My Sunday Sermon Recording: August 30, 2026

We had a good Sunday yesterday.  My spouse and I had a good car trip over the mountains.  We began by talking about my youth sermon, which led to a better youth sermon.  Then we talked about the relationship between Peter and Jesus.  My spouse said, "Jesus wasn't evaluating him as a future employee.  They were friends."

I was startled to realize how often I think of Peter as an employee who needs close management, not as a friend of Jesus.

On our way home, I was worried that my sermon spent too much time with Dolly Parton, but after we listened to it on the way home, I was relieved to decide that it was balanced.

We spent the afternoon the way we usually do, listening to other people's sermons from around the southeast--good afternoon to follow a good morning.

You can view the recording of the sermon here at my YouTube channel, and if you'd like to read the sermon, I put the manuscript in this blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, August 30, 2026

 August 30, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

 

Matthew 16:21-28

 

Today’s Gospel picks up where last week’s Gospel stopped.  Literally.  It’s the very next verse.  And a gentle reminder—when the Gospels were written, they didn’t have chapters and verses.  Those were inserted later, much later.  And the lectionary of specified readings on any given Sunday is even newer. 

Last Sunday we read the earlier verses of chapter 16, where Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah.  Jesus declares that Peter will be the rock on which Jesus will be the church, the rock, a solid foundation.  And now, just a few verses later, Jesus is saying that Peter is Satan?  What is going on?

The most likely possibility is that Jesus is not saying Peter equals Satan, not saying that Peter is possessed.  But in Peter’s vow, Jesus recognizes the tempter lurking, the one he has already encountered, just after his baptism, in the wilderness, when he is offered every variation of worldly power.  The tempter says that Jesus will be exalted if he will just move from Supreme leader to loyal follower—of the tempter.

It’s that same worldly power that attracts Peter.  Remember back to last week’s Gospel, that Jesus and the disciples are in Caesarea Phillipi.  Last week we talked about this place being one of palaces built to glorify Caesar, but this place also tells a story about the Jewish family of rulers who sold out to the Romans, Herod the Great and his descendants, the same family of Herods who haunt the whole Gospel of Matthew.

New Testament scholar Audrey West sums up the history this way:  “A couple of decades before Jesus’ birth, Herod the Great had built a temple . . . in honor of Caesar Augustus. By the time Jesus and his disciples visited the region, Caesarea Philippi had been given over to the auspices of Herod’s son, Philip the tetrarch, who established the city as the administrative center of his government. By the time the Gospel of Matthew was written, people were likely aware that the Roman commander who led the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE had returned with his troops to Caesarea Philippi in celebration of their victory.”

 

Tired of tyranny, Peter declares Jesus to be the true Messiah, the one foretold by the prophets, the one who will restore the fortune of Israel.  Like so many who followed Jesus, he was hoping for a savior to kick the Romans out of the homeland and bring down traitors like Herod.  Perhaps Peter looked at the crowds and envisioned a popular uprising—and in fact, there was a popular uprising, in 70 CE, which led to the destruction of Jerusalem and the Jews being forcibly deported to lands that weren’t their own.

 

Like Peter, we, too, are yearning for many types of deliverance.  As I listened to the outpouring of grief after the death of Dolly Parton this week, I thought of the many kinds of deliverance and hope she offered.  For some grievers, it’s the rags to riches story that we hope is possible for all.  For some, it was her ability to be successful in all sorts of businesses in a time where there were hardly any female CEOs—and even today, only 11% of CEOs are female.  Everyone has a favorite story of how she was such a force for good in the world, all the many ways she supported so many oppressed populations:  her hometown, little children who needed books (which is all children), drag queens, black musicians from Whitney Houston to Beyonce, storm ravaged places, on and on the list could go.  It’s no wonder that so many people yearned for Dolly Parton to run for president.

 

Peter, too, must have looked at Jesus and all the ways he had been such a deliverance to so many people.  And he envisions what the world would be like if Jesus was king, not Herod, not Caesar.

 

Let’s be honest—we’ve probably had the same kind of vision.  Wouldn’t the world be a better place if Jesus was in the White House?  Of course, some people do make that claim, that Jesus is there, that the U.S. has most favored nation status.

 

I thought of this recently when stuck in traffic behind a Jeep with a spare tire cover that depicted an image of a cross and an American flag that declared that God has been blessing the nation for 250 years. I thought of the different nations of Native Americans who might disagree, of others who were brought to the country in chains and kept enslaved.  I thought of all the people brought to this country from other lands to do hard work like building railroads, but who weren’t allowed full citizenship.  On and on this list could go, of people who might not see a story of blessing over the past 250 years of history.

 

But the idea itself is a seductive one, this idea that God favors some of us and worldly wealth flows from that favor.  However, this idea that mingles nationalism and the Divine is not what Jesus proclaims.  Again and again, he tells us just the opposite:  the last shall be first and the lowly shall be uplifted.

 

If Jesus ran for president with those campaign promises, would he be elected?

 

Jesus understands what Peter wants, what most of us want.  We want what Dolly had, the sparkly wealth, the adoration that results in a whole world grieving when death comes, the power that comes with wealth and adoration.

 

Jesus points us to the other side of the Dolly Parton story, the way that she gave away so much of her wealth and power.  My favorite story that I didn’t know until this week is that when her old friend and mentor Porter Wagner was facing jail because he was in so much debt, she bought the rights to his catalogue, every song he ever wrote or bought.  And this is the man who was not only her mentor, but the man who tried to destroy her when she decided to try for a solo career.  He sued her for 3 million dollars.  But later,  not only does she rescue him, but then she turns around and gives the catalogue rights back to his children, so they won’t be destitute.

 

Wow.

 

We grieve the loss of humans like Jesus, of humans like Dolly, because their kind of grace and compassion is so rare.  They have a fierce loyalty to this vision of grace and compassion.

 

Today’s Gospel is indeed a study in loyalty.  We’ve seen how Peter’s loyalty will shift, and we know the end of the story, how Peter will deny this man he has declared to be the Messiah.  We see Jesus once again resisting the tempter who wants the loyalty of Jesus.  We see Jesus stay loyal to God even when everyone around him, from the people in charge of society to his own followers, are not able to maintain loyalty to God’s vision for the world.

 

At first glance, we might see today’s Gospel as one that tells us not to ask questions.  After all, so many leaders on so many levels won’t tolerate anyone telling their truths.  We live in a time where asking questions is seen by many people, particularly those in higher realms of authority and power, as disrespectful and disloyal, a firing offense or worse.

 

But that’s not what’s happening in this interaction between Peter and Jesus.  Jesus reminds Peter that Peter’s view of liberation is much too limited and that Peter, and indeed all humans, are oppressed by many forces in the world.  Jesus comes to set us free from all the powers and principalities who will not stop dehumanizing practices just because we want them to.

 

Again and again, Jesus asks the question that echoes across the ages:  will we be loyal to our own vision of what liberation looks like—for ourselves, for each other, for our nation, for the world—or will we make room for loyalty to God?

 

Our reading from Paul shows us what that loyalty to God looks like, a loyalty summed up by the last verse of our second reading:  “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

 

If we protest that only Jesus could do such a thing, and he was Divine, and therefore we can’t be expected to go and live likewise—well, in the life of Dolly Parton, we see evidence to the contrary.

 

We might not be able to give 30 million books to children across the nation, the way that Dolly did.  We might be just as confused as Peter at times.  Happily, most humans live long enough to try again, to pick up our crosses, to live a Jesus shaped life, not a life shaped by the desire for all the worldly powers that are so alluring and so corrosive.

