Who is like God? The nine choirs of angels shouted, and Michael, leading the heavenly host, ground the bat-winged dragon beneath his heel, he who once bore light, Lucifer, rocketing to earth on a lightning bolt. In that moment Satan, crowned with blackberry brambles, slinks off trailing intrigue like shadows. Sword drawn, Michael bows before the Son of Man, ready to intercede for those in crisis-- his breastplate gleaming like noonday against the fear that stalks in darkness, less a messenger than a warrior, when killing in the name of God was expected.
That’s what the old folk say.
And so, as equinox recedes, the days grow short, the meadows rattle with spent blossoms, but Michaelmas daisies flare like blue stars-- little suns among the weeds. Stubble stands in harvested fields, carrots and Queen Anne’s lace are sorted, the fishermen return to port one last time, nets bursting, home until spring. The rent’s due but the cake is sweet. Innkeepers seethe as the tourists depart at summer’s end, and throw statues of Michael into the sea.
The fasting Francis of Assisi rises from his knees: forty days past Ascension, St. Michael’s Lent gives over to feast, and there is a moment of luxurious quiet. Thoughtfully hiding a goose behind the hem of his robe, he has her to dinner, rather than for, offers her a carrot, and smiles.
(For a collection of folk traditions regarding the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels, click here and here.)
This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 29, 2022.
We ever abide under the loving gaze of the Almighty:
Lord, hear our prayers whispered from beneath your wing. You know the ache of our hearts, O Redeemer, at the suffering of the world: give us hearts overflowing with your compassion, that we may bear your grace and mercy into the darkest hour of grief as well as the brightest dawn of hope.
Let us sing a song of the saints of God by the testimony our lives give in the eyes of the world.
May we ever be led by the example of the righteous, those who humbly serve God and their neighbor; who defend the oppressed and forgotten, and advocate for the liberation of the poor; who run toward the imperiled and lay down their lives for others.
By the power of the Holy Spirit, console and soothe the hearts of the mourning, and grant your peace and relief to all whose hope rests within your love, O Merciful One.
Today is the 40th day after Christmas, and so, since it involves music, we are celebrating that ancient feast of Candlemas at the 10:30 service. Unless you’ve been living under a log, you know this is Super Bowl Sunday, which people are almost never neutral about, they either love it or sneer at it.
It’s also Groundhog Day this weekend, which by the way is the subject of one of my favorite theological comedic films of all time, so for those of you who have been praying for snow, knock it off so the little rodent can 86 the rest of winter for once. Our readings, however, reflect another great feast in the church calendar, the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, where we remember Jesus being dedicated to God in the Temple and the joy his presence caused to Simeon and Anna.
In all of our readings this weekend, we hear of focus on holy places and spaces: Malachi is attempting to prepare the people of Israel to be able to worship once again in the rebuilt Temple in Jerusalem. This is necessary because during the years of exile, the people’s collective memory of the parts of the covenant attuned to prayer in the Temple had faded.
Psalm 84 also starts with an outburst of joy as the psalmist stands within the boundaries of the Temple. I wrote about these first verse of Psalm 84 in my priest’s reflection in the Beacon this week. I love these opening verses from the Common English Bible translation: How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord of heavenly forces! My very being longs, even yearns, for the Lord’s courtyards. My heart and my body will rejoice out loud to the living God! Yes, the sparrow too has found a home there the swallow has found herself a nest where she can lay her young beside your altars, Lord of heavenly forces, my king, my God! Those who live in your house are truly happy; they praise you constantly. (Common English Bible version) The image of the sparrow and the swallow, two tiny birds who could both fit in the palm of one hand, so fragile and vulnerable, nonetheless knowing that they were safe by the altars of God—that really speaks to me. They feel so safe they have made their homes, their nests, right up alongside the altars of God. As I wrote about on Thursday, the utter transformation of the holy temple of God described here becomes even more vivid when we consider that in other biblical testimony, including our gospel, birds were more likely to be sacrificed near that altar than find their home there. The original Hebrew words used are even more vivid and direct. The word for “lovely”—yedidot-- is never used to describe an inanimate object like an altar except in this psalm: the other place where yedidot shows up repeatedly is in the Song of Songs, that beautiful ancient love poem that is so frank in describing the delights of one’s beloved, especially physically, that apparently the makers of the Revised Common Lectionary could only countenance one tiny part of it to be included without making all of us blush. It’s used to describe someone so lovely as to inspire not just longing but sense of wonder as honey-sweet as looking at a magnificent artwork or hearing a transcendent musical masterpiece.
