Prayer 4035: Inspired by Psalm 42:1-2, 8

(Inspired by Psalm 42:1-2, 8)

As the deer longs for the water brooks,
and searches for her food within the woods,
so too we hunger and thirst for you, O God our Sustainer.

Your life-giving word
nourishes our souls:
sweeter than honey on the tongue
are your steadfast lovingkindness and mercy,
O Shepherd of Our Souls.

Trusting in your faithfulness and care,
may we release all the hurts and weights
that draw us from you and each other,
and lift up a prayer always to the God of Our Life.

Shine the light of your countenance
upon all whose spirits or strength is faltering, O Holy One,
and give your angels charge
over those for whom we pray.

Amen.

(Image: A herd of New Zealand deer on a farm on the South Island, December, 2023)

God Our Refuge: Speaking to the Soul May 4, 2023

(inspired by Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16)

In You, O God, do we take refuge:
our trust is in You as we cry out in distress.
Even when the darkness surrounds us,
when walls close in upon us,
You are our mighty fortress.
Preserve us within the storms of life,
for though the tempest rages about us,
You are our God.
Mighty winds may blow and howl,
but You,
O God,
are our rock of refuge and stronghold to keep us safe.
For You take heed of our souls’ distress
and will never give us up to the power of darkness and despair.
We rest in the hands of the Almighty:
we rejoice in your mercy and lovingkindness.
Watch over your children, we pray,
and embrace those who rest within You.

Amen.

This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on May 4, 2023.

The God of Green Pastures: Speaking to the Soul, April 27, 2023

Let me give thanks and praise to God,

my Shepherd and Provider,
who claims and unfailingly loves me as God’s own.
I lay all my trust at the feet of the Almighty,
Lover and Seeker of my soul.

The One Who Sees leads me into verdant, abundant pastures
filled with all I need, and gives me rest and security.
God restores and refreshes my soul,
tending and guarding my inmost being.
My Shepherd sees my weariness, and lifts me up;
guiding me in right pathways,
that I bring honor to God’s Name.

Searcher of the Heart, You shield me with your strength and vigilance;
may I always remain at your side.
No matter what terrors or trials approach me,
I am not afraid
for You,
Emmanuel,
are with me, even if death overhangs me.

Maker of Peace, You provide for me plentifully and exalt me,
even as my enemies look on,
helpless to harm me.
You have consecrated me
and blessed me abundantly,
and the cup of my blessings overflows
like a spring in the desert.

O God That Formed Me, your promise to love me
envelops me in goodness and mercy,
following me as my companions throughout my life.
I am secure as a child in God’s arms,
and my home is with you forever,
even into eternity.

This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on April 27, 2023.

Watching, Waiting, Hoping: Sermon for Lent 5A

When I was about twelve, we went to San Diego, and my Mom took me to a beach in La Jolla that was a perfect little crescent moon. I had brought a mask along because I loved to look for shells as I swam, since the beach was usually picked over by the hundreds of people who had been there before me. And so the beach where we were was shallow, until it suddenly plunged to about ten feet deep, and that’s where the shells were, down past that plunge. So down I would go, and when I would find a treasure, I would swim back to shore and deposit it on my beach blanket. By the way, this was also about the time that my lifelong bitterness about men’s clothing having pockets when the corresponding attire for women had none was reinforced. It’s an injustice, I tell you!

But I digress. Anyway, back then, I also was really good at holding my breath—just like I am still holding my breath about those pockets. So at one point I was down scrounging along the bottom for shells, and I happened to look up, and noticed the waves rolling over me way over my head. I kind of sat and floated there for a while, watching those waves roll, seemingly inside-out, the play of light and shadow, all the different subtle shades of blue and gray spinning overhead. When I swam back to the surface, I saw my parents standing with a mixture of dread and fury on the beach. I guess I had stayed down there too long. They kept motioning for me to come back to shore, but I am no dummy and so I tried to give them some time to cool off before I got within spanking distance. They had been calling my name while I was down there, but I couldn’t hear them so far underwater. All I could hear was the rolling of the waves overhead—that and my own heartbeat.

The image of the waves rolling over your head is not always an image of comfort, I have to admit. For the ancient Israelites, who were a desert people and NOT a sea-faring people, the ocean was the place of chaos, disorder, danger-- the home of monsters like the Leviathan and that whale that gobbled Jonah up. The apostle Paul claimed to have been shipwrecked more than once during his missionary travels because he knew that would send a shiver down the spines of his audience, and prove how MUCH he had suffered in carrying the gospel all around on that treacherous, salty menace known as the Mediterranean Sea.

A few months after that experience at the beach, I first attended an Episcopal church. One of the things I first noticed when I began attending an Episcopal Church was the Book of Common Prayer. Even though there were Bibles right next to them in the pews (this being Oklahoma, after all, where “Bible Belt” is not just a phrase but a stating of the obvious), a goodly portion of the BCP was taken up with the inclusion of the entire psalter. It drove home to me the beautiful realization that the Psalter is the Prayer Book within the Prayer Book. And so this began a years-long fascination with the Psalter that continued today.

It is amazing what you see if you sit down and look at how the psalms are arranged. When you sit down and read the psalms in the psalter, you notice that often there are pairings within its pages. Psalm 1 and Psalm 2 go together, for instance, likewise Psalm 22 and 23, and also with Psalm 130 with Psalm 131.