 

 

Out of a beginning poorer in material resources than many of us will ever experience, Dolly Parton shows us what might happen if we have the courage to live in the way that Jesus calls us to live, if we commit to a world where everyone can flourish, not just the few at the top, not only the Herods who collude with the forces of death and empire.

 

Let us face each day with new resolve to live in a way so that we hold fast to what is good, having the courage to use all our time, our resources, our talents, and our skills to be a living testimony to Jesus by following his example, resisting the temptation to be loyal to other forces that want our fidelity to a different vision, making a world that is better for all.

 

Quilt Camp Confessions

At one point yesterday evening, as I began to despair at ever getting my huge quilt done, I thought of my grandmother.  When I asked her to teach me to quilt, she snorted and said, "Why would you want to quilt when you can just go to Wal-Mart and buy a blanket for six dollars?"

That price tells you how long ago it was.  And yet, that dismissal remains.  I think of how many people during Quilt Camp were astonished at my quilting by hand, by my quilting at all.  Most people at Quilt Camp send their project to their favorite long arm quilter and pay to have the quilting done.  And then they still need to do the binding to finish the quilt.

At times yesterday, I enjoyed the quilting with the multiple memories the fabric inspired:  the few bits from clothes my grandmother made me, the bit from the quilt I made for my now-grown nephew for his first big boy bed, the various squares put together in slightly different ways, my experiment with smaller and smaller scraps.  I thought of all the various friends who gave me their scraps.

I won't lie:  putting together the quilt top is my favorite part of any project, especially in the early days of a project where I don't have to worry as much about how it will all come together into a unified whole.

I was also running on fumes for much of yesterday:  I didn't sleep well because of achiness that comes from quilting for hours in strange positions, staffing the camp store, and an afternoon planning meeting that went long.  By evening, I was despairing, having not made the progress I was anticipating.

I still have some quilting time this morning, and I'm already at the point where I need to be, the point where I can finish the quilt from my living room.  It's the center part that needs to be stabilized before the rest can be done--and that part is much easier done the way I did it over the past two days.

I'm grateful to have had this time, but also a bit sad that I had to be so focused on this one project.  Of course, the next Quilt Camp is only 2 months away, so I don't need to feel sad at all.

First Full Day of Summer 2026 Quilt Camp

I've spent part of the summer finishing the process of putting together the quilt top for the quilt I hoped to be assembling during Summer 2026 Quilt Camp at Lutheridge.  

We've also been going back and forth on the size of the bed we plan to have once we move into the Spartanburg fixer-upper house we bought back in May.  We've finally decided on a king size bed, so I sewed the last panel back to the quilt top; back in July, I had taken that panel off when we changed our minds from king back to queen. Now we're fairly sure it will be a king size bed that we will buy. 

On my way to work on Tuesday, I stopped at Foam and Fabric--they sell wide fabric for quilt backs, and I decided that it was worth the cost so that I didn't have to sew the back together.

Yesterday morning, I was ready to start quilting.  Because Summer Quilt Camp has less attendance than other times of the year, I was able to use extra tables to make the quilting of the king size quilt easier.  I spread out the backing fabric and then the batting and then spent time figuring out how to position the top.

I spent yesterday quilting the middle of the quilt.  I wanted to make sure I got that part stabilized in case I couldn't complete the project during this retreat.

People dropped by my station to take a closer look.  Before I close up the project, I thought that I, too, should preserve a closer look.  I'm not only quilting by hand, but I also sewed the whole top by hand.

It's a lot of sewing, but it's usually done when I'm watching T.V.  or chatting.  It's often part of my self-soothing tool kit, which doing it by machine would not be.  I've also done other projects along the way.  It's taken a long time, but I haven't really noticed.

This morning, I went back to past blog posts, and here's the one where I see the project that inspired me, back in the Fall 2022 Quilt Camp.  By January, I had made some progress, documented in this blog post.    Along the way, a friend showed me that I didn't need sashing between the squares, and that decision made the assembly of the top much more fun.

I spent one Quilt Camp putting squares together on design boards in search of the perfect flow of colors, which I then sewed together, only to realize that I didn't really have enough for a queen size bed.  I sewed more squares, and when I returned to the project, I put squares together into long panels more randomly, which worked just as well.

Quilting is never my favorite part of the project, at least not bed-size projects.  It's hard on the fingers and the back--and other muscles too.  But with this project, I've had an unexpected benefit:  the chance to return to all those squares, to marvel at the differences in scraps included, to delight in all the colors and fabrics in this quilt.

Onward to Day 2!

Farewell, Dolly Parton

I'm as sad as everyone about the death of Dolly Parton.  Let me record a few thoughts:

--I'm glad that I was a child in the 70's, that my mom listened to A.M. radio, which meant I heard all kinds of music, including Dolly Parton's songs, both old and new.  The radio stations of my childhood played anything, so you could hear a Dolly Parton song, then a Beatles song, then an old Elvis song, sprinkled with modern pop by groups like Bread, the Carpenters, and so on.

Modern algorithms would not have sent Dolly Parton music my way.  But I must confess that it has taken me many decades to appreciate her music, and I still wouldn't choose her music for a long drive or an evening at home.

--I didn't see her acting during my childhood.  I didn't see 9 to 5 until a few years ago.  I did love Steel Magnolias.

--I've never been to Dollywood.  I would go, if I won tickets.

--I'm not an expert on business, but from my outsider view, she seemed to have business smarts that most of us will never possess.  She know how to capitalize on success while always seeming/being sincere in her enthusiasm.  That skill probably can't be taught in Business school.

--In terms of gender and presentation, she always intrigued me.  There have been years when I was frustrated and annoyed by her over the top femaleness.  Let me just be blunt:  the attention to her breasts was so offputting to me.  As I got older, her costumes intrigued me--the woman liked what she liked, and she loved sparkles.  

As I've gotten older, I've been in awe of all the ways she worked the system without losing her soul.  But I've also been sad about how hard it must have been for her, and about how many others did not survive, which wasn't her fault.

And I've been happy about how she blazed a trail for others--and then kept making sure the trail stayed clear (and to stretch the metaphor, she went back and made roads).

--Her songwriting skills -- wow.  I was amazed at how many songs she wrote.  I loved when she was interviewed and would talk about her creative process, about grabbing inspiration when it came and writing it down on scraps of paper, even the barf bag on an airplane.  

--Her musician skills -- wow.  She played with so many people through the years, and the fact that she could do so speaks to her singing skills, her skills on so many instruments, her expansive vision of what music could and should do.

--She didn't always talk openly about her faith.  Sure, she talked about the faith of her childhood.  I'd have liked to have known more about her grown up faith.

--Of course, she showed us that faith by all the people she helped, by the life she lived.

--Her philanthropy has always been what impressed me most about her.  She gave back, above and beyond, in so many ways, and much of what she did, we will never know about.

--And she continued to do good until the very end, in all the ways she was doing good:  music, support of other artists, business, philanthropy.  Her continued vibrance is why so many of us are feeling sad.  

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, August 30, 2026:

First Reading: Jeremiah 15:15-21

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm: Psalm 26:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45b

Second Reading: Romans 12:9-21

Gospel: Matthew 16:21-28


This Gospel shows us a picture of Jesus who knows that he's on a path to rejection and death. With clear sight and clear mission, Jesus warns his disciples of what's ahead.  But he promises that this sacrifice comes with great reward.

Peter has a typical reaction to the difficult part of the future that Jesus reveals: "That will never happen."  Peter wants a different kind of Messiah, one who will kick the Roman oppressor out of the homeland and restore the Jewish people to former glory.

Jesus understands that he is, indeed, on a collision course with Rome.  But it will end very differently for Jesus than the kind of ending Peter wants.  It will end differently for Peter too, and Jesus says that if we're true believers, we, too, will lose our lives.

