinth.

It's a great metaphor for all the ways that our prayers and communities support us, even as the years and decades go on.  We braid our prayers together, in a variety of ways.  Those prayers braid us together, both immediately and through the years.  God, the master fabric artist, takes our offerings and weaves together our communities into an even more beautiful creation.

First Full Day of Create in Me

In some ways, the Create in Me retreat is the same from year to year:  Bible study in the morning, workshops, drop in stations with a wide variety of supplies and projects, worship and song, and of course, food and snacks (not all of which have this artist theme):

This retreat came with a coloring booklet and pencils on every table.  I haven't colored mine yet, because I might want to make copies.

Our theme is rooted in nature, so we've spent time in and with nature--including a nature walk yesterday.  We had 20 minutes to spend how we wanted, in nature, even if it was no further than steps from the door.  We had some questions to make us more intentional.

I went to my favorite tree, the maple between the Faith Center and the Dining Hall.  I spent time gazing and looking, looking close up, like I require my first year Composition students to do.  It was amazing.

I had a moment where I wanted to lie on the grass gazing up at the tree, but I decided it was unwise for many reasons.  I made an intentional decision not to take a camera or a notebook, to be fully present with the tree.

I love retreats for many reasons, but one reason is because it forces me to do what I say I want to do:  to be more present.

In the afternoon, we did worship planning.  I am always amazed how we come to the meeting at 3:30 with the barest bones of a worship service, and we have a fully-realized worship service prepared by the 6:45 start time.

We ended the day in the Faith Center, creating and talking.  It was a good day.  Of course, every Create in Me day is a good day--it's a foretaste of what could be. 

The Beginning Hours of a Retreat

Last night, the Create in Me retreat started.  It's interesting to see the contrast between this retreat and the Quilt Camp retreat three weeks ago.  It's always startling to walk into the Faith Center and to see all the visual elements of the Create in Me retreat:  stuff on every wall (all pleasing, but lots of stuff), various spots where people can sit apart from the tables, empty tables, tables with arts and crafts supplies, and tables for food and drink.  The Quilt Camp retreat begins with less visual stuff happening, but by the end of the retreat, it, too, has lots of visual elements competing for attention.

These pictures give you a sense, but one photo can't capture the effect of the whole room:

With each retreat, I begin by feeling a bit overwhelmed:  so much I could do, so many people to see.  It's also a bit discombobulating to be on retreat now, when it's so hard to feel like I'm really away.  When I first went on retreats as an adult, the idea was to be away, so there was no internet access.  I didn't have to feel like I needed to stay connected on any level because it wasn't possible.

And it's also different now because I live less than a mile away.  In so many ways, it's more delightful to be nearby.  But it's harder to feel as much on retreat.

For this retreat, I'm not trying to get back to Spartanburg to teach in person.  For the March Quilt Camp, I did try to do both, which I will try not to do in the future.  But in March, I felt like I couldn't take that time, because I had just been away. 

That feeling comes from me, not from the people in charge at my school.  I am so lucky to be in a place where we are encouraged to do professional development, and our choices aren't second guessed or undercut.  Very lucky.

Pioneer Scholars and a Hope for the Future

Yesterday was Pioneer Scholars Day at Spartanburg Methodist College, our first ever.  Last year, we had a smaller, precursor event, where students had time to present posters they had created for a class project.  For those of you who go to academic conferences, you're probably familiar with posters as a way to present research.  If the idea of a poster is unfamiliar, think of the posters you might have made for school projects, but more sophisticated in appearance (i.e. not made with markers and glue) with proper citations of research.

The presentation of posters was still a big part of Pioneer Scholars Day.  In addition, in the morning, we had panel presentations, and an art display.  I was judge for the art display.  During the other morning  events, I heard a panel of papers written for History classes and later in the morning, students presenting their musical compositions on a iPad app.

In the afternoon, graduating seniors presented their capstone projects, a wide variety of work.  The day culminated in a late afternoon celebration of graduates, with happy hour type food.

I signed up for the morning shift, so I didn't stay for the afternoon events.  I was very glad to have a chance to be part of the morning shift.   It was so wonderful to see students presenting their work in a variety of ways--and wonderful to see the variety of work.

Although I went to Newberry College, a small, liberal arts college, I have spent most of my teaching life in other types of schools.  I've found kindred spirits there, particularly in schools that had an English major.  It's refreshing to be teaching in a school where the value of having a diverse education, of becoming a well-rounded human, is a value we all support.  