Psalm 130 starts with a cry of distress and fear, but reminds us of this precious truth: mercy is part of the fabric of God. Ultimately, both this psalm and our gospel passage are about hearing: Does God hear us? And do we hear God?

Psalm 130 is a cry for help. And so I want you to imagine Martha and Mary praying that psalm as their brother falls ill, and as they send word to their treasured friend, Jesus. They are waiting like watchmen for the morning, certainly. And I believe they prayed this psalm knowing that God hears us and redeems us from death, from the breakers of death and suffering that roll over our heads especially in times of crisis and despair. But we have to be willing to wait, even while we are holding our breath as the waves seem to be crashing over us.

Tom Petty WAS right. The waiting is the hardest part.

That’s why this word is repeated four times at the center of this psalm.

Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.

What we hear in all our readings is the power of God’s voice, and the reminder of what amazing things can happen when we listen to God’s voice directed back at us. Jesus weeps at Lazarus’s grave, just as surely as God weeps alongside us when we despair or feel the waves breaking over our heads. God sees us loves each of us individually enough to speak words to us of forgiveness, of presence, of a new, better restored life to us—if only we will listen, and have faith. God’s voice is the power of resurrection in our own lives, calling us out of the tomb of hopelessness and fear.

The psalter reflects this same assurance. Take a look. Turn in your Books of Common Prayer to Psalm 131 later and see. Psalm 131 comes from a place of calm and security—the psalmist even goes so far as to envision themselves as a child upon its mother’s breast—one of the most obviously maternal images for God in the entire Bible. Where Psalm 130 begins with a cry as the waters rise over our heads, even by verse 3 we are reminded of the forgiveness that is intrinsic to God’s relationship with us and God’s self-disclosure to us.

If you consider the two psalms together, you will notice that Psalm 130 begins with the author’s own personal experience of anxiety and plea to God, followed by a reminder to himself of God’s justice and compassion, even though the word “feared” is used at the end of v. 3. In v. 4, the psalmist has moved to hope through verse 5. You can hear with wistful longing when the psalmist speaks of “my soul waits upon the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.”

The idea of “waiting upon the Lord” is one that I think especially resonates in this time of pandemic, anxiety, and fear. In Psalms for a Pilgrim People, Anglican priest Jim Cotter, whose work also was included in the beautiful New Zealand Prayer Book, rendered the psalms in verse. Psalm 130 was entitled “Watching and Waiting:”

Dare I enter the dark?

Empty, exhausted, and ravaged,
in the depths of despair I writhe.
Anguished and afflicted, terribly alone,
I trudge a bleak wasteland, devoid of all love.

In the echoing abyss I call out:
no God of Compassion hears my voice.
Yet still I pray, Open your heart,
for my tears well up within me.

If you keep account of all that drags me down,
there is no way I can ever stand firm.
Paralyzed and powerless, I topple over,
bound by the evil I hate.

But with you is forgiveness and grace,
there is nothing I can give - it seems like a death.
The power of your love is so awesome:
I am terrified by your freeing embrace.

Drawn from the murky deeps by a fishhook,
I shout to the air that will kill me:
must I leave behind all that I cherish
before I can truly breathe free?

Suspended between one world and the next,
I waited for you, my God.
Apprehension and hope struggled within me,
I waited, I longed for your word.

As a watchman waits for the morning,
through the darkest and coldest of nights,
more even than the watchman who peers through the gloom,
I hope for the dawn, I yearn for the light.

You will fulfill your promise to bring me alive,
overflowing with generous love.
You will free me from the grip of evil,
O God of mercy and compassion.

Touching and healing the whole of my being,
you are a God whose reach has no limit.
All that has been lost will one day be found:
the communion of the rescued will rejoice in your name. (1) 

This psalm, which begins “out of the depths,” is also ironically what is called “a psalm of ascents.” These were chanted by pilgrims as they climbed the steps to the Temple in Jerusalem. And fittingly, the movement starts from a low place and ends on a high place. We *may* be in the deep, with the water over our heads, but God is near, hears us, forgives us because God treasures each of us, and accompanies us.

The structure of the psalm is much like a liturgy: v. 1 is the invocation, vv. 2-3 are a confession and absolution. It is at verse 2 that we are reminded that God watches us, including “taking note of what is done amiss.” The absolution in v. 3 ends with the unfortunate choice of the word “feared” used in its original sense that we have completely lost. “Feared” in this context originally meant evoking a feeling of respect and awe. In vv. 4-5 we center ourselves in the presence of God, as in the heart of the liturgy—if we are really paying attention, if we are here not just to check off a box but to worship and praise. A watchman looks for morning because his shift on the fortifications is then done, the danger that lurks in the night is now driven back by the light of day, and the watchman anticipates home and bed after a job well done. In vv. 6-7, we too turn for home—not as individuals, but as a community that has just shared communion and reminded ourselves of our bonds with one another and with Christ. We leave, assured of God’s care for each of us and presence alongside us, offering us renewed and restored life sustained by faith.

Three things reside “with” Yahweh: forgiveness (v. 3), steadfast love (chesed, translated here as “plenteous redemption” in v. 7), and the power of redemption, also in v. 7. Redemption is a word we seem to skim over and take for granted in our worship and in our understanding of God’s forgiveness, so it bears emphasizing: to be redeemed is to be reclaimed, ransomed, restored to wholeness and home. It is to be a captive who has been freed from captivity—in this case, the captivity to sin to which we all are prone when left to our own desires and devices. These three qualities that dwell with God demand an ethical response from us, as we acknowledge and give abundant thanks for God’s redemption and restoration of us to new life.