We'll have all kinds of crosses to bear, Jesus warns us, and we'll lose our lives in all kinds of ways. But we'll get wonderful rewards.

It's important to stress that Jesus isn't just talking about Heaven, or whatever your vision is of what happens when you die. If Jesus spoke directly, Jesus might say, "You're thinking too small. Did I give you an imagination so that you let it wither and waste away? Dream big, dream big."

In Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church, N.T. Wright stresses that Jesus doesn't just announce a Kingdom in some Heaven that's somewhere else. On the contrary--the appearance of Jesus means that God's plan for redeeming creation has begun. And we're called to help. Wright says, ". . . you must follow in the way of the cross, and if you want to benefit from Jesus' saving death, you must become part of his kingdom project." (204-205). 

For many of us, the most difficult part of Jesus' mission that he gives us will be the willingness to believe that the arc of history bends towards justice, as Martin Luther King reminded us. The arc of history also bends towards beauty and wisdom and love and mercy. Some of us are so beaten down that we forget. Some of us would have no problem being crucified for our faith, but it's much harder to believe in God's vision of a redeemed world and to work to make that happen. But scripture and thousands of years of theology makes it clear; as Wright says, "We are called to live within the world where these things are possible and to agents of such things insofar as they lie in our calling and sphere" (248).

We'll lose our current lives of bitterness, fear, hopelessness, and rage. But we'll find a better one as we become agents of the Kingdom.

Satisfying Sunday: Worship/Cookout in the Pavilion and Reading in the Evening

Yesterday, I made this Facebook post which sums up my Sunday morning:

"We had a great morning at Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church, where I preached on Matthew 16 and ended my sermon by asking us to think about how our lives themselves are gospels that testify to the identity of Jesus and his role in our lives. We had a hamburger/hotdog lunch in the pavilion, with delicious food and nourishing fellowship. I'm not sure how the morning could have been much better, short of winning a lottery amount that would let us solve the shortage of affordable housing in the area and provide quality health care for all."

To see a recording of my sermon, go here to my YouTube channel.  To read the manuscript, go to this blog post.

The afternoon was also good.  I did a bit of sewing, caught up on chores, and got ready for the week.  In the evening, my spouse was listening to old Hank Williams songs, and I read--a delight!

I read most of Tara Menon's Under Water last night.  I read a bit of it earlier in the day, in the just after midnight moments of Sunday, where it confused me at first.  It took me a bit of time to realize the narrative is shifting back and forth in time, mainly from 2004 to 2012, but also back to earlier childhood years of the narrator.  I read the Acknowledgements and figured out the tsunami angle. When I picked up the book, I thought it was more of a future apocalypse kind of novel, but it’s a different kind of climate catastrophe novel.

At first it seems like a slight book. But it packs a powerful punch—about a woman who undergoes two catastrophes, the 2004 tsunami and Hurricane Sandy in 2012.

And now, a new week--a week that ends in Quilt Camp.  Let me get ready.

Sermon for Sunday, August 23, 2026

August 23, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 16:13-20



When I teach first year students in Composition classes, the first writing assignment is for them to write about themselves. What could be easier? They can write about one aspect of themselves, or 3 aspects: for example, what sport do they play, what hobbies do they have, what experiences have made them who they are today. It’s been interesting to read these essays as I’ve been thinking about this week’s Gospel.


I’ve been imagining Jesus teaching my Composition students, the way he’s been teaching the disciples. Some of my students don’t feel like they’ve done anything interesting ever. Some of them are convinced that they are on the cusp of greatness—or that they are already there and are just waiting for the world to recognize this fact. I wonder how Peter behaved, after Jesus tells him he’ll be the cornerstone of the church. Did his opinion of himself change? Did his behavior change? Or perhaps Peter already thought of himself this highly.


It might be worth thinking in poetic terms about this Gospel. If Peter is the Rock, who are we? Some of us are willow trees that bend with storms but don’t break. Or maybe we’re sand, having been worn down by those storms, but still valuable. Maybe we’re soil made rich by the compost of circumstances. Some of us are grass, that steady groundcover that makes the larger plants possible by holding the soil in place.


The Gospel wants us to wrestle with these questions. Who are you? And who is the triune God in relation to you?


This year, I’ve been surprised by how many students have been writing about their relationship with Jesus. Of course it is a Methodist college. The phrase “personal Lord and savior” gets used a lot. It’s an interesting contrast to Peter’s answer when Jesus asks, “"But who do you say that I am?"


Notice, though, Peter’s answer: "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." Peter is not saying “You are my personal Lord and savior.” Peter is not inviting Jesus into his heart so that he can avoid going to Hell when he dies or any other benefits that might accrue.


We hear Peter’s language, with the word, “Messiah,” and we may have a very different idea of what it means. Maybe we think of the Halleluiah chorus or the rest of that magnificent choral piece, Handel’s “Messiah,” that so many of us sing or hear at Christmas and Easter. Maybe we think of the word “Messiah” as one more of the many names of Jesus, like last week’s use of Lord.


Like Lord, that word Messiah has a much more specific meaning for first century Jews. Messiah means savior, but not a personal savior. Ancient prophets promised that a future Messiah would come to rescue the whole nation of Israel. A messiah is a savior, yes, but in the way that Peter uses the word, the Messiah is the savior of the whole Jewish people.


In next week’s Gospel, when we will hear of Peter’s shock and Jesus’ rejection, remember what Peter is expecting from Jesus: someone who will set the Jewish people free. He is likely not expecting to be set free from personal sins that he has committed. No, like oppressed people everywhere, Peter is dreaming of getting the empire of Rome out of his business, both his personal business and his family business.


Today’s Gospel takes place in the district of Caesarea Philippi. New Testament scholar Eric Barreto says, “The location of this event in Caesarea Philippi is no accident. Caesar’s name and the city he built hovers over the scene. Jesus’ identity is composed in the context of God’s interaction with Israel as well as the [kingly] power of Jesus’ own time. When Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah or the anointed one of God, images of political independence are certainly in the air.”


We’re told that before he left to follow Jesus, Peter made his living by fishing, and in Roman times, the fishing economy would have been heavily taxed and controlled in oppressive ways that made it hard to get ahead or even feed one’s family, much like sharecropping once was and is in places where it still exists. It’s not a surprise that Peter has hope that deliverance has come. Next week, we’ll see Peter disappointed in what the shape of that deliverance will be. Next week, we’ll ask ourselves about our 21st century ideas about the juxtaposition of political power and Divine power.


Today’s text also asks us, implicitly, to answer the question that Jesus asks. What part does Jesus play in our lives? A guy we see once a week in church? A fellow traveler? Comforter? Savior? Co-creator of a joy-filled life? A reason for living?


Perhaps our answer is all of these things. But here’s an equally important question:
can people see who Jesus is to us by the way we live our lives? Many a theologian has said that our lives are living Gospels—and what that means is that we are testifying to people, even when we don’t open our mouths.


As we move through the semester, I’ll be paying attention to the students who have confessed, the way that Peter confessed his faith. My students will be paying attention to me, too, because I’ve told them I’m a minister here. I’ve done it in the context of how I would write the paper I’m asking them to write: important things about me: I teach, I’m a minister, I’m a poet. This semester will also be an election year, and it will be interesting to see who is confessing to which beliefs in some of the more public arenas that we have. I’ll be teaching my students the critical thinking skills to see where words match actions. And I’ll also be teaching them about the AI assistants that are ever more intrusive.


We live in a world that’s full of words, many of them empty words, a world where it’s increasingly unclear that humans are the ones generating the words. In this world of intelligence that’s often not very smart and not very humane, may our actions match our words, and may we have abundant answers to the question of who we say that Jesus is and what Jesus is doing—for us, for our community, and for the larger world.