That feeling of safety and security, of being at home near the altars of the Holy One, is something I see shining from the faces of our little ones every Sunday as they gather near the lectern and edge as close as they dare to the area around the altar known as the chancel. They lean in, drawn irresistibly and with joy and a whole-hearted embrace of worship. As they lean through the altar rail, I always rejoice at how safe and secure they feel, and how fully they bare their hearts to God, how they know they have found themselves a home here, just as those wee birds in the psalm have done. Our gospel reading, too, focuses on the power of worship and prayer in the description of Jesus being presented and dedicated to God at the Temple, as all first-born baby boys were, part of God’s claim upon the first-fruits of all flocks, herds, fields, and families. Jesus’s dedication to God in the Temple as the first-born son reflects the belief that we give to God from our abundance, not from our left-overs. As our gospel notes at the beginning, Jesus’s dedication to God by his parents was part of a broad set of commands in the Book of Exodus, in commemoration of God’s abiding care and protection over Israel as they journeyed from the oppression of slavery to the abundant promised land that lay ahead of them. In other words, the presentation of Jesus in the Temple was an act of offering God our very best, an act of gratitude and proclamation for all that God had done and was doing for the people of Israel as a worshiping community in both past and present, while expressing trust in God’s continuing care and protection of God’s holy people in the future. The actual dedication of the precious baby Jesus in that same Temple praised in Psalm 84 happens off stage. But the consequences of Jesus’s dedication are profound. For instance, Jesus encounters two devout, elderly worshipers devoted to worship, prayer, and praise in the Temple: Simeon and Anna, who is also named as a prophetess. Simeon’s longing to see what is called “the consolation of Israel” was keeping him alive, and so notice that here again we hear the word “longing” connected to worship. That consolation or comfort that Simeon longed for was the birth of the Messiah. Our gospel says that Simeon was guided by the Holy Spirit to come to the Temple—and he listened, even though he could have ignored such nudges. I mean, how many times have you resisted the call of the Holy Spirit in your life? God knows, I did it for years—because the thing is, once the Holy Spirit takes charge, YOU no longer are. You are putting yourself in the hands of God, and that loss of control is way scary for most of us, if we’re honest. Simeon put his faith and trust in God when God spoke to him—and when his hopes and longings were fulfilled through that willingness to trust in God’s direction, he sang another one of those joyous songs of praise and gratitude for which Luke’s gospel is so famous. It’s a song prayed or sung regularly at the close of Evening Prayer services. Likewise, when Anna sees the infant Jesus—I like to think that she took him in her arms too, and who denies sweet old ladies or men anything?—and herself rejoiced and explained how THIS child was the fulfillment of all of the people’s hopes and Savior from all their fears and uncertainties. I imagine that each time that sweet holy baby looks into the eyes of those elders, he too lets out a shriek of joy and probably pats a weathered cheek or grabs hold of a finger or nose out of recognition of how the power of prayer brings all things together. What can we make of all this? First of all, we see the sense of peace, the making tangible the promise of God’s love for us in these Biblical passages. We are reminded that the longing and appreciation we feel when we enter our holy spaces, including especially this space here at St. Martin’s, is a two way street—that same love and longing we feel to be in God’s presence and bask in that beauty is similarly felt by God, who repeatedly seeks us out and calls to us. Even in at our most pessimistic, distrustful, fearful, hard-heartedness, God still delights in us and calls us to the miracles that abound when we put our trust and faith in God. We too, at this moment are being called to dedicate ourselves anew to living lives grounded and founded in our relationship with God. We are also reminded of the incarnational understanding embedded in this passage. We see coming together here three generations in one small story: baby, parents, and wise, devout elders—just like our worship brings us into this space every single time we meet to offer our prayers and praises to God together-- despite our differences in ages or stages of life.