First, we give thanks when we truly worship with our hearts and allow that worship to transform how we live in the world. That is what we are here for in the first place, after all. Second we share that gift of forgiveness and reconciliation with those we encounter rather than judging them, condemning them, or targeting them. I am convinced that right there is a word that needs to be preached to those struggling for power and control in our common life together outside these walls. As the writer Anne Lamott famously remarked, you can be pretty certain you have created God in your own image when God hates all the same people you do.

God not only hears us, God calls us to be honest that here are times when the waves crashing over our heads are waves of our own fashioning, as we fall subject to the temptation of sin—when we act hatefully toward marginalized groups in our society—or just remain silent as the powerful in the world perpetuate injustice and hatred in our names. So God calls us to listen for God’s voice of resurrection and redemption in our own lives—to listen, and to be formed and shaped by the ethic of abundant love, abundant life, and abundant grace that we ourselves receive.

When we hear that voice of forgiveness of resurrection, we can then feel the power of God’s loving call to us in everything we do, and we can then embrace the pure joy of Psalm 131. I share again Jim Cotter’s beautiful interpretation of Psalm 131, which he entitled “Calm and Contentment:”

Dear God, my heart is not proud,
nor are my eyes haughty.
I do not busy myself in great matters,
nor in what is beyond me.

I am glad I depend upon my neighbour,
I make no great claims of my own;
Sealed off by myself I would never know gifts,
never know the bonding of trust.

I have calmed in quiet and my whole being,
I am like a child contented at the mother's breast,
in the stillness I look into the eyes of my lover,
I am absorbed in the task of the moment.

It is like the silence of an evening in spring,
made intense by the bleat of a lamb.
It is like the waves of the sea come to rest,
no more than a whisper in the caress of the shore.

The silence and stillness lift the woodsmoke of prayer,
a song of quiet gratitude wafting it high.
Aware of descendants an ancestors with us,
we join the soft chorus of praise. (2)

Listen carefully. We are those dry bones, being restored to new hope and new life at just the word of God being spoken over us. We ARE Lazarus, beloved so much that Jesus weeps over us, drawing us forward in response to the loving call to us from the grave of our own fears and prejudices.

God’s dream for us is resurrection, redemption, and abundant life. All these things are there for us. All we have to do is listen. Listen, and come forth out of the tomb, our of the depths.

Preached at the 505 on March 25 and at the 10:30 Eucharist on March 26, 2023 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

Citations:

1 and 2) Jim Cotter, Psalms for a Pilgrim People, kindle edition.

Praying from the Inside Out: Sermon for Proper 12C

(1)

You know, there are times when it is hard as a preacher to decide which text calls out to be preached.

This week is not one of those times.

I mean-- whew! Did you get a load of that passage from Hosea? Hmmm.... preach about a prophet being forced to make his life into performance art to make a point about his people's unfaithfulness-- and that word "whoredom" smacking us right in the face? No thank you.

Then, our epistle, and 15 years as a middle school teacher finding out that kids confused circumcision with sterilization tells me to back away from that one too. Nope.

So it was rather easy to settle on the gospel today, with its topic of prayer. Because I have found that, no matter how many times we talk about it, prayer is one of those things that can be very hard, and cannot be investigated enough. Because there's a lot of difficulty around prayer.

As I look over this pericope in 2022, I have to be honest: there are times that I just feel too tired, too worn out, too overwhelmed to pray. I may be exhausted, or feel spiritually dry. I’m not in the right headspace, or heart space. I don’t have the right attitude or discipline.

That’s why it is important to remember that we never pray alone. As disciples, the mere fact that we are here together in worship reminds us that prayer is a communal act. The fact that we Episcopalians speak of “common” prayer reminds us how foundational it is to always remember that our prayers join with others. To remember that our prayer with others includes everything from our opening words, through hymn singing, through hearing the word of God, through the prayers of the people, through sharing the peace with those who are visiting as well as those we know. Our common prayer continues through the Great Thanksgiving, in which we recount God’s saving help to humanity all throughout history; through sharing in the bread and wine; all the way through to the dismissal and then continues right out into the street and the rest of the week. 

All of that is prayer, and it is prayer done as a community.

Jesus doesn’t say we have to have any of the right attitudes, the right disciplines, the perfect words. I think of this prayer by St. Teresa:

Teach me, if Thou wilt, to pray:
If Thou wilt not, make me dry.
Give me love abundantly
Or unfruitful let me stay.
Sov’reign Master, I obey.
Peace I find not save with Thee.
What wilt Thou have done with me? (2)

So maybe we are brought up short when we want to pray, and so we look for a formula, which Jesus here provides. But Jesus teaches us here that to pray is to first acknowledge that God is God, and we are not. In other words, we start with praise. Praise that God is holy, from God’s very name outward. 

In fact, Jesus starts with reminding us that God is in intimate relationship with us. Jesus calls God Father, and we can too-- or Mother, or Friend, or Lover, or Beloved, or Creator. If any of those words has negative meaning for you, use another. Just remember that God loved you before you even knew the word "God." Jesus even points out that God always wants us to have good things, just like a loving parent wants to give their children eggs instead of snakes or scorpions.

And you know, I had an experience this week about that. I was getting into our pool, and just as I was getting ready to swim some laps suddenly saw something swim by and realized there was a snake in my pool. 