Endorsed!

I thought about making a Facebook post that said "Endorsed!"  But most people wouldn't know what I meant--they'd rightly ask, "Endorsed by whom?"

On Wednesday, I met for an Endorsement panel for Candidacy in the Southeastern Synod for the ELCA, the more inclusive expression of the Lutheran church in the U.S.  I had already written a 39 page Endorsement essay, which was really 7 writing prompts, which had me do a mix of new writing and including papers written for classes.  So I had already answered a lot of questions that the Candidacy Committee might have had:  why do you want to be Lutheran or why do you want to be ordained or how do you understand Luther's theology for our time?

We talked about some of those answers, of course.  But we spent more time talking about my experiences as a creative/artistic person and as a minister at a small, country church in Bristol, TN.  It was a wonderful experience:  I felt affirmed and supported the whole way through.

I know that I am lucky.  I've heard the Candidacy horror stories, stories across denominations.  My experience was much more like a really deep, really nourishing conversation during a retreat where the real world won't intrude.

I'll probably write more about this experience in weeks to come.  I didn't want to write about the Wed. conversation before I got word about the decision of the larger Candidacy Committee that met yesterday.

By late afternoon, I got the word by way of e-mail:  "Congratulations! The candidacy committee overwhelmingly approved you for endorsement!"

What does this mean? It's the last phase before Ordination. I have an internship to do, which will be at Faith Lutheran, where I am their Synod Appointed Minister. It will be from Advent to Easter. I will meet with the Committee in April, with ordination expected shortly after.

The synod is very supportive of my need to be bi-vocational, as I am now on the tenure track at Spartanburg Methodist College.

Speaking of teaching, let me shift my attention--one last day of teaching to do this week, and if I go now, I can get a quick walk in before the commuting and the teaching.

A Good Stretch of Poetry Days

The past few days have been a good poetry days, in a more well-rounded sense--by which I mean, I've been doing more than just writing down a line or two.  Let me capture what a good stretch of poetry days looks like:

--A few months ago, I had an idea for a poem, Jesus buying a fixer-upper of a house.  I didn't do anything with this idea since I first had it (in late April, as evidenced by this blog post).  But this week, I returned to it, and I'm really delighted with the surprises that the poem offers.

--Yesterday, I read a volume of poems.  My students were working through a time management module and had to enter due dates into calendars and planners.  I thought they would blaze through the assignment, but only a few of them did.  I went back to my office to get something to read.

--That book was Donna Vorreyer's Unrivered.  What an amazing book!  Vorreyer explores themes of aging and the natural world and relationships, and many of her poems have theological imagery and ideas that I didn't expect.  She's also skilled at a variety of forms.  It's a book that demands a re-read, which I hope to do soon.

--I read most of the book in one sitting, and I returned to read the rest of it later in the afternoon.  It's always a very different experience to read an entire collection in one day, and I'm glad I did it yesterday.

--I had a late afternoon phone call after the Endorsement Panel yesterday.  I was invited to be the official poet, a poet laureate of sorts, of the Southeastern Synod's Synod Assembly.  What a cool possibility!

--My mom heard me say that I was invited to be poet laureate of the Synod, which would also be an interesting possibility.

--This morning I returned to my poem about Jesus working on the fixer-upper.  Here's what I wrote, a stanza which surprised me--I didn't know I was going to write it until the lines flowed out:

Jesus wipes down every surface,
scrubbing when necessary.
He paints the walls in a soothing
version of the color that first flooded
the world when God said,
“Let there be light.”

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for August 23, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 51:1-6

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 1:8--2:10

Psalm: Psalm 138

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 124

Second Reading: Romans 12:1-8

Gospel: Matthew 16:13-20


In this Gospel reading, we find Jesus asking some of the basic questions. “Who do men say that I am?” “Who do you say that I am?” It’s a curious exchange that has Peter proclaiming Jesus as Lord, and Jesus instructing him not to tell anybody about himself.

We see in this text Peter getting the kind of affirmation that many of us crave. Jesus tells Peter that he will be the cornerstone, the rock.

I think of Peter and imagine that in times of frustration, he must have looked back at this moment with Christ. What a comfort that memory must be.

I spent much of my younger years longing to be sure that I was doing what God put me on earth to do, as if I had only one destiny, and I might be missing it.

My parents, in their wisdom, kept reminding me that God can use me no matter where I am. God is the original collage artist, taking bits and pieces that don’t seem to go together, and creating them into a cohesive whole.

It might be worth thinking in poetic terms about this Gospel. If Peter is the Rock, who are you? Some of us are willow trees that bend with storms but don’t break. Or maybe we’re sand, having been worn down by those storms, but still valuable. Maybe we’re soil made rich by the compost of circumstances. Some of us are grass, that steady groundcover that makes the larger plants possible by holding the soil in place.

I could go on with these metaphors, but you get the idea. The Gospel wants us to wrestle with these questions. Who are you? And who is the triune God in relation to you?

What part does Jesus play in our lives? A guy we see once a week in church? A fellow traveler? Comforter? Savior? Someone we don’t know very well because we just don’t have the time? Co-creator of a joy-filled life? Reason for living?

More importantly, can people see who Jesus is to us by the way we live our lives? How is our life a testament, like Peter’s? How can our life be more of a testament? What changes can we make today?

Signs and Signifiers and Keeping a Record

It's been a strange beginning to the work week.  Let me record, so I don't forget.

--I've been in that liminal space where it's time to settle into the semester, yet I could still delay doing that for another few days.  My office hour time has been consumed by meetings and Convocation, so I have yet to get my Brightspace course shells set up.  At this point, it doesn't matter, because the classes meet in person.  Soon, though, it will be time for students to submit work, and I need to get those structures set up.

--I've been trying to decide how to record what I do in class--I'm going to keep a weekly list in my bullet journal, because it will be easier to find it again.  I've also discovered that I need to do a better job of adding handouts to the course shell.  I did none of that in last year's Creative Writing class.  Happily, I recorded a lot of what I did in this blog.

--Last night, I saw a Facebook post that Wesley Seminary created with a “We’re welcoming students back to campus!” motif: tables of breakfast, welcome baskets, happy faces. I am happy for those students, don’t get me wrong. But it does remind me of how my time at seminary was not what I expected, with no one on hand for move in day, no welcome of any kind. We were still social distancing in 2022, so that was part of it. For the 1st part of the semester back in 2022, we wore masks to our in-person classes.

For the most part, I’m still very happy I got to go to seminary, to attend physically in person, for a year. But occasionally, I feel a stunning sadness at all the ways it was so different from what I expected.

--Let me end with a happier memory of this 2nd week's beginning.  I went to the library to pick up my book on hold:  Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad about My Neck.  The librarian touched her neck and said, "This 72 year old librarian feels seen."  

I told her about my idea for my Nonfiction Writing class, which is focusing on the wide variety of personal essays we could write as a way to begin the class.  I'm bringing in Molly Jong-Fast's NYT essay with its realistic assessment of plastic surgery which references the Ephron essay.  I said, "Of course, these students are 19 and 20 years old, and they have gorgeous skin, so I don't know if they can relate to any of this."

The librarian beamed at me and said, "You're going to have a wonderful class.  Those students are so lucky."

We did have a really good class yesterday.  My English 101 and ALP classes were good too.

--In an evening of whiplash, with up and down feelings, I did ask God for a sign, even though I don't really believe God works that way.  I looked at the screen door and saw a perfect, tiny butterfly, so perfect that I wondered if someone had put a butterfly sticker on the screen.  Nope--my spouse took the screen door off the sliding track, and it flew away.