A few weeks ago, as I was walking to my car, I saw this tire cover on a jeep, with a reference to Thoreau:

Not for the first time, I reflected on how lucky I am to be here, at this point in my life.  Teaching these students, most of them no older than 21, makes me feel hopeful for the future--these students will be able to figure it out, no matter what the future holds for them.

 

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, April 19, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm: Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17 (Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Peter 1:17-23

Gospel: Luke 24:13-35

Today we read of the sojourners on their way to Emmaus. This story gives us an important window into the lives we are to have as Christians, particularly when it comes to the sharing of a meal, and our basic obligations when it comes to hospitality.

That hospitality is the often overlooked side of the Emmaus story. The travelers have walked seven miles together.  For those of you who are wondering, that might take the modern walker, walking at a fast clip, a bit over two hours; in Biblical times, with unpaved roads with poorly shod feet, I'm estimating it would take half a day. When they get back to their house, they don't say to Jesus, "Well, good luck on your journey."

No--they invite him inside. What remarkable hospitality. They share what they have. They don't say, "Well, I can't let you see my house in its current state--let's go out to dinner." No, they notice that the day is nearly done, and they invite a stranger in to stay the night.  They don't direct the stranger to the nearest inn.

Those of you who have read your Bible will recognize a motif. God often appears as a stranger, and good things come to those who invite a stranger in. For those of you who protest that modern life is so much more dangerous than in Biblical times, and so it was safer for people like Abraham and the Emmaus couple to invite the stranger to stay, I'd have to disagree.

Without that hospitality, those strangers never would have known their fellow traveler. We are called to model the same behavior.

One thing we can do in our individual lives is to adopt a Eucharistic mindset. Never has this been more vital. Most people have ceased cooking for themselves, and many Americans are eating at least one meal a day while they drive.

Rebel against this trait. Look for ways to make meals special. Cook for yourself. Invite your friends and loved ones to dinner. Occasionally, invite someone to join your group that is outside of your regular friendship circle--the new person at church/book club/work.  Each week, go to a different bakery and buy yourself some wonderful bread. Open a bottle of wine and savor a glass.

If we can't be together in person, we can do this virtually.  One of the good realizations to come out of the pandemic is that hospitality can be shared from a distance.  It's easier for many of us to have a video call than a phone call, and many of us have the technology to do this now, with our computers and smart phones.  Technology can be distancing, but it can also connect us.

Jesus calls us to a Eucharistic life, which requires a major readjustment of our mindset around the issues of food, drink, time, and hospitality. Consider the Capitalist/Consumerist model that our culture offers us, and the invitation from Jesus looks even more attractive.

So, before the day gets later, go and buy some bread. Think about the many ways that bread (and other grains) sustain most of us throughout the world. Drink some wine and think about the miracle of fermentation; ponder the reality that in many parts of the world, people drink fermented beverages because the water supply is tainted, but fermentation provides some protection.

You are the leaven in the loaf, the yeast that turns grape juice into the miracle of wine--how can you make that manifest in the world today?

Week-end Recap and a Look ahead at the Coming Week

It has been a good week-end; I haven't meant not to blog this week-end.  My basal cell skin cancer removal on late Friday afternoon went well.  In fact, it was the easiest skin cancer removal yet.  Is it because it was on my back, so I couldn't see what was happening?

Whatever the reason, I'm always grateful for easy medical operations.  

We had a week-end similar to so many, filled with cooking, baking, running errands, looking at mindless TV and mindful internet wandering, both together and apart.

In some ways, my Sunday was easier than most Sundays.  We had a group of seminarians and college students staying at the church.   They were in town for the race, and they slept and had meals at the church, which they've done every time they're in town. The seminarian preached 2 great sermons, both the youth sermon and the other one, and he and 2 friends assisted with communion. Their enthusiasm for life in all its facets made me feel like maybe civilization has a chance after all.

I didn't have to craft a sermon for yesterday, but I still spent time writing a sermon--I won't be with my congregation this coming Sunday, so I'll need to have a sermon to them.  I had hoped to have it ready to leave at the church yesterday, but it was not to be.  I got a draft done, but it was still in rough shape yesterday.

This morning, I've done some revising, and I'm happy that it's stronger now.  I'll put it aside, do one or two more revisions and call it done.