Let me tell you, I walked on water better than Peter ever did. I practically levitated outta that pool, and stood there gasping on the deck as this reptile took a victory lap in MY pool. And being the church nerd I am, I thought of this gospel passage and prayed for God to change that snake into an egg. But no such luck. I had to scoop the critter out myself and deposit him elsewhere. And sometimes our prayers remind us that we can't just ask God to perform magic tricks to get us out of confronting our fears and doing the dirty work. And after all, God loves that snake and much as God loves me.

Now, you will notice that the version we get here in Luke's gospel is pretty short, and has a lot of things missing that we are used to saying. And there are dozens if not hundreds of versions of this prayer just in the English language alone. I am convinced it s a good thing to occasional pray one of those other versions from time to time, and to sit down an examine the version we most often say, just to remind ourselves what is actually in there-- and what is not. To remind ourselves that words count.

The New Zealand Prayer Book (3), for instance, has an expansive version of the Lord’s Prayer, as one would expected from a province that seeks to reflect the cultures of three distinct groups of people. 

It has about 15-20 words just to take the place of that word "Father" that we get in our gospel. It even uses a trinitarian formation. I encourage you to look up this prayer and spend some time with it. Here's one thing that's interesting--How much of that prayer is praise? More than half of it. We get almost two-thirds of the way through that prayer before we ask God for anything. I think that is a wonderful reminder to us all, too, about prayer not just a wish-fulfillment.

Jesus reminds us that our purpose in following God is not to get God to do our bidding, but for us to surrender to God. One of the most beautiful hymns I still treasure from my childhood sitting next to my grandma in her Baptist church says it best:

All to Jesus I surrender, All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust him; In his presence daily live.
I surrender all--- I surrender all
All to Thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all. (4)

God’s kingdom coming means a time when we do not anesthetize ourselves to the suffering of others by clinging to a system that is designed to sort everything into a small category of winners and la large host of losers in various degrees. God’s kingdom is one where we don’t keep trying to get God to do our bidding, but we surrender with joy to God as our only sovereign, our Creator who continually calls us into living as if we really believed that we are made in the image of God—in the image of one whose wisdom and love sustains everything around us, throughout the universe and across time and space. God’s kingdom is built on our surrender, but it is joyful because, as this prayer teaches us, our entire lives are an edifice, either resilient or fragile. Our entire lives are an edifice, resilient and resplendent, if they rest upon trust in God.

For this prayer is a prayer of trust:

Trust that we have a real relationship with God. Trust that our relationship with God began before we even knew the word God, and that that relationship will continue even beyond our earthly lives.

Trust that God is our Maker, our Father, our Mother, Creator, Source, Friend, Lover-- the One who tenderly loves us each the best, whatever word that most means that to you. Think of it. Has anyone seen the images from the James Webb telescope the last few weeks? The marvels we can now see from this amazing universe made and sustained by God? And here's an even greater wonder: The same God who made each of those nebula and constellation and black hole looked around this amazing universe and decided the universe needs one of you just as badly. God loves us eternally-- and even plants the dust of stars within our bones and sinews.

We pray because we trust that God will sustain each of us. In giving us the bread we need today so that we may have strength tomorrow, that we may use that strength to help make God’s kingdom of love, mercy, justice and grace visible upon this beautiful Earth that, as our beloved, living home, sustains us and embraces us in each and every second of our lives.

Trust that God forgives us our sins. We may flinch at the thought of sitting down and really examining ourselves to see what sins we have committed, or supported with our silences. Or we may take account of our sins frequently, and feel the weight of guilt and shame. Yet, when we acknowledge that we have sinned, and determine to amend our lives and work to restore our relationships through honesty and responsibility, we find God’s forgiveness always there, cooling and soothing the parched walls of our shattered hearts.

And then notice what our translation says: Since we have been forgives our sins, we can forgive everyone indebted to us. What does it mean to consider a sin against us as a debt? I think this provides a precious insight into human nature. Don’t we consider that those who have hurt us owe us something—an apology, compensation, a period of grovelling? There’s a phrase that’s sometimes used when lauding someone who has done something heroic, like the delivery driver who ran into a burning home and rescured five children single-handedly. We often say we owe them a debt of gratitude. 

Reciprocally, if we trust in God as our ultimate home and heart, we can also use the gratitude we feel at God’s abundant grace to ourselves embody forgiveness and grace to others who have wronged us. We can pay off our debt of gratitude by paying that forgiveness forward. By doing so, we free ourselves from the chains or resentments and anger at the hurt we have endured, and we have once again taken seriously the obligation laid upon us by the blessing of being created in the image of God.

So why does Jesus have us end here in Luke’s version with praying not to be led to the time of trial? Well, if we have taken seriously the cataloguing of our sins and our clinging to old resentments and grievances, we already have a sneaking suspicion that a time of trial is something at which we most likely will fail. Just as we trust in God to give us the bread we need for today, we trust in God to not simply throw tests at us to see if we will pass or fail. One translation, the one that we pray at our main service each Sunday, actually asks God not to lead us into temptation. I always scoff at that line in my heart when we say it. Because if one thing is certain, it’s that we don’t need to God to lead us to temptation, we can find it just fine all on our own. See also the phrase: “The Devil Made Me Do It.” Thus, again here we are called to trust in God to offer us guidance and lead us aright when we ourselves wander into the quicksand.