We are reminded that holy places like the Temple in Jerusalem or the nave and chapel here at St. Martin’s exude the echoed melodies of hopes fulfilled, of dreams not deferred but brought from imagination into reality, of grief made bearable because the load and labor of adjusting to our losses is shared among us and because those in grief are supported through us. We are reminded of the fact that Jesus coming into humanity, with all its messiness and fear of failure, actually consecrated this fragile stuff of which we are made, and shows us that it is possible for us to walk in the path of hope and reconciliation to which God calls us. We are reminded that Jesus asks every day to be welcomed before the altar of our own hearts so that they may be strengthened not just for our own sake but for the life of the world, of the neighbors we are called to love and serve. And as we prepare to embark on our capital campaign and as we continue to work to make our commitment to the life-changing work of this parish not just self-supporting but joyfully, abundantly so, we are reminded of the beauty of God’s altar—how lovely is the dwelling-place of God both inside of us in our hearts and surrounding us in the holy spaces in which this community is centered. Together in faith, we start with a season of prayer before this campaign during what is still called nativity-tide. In our prayers, I ask that we all remember that we pray to pledge to each other our common support as a community. We are calling each other into collaboration with ourselves but most importantly with God, who is, as Isaiah famously proclaimed, about to do a new thing—now it springs forth; do you not perceive it?
We are grounding ourselves in prayer as we seek to lean into our trust of God--our God of abundance who is endlessly renewing and creating. But our success as disciples depends upon being willing to let go of our fears of scarcity to make room for the conversion of our hearts to reflect God’s generous grace and support in our relationships with each other—including our relationship with money. God’s abundant love for us calls us to boldly share in making stronger this community of disciples by—literally-- putting our house in order We start in prayer so that we may bravely envision a future where financial challenges no longer become a self-fulfilling prediction of stagnancy, where instead we take control of taking care of our needs ourselves, buoyed by God’s abiding love and faith in us. Too often, we only see what we lack, and that gives us permission to fail to act on our mission and ministry out in the world. We get tunnel vision and succumb to inertia, because we are so convinced that there is not enough. But with God there is always enough. God doesn’t call us to tread water, much less flail about in fear, exhausting ourselves. God calls us to realize that sometimes the waters rise so we can remember that we have the ability not just to float but to be propelled forward. It is then that we remember that we are not people whose worship centers around a prayer book for nothing. We are reminded that prayer is not a monologue, but a conversation from beloved to beloved Just as Simeon lived a life secure in his faith in God’s promises, just as that swallow builds herself a nest alongside God’s altar, so we too are called to proclaim the blessings we have already received and to put them into the service of building the kingdom of God with boldness. By putting our trust in God as the foundation of all we are and all we have, we are assured that we will be blessed by seizing the opportunity to allow faith rather than fear to lead the way. Just like Anna, we can put our resources to work for the kingdom—and wonders will be revealed before our eyes, and our hearts and our bodies will rejoice before the living God who calls us to renewal, dedication, and faithfulness.
Amen.
Preached at the 505 on February 1, and at 8:00 and 10:30 am on February 2, 2020, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO. Readings: Malachi 3:1-4 Psalm 84 Hebrews 2:14-18 Luke 2:22-40
Merciful God, we give thanks for your love, for You have searched us out and known us, and drawn us to your breast with the warmth and safekeeping of your mighty wing. Accept our prayers and praises, O Holy One, for we are your children, fledglings in wisdom and compassion: we turn our faces to you in hope and assurance. May we gather together in love within the mighty branches of your truth and grace, and make our home before your alabaster altar like a sparrow building her nest in safety. May we extol the beauty of your works, Lord, greeting each moment with joyful melody, swooping and trilling our praise within your cathedral of creation. Give us wings of faith, Blessed Savior, to lift our thoughts and desires always to You, Almighty One, that we may seek Your will with joy through sunshine or storm, knowing You are ever beside us as we pray. Amen.