This week will be one of schedule disruptions.  Tomorrow, all classes are cancelled so that we can all participate in Pioneer Scholars day, where we'll have presentations of all sorts.  Faculty are required to be on hand for a variety of support.  I am judging a fine arts competition.

At the end of the week, I will be up the hill at Lutheridge, for my beloved Create in Me retreat.  I haven't really thought about the retreat too much at this point--I'm not that kind of member of the planning team.  I am somewhat surprised to find myself here, speeding to the end of the semester. 

Prayers and Poems for the Artemis Mission

Like many others, I get the occasional e-mail that tells me that the sender can help me find new readers for my brilliant books, millions and millions of readers.  Yesterday I got a different e-mail, an old-fashioned fan letter of sorts.  

The e-mail writer told me that she had selected my poem for a specific reason:  "This is to let you know that as a member of a Lectio Poetry group that met this morning, I chose your poem 'The Moon Remembers' for our session. Because of the recent NASA mission to send humans farther into space than ever before, and to study the dark side of the moon, I felt fortunate to find your poem to share."

The e-mail concluded this way, "In this world of chaos, 'The Moon Remembers' gave us an hour of peace, of joy, of hope."

Wow--what writer could hope for more than that?  I mean that sincerely.  It is one of the reasons I write, in the hopes of bringing something positive to people.

I don't get many fan letters anymore, and the ones that I get are usually about "Heaven on Earth," perhaps my most famous poem, read on Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac.  Yesterday's e-mail referenced "The Moon Remembers."  It's a poem I barely remember writing, and at first, I wondered if she was writing to the wrong poet.

Happily, my blog answers many a question for me.  I posted it in this blog post, and I'm guessing that's how the group leader found my poem.  Even though it's not one of the poems I remember, I'm still happy with it.

Let me post it here again, as I also say a prayer for the Artemis Mission which returns home Friday:

The Moon Remembers

                “I sing and the moon shudders"
                            Li Po, “Drinking Alone by Moonlight”



The moon does not approve of elementary choir
masters who stop the rehearsal, make each quivering
child sing a solo to find the one
who is off key. The helpless moon, marooned
so far away, wishes she could offer sanctuary.

The moon knows what the choir master forgets.

The moon doesn’t understand scales or the division
of voices into the caste systems of chorus:
superior sopranos, dowdy altos, basses as the bubble
of depth holding us up, the star tenor.

The moon remembers what the choir master forgets.

The moon sees our best selves as we sing:
the lonely driver late at night, singing to stay awake,
the melancholy mother, humming Christmas carols
to cheer the babies, the desperate lover
serenading the empty window.

The moon remembers what we all forget.

The moon knows that if we believed in our songs,
strengthened our fragile voices, and sang
as if we meant it, then galaxies would blow
to bits as the universe expands.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, April 12, 2026:

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 Old Testament, too, 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.  May we be open to the transforming power of God's breath, breathing on us all, through time and across time.

Easter Sunday Recap and Recording of the Sermon

It was a good Easter Sunday at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, TN.  It's a small, country church, so we don't have what suburban or city churches experience, those folks who show up only for Christmas Eve and Easter.  We are more likely to have brand new visitors on Christmas Eve, not Easter, and even then, it's only one or two.

The church felt full, though, in a similar way yesterday.  It's one of the few days when all members are likely to come, along with some friends and family members tagging along.  In addition, the folks who aren't members but come here and there--they were there too.  It was joyful and a bit noisy.  It was also raining outside, so we don't have as many pictures at the chicken-wire cross covered with flowers; some folks did put flowers on the cross, despite the rain.

My sermon stopped recording part-way through.  I decided to have our tech expert post what she captured, and when I got home, I recorded the rest.  The first part of the sermon is here, and the second part is here.  If you'd like to read along, I put the sermon manuscript in this blog post.

We got home and drifted around the house, collapsing into bed around 6:30.  I woke up a bit later and thought, we are missing a glorious sunset, before falling back to sleep again.  