I'm going to see it as a sign of blessing, even if I'm a woman who tells herself that she doesn't believe in signs.

Sunday Sermons and Good Sundays

Yesterday was a good day at Faith Lutheran--the energy level felt a bit higher, a few more people attending than we had in the slower summer Sundays.  

I used the youth sermon to talk about the behavior of Jesus towards the Canaanite woman, the way we see Jesus at his most human, the hard parts of being human, the way humans get grumpy and tired and don't always treat each other well--but the way we can course correct in real time, just like Jesus did.

I was happy with how my adult sermon went, and happy about the last part of the last sentence, which wasn't in the manuscript:  "to live into a future where everyone has a place at the table, not under the table."

You can watch the recording of the sermon here on my YouTube channel, and you can read the manuscript in this blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, August 16, 2026

August 16, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Matthew 15:[10-20] 21-28



We have met the Canaanite woman before, and not just 3 years ago when we were last at this place in the lectionary cycle. In Mark, she’s called a Syrophoenician woman. Both of these descriptors—Canaanite and Syrophoenician--are markers that would have been more clear to first century ears than to our own. She is an outsider in all kinds of ways: she’s female, she’s not from Galilee, and most scholars assume she’s not Jewish. And yet, she shows us a way that outsiders can make the culture more inclusive.


Jesus goes to the region of Tyre and Sidon. He’s now left Galilee, his home base. Tyre is 20 miles away, Sidon further north, 50 miles away. His reputation as a healer has spread far and wide. Some Bible scholars seem surprised by this, but I’m not. Imagine if someone today could heal the toughest cancer and not with a rigorous regime of chemo that leaves the body exhausted, but with a touch that restores health. Ancient people were not that different from us. Humans seek healing, then and now.


But the Canaanite woman is not sick herself; she asks for healing for her daughter. Is her quest on behalf of another’s health the reason that Jesus and the disciples are so dismissive? No—Jesus has healed others who came to him hoping that he would come to heal a friend or relative or even a servant. Earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, a centurion comes to Jesus on behalf of his servant, and Jesus heals from a distance.


We might be starting to notice an inconsistency in Jesus’ approach. In parts of some Gospels, he heals only after a discussion. In other parts, like with the bleeding woman, he heals without even giving consent. He heals people who are grateful. When people don’t say thank you, he may notice, but he doesn’t reverse the miracle.


If you are hoping that I can give you secret insider information that I got at seminary, information that will lead us to a consistent theology, well . . . I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve found my life’s work for the last 1/3 of my life, but I don’t have an answer now.


Jesus doesn’t limit his powers of healing only to Jews. The centurion and the servant are Romans. But the woman in today’s Gospel is an outsider on a different level, a much more ancient level, going back to the time of the Torah.


She is a Canaanite woman, and using the word Canaanite instead of Syrophoenician makes her outsider status even more ancient. If you think way, way back in the Bible, you may remember that when the Israelites leave Egypt, led by Moses, they are headed to the promised land. Unfortunately that promised land was already occupied—by Canaanites. That vicious battle created hatred that stretched across centuries, hatred still active in the time of Jesus.


She comes to Jesus, knowing of this enmity, this bad blood between people but also knowing that her daughter is sick. She enters this male entourage and insists on being heard.


But notice how she insists. Her language is key to understanding how respectful she is. Her language also shows that she is professing Jesus to be more than just a healer or a miracle worker. She begins by using this title: “Lord, Son of David.” She recognizes him as the Messiah, the promised one foretold by prophets, and she does this throughout her interactions by using the term “Lord.” We often hear that word as one of Jesus’ other names, like Christ. But she’s using it in an ancient context, and her kneeling before Jesus reinforces that signifier.


Jesus’ response is harsh, which we’ve talked about before, and in today’s context, it’s a bit baffling. If he’s only come for the lost sheep of the house of Israel, then what’s he doing far away in Tyre and Sidon? You might bring up the parable about the shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep behind in search of the one who wandered away. The writer of the Gospel of Matthew is actually starting to expand the idea of the flock in a different way. It’s as if the shepherd in the parable decided to add a different type of animal to the herd.


Scholars now believe the Gospel of Matthew was written in the first decade or two after the destruction of the temples by the Romans. Keep in mind, it wasn’t just the destruction of the Temple—the Romans forced every Jewish survivor to leave the city of Jerusalem, and they would not return to that city again in mass numbers until the 20th century.


The Gospel of Matthew shows us a community in exile figuring out how to be a community in exile. Will they continue to be Jews who believe in the Divinity of Jesus or will they include believers who are Gentiles? The Canaanite woman argues for inclusion—she argues forcefully, yet respectfully. In this way, she changes Jesus’ mind and the approach of believers for decades to come. And if we look around, we could say that she was successful and leave it there and go home feeling happy.

But the message in today’s Gospel is that we’re never done with God’s vision for a more inclusive kingdom. Even Jesus has some growing to do. Even Jesus could dream a bigger dream, if only someone would come along and help him see what might be possible.


Today’s Gospel has reverberations for our own culture. We are a humanity in desperate need of new visions. We might hear this Gospel about ancient divisions and think of the ancient divisions plaguing our own times, divisions that come through history that is both different, yet ageless. People kicked out of homelands so that others can have a homeland—how do we solve that division? Geographical divisions that are intractable—how do we solve those disagreements? Old disagreements that fester into entrenched grievances—how do we solve that division? These are still essential questions for individual communities and larger nations.


Every person alive can tell a story of being on the painful side of exclusion and being outcast. How can we heal that wound?


The Canaanite woman shows us a way. We look to see what is healing and life giving. We look to those who are casting out demons, not the ones driving us into insensibility with evil speech. We insist on the dignity of everyone and give reverence to those who are deserving.


And yet, those actions alone may not be enough, if we don’t have the courage that it takes to be persistent.


As we work towards creating a better world, one in line with the flourishing that God wants for creation, we may not have success right away. The powers and principalities of the world will not say, “We were just waiting for someone to come and show us that a better way is possible.” We might be ignored. We might have to listen to harsh language about us and our visions. It might even be worse.


The Canaanite woman shows us the power of faith coupled with persistence. She is our ancestor in faith, and she showing us how to live in a time of cataclysmic change, showing us how to live in a world where the predominant response to cataclysmic change is to build more boundaries so that those who have a lot want can exclude those who aren’t so fortunate. The Canaanite woman changed Jesus’ mind; she changed the trajectory of his mission. Let us go and continue to live into the promise of this vision.

The Feast Day of Mary, Her Assumption and All Else

 Today is one of the many Marian feast days. Today we celebrate Mary's Assumption into Heaven. Here are the readings for today:

First Reading: Isaiah 61:7-11

Psalm: Psalm 45:11-16 (Psalm 34:1-9 NRSV)

Second Reading: Galatians 4:4-7

Gospel: Luke 1:46-55

I will state the obvious from the beginning.  We don't really know very much about the historic life of Mary.  That's both a blessing and a problem.  Because we don't know much about her, our imaginations can fill in all the blanks.  That can be wonderful, but we can make Mary into the person we need her to be. We could spend a lot of time trying to decide if this is a problem or as a benefit.

Did Mary know that she was headed for a chosen status before the angel Gabriel showed up?  I picture her as a young girl, having interesting dreams, having flashes of insight as she was taught to do daily tasks and how those tasks might be transformed into something more transcendent (bread baking, for example).  And then she takes that insight and teaches Jesus.

I might have a different version of Mary next year.  And I have no way of knowing whether or not any of it is true.

Likewise with her assumption into heaven--could this have actually happened?  Unlike some theologians, it doesn't seem very important to me.  I'm much more interested in the ways that God shows up for each of us with offers of potential and promises kept.