Life Giver of All, we lift our hearts to You, remembering those we love who dwell in your light, and giving thanks for your eternal love. Master of the Worlds, gather within your embrace all who mourn, and lift up those who celebrate
the life and love of those we see no more except in our hearts and memories. Strengthen us in faith, O Savior, that we ourselves may run the race set before us, seeking to love and serve You
until, through a glass darkly, we may see a glimmer of your heavenly banquet spread out as a feast for all. O Lord Our Peace, we rest within your bountiful mercy today, and ask your blessing upon us, that we may grow in faith like a mustard seed, and walk humbly beside our God always. By your grace, hear the whispered prayers of your children, and grant your blessing to those for whom we pray. Amen.
Loving One,
we put our trust in You, for You are our shield and our rest, ever-present in times of joy and sorrow. We place before You our remembrances of those who have left us: may your peace and joy shine upon them. Comfort those who mourn and strengthen those who falter, that they may know your healing presence. We thank You
for those who are your hands, face, and feet
in the world today: make us more like them. We thank You
for the example of the brave, who are daily willing to lay their lives on the line for their brothers and sisters. We thank you for the example of those who embody compassion and healing even in the face of chaos. Guide us into ways of justice, benevolence, and truth, that we may treat others as we wish to be treated. Place the seal of your blessing, O God, upon those we now remember to You by name. Amen.
Most Merciful God, your blessings are without number, and we worship You alone
with joy and gratitude. Make us lovers of peace who embody your lovingkindness and compassion
in all the world. Lead us to surrender our vainglory for the better portion of prudence, gentleness, and equity. Cleanse our hearts of division and selfishness and fill them with your abundant grace and wisdom. Teach us to lay down our swords to take up empathy and wisdom as our armor. Remind us that the greatest treasure
is love and knowledge of You, O God of all the nations. Open our hearts to receive your blessing, O Holy One, that we may be healers and doers of good. Rest your hand of comfort and grace, O Redeemer, upon all who call upon You. Amen.
Almighty God, we sing your glory, joining the joyful song of creation as our souls sing out your greatness! How beautiful upon the treetops is the rising light of morning: O God, you bless us beyond measure with beauty and our hearts kneel before you in praise! Give us your favor, O Redeemer, in leading us to consent to your will in our lives, that we may join our hands in unity in the pursuit of justice and peace, pulling down oppression from its throne, filling the hungry with good things from the bounty we have. Strengthen us to bear you into the world, Blessed Jesus, as a mother carries her child close to her heart. Holy One, place the protection of your mighty arm and heart over us this day, and guide us in paths of gentleness and compassion. Stretch out the awning of your mercy, Beloved Savior, over all who rest in your care. Amen.
We raise our hearts to our Creator, our Fortress and our Shield: our spirits rest in You, O God. With each breath let our song be praise, with each heartbeat let our life be yours. Almighty God, who sees deep into the hearts of your children, and knows and loves us from our birth, watch over us and preserve us this day. As You chose and honored St. Mary, and favored her with your faithfulness and love, may we also be your willing servants, trusting in our God in all things, choosing to be filled as vessels of God's grace. Grant us the courage to be instruments of your redemption and justice, O Merciful, Reconciling One, and boldly assent when you call us by name. Spirit of the Living God, fill us with the fire of love and the faith to fight for righteousness and truth. May holy angels attend to those who watch and weep: lift up and comfort all who turn to You, Lord Christ. Amen. Image: detail from an icon by Mikhail Vrubel, from St. Cyril's Monastery, Kiev.
Blessed be the Name of the Lord, who lifts us up and places us upon the solid rock: let us give thanks to God! Enter into the inmost center of our being, O Holy One, and anoint us with your Spirit, that we may cling to your love. Let us make our home in the embrace of God, who abides with us and guards all our ways. May we be filled with the light of Christ: may it pour forth from our hearts to illumine our path, and guide us home. May we be transformed and radiate the love of Christ into a world famished for hope and peace. Beloved Savior, envelop us within your care, and place your blessing upon those we now name. Amen. 1292 Image: Transfiguration, by Lewis Bowman.