Sermon for Easter Sunday, April 5, 2026

April 5, 2026, Easter
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 28:1-10



We’ve spent our week together thinking about crowds. Last week, on Palm Sunday, I talked about the different kinds of Palm Sunday crowds, those who were there to see Jesus, those who hoped that the Messiah would arrive (and some of those hoped that the Messiah would turn out to be Jesus), the religious authorities, those who were there for the highest of the Jewish Holy Days, the Roman authorities looking to keep the peace, and others who might be there for darker reasons, looking to take advantage of travelers or making trouble in other ways. Last Sunday, I talked about the Good Friday crowds, and on Maundy Thursday, we focused on a smaller crowd, the disciples gathered with Jesus to celebrate the Passover meal that celebrates liberation from oppressors.


We don’t see those crowds in today’s reading, but we do see a type of crowd who has always been there. In today’s reading, we see the group of women, many of whom have been kept at a distance, and finally, they have a chance to take center stage. But it’s not so much that they arrive—no, the women have always been there. Even at the lowest point, as Jesus hangs on a cross and wonders why God has abandoned him, the women are there, without the disciples, watching from a distance.


The disciples have fled, and the other crowds have dispersed. But the women remain, there to do the tasks that must be done. The women return to the tomb, and unlike other Gospels, we’re not told why. Maybe they come as part of the grieving ritual. Maybe, as in other Gospels, they bring spices.


We know it’s been three days, and they return to the tomb. They come alone, with no male protection, no male companions, no disciples to take charge. They know where to seek for Jesus because they were there when Joseph of Arimathea laid him in the tomb. They are back three days later.


The women are there for the earthquake. In the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, geological events like earthquakes are used to signify the arrival of the Divine. The women, the ones who have been kept in the crowds that are more distant from Jesus, the women are there for the arrival of the angel. The forces of empire, the ones who have put Jesus to death, they shake in fear and become like dead men. The guards faint—the Roman guards, the fiercest fighting force, frozen in time, like a deer in headlights, holding their breath, hearts racing, immobile limbs, paralyzed with fear. The women stay alert.


We have an angel in the Gospel of Matthew, which is unusual. The Gospel of Luke is the Gospel most associated with angel messengers. In the Gospel of Matthew God more often speaks in dreams and premonitions. But at the end of Matthew, the women who have stayed faithful and not fled in the face of the unjust killing by Roman and Jewish leaders of the empire, they are the ones with a Divine message to deliver: Jesus will meet the disciples back home in Galilee, full circle, just as Jesus has already told them he would.


And even better, the women are the first to see the risen Christ. Jesus has a message for them, and for the disciples, and for all the men and women who have been following and presumably fallen away. Leave Jerusalem, the capital city, a seat of earthly power and claims of Divine power, Jerusalem, the place of death and destruction. Walk away from the tombs and all the ways that death hold us.


The guards have fainted, and the disciples are faint-hearted. In our Easter text, it is the smaller crowd, the ones who have been most faithful, who get to experience resurrection up close and become the first evangelists to tell of the risen Lord. It is this smaller crowd who has been most faithful, the women named Mary and all the other women who are the first to understand the mission of Jesus and to get to work. Their stories are there in the Gospels, there in the background, if we go back to read with fresh eyes.


Each Spring, we hear this story, one where God intervenes in human history, with an earthquake at the death of Jesus, and an earthquake before the stone is rolled away. For most Christian theologians, this story is the one that marks the passage from the former present age, one of evil, sin, and death, to the New Creation, the one that is ready to welcome the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the one with believers ready to go out and conquer the forces of Rome and all the empires to come, as we become those who bring the good news of God’s Kingdom on earth. Jesus has been raised from the dead, but something different is happening now. Resurrection is not a return to old life, but something bold and new.


And yet. And yet. Here we are, two thousand years later, far removed from those events, still trying to understand what we have witnessed. We might feel ourselves as part of some crowd, lingering in the background, trying to understand. We are still here, in the in between space, the now and the not yet. The Kingdom of God is here, Jesus proclaims, but not fully complete yet. For some of us, as we hear the stories each year, as we move through lectionary cycles, we may feel the borders blurring. Maybe we’re still in an Ash Wednesday space, feeling more bleakly than ever the truth of the message that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. Maybe we understand the cry of Jesus up there on the cross, as we wonder if God has forsaken us. Maybe we find our thoughts returning to Lazarus, dead for four days and then yanked back only to have his life threatened again, or Jesus in that tomb for three days, only to have the Roman guards paid off to lie about his resurrection, waiting for what comes next. Jesus meets us on the road to tell us that we have waited long enough, waited during these past 40 days of Lent, waited for who knows how many years or decades. Jesus shows up resurrected, saying with his body and maybe with words: It is time. Buckle up. This journey is about to move to a new level.