Praying this prayer, then, is a prayer for strength to be soft where the world is hard,
To be strong enough to be forgiving and merciful where the world is merciless,
To be reflective of God’s abundant love and wisdom in a world that too often seeks to hit first rather than see the woundedness around each of us and offer good things rather than adding bad to bad, like offering a child a snake or a scorpion.

Praying as Jesus taught us is a reminder that there are actions which count as prayer, starting with listening. Sometimes, the best prayer of all is when we say nothing, but merely invite God into our hearts and into our lives. We don’t have to do all the talking.

Sometimes prayer is not merely in words at all. The beloved poet Mary Oliver started her poem “Six Recognitions of the Lord” with this observation:
“I know a lot of fancy words.
I tear them from my heart and my tongue.
Then I pray.”

Amen.

This was preached at the Saturday 505 Eucharist and the Sunday 10:30 Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Ellisville, MO, on July 23-24, 2022, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost.

Readings:

Hosea 1:2-10
Psalm 85
Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19)
Luke 11:1-13

Citations:

1) The Lord's Prayer in Catalan, wall hanging from La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, my photo.

2) St. Teresa of Jesus, Works of St. Teresa, Vol. 3, p. 280.

3) From A New Zealand Prayer Book: He Karakia Mihinare o Aotearoa.

4) Verse 1 of "I Surrender All," by Judson W. Van De Venter (1855-1939).

5) Image of the Southern Ring Nebula from the James Webb telescope, NASA/ESA found at https://time.com/6196675/five-james-webb-telescope-images-explained/

6) Mary Oliver, from Thirst, 2006.

Prayer 3271: Inspired by Psalm 30 and 32

In peace, we bow before You,
O God, our helper and guide.

You are the Exalted One,
whose thoughts are so high
we cannot attain them;
yet You also extend Your love like a mighty fortress
over all of creation, Your handiwork,
from the honeybee and the humble seeker.
Like a mother
You tenderly soothe our fevered dreams
and remind us of the trust we can place in You.
We wake, and joy returns with dawn's first light
as Your compassion and tenderness illumines our path.

May we exalt You in our times of strength
even as we cry to You in times of trial,
remembeing always that we are Your own
and beloved.
May we confess and own our faults,
seeking not just forgiveness but reformation and restoration,
that our sinful ways may be plucked out cast away,
and our relationships healed and restored
like a well-tended garden.

May we turn away from hubris and pride
and be guided by You into the path of Life and Peace
paved by gentleness, care, and compassion.
May we remember we are embraced by Your mercy,
and acknolwedge your grace with gratitude.

Holy God, our Rock and our redeemer,
extend the shelter of Your tender care
over those whose needs we lift before You,
as we humbly pray

Safe Above the Storm: Speaking to the Soul for July 8, 2021

As the sun rises into the sky
on the songs of sparrows,
let me think on God, and praise God’s Name.

Blessings upon you, Eternal One:
You are my rock,
my refuge to keep me safe above the raging storm.
Even when the heat of turmoil and trial swirls about me,
You, O God, are cooling water,
and my ever-present help.
You dry my anxious tears,
and comfort the mourning;
I find my home in your tender embrace.

Your love, O Savior, forever will I sing,
and I will sing to You even in the darkest hour.
You refresh my soul, Lord Christ,
and knit my tattered heart together again.
You draw to me the solace of friendship,
the prayers of friends to lift me up and ease my burdens.

May I stand upright before You, O Holy One,
and this day grow deeper in charity, faith, and hope.
Turn the eyes of my heart outward, O God,
that I may sing anew your grace in your community.
Blessed Jesus, take us by the hand,
and grant your blessing upon those we remember before you.

Amen.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on July 8, 2021.

July Thunder (Domine non est)- Speaking to the Soul for July 1, 2021

 

Psalm 131

 

My shivering dog draping himself over me 

like a quaking blanket, pride abandoned,

driven to anxiety by the sound of thunder 

rumbling overhead for most of this week, sometimes 

bringing rain, sometimes just a threat. And for all with pets, 

 

this entire week holds more of the same--

the neighborhood will echo with the report of 

fireworks and hopefully not gunfire 

at least through the sixth of July. 

 

 “Domine non est

exaltatum cor meum…”

 

But the sky right now is exactly the color of a bruise, 

matching the one inflicted on me as

he pawed me last night to make the insufferable

thunder stop. Stevie Nicks once 

famously sang, “Thunder only happens when it’s raining.”

 

She was wrong. But Kobe believes her. His first owners 

left him outside in all weather, and thunder is a memory 

of being swept into wind and downpour 

with no chance of shelter. Thunder is the memory 

of storms and cruelties long past, 

the menace fresh, the carelessness vivid.

 

Don’t we all know the weight of helplessness

when hoping in God is all there is? 

 

So into the basement we descend. I will 

sit next to him, the press of my body and 

Bach cello suites by Ma in attempted comfort, 

notes gliding and bouncing exactly like rain,

the blare of the C string masking the thunder 

perhaps enough that he can be quieted and rest.

 

And sleep will come and breath will ease 

for all afraid yet drawn into love’s leeward side,

like a child upon his mother’s shoulder

asleep on a damp cheek,

sliding gratefully into open-hearted trust,

elusive too often for the proud and haughty self

I too often wear like armor.

 

I wait upon you gratefully, O Mothering God,

and rest upon you as the storms 

within and without subside.

I have no need to walk in mighty matters

for the reward in my soul

is your abundant lovingkindness and mercy--

more than enough.