In peace, we pray to You, Lord, God: from our rising to our resting we give You thanks and praise for all your blessings. May we seek to form a more perfect union with You and with each other, loving our neighbors as ourselves, sharing each others' burdens, seeking to relieve each others' wants. May we establish true justice as our foundation, justice that builds and creates rather than subjugates and destroys, and work for an end to oppression, poverty, and prejudice, remembering always the many mercies we ourselves have received. May we ensure tranquility by defending and protecting each other in compassion and mercy, that true liberty may be a blessing for all grounded in our common life together. May we work for the welfare of all by giving of ourselves in unity, gentleness, and sacrifice, rooted in God's love, grounded in the call to welcome and protect those who turn to us for help or refuge, and protecting the least among us always. May we secure the blessings of life, liberty, and happiness and free ourselves
from all that chains us- fear, want, suspicion, jealousy, division, injustice- and fully embrace and celebrate each other in all our diversity. Bless us and keep us, O God, that we may dwell in peace, equality, and security all our days. AMEN.
As dawn parts the curtain of night, let us fall upon our knees before our Creator and Redeemer. Lord God, we confess to You all our sins- those done by us, and those done in our name. We confess to You all our ruptured relationships, sundered by fear, loss of hope, and idolatry of self. May we renounce our casual acceptance of the pain of others in the name of our own comfort. May we seek forgiveness, that we rededicate ourselves to being healing hands in the world. Let us purify our souls, and be strengthened to walk in the pathways of holiness and righteousness. Refine us, renew us, O Merciful One: our hearts are outstretched like open hands, to be charged with your grace and light. We pray now for all who seek You, and for all who put their trust in You, Gracious Savior. Amen. 1114 Photo: Detail from Francisco de Zurberan, St. Francis Contemplating a Skull, 1635, photographed at the St. Louis Art Museum in 2011; more information here.
Hello, and Happy New Year! Some of you may not know me. My name is Leslie. That name is from the Scottish, and it means “from the gray fort.” My birth name is Leslie Barnes. This is the name I still call myself in my head. My name when I am in trouble with my mother, even now at my age (and hers), is Leslie Irene-Katherine. When I was born, my mother wanted to name me Irene Katherine. My father wanted to name me Leslie. In an act completely representative of my parents' refusal to ever give an inch in the face of the opposition from the other, they smacked all three of those names on the tiny little baby I was. I was the only kid in school who had three names (including a hyphen between two and three just to make it MORE weird), because after all, this was Oklahoma, not Middle Earth, Hogwarts, a camp song, or the British Royal Family. My few Catholic friends (once again, Oklahoma) always asked if that third name was my confirmation or baptismal name, and it took my transition to the Episcopal church to understand what they meant. Then, when I looked up the meaning of my names, it got more involved.
Leslie means “from the gray fort.”
Irene means “peace.”
Katherine” means “pure.”
Barnes is of English or Irish derivation. The English meaning is someone who worked in a barley house, or a barn. Once I knew the meaning of our last name, when my mother would criticize me for some uncouth behavior by asking me, “Were you born in a barn?” I would smile sweetly and say, “Yes. Apparently I was.”
Sigh. If I must.
So. Apparently, my full name (including maiden name of Barnes) means "From the Grey Fort Peace Pure Of the Barley House." Therefore, according to my names, I should live peacefully and chastely in a castle. Like Downton Abbey!
Liquid Barley.
And make beer.
This explains why I pored (ha ha!) voraciously over baby naming sites when naming my own children, thinking about meanings, sounds, former students who were trouble-makers, as well as initials and what they spelled. Obviously, names have meaning. And naming something has power. Alexander the Great named 70 cities after himself during his 15 years of conquest before he died. Putting one’s name on something can also be a sign of ownership. It can also be a sign of neurosis, obviously.
One of the hopes of the process of naming is that the power of the name will rub off on the person being named. Thus, names have hopes and responsibilities often woven into them. The bearer of a family name has a responsibility not to bring that name into dishonor.