Maybe it’s hard from where we’re sitting, to believe that God can overcome the forces of death. The forces of empire and death sure look like they are winning, depending on when we can bear to uncover our eyes and ears to take a look and a listen. The Powers that Jesus vanquished sure seem to be in control, in league with chaos. And yes, some self-proclaimed religious authorities also seem to be working with the powers of chaos.


Today’s second reading, the letter to the Colossians, tells us to seek things that are from above. I realize that Paul, the letter writer, meant heavenly things or Christlike things, but as I’ve been thinking about an Easter sermon, I’ve also been keeping an eye on the Artemis mission, the one with a diverse crew of astronauts headed to the moon, a much bigger event than most space events of the last few decades. I found myself thrilled to be alive in such an age. I have a pastor friend who has become enthralled by the live feed from the ship, which is about the size of 2 minivans; I’m not at her level of engagement, but I understand the relief that comes from lifting our eyes to the heavens. Of course, we don’t need to leave earth. If we look around our families and communities, we’ll see evidence of resurrection. We’ll see small, loyal groups continuing to do the work begun by the first group of followers of Jesus, those who were named and those who mostly stayed in the background.


Paul wrote to the Colossians from a Roman prison, so he might have had reason to despair. His letter shows no sign of that. He continues to witness to what God has done, what God continues to do. We, too, can witness like Paul.


The angel rolls back the stone and says, “Do not be afraid.” Jesus, too, says, “Do not be afraid.” The Holy Week stories remind us that the God who made the Heavens and the Earth, the God who can shake the planet to its foundation, this God is still in charge.


The small, loyal group of women was not afraid as the strength of empire fainted away. We may feel that they had some special quality that we do not, but those feelings are wrong. Those who are in the background are up to the task to proclaim the good news that death does not have the final word. If you doubt it, remember the words of the African-American spiritual, drawn from the prophet Jeremiah, “If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can still tell the love of Jesus, who came to save us all.”


A balm in Gilead, good news for the ages.


Christ is risen—he is risen indeed—and all God’s people say: Alleluiah!

Last Thoughts (and Recording of Sermon) on Maundy Thursday

Last night was a good worship service.  I felt a bit frazzled at first.  We left a bit early, but afternoon traffic around Asheville still left us almost late.  

That's not true.  We got to the church with 10 minutes to spare, and most people came after us.  Still, I was feeling a bit frazzled.  It's one of the disadvantages of the geography that is part of this SAM experience.

Worship went well, and I was pleased with my sermon, which you can view here on my YouTube channel.  I put the sermon manuscript in this blog post.  If you follow along, you'll see that there are places that I expand on thoughts in the manuscript.  I wasn't thrilled with the ending when I wrote it, but I like the impromptu ending better.  I felt something moving through me, as if the Holy Spirit knew what someone listening needed to hear.  I am always happy to be that vessel.

As my spouse and I reflected on the sermon on the drive across the mountains to get back home, I did wonder if the sermon needed firmer boundaries between the Holy Week holidays.  I still worry/wonder if the sermon has too much of a Good Friday vibe.  But since Faith Lutheran doesn't have a Good Friday worship with a sermon, I am O.K. with that. 

Sermon for Maundy Thursday

April 2, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Maundy Thursday




On Palm Sunday, I talked about the different kinds of crowds on Palm Sunday—and then, the different crowd yet again on Good Friday. In between Palm Sunday and Good Friday, we have Maundy Thursday. Maundy Thursday and Good Friday give us two very different insights into the ideas of sin and redemption—and liberation.


You may have been taught a version of Good Friday that I was taught as a child. We are a sinful people, and because Jesus knew that I was going to be mean to my sister two thousand years later, Jesus had to come and die on a cross so that God wouldn’t send me to Hell. And yes, I was taught this version of Good Friday in a 5th grade Sunday School class at Our Redeemer Lutheran Church in Montgomery, Alabama.


Many adults have a similar belief. Modern Christianity tends to focus on personal salvation and to see the cross as the source of that salvation. In one of my seminary classes, I heard a fellow student say that without Judas and his betrayal, we wouldn't have had salvation because we wouldn't have had the resurrection. I would counter that Jesus was on a collision course with the Roman empire and that he would have been killed anyway. He was crucified, a capital punishment reserved for those who were a threat to the state. He was on Rome's radar.