--LKS, written for Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul for July 1, 2021. 

The Crooked Path of Trust: Speaking to the Soul for June 24, 2021

  

Isaiah 40:1-11

 

Today is the Nativity of John the Baptist. It’s an unusual feast day for many reasons. First of all, There are only three times when a saint’s birth date is celebrated -- besides the birth of Jesus himself, the Christian calendar celebrates the birth of the Virgin Mary, which is not discussed anywhere in scripture, and the birth of John the Baptist, which is. Further, the birth date of John the Baptist is dependent mathematically on two other feasts: Christmas, and the Annunciation. Because Mary is told that her kinswoman Elizabeth, John's mother, is already six months pregnant with John, John's birth is celebrated three months to the day after the feast of the Annunciation. And since John is born six months before Jesus, Christmas is now officially six months from today. For those of you who hate summer, which just now started, may this be a light of hope for you. You're welcome. 

 

The scriptures chosen for today all relate to the career of John the Baptist as a prophet and forerunner of Jesus the Messiah. We begin with the beautiful first eleven opening verses from Isaiah chapter 40, which includes the famous line that will be repeated in the gospel of Luke chapter 3: “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” In the Hebrew imagination, wilderness and deserts are places of extreme stress, wild beasts, thirst, and chaos. It was a place where one could easily get lost. That's why the fact that the adult John the Baptist will spend so much time there makes him even more unusual of a person. 

 

In the most hostile of environments --wilderness and desert --the word of God comes to offer comfort, respite, and safety, despite Israel’s sinfulness and fault. It is in these most unlikely of places that God's comfort is offered and maintained. God’s comfort is a gift of grace in a time when all hope had been lost, when the fear of abandonment was seemingly permanent. Yet God’s promise remains true, and doesn’t depend upon human measurements of time to come to fulfillment.

As always, it is God who takes the initiative. At last, the light appears at the end of a long night. The Babylonian Exile, just like this ongoing pandemic, stripped the people of so much that mattered to them. Our own exile—from faith, from compassion, from dedication to community and true justice and equality—has also left us longing for meaning, for purpose. 

We think we can make our own pathways straight to success, to crushing our opponents. It’s part of the modern myth of independence that ignores how much we depend upon each other, and upon God. 

 

Yet our paths to God don’t have to be straight. It is often the most indirect, wandering stop-and start journeys that end up being the truest, because they don’t fool us into thinking that the life of abundance can actually be acquired. The broken road is often the road that leads us to God, because it strips away all our defenses and resistance to God.

The wilderness is no barrier to God-- God loves the wilderness just the way it is. God even loves the wilderness inside us, the one that often scares us, because God made us with the ability to appreciate the beauty of wild things and wild places. God is willing to spend a lot of time in the wilderness with us. It is us who want the wilderness leveled, not God.  Since when does God see the wilderness and respond with a construction crew and truck full of asphalt? God’s time is NOT our time, and God’s schedule is not our schedule. God likes to take the long way home, reminding us once again that God’s home is everywhere, wherever God is but not limited to one place.

 

John the Baptist’s life shows that the crooked path is also the path to true community, rejoicing in our interdependence. Where can you embrace the crooked path in your life today? 

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on June 24, 2021.

The Best Seed: Sermon for the Third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 6B

In the week that I have spent here on the Mountain at Sewanee, I've only had a few moments to walk among the trails that surround the domain. I’ve yet to get to their working farm, complete with chickens and goats, but that is on my list. But the forests here surround the School of Theology, which is on the periphery of campus.

These forests did not get here through human intervention (although they could certainly disappear that way). They got here through the processes of nature working as God created them. The seed falls to the ground, or even gets scattered by birds or deer. Those that fall where the conditions are right sprout. Some of those sprouts will get eaten, or fail to thrive, but that’s a pessimistic way to look at it.

Instead, we look at the forest, and we see the signs of God’s bounty and care for creation everywhere. And here’s a miracle: Each one of these trees started out as just a small seed! Some of them were here before we were born, and some of them will be here long after we are gone. 

Their growth is automatic—especially if we humans get out of the way. If we don’t try to “manage” the forest, or drive off the full range of creatures that keep a forest healthy, or pull out the herbicides and start blasting away at the plants that we term “weeds.” And our gospel today reminds us, that what one being sneers at as a weed, like the mustard seed, can be another being’s precious home, like those birds that gather in the branches after that mustard seed surprises everyone by becoming not just a bush, but a habitat.

Working in gardens all my life taught me one thing, though: If you like control, growing plants is NOT for you. There is way too much that can go wrong, even if you start from potted plants rather than from seed. The smallest thing can spell disaster as a plant moves from seed to maturity: too much rain. Too little rain. A late freeze. A marauding squirrel or grazing deer. Grubs. Mites. Moles, Gophers. Fungus. black rot. Drought. Hail. Even tornadoes.

That's why I admire the farmer in the first parable at the beginning of our gospel today. She tends to the parts that she can control, and she relaxes about the parts that she can't. She sows the seed, trusting that some of it at least will produce. And then she goes to sleep. That right there is a great big bit of wisdom: after you've done your work, take a nap.

But more importantly, she trusts God enough to let God do God’s miraculous magic that we can especially see all around us in creation. God makes the seeds sprout—not us. The fully grown wheat or the tree or the apple—it’s all hidden there, sleeping, waiting in potentiality in every seed that falls to the ground. Think of how miraculous—how gracious—that is!