Throughout history, Mary has been used to show how all of us are somehow less worthy.  But most of us don't have the benefit of the angel Gabriel showing up to paint a picture of God's idea of what we could be and what the world could be.

Mary's response is worth remembering, especially as she hearkens back to Abraham and Sarah in praising God, who has kept the promises made to the ancestors.

Here we are, on the Feast Day of the Assumption, hearkening back to the Feast of the Annunciation.  If I had a favorite Marian holiday, it would be this one, or maybe the Visitation, which celebrates both Mary and her older kinswoman, Elizabeth.  These days, I'm yearning for more models of healthy aging, and perversely, Elizabeth speaks to me more often than the other elders in the Bible.

I am grateful for these shreds of information and insight from our spiritual ancestors.  While I wish we had more, I'm happy that we have enough for my imagination to take the reigns.

Thirty-eight Years Married

Today we celebrate our 38th wedding anniversary--38 years! It feels like just a blip.  Here is one of my favorite pictures of us, a picture taken at the March 2026 wedding of our nephew, who was born in 1993:

This morning in 1988, we'd have been in Greenwood, South Carolina. I'd have slept in the house that used to be a parsonage where my grandfather served a congregation for many years. Thirty years ago in that house, my grandmother ironed my wedding dress. Below you'll see my grandmother, with my aunt Joyce helping.




Yes, I had a long, white dress. We got married in the same church in Greenwood, South Carolina where my parents had gotten married in 1962, the same church where my grandfather had been the pastor. We had the ceremony at 11:00 in the morning, so that our out of town guests with long travels home would have plenty of time.  We tried to keep the ceremony and the reception relatively simple. For example, we chose daisies for our bouquet. Our reception included sandwiches, so that our out-of-town guests wouldn't have to buy lunch on their way out of town. We had the best wedding cake I've ever had.

In many ways, we're still that same couple: we try to keep life simple, while at the same time, keeping a commitment to hospitality. We are hyper-aware of our blessings, and the fact that much of the world will never taste the extravagance of a wedding cake. But we don't deprive ourselves--we stop to admire the daisies.

Here you see a picture of us on this day in 1988, and the two of us at our 25th anniversary dinner:

Here's my final thought for an anniversary morning. I'd expand the thought to include not just our spouses but also our friends and colleagues and family members.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 16, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 56:1, 6-8

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 45:1-15

Psalm: Psalm 67

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 133

Second Reading: Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32

Gospel: Matthew 15:[10-20] 21-28

I don't like this picture of Jesus that today's Gospel represents. He treats the Canaanite woman rudely, with a complete lack of compassion. What do we make of this vision of Christ?

Part of the answer may depend on your view of Jesus/God. Do you see God as unchanging? Do you see God as never making mistakes?

If so, perhaps you should re-read your Bible, especially the Old Testament. Throughout the Scriptures, we see God changing course, often influenced by humans. God does not command us to be passive and just accept whatever comes our way--whether it be from God, powers and principalities, other humans, or Satan. That theological idea that we have to just accept our lot in life in the hopes that we'll get our reward in Heaven--it's a major misreading of the Scriptures and of theology.

I like the idea of God who allows us to disagree--and a God that sometimes agrees that we are right in our disagreement. I like the idea of a God that is being shaped and changed by creation, just as we are being shaped and changed by creation--and by God.

I know we'd rather believe in an absolute God, a God who has all the answers. We don't want to believe in a God who gets tired. We don't want to believe in a God who doesn't have absolute control. We want a God who can point and make magical changes, even though everything we've experienced about the world doesn't suggest that God acts that way very often, if at all.

In today's Gospel, we see a tired, irritable Jesus. It's a terrifying idea (I'd prefer a divinity of infinite patience), but it's the best support to show that God did indeed become human.

The Canaanite woman is much more Godlike than Jesus in this Gospel. Here's a woman who is desperate to help her child. When Jesus rebukes her, she stands up to him and argues her case. And she persuades him. She demands justice, and because she stands her ground, she wins. Her behavior is much more Christlike than Christ's.

She has much to teach us. We are called to emulate her. When we see injustice, we must cry out to God and demand that creation be put right. Many theologians would tell you that if you want God to be active in this free will world that God has created, that you better start making some demands. God can't be involved unless we demand it (for a further discussion of this concept, see the excellent books of Walter Wink). If God just intervened in the world, that would violate the principle of free will which God instilled in creation. But if we invite God to action, then God has grounds to act.

I would argue that some of the most sweeping social changes of the twentieth century were grounded in this principle of crying out to the wider world and to God to demand that justice be done. Think of Gandhi's India, the repressiveness of the Jim Crow era in the USA, the South African situation decried by Archbishop Tutu, the civil wars in Central America, the Soviet occupied Eastern Europe: these situations horrified the larger world and the movements to rectify them were rooted in the Christian tradition. True, there were often external pressures applied (economic embargoes and the like), but each situation prompted prayer movements throughout the world.

Let the Canaanite woman be your guide towards right behavior. Let the actions of Jesus remind you that even if you're snappy and irritable, you can change course and direct yourself towards grace and compassion. Let your faith give you hope for a creation restored to God's original vision of a just and peaceful Kingdom.

The Feast Day of Saint Clare

Today we celebrate the life of St. Clare of Assisi, one of the first followers of St. Francis, and founder of the Order of the Poor Ladies (more commonly called the Poor Clares).  She wrote their Rule of Life, the first woman to have created such a thing, a set of rules for the life of a monastic order.

The Poor Clares lived a life committed to poverty, what St. Clare called a "joyous poverty."  Why joyous?  Because they felt they were following Christ in a much more authentic way and because they more vividly felt the presence of Jesus because of their lifestyle.  Throughout her life she faced pressure from church officials to abandon or weaken this commitment to poverty, and she resisted.  

Yet she also understood poverty as a practice that needed to be navigated in a way that didn't threaten life itself.  In a Facebook post Tim Brown, ELCA pastor and Stewardship expert at the ELCA, says, "Though St. Clare was intent on living in a post-ownership society, she also understood that savage piety could produce a backhanded vanity. "We are not made of brass," she said once to an overzealous sister, reminding the order that poverty was a gift, not a quest or competition. Human bodies can handle only so much deprivation."

The order still exists today, which tells me much about her accomplishment.

She was also instrumental in assisting St. Francis of Assisi, and many give her credit as one of his earliest followers.  Her order was based on his intentional community, and again, Franciscan strains of spirituality not only exist but are strong today--a testament to their work.

Tim Brown concludes his Facebook post by noting three truths:

"St. Clare is a reminder for me of a couple truths:

 
First, the spotlight unfairly falls on men in history. Clare was inspired by Francis, but more fully lived into his ideal vision of a monastic life than he ever did. She is the shining example that what he preached was a good way to live.

Second, piety can be just as competitive as gluttony in the hands of the overzealous. Martyrdom complexes are as sinful as extravagance. Clare's call was to humility, not destitution.

Finally, never underestimate the ability to move someone when words and actions hold hands. Clare looked not only to the sermon Francis preached, but to the sermon he embodied, and was motivated to do something life-changing."

Back to me:

In these days of increased tensions of all sorts, the life of St. Clare seems to take on fresh importance.  Let us take a moment to say a prayer of gratitude for her.  Let us remember the poor.  Let us vow to be joyous about reduced circumstances, should we be facing them.  Let us meet our savior as we minister to each other.

Sermon Recording from a Good Day at Church

We had a really good day at church yesterday at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I say this with some sense of wonder because I arrived in a grumpy mood:  we left ten minutes later than I had requested, which meant I felt frazzled.