If we see Jesus as following in the steps of the ancient prophets, we get a much richer view. Much as we might want to believe that we can read the Bible as a prophecy for our current age, Biblical prophets weren’t forecasting the future. They came to remind the people of the ways that they had fallen away from God. They came to the people to tell them that God was disappointed. But much more important, they came to the people to help them remember that God has a much more expansive vision for the people, a vision where everyone is included and everyone has a chance for flourishing. The prophets came to help the people reclaim that vision.


Jesus doesn’t spend much time talking about individual sin, the way that 21st century people might expect. There’s not much pro-family or anti-sexuality language in the speeches of Jesus. The disagreements about moral questions that consume us in the 21st century, that rip churches apart, those aren’t evident in much of what Jesus says. But the dangers of empire that Jesus criticizes aren’t very different today, in the 21st century.


Jesus was calling out the sin of colluding with empire, and many of those sins would be familiar to us today: the people in power taking advantage of those who have fewer resources. Often the people in question had fewer resources because of the way the empire set up life. So widows found themselves not only having to grieve the loss of a spouse, but they also faced the loss of income. Refugees found themselves without safety, often because of decisions made by a distant empire. Orphans faced a much bleaker future, slavery, than children with parents. All of the people faced increasing taxes to fund the projects of the Roman empire, and many of the people would lose everything they owned when they couldn’t pay.


Then, as now, people were desperate for change.



The events of Holy Week take place against a back drop of Passover, the holiest days of the Jewish calendar. Jesus has spent much of his ministry reminding people that they serve a God who brought them out of bondage in Egypt. The festival of Passover celebrates that deliverance. Jesus offers people similar deliverance. But it may not be in the form they were expecting.


Many people in the time of Jesus yearned for a homeland free of Roman occupiers. Jesus Jesus showed them a way, but it wasn’t a military way. Jesus showed them what could reweave the ripped and torn social fabric. Jesus showed them the way of love.


Jesus spends much of his ministry feeding people. Often, after a miracle healing, there’s a feeding. It might be another miracle, like multiplying loaves and fishes. It might be a regular meal, which for many households, then and now, might seem like a small miracle. We gather here tonight to celebrate Maundy Thursday, which some call The Last Supper. But it wasn’t the last supper. If we look at the post-Resurrection stories of Jesus, he’s still there, sharing meals, providing sustenance.


In addition to his preaching and teaching, Jesus spent his ministry doing the tasks that were often relegated to the lower rungs of society, tasks like washing feet and preparing meals. Jesus spent his ministry looking for ways to include those who were on the margins—and he had plenty of people to invite to join them. In the time of strong empires, many people find themselves in precarious positions.


Then, as now, the people wondered if they had found the true Messiah. Then, as now, they doubted whether the way of Jesus would be enough to defeat the forces of empire. Good Friday can make us doubt everything we’ve been taught as we watch that distant empire show how deadly it can be to show up armed with nothing but love. Easter shows us how empty that deadly force is. It’s Maundy Thursday that shows us how we are to love: by service and by sharing a meal together. Through these actions rooted in love and care, we defeat the powers of death.

Sermon Revising for a Contest

Yesterday I found out about a Frederick Buechner Writing Competition, which closes today.  I was particularly intrigued by the wide range of types of writing the judges will consider, but this passage made me decide to enter:  

"The editorial board will give special consideration to pieces that discuss Buechner’s work and themes, to literary and theological essays, and to sermons — the written sermon being an undervalued art form that was particularly close to Frederick Buechner’s heart."

I decided to take that last part as a sign and to enter a sermon--but which one?

I didn't need to think too long.  The sermon on Mary and Martha that I delivered in July got more positive feedback than any other sermon I've done; you can read or view it in this blog post.

My spouse helped me yesterday; he viewed the recording, and he made changes to the sermon manuscript.  I've been doing some tinkering, and I'm about ready to submit it.

I have no idea what my chances are, but there's no entry fee, so it seems worth trying.  If the editors hate my poem, it's not likely to hurt me as I move through ordination and beyond.  So let's see what happens.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel (Easter!)

  The readings for Sunday, April 5, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 10:34-43

First Reading (Alt.): Jeremiah 31:1-6

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

Second Reading: Colossians 3:1-4

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

Gospel: Matthew 28:1-10

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


Finally we move through Holy Week to Easter Sunday. At last, our Lenten pilgrimage draws to a close.