Jesus tells us that the reign of God, and our role in it, is like this: God gives us the seed. Unless we scatter it, nothing will happen. So do it. Share the word of God in your words, yes, but especially in your actions—the hardest thing of all actually, because that requires that we LIVE by God’s values of love and faithfulness, and that means that it’s not just a matter of saying you’re a Christian—it’s a matter of living like Jesus, which is much harder.

Jesus gives us that seed to scatter. So that IS an important part of our role, and it often happens best when we are unaware that we are doing it—when people are watching us out in our daily lives.

But then, trust in the goodness and fertility of that seed and soil. Trust that God has the power to make that seed sprout and grow, and don’t worry too much about how it’s going to actually happen. You can’t manage the time, you can’t manage the season. No matter what, it’s not OUR timeline—we don’t have control over when the sprouting or the growing or the harvest time will come. As we’ve been through this time of pandemic, that’s an especially precious and important reminder, as we all grow impatient. We’ve learned to scatter seed in new ways here at St. Martin’s. Some of the best ways have been just by doing little things to show our love for others. Of course, there has been loss as well as growth. Some members have moved on. Some new people have come. So the seed keeps on growing wherever it will.

Yes, it’s important to do our part in scattering that seed. But Jesus tells this story of a bountiful harvest to a hungry people, and that is ABSOLUTELY good news. We know that the world around us is tired of the hothouse tomatoes that too much of modern Christianity offers them. They look so red and ripe—but they taste like cardboard. They don’t really nourish the longing within for the TASTE of goodness that comes from the Earth at God’s design.

But when the time of harvest comes, the people will be fed, and fed abundantly. For those who listened to Jesus’s story shouted from the boat on the sea, who KNEW what hunger was, who knew how unpredictable and marginal working the poor soil of Judea could be, Jesus’s words spun out a vision of hope and abundance that welled up joyously. For the struggling community for whom Mark’s gospel was written—small, persecuted, marginalized—they LONGED for the harvest that would signify God’s grace and abundance. And in our own time, right now, after months and months of fear and loss, aren’t we just as hungry for hope as they were?

God promises us the very best seed, asks us to scatter it, and then have faith and trust in the sprouting.

As I thought about this, I remembered, a charming little comedy that came out when I was a kid. It was called “Oh, God!” In the story, a supermarket manager named Larry, played by the musician John Denver, gets chosen by God, played by comedian George Burns, to spread a message of hope.

Larry is not a religious man, but God keeps gently appearing to him in various guises. And finally, although reluctant, he eventually does begin to share that God has spoken to him. Larry becomes the butt of jokes nationwide. The rush is on to disprove the story Larry tells. Theologians lock him in a room with a stack of questions in Aramaic—but God appears as room service and gives him the answers. Then, at God’s urging, Larry denounces a popular preacher as a fraud, and gets sued. In court, Larry attempts to prove the existence of God. Larry calls God to the witness stand, but nothing happens. Accused of pulling some kind of trick, Larry defends himself by arguing that, since everyone in court actually felt a bit of hope at the idea of God making an appearance, whether they could prove he appeared or not, that God deserves the benefit of the doubt.

Then God appears and takes the witness stand. He performs miracles—even disappearing right before everyone’s startled eyes. His voice delivers a final message: “It can work. If you find it hard to believe in Me, maybe it will help to know that I believe in you”

Later no proof of remains afterward of God’s being there.

Larry loses his job, and wonders what it all was for?

A few days later, he is driving down the street when he hears a pay phone ringing. He stops and gets out to answer it, and it’s God, suddenly standing right behind him dressed for a safari.

God models his safari outfit and does a turn. “How do you like it? I'm going on a trip to spend a little time with animals. I like animals, and sometimes I don't spend enough time with them.”

Larry sighs. “We failed, didn’t we?”

God acts shocked. “What are you talking? We did terrific! I gave a message of encouragement-- you passed it along. Now, we’ll see. You did good. We both did good. We’re covered!

Larry is still unsure. “Do you think anybody got the message?”

“You think we have enough apples in the world?” God asks

Larry is confused. “Apples?”

God nods. “We got all the apples we need. You’re Johnny Appleseed-- you drop a few seeds, and you move along. If the seeds are good, they take root. I gave you great seeds—the best!”

And then God reassures Larry once more, and disappears. Larry is left standing, smiling.

God has given us the best seed—we just have to trust enough in God to welcome that seed into our hearts and into our lives, and let it grow—to change us and make us bountiful in grace, in forgiveness, in love. Trust in the seed, and let the growing come naturally, but with hope and faith. Trust in God, knowing that God believes in us. And let the abundance sprout up within us.

Amen.

Preached for the 10:30 am online Eucharist from St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, recorded and broadcast from the Chapel of the Apostles and forests of Sewanee, Tennessee.

Readings:

1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
Psalm 20
2 Corinthians 5:6-10,[11-13],14-17
Mark 4:26-34

Prayer 3030: A Prayer of Trust

Most Merciful God,
we praise You for your sheltering hand
that has guarded us through the storms of the night.
Glory be to You, O Source of All Being.

Lead Us, O Shepherd of Our Souls
deeper into the broad plans of righteousness,
and guide us to cool shade of compassion
that we may care for one another
as Jesus calls us to do.

Let us examine our hearts,
and the action against all injustice,
especially those from which we benefit.

May we lay down our weapons
and put on the armor of kinship and obedience
in pursuit of the gospel of hope and love.