I prayed for my grumpy frazzled mood to lift as I waited for my spouse to come downstairs and open the door, and happily it did with the first hymn.  My sermon went well.  I was more pleased with my adult sermon, but I also think what I did with the youth was important, talking about storms as what they might encounter in school (it's their second Monday back today).  Grown ups hear about Peter sinking in stormy waters and immediately think about the chaos in their lives, but most youth are not trained in this kind of interpretation.

We even welcomed a new member, the nephew of one of our current members and his two small (delightful!) children.  I got donuts in Arden, at my newish favorite donut store that's open at 5 a.m., even on Sundays.

You can find the recording of my sermon here.  If you'd like to read along, the manuscript is in this blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, August 9, 2026

August 9, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott


Matthew 14:22-33




We seem to be in the escalating miracles section of the lectionary. We might be able to explain away the miracle of last week’s reading by guessing that the crowds share more food as they are inspired by the actions of a few. But making a storm stop immediately—that miracle reveals the Divine nature of Jesus. No one could doubt after that miracle, right?


Perhaps not. Jesus has calmed a storm before today’s text in the Gospel of Matthew. It happens in the 8th chapter, when Jesus takes a nap in the boat as the storm rages around the disciples on the deck. When they are desperate enough to wake Jesus, he immediately stops the storm. The disciples are left puzzling over what they have seen, asking in verse 27 of chapter 8: “What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?”


The two stories have similarities beyond the storm and Jesus’ power over it. In both stories, Jesus has been ministering to a crowd. In today’s text, instead of getting in the boat with the disciples, Jesus sends them out in the boat and dismisses the crowds. Finally, he has time to go to the mountain to pray.


In the ancient world, particularly the Jewish world, the mountain is where one goes to meet God. Moses gets the 10 Commandments on a mountain. Prophets get Divine insight on mountain tops. Ancient ears would have heard about Jesus going to pray, and they might have interpreted that verb in a different way than we do. They might have heard about Jesus on a mountain and assumed that not only did Jesus talk to God, but also that God spoke back.


Ancient ears would have heard the part about the boat and the sea differently too. In the ancient world, the sea is a place associated with chaos, and a storm at sea would be evidence of a world out of control, depths that will swallow up even the best fisherman or sailor. Similarly, the early hours of the morning are evidence of the kind of dark night of the soul that we see periodically in the Bible—like the time Jesus prays in the Garden of Gethsemene.


So, when the men see Jesus, it’s not a surprise that they think they are seeing a ghost or some other creature rising from the depths to finish up the process of destroying them. Jesus speaks, and even then, they’re not sure of what they see. The storm still rages, after all. Can they even hear him?


Peter’s words—if it is you-- make me think that they can hear, but they just can’t process it. And who can blame them? When they last saw Jesus, less than 12 hours ago, he was headed in a different direction. And they may see him as a miracle worker, but even miracle workers can’t walk on the water in the middle of a storm.


Jesus can—and Peter can too, before he lets his analytical brain take control. Many a sermon has been preached on faith and how our rational brains might undermine our relationship with God, just the way we see here. Peter sinks, Jesus saves him, and still the storm rages around them.


Maybe it’s not Peter’s rational brain that fails him, that gets in the way of his faith, but fear. It’s not that Peter says, “Wait, I’m walking on water, and humans shouldn’t be able to do this.” No, it’s the wind that howls in his ears that makes him afraid and vulnerable.


I suspect the same is true for most of us. It’s not our science trained brains that get us distracted from God, but it is fear that deafens our ears to the call of Christ. But today’s story reminds us that it often takes an experience of soul rattling fear that leaves us open to finding God in the midst of the raging chaos that surrounds us. When our lives are progressing smoothly, it’s easy to think that we don’t need God. It’s when our lives fall apart that we find ourselves reaching out to God, God who has always been there, reaching out to us.


Today’s Gospel ends with the disciples recognizing the divinity of Jesus, which is not how the earlier story of Jesus calming the storm ends. Is it the difference between calming the storm from the safety of the boat in chapter 8 and walking on the water in the storm, as he does here? Is it that they have seen more and more that convinces them and by chapter 14, they are ready to confess their faith?


Maybe it is because they are Jews, shaped by the Passover story. With the pairing of last week’s Gospel with this week’s, we see Jesus re-enacting this ancient story in some key ways: there’s food in the wilderness and deliverance from waters that threaten. And there’s another echo of Exodus; when the disciples think they are seeing a ghost, Jesus identifies himself by saying “It is I.” Hebrew scholars note that Jesus uses the same words in the same form of Hebrew that God uses in the burning bush to tell Moses who speaks from the bush.


We are not Jews shaped by the Passover story, but Christians shaped by the story of a Messiah. Listen to those words again from verse 27: "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." Which part of that passage do you hear differently than others might? For me, it’s that ending, “Do Not be afraid.” From the beginning of the story of Jesus to the end, these words repeat: “Do not be afraid.” Mary and Joseph both receive this message, as does Jesus. And so do the disciples, throughout their time with Jesus.


But too many of us ignore the first part of what Jesus says. It’s not enough to train ourselves to not be afraid. We also need to take heart—or as an earlier translation says, “Take courage” or “Have courage.” If we don’t need to be afraid, we should be liberated to dare to do more.


Our courage might fail us, of course. Just because Jesus meets us in the storm, it doesn’t mean an end to all of our troubles. In today’s Gospel, the storm continues. And unlike the storm in chapter 8, in chapter 14 Jesus doesn’t command the storm to stop. Perhaps it ends, as all storms do, when they’ve expended all available energy.


Another interpretation of “Take heart” is “Be of good cheer,” or even “cheer up,” which might change our approach to the text considerably. We don’t need to be afraid. On the contrary, we can take heart and be of good cheer, because Jesus shows us again and again that his power is greater than any earthly power.


I wish I could tell you that a life following Jesus is one where there are no storms, but endless parties with everyone fed and leftovers collected. Jesus doesn’t promise us that life. But he does promise that if we fix our eyes on Jesus, if we listen to his words instead of the winds howling in our ears, we’ll survive the storm. Maybe it’s because we have faith enough to ignore our fear and walk on the water. It’s more likely that we survive because we fail, and in that moment of failure, we cry out for help. And Jesus is there, as Jesus has always been there, hand outstretched.


With the help of Jesus, we’ll make it back to the battered boat, and the battered boat will make it to the other side. All we need to do is let Jesus grab hold of us and steer us back to safety.

Shifts for Those with Sense to See

I am always intrigued by how we can see seasons shifting, long before the calendar would tell us to expect these changes.

We have to learn to see with new eyes, eyes that focus on what's there, not what we're expecting to see. It's more of a shift of imagination than with our literal eyes, our literal sense: 

It's similar to how we can see God at work in the world--but it might mean we need to change our focus. 

Once we see it, the changing of a season, the evidence of God in the world, it's hard to ignore.

In future years, I might see this photo as evidence of a world on fire; I wouldn't be wrong, but it's early morning mist here, not smoke from fires.

One aspect I can't capture:  the way the greenness of the trees is thinning, the way I can see distant lights from roads in ways I couldn't just a month ago.

Back to School, Back to Hiroshima

Yesterday was a delightful day.  Today will be delightful too, although it's a full day on campus, so it will be a different kind of delightful.  And I've been awake since 2, so I do worry about how tired I'll be by late afternoon.

My brain started churning at 2, churning with all sorts of worries and plans.  I need to sit down with a calendar and old syllabi and make some loose plans--or maybe weekly plans--at least that's what my brain was telling me when I couldn't go back to sleep.  My brain also jumped ahead to spring, and how I might teach the Intro to Lit class, and it's much too early to be plotting those classes.