The stories we hear during Holy Week remind us of how to move from lives that have been reduced to ash back to lives full of resurrection.  What is often lost in the Holy Week stories is the larger story of resurrection.

As you move through the rest of the liturgical year, and as you move among Christian circles, pay attention to which stories of this week we circle back to.  Is it the crucifixion or the empty tomb?  Is it the meal shared together?  Is it the victorious entry into Jerusalem on a colt?  What are the stories that Christianity tells most often?  And more important, why?

My guess is that you'll hear more about the crucifixion than the other elements.  Modern Christianity tends to focus on personal salvation and to see the cross as the source of that salvation.  In one of my seminary classes, I heard a fellow student say that without Judas and his betrayal, we wouldn't have had salvation because we wouldn't have had the resurrection.  I would counter that Jesus was on a collision course with the Roman empire and that he would have been killed anyway.  He was crucified, a capital punishment reserved for those who were a threat to the state.  He was on Rome's radar.

I would argue that somewhere through history, Christianity lost the thread of the good news declared by angels.  Jesus is about more than our individual salvation.  Jesus came to save the world, and I think he meant to save our societies more than our souls.

Imagine how our world would be different if we focused on Maundy Thursday, not Good Friday.  This idea isn't mine--I've been reading many theologians saying something similar.  In this essay "The Holy Thursday Revolution,"  Diana Butler Bass asks, "What if the table was the point?"

In fact, we see Jesus move back to tables again and again, throughout his ministry and after his resurrection.  There's something powerful about a meal shared together, something transformative, something vital.  Jesus shows us a ministry of inclusion, and he gives us a way to model it, a way that has proven timeless.

The world cries out for resurrection.  Maundy Thursday shows us how to begin.  Good Friday shows us the risk of continuing the work of Jesus.  Easter promises us that the forces of empire, the systems of domination and death, will not have the last word.  The stories after Easter return us to meals together. The work of transformation awaits. 

Recording of Sunday Sermon

I felt good about my sermon yesterday, good about the writing and good about the delivery.  We had more people in church than we've had in the past month:  members who had been recuperating from surgery and sickness returned and some non-member family members tagging along with other members, and we're a small enough church that it can make a big difference.  In short, the overall energy of the day was good.

I've posted a recording of the sermon here on my YouTube channel.  I posted the sermon manuscript in this post on my theology blog.

Later yesterday, I made this Facebook post:  "After Palm Sunday worship and a beautiful drive back through the mountains, I'm doing a bit of hand stitching while watching season 5 of "The Chosen," which brings Jesus and the gang to Holy Week, which seems a fitting ending to the day and a fitting beginning to Holy Week."

Sermon for Sunday, March 29, 2026, Palm Sunday

March 29, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




The Palm and Passion Narrative in Matthew

Matthew 26:14—27:66



Many of us may remember when we only did Palm Sunday on Palm Sunday and the other days of Holy Week on their given day, unlike today, when we get the whole Passion narrative on Sunday. One traditional approach to this whole story is to talk about how the crowd that is with you on a Sunday can have turned on you by Friday. However, today’s Gospel can be seen more accurately as the story of two different kinds of crowds, a Palm Sunday mob scene and the ones that gather on Good Friday.


Jesus is no stranger to crowds, of course. Anyone who can perform the kind of miracles that he does will attract a following. Have they followed him to Jerusalem? Some of them probably have. After all, many of them didn’t have much of a life before Jesus healed them. The healing miracles often come to those who have been abandoned by everyone in the larger community; it makes sense that they would follow Jesus.


There’s another crowd of people who are likely to be following Jesus all the way to Jerusalem. These are people who have been hoping for a different kind of miracle, the restoration of the Holy City, the deliverance of the Temple from the Roman occupiers. These are people who have been trained by earlier generations, steeped in the words of the ancient prophets, trained to be on the lookout for the Messiah, knowledgeable in the ways that deliverance will come. Jesus has spoken to them specifically in words that seem like a mysterious code to us but would have been blatantly obvious to those who have been waiting for a savior. Those people would be tagging along to Jerusalem, wanting to be at the site of what they assumed would be a final triumph.