Bless those who pursue righteousness and charity,
and grant us a thirst for integrity and truth.

Spirit of the Living God,
send your angels to envelop
in a cloud of protection
all those who call out in need,
especially those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer from the Sheepfold: Speaking to the Soul for April 22, 2021

Psalm 23

In peace, we pray to You, Lord Christ,
our hearts and faces upturned and open to your glory.
Holy One, You are our shepherd;
we therefore rejoice,
and offer you our thankful hearts,
centering our lives in You.

You gather us into your arms, Blessed Jesus,
and carry us in safety and love.
We rest within your mighty embrace, O Redeemer;
You cover us in the mantle of your grace and truth.
Each breath we take is precious in your sight, O God;
you know our lying down and our rising up.
We know that we are yours forever;
nothing can separate us
from the love and mercy of God our Savior.

Lord of Life, Prince of Peace,
You strengthen the trembling;
You comfort those who mourn;
You bear within You those who have fallen.
We can endure and overcome all things through Christ;
in You we root our trust and our hope.


Holy One, we place before you
the names and cares of all who call upon You this day,
and ask that You grant them peace and solace
by the power of the Holy Spirit as we pray.

Amen.

Prayer 3002

Holy One of Blessing,
bend near your people as they pray
and cast their praises at your feet.

Keep us within the bounds of your mercy,
and enclose us within the wisdom of your truth,
O Shepherd of Our Souls
for we are prone to wander afar
and to turn from your light and guidance.

Help us to grow strong within your ways
and walk a straight path of justice and compassion
following in the steps of our Savior
in service to his gospel of love.

Spirit of the Living Truth,
whose kindness upholds us always,
grant your peace to those who seek you,
and your comfort to all those who call out in hope.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2928

Almighty God,

our song is to You
from our rising to our resting:
center us now within your presence,
and guide us in all our steps today.

Tune our hearts to the melody of your truth, O Blessed Jesus,
that we may show forth your mercy
and embody your light and compassion.
Pour out a spirit of reconciliation and concord over us,
that we may bind up the broken-hearted
and turn aside from division and rancor.

Shepherd of Our Souls,
strengthen us in goodness
and lead us into verdant valleys
of peace and contentment,
enlightenment and hope.
Shine the light of your countenance, O God,
over all who make their prayer to you.

Amen.

Prayer 2919: For a New Day

Merciful One,
We praise You and bless You.
We offer You a song of hope,
and watch it flutter to your hand on gossamer wings.
Receive our prayers and praises, O Lord,
for You are our Savior and Guide.

God of the Rising Wave,
may we have faith
to lay back within your embrace,
trusting that You will bear us up.

May the roots of our faith
drive deep into the soil of our hearts,
when we remember all the wonders You have done,
O Eternal Flame, O Sustaining Companion.

May we wrap our arms round each other
in kinship and love,
and walk gently and reverently upon this precious earth
which you have spread before us,
marvelous and thrumming with life and energy.

Awaken in us true grace and kindness,
Blessed Savior,
and make our hearts beat together as one.
Pour out your peace upon all peoples,
and your comfort upon all for whom we pray

Prayer, day 2851- Lord's Prayer Cycle 3: Give Us Tomorrow's Bread Today

Our Father in heaven, 

loving Parent and Creator,
tender Mother,
we ask that you give us tomorrow's bread today,
that we may lay down to rest in peace
and rise in strength and hope to do your holy work.

Help us to remember and help those who are hungry
each time we ourselves give thanks at table.
Bless the farmers with a bountiful harvest
and bless them and for their love and care of the earth.
Grant that all who produce our food
do so safely, sustainably and humanely.
You sustain us with abundant grace:
make us hunger for that bread that gives eternal life.
Bring us together at your table
for that heavenly banquet which unites all in your kingdom.
May we be strengthened and renewed
in communion with You and each other,
and inspired to spread your Love into the world.

Watch over those whose needs we now remember,
especially those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2768: For God's protection

Loving God,
spread the tent of your protection 

over us today. Guide us with your loving, almighty hand
that we may walk in your paths with integrity.

We fervently thank you for our abundant blessings:
help us to spend our time numbering them
rather than our worries.
Bring us within your enclosure,
that we may abide there forever,
rejoicing that we are your own.

Embrace us, Loving One,
despite our manifold faults,
for we seek to be worthy of You.
Let our lives sing out
a testimony of your love and faithfulness,
your compassion and your forgiveness.
Help us to speak in love, never in anger;
help us to act with charity and forthrightness
to all we meet today.

Hear our prayers
as we remember these, your beloved children,
in their petitions and thanksgivings.


Amen.

Prayer, day 2671

Let us bow before the Lord of Life,
with gladness and joyfulness of heart:
Alleluia!

We know that no power 
in heaven or on Earth
can separate us from your love, O Holy One:
your grace is everlasting.

Lord Christ,
forgive us our failures of heart;
strengthen us to love fully,
each breath a prayer,
each footstep a step toward holiness.

Make us a joyful, loving people,
that your glory in the world be revealed
in the compassion and care we have for all living things.

Let us seek reconciliation
over vengeance and enmity,
following the example of our Savior Jesus
as loving disciples.

Lift us up, Blessed Lord,
hold us within the hollow of your heart:
for your mercy is wide as the sea.

We lift up our loved ones,
our thanksgivings and our concerns, O God:
bless and keep them as we pray.

Amen.