Have I done the syllabus planning for this semester, since I was awake?  No, of course not.  I did some reading and ate some cranberry orange bread.  I did some fretting about muscle loss:  not my own, but my friend who had the catastrophic stroke a few years ago, and has lost so much muscle mass that she can't sit in the wheelchair very long.  I've wondered about other people in my life who aren't getting much exercise--but certainly more than my mostly bed-bound friend.

I am remembering 2 years ago, heading down to campus for a day that would have been even fuller, with a dinner for new faculty at the end.  I remember going to orientation sessions for new faculty and wondering how much would apply to me as a person with a one year position.  And I remember feeling so jealous of people who had the luxury of more permanence.

And now I am one of those people.

Of course, today is one of those days in history that reminds me that permanence is an illusion. Today is the day when the first atomic bomb used in warfare was detonated at Hiroshima, thus launching us into this brave new world where we find ourselves.  I think of those people headed to work when the bomb detonated, those burned into the concrete, and those further away, who would spend the rest of their lives being a walking specimen of what overexposure to radiation does to a human body before they died early.

The bombs used to destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki were small by today's standards--but what damage they did! The effects of that bomb obliterated much of Hiroshima--and vaporized some of it. There were reports of people fused into pavement and glass--or just vanished, with a trace remaining at the pavement. The reports of the survivors who walked miles in search of help or water are grim. And many of those survivors would die of the effects of radiation in the coming years.

Through the years, I've seen many a documentary about the rush to build nuclear weapons, about the uncertainty of what would happen with those first tests and explosions--would the very atmosphere around the planet dissolve? I have yet to see any footage of scientists who wondered what might happen to civilians on the ground when these bombs exploded.

I've lived long enough to see history being made to know that the choices can be fairly ghastly. In this case, far better to develop the weapons before the Germans. I know many people who believe that the use of these bombs helped avoid more years of grueling battles in the Pacific that would have left us with even more dead--one could argue that the sacrifice of the populations at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were worth the avoidance of more years of war and that loss of life.

I've also done enough reading and thinking about pacifist approaches to wonder if there might not have been another way if we had acted much earlier.

I remember during our grad school years we went to a beautiful anti-nuclear vigil on August 6 in a city park.  I remember paper cranes and seeing some of our grad school professors there.  That would have been in 1988 or 1989.  I wonder if any groups mount anti-nuclear vigils in August anymore?

It's not that the world is any more of a peaceful place these days.  In fact, in recent years, it feels like we're sliding back to a world that's much more dangerous.  Sadly, the world still needs the blessings of the origami cranes.  They're not as easy to fold as they look--that, too, makes them an appropriate metaphor.  But they are worth the effort--and peace is worth the effort too.

Delights Planned for the Last Day of Summer and an A for Paul Class

In many ways, today is my last day of summer 2026.  A year ago, I'd have been going to CPE early and then driving to Williamsburg to help my parents recover from my mom's near death pneumonia hospitalization--I am so grateful that this summer's end is more mundane.

Our transition to the school year is a gentle one.  Tomorrow we have a very full day of teacher training and meetings.  On Friday and Monday, we have one meeting per day.  I'd prefer to have both on one day and the other day free for syllabus prep, but I'm fine with the schedule.  Having more time off is a game changer--in my younger days at community colleges, I'd have been irritable at being expected to do any of this at all.  

Of course, in my younger days, I spent much more time being irked.  Now I am older and wiser and more laid back and a better shepherd of my energy, meaning I ask more questions about situations and whether or not my irritability/anger is worth the energy and time.

On this last day of summer, I'll fill my day with delights:  a morning visit with a neighborhood friend doing creative work together in her studio and an afternoon with the LWR quilting group at the local Lutheran church.  I'll do some reading and some writing.  For one day, today I won't do any teaching work:  I turned in final grades for my online classes last night, and I still have time to create syllabi before classes start on Tuesday.

But I'm just remembering that I need to put an announcement in my onground class course shells that gives a welcome and says that more information is coming soon.  Since the shells open tomorrow, I'll do that cut and paste work today.

I'm happy that my work-for-pay still leaves me with time to see friends and do creative work of all types, along with writing and reading.  I'm grateful that my teaching life doesn't consume all my free time.  I know I say this a lot, but it's worth remembering and retreating.

It seems fitting that on one of the last evenings of summer, last night I got my grades for my summer TEEM class on Paul:  an A on each of the two papers, and an A for the class.  My teacher gave thoughtful commentary that made me feel seen and heard and understood.

I mention my reaction because last night I also got my supervisor feedback for the summer online class that I taught for SMC.  Overall, it was positive, although there is room for improvement:  more personalized feedback and more depth of feedback.  My first thought was that using names of students in grading feedback (a suggestion) would take too much time.  But it really won't take that much more time and maybe it would help students stay engaged.

I'm grateful for my return to school in late middle life for many reasons, but it's been revelatory to remember what it's like to be a student.  I used to think that A level papers don't really need much instructor feedback, but as an A student, I would feel cheated if my papers got the kinds of A level feedback that I give as a teacher.  Maybe that's too strong; I'm remembering all the times I got minimal feedback on A level papers and didn't feel cheated.  But every time I get more involved feedback, I'm grateful.  And A level students are more likely to have the time and mental space to care in a way that isn't possible for students who can't care as much because their lives are falling apart.

Meditation on Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for August 9, 2026:

1 Kings 19:9-18
Psalm 85:8-13
I will listen to what the LORD God is saying. (Ps. 85:8)
Romans 10:5-15
Matthew 14:22-33

This week’s Gospel reading reinforces the themes we found in last week’s lesson. The disciples are in the boat and Jesus walks across the water to them. They don’t recognize him; indeed, they’re terrified. When they realize who it is, Peter, always enthusiastic, asks Jesus to bid him to come, which he does. Peter walks across the water with no problem, until he realizes what he’s doing and starts to sink.

Now, most of us probably haven’t had experiences where we’ve suspended the laws of nature, but most of us can probably relate to what Peter experiences. When I first learned to type, I got to the point where I could type at a very fast speed—until I thought about what I was doing. If I just let my fingers go and didn’t look at them, if I did what I knew I could do, I’d be fine. I’ve had similar experiences in learning foreign languages and in learning to play the mandolin or the ukelele; if I play the notes without double checking both my fingers and the chord charts and music books, I find out that I really can play—still more haltingly than I would like, alas.

This story is also about God’s presence and our inability to recognize the Divine all around us, as well as our trouble accepting the miraculous. One of the narrative arcs the Bible is God’s desire to be with God’s creation, to know everybody, to be fully present in our day-to-day lives--to the extent of becoming human. And God has to go to great lengths to get our attention—bushes burst into flame, oppressive governments release the captives, loaves and fishes feed thousands, people rise from the dead, God goes so far as to take on human form—miracle after miracle, and still humans don’t understand and don’t want to accept God’s daily presence.

Even when we do let ourselves glimpse the sacred and divine, even when we experience the miraculous, how quickly we forget and let the mundane swamp us. Psychologists would probably tell us that our approach is a coping mechanism, that if we let ourselves be that open to God, we’d go insane, or at least we’d look insane to our fellow humans. I’m not sure I agree. Maybe we’d be better witnesses, better disciples.

Be on the lookout for God in your daily life. Maybe it will just be a wink from the Creator, like a tree full of butterflies. Maybe you’ll be in the presence of the full-blown miraculous, and all doubts will vanish—the tumor shrinks, the passengers escape the burning plane, the hurricane curves out to sea.

Or maybe you won't get the miracle you think you want, but the miraculous comes as you learn how to cope and you learn that coping leaves you more open to the presence of God. Watch for God, listen for God, be alert. God is there, by your side, both during the times of the miraculous as well as the mundane, in the times of catastrophe, drudgery, or luminous.