The disciples come along too, of course. We think of those 12 men, and we know that at least one of them, Judas, has become disenchanted. But we also know that there were more than 12 disciples. For example, we know that a core group of women followed Jesus, and we read the New Testament differently if we’re on the lookout for them. If we read carefully, we can discern a much larger group of people dedicated to the mission of Jesus.


There were plenty of people in that Palm Sunday crowd, and many of them had no interest in Jesus at all. Many people would come to Jerusalem for the highest of Jewish Holy days, most obviously Jews of all sorts, who would want to celebrate at the most beautiful of worship spaces. There would also be Romans who wanted to make sure that nothing bad happened. Then, as now, a holiday is a time that terrorists would see as a ripe target.


In short, there were several groups gathered on Palm Sunday, all with very different and conflicting interests converging on a very small piece of real estate, much like Jerusalem, or many a capital city, today.


But by Friday, most of them are no longer with him. But it’s not necessarily because they lost faith in Jesus.


To be sure, some of the Palm Sunday crowd have fallen away. But it’s unlikely that they’ve all turned against Jesus so much as it is likely that they were not there for Jesus in the first place or that Jesus has to go where others cannot follow. Even had they wanted to journey with Jesus into the inner sanctums of the ruling parts of society, they would not be allowed. Then, as now, verdicts that can impact so many of us are often made in secret.


The Palm Sunday crowd has dispersed by Good Friday. Some have slipped away in fear. Others have gone to be with their families to celebrate the Passover with a meal, just as we saw Jesus do. Others may have assumed that the final deliverance of Jerusalem has been postponed—yet again. Others may have settled in for the night and missed the arrest and trial. Then, as now, verdicts that can impact so many of us are often made on days and times when the public won’t be watching or when another distraction has been fabricated to pull away our attention.


The Palm to Passion story reminds us of the danger of crowds, but it reminds us that not all crowds are the same. In this case, it was a variety of crowds, each convinced of the righteousness of their purpose. Some thought they had the righteousness of Jewish law on their side. Some thought they had the righteousness of Jesus on their side and others thought they had the righteousness of Caesar on their side. All thought they had God on their side.


This time in history is not the only time people have thought they had God on their side. In fact, people have made that mistake so often that there’s a branch of Philosophy dedicated to making sure that conflicts are handled in a way that won’t put our very souls in danger. Just War Theory has as one of its key components that even when conflict seems inevitable, we should approach it with a spirit of duty to God rather than a self-righteous crusaderism that delights in harm to our opponents and enemies.


Prophets throughout the ages have tried to show us how to live just lives worthy of God, and the first followers of Jesus turned back to their prophets to try to understand what they had experienced, prophets like Isaiah or Zecariah. The Gospel of Matthew contains more references back to the ancient prophets than the other Gospels, as we see in today’s texts. Judas was likely not thinking of the duty to fulfill the prophecy of Zechariah 13: 7 “Awake oh sword against my shepherd, against the man who is my associate, says the Lord of Hosts. Strike the shepherd, that the sheep may be scattered . . ." No, Judas was more likely betraying Jesus out of his own disappointment at the different way Jesus understood his mission.


Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss. Then, as now, we remember that it’s possible to profess a love of Jesus that proves to be empty and hollow. Peter betrays Jesus with his words. He betrays Jesus despite the fact that Jesus has warned him of his tendency to deny the one who gives him life. There are so many ways to betray Jesus, and the Palm to Passion story reminds us that human nature hasn’t really changed.


Some people still gather around Jesus to celebrate his teachings. Some come in anticipation of what will follow, what we hope he will do for us. Some come to learn how to pervert the Gospel, to claim Christ’s power for themselves or to thwart Christ’s authority. Should we find ourselves among one of those crowds, with the clear and present awareness that tensions are increasing and conflicts may be inevitable, let us not enter into that conflict with delight about doing harm to our adversaries, but out of the same sense of duty to God that we have seen modeled by Jesus. Let us pray, as Jesus did, that if it is possible let this cup pass from us. Let us trust that God can make new life out of the darkest days of violence. Even when our saints and shepherds are struck down, let the flock scatter, and once again return even larger, in the hopeful words of Zechariah. Let us trust in the vindication of the Lord, as Isaiah promises. The Psalmist knows that though we may feel as useless as a broken pot, that God has a plan and a purpose—for us and for all of creation. We see sprouts of new life across our Holy Week texts and on Easter, just a week away, we will see the shoots of new life that God has planned—for Jesus, for us, and for all of creation.