It used to be that the official naming of a child denoted that child's acceptance by his or her family, and names were chosen for their meaning. There also were some taboos in naming. In the Ashkenazi Jewish tradition, a child should not be named after a living relative. Japan, Sweden, Germany, New Zealand, and Denmark have some sort of limitation on the given names for babies, with Denmark going so far as having a list of 7000 approved names. Names, especially in scripture, are serious business. One of the first powers that God gives to Adam in the Garden of Eden was naming the creatures God had made—and Adam got to name his wife, too. Now, that’s power. The Bible is full of names being ordained for children to intimate what they will do as adults. Names are sometimes changed: Abram becomes Abraham, Sarai becomes Sarah; in the book of Ruth, Naomi, in her anger at the loss of her husband and sons, demands to be called Mara instead; Jacob becomes known as Israel after he wrestles with God; Simon becomes Peter the Rock (and sometimes acts like a blockhead). In many of these scriptures, it is obvious that names contain power, which is why some devout Jews today will not actually write the word "God," but use a nickname for God: “Hashem,” which means, surprise! “The Name.” Yes, names have power. Names can be a shorthand for destiny in scripture, myth, and literature. Even at the end of life, your name matters. Many people throughout history have believed that as long as your name is remembered, you are never really gone after death, which is why we still build memorials to people who have died tragically. In The Book of Blessings, Jewish Prayers for Daily Life, the Sabbath, and the New Moon Festival, Marcia Falk translated this beautiful prayer by the poet Zelda to be used as a kaddish, a prayer in remembrance of the dead:
Each of us has name
given by God
and given by our parents
Each of us has a name
given by our stature and our smile
and given by what we wear
Each of us has a name
given by the mountains
and given by our walls
Each of us has a name
given by the stars
and given by our neighbors
Each of us has a name
given by our sins
and given by our longing
Each of us has a name
given by our enemies
and given by our love
Each of us has a name
given by our celebrations
and given by our work
Each of us has a name
given by the seasons
and given by our blindness
Each of us has a name
given by the sea
and given by
our death
Our names outlive us, and define us, but also sometimes change us. Today we remember the naming of the newborn Christ child, and why that name matters. Even before his birth, Jesus was given a name by God through an angel. On the eighth day after his birth, which would be today, January 1, he was taken to the temple for his circumcision and naming. Jesus is the translation of Y'shua, which means, "Yahweh is Salvation." Of course, Jesus was not the only name that our Savior bore. When we were kids, my brother had a poster on his wall that had all of the names for Jesus on it. Isaiah 9:6, for instance, states that the child born to us shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. Isaiah 53:3 names Jesus as the Suffering Servant by whose stripes we are healed. Hebrews 2:10 calls Jesus the Author of Our Salvation. Jesus called himself the Way, the Truth, the Life; the True Vine; the Son of Man; and the Good Shepherd. Then there is the honorific of Messiah, or Christos, the one predicted for generations to be a light to the Hebrews and the redeemer of mankind. Each one of these names reflects a special role that Jesus takes on for us. Therefore, each one of these names is a gift to us to try to help us, in our limited comprehension, understand the amazing thing that has been done for us through the incarnation of God, which is why Jesus was also called Immanuel, which means "God is with us." What does this mean for us? There is a lovely saying from the Midrash, which is the oral interpretation of the Torah rabbis over the centuries, that sums this up: “In life, you discover that people are called by three names:
One is the name the person is called
by his father and mother;
one is the name people call him;
and one is the name he acquires for himself.
The best one is the one he acquires for himself.”
It is because of who Jesus is for us that we call ourselves Christians. But what implication does it have for us to take this name onto ourselves? Calling oneself a Christian in this day and age is a powerful assertion. Sometimes, it makes people nervous to call themselves Christian—they’re not too sure they can live up to the responsibility of that name. Some people who have called themselves Christians in history have not always behaved very much like Jesus. And that’s a problem for lots of us who seek to live into Jesus’s teachings. We have a lot of muddy waters to clear up in some people’s minds as to what it means to be a Christian. That’s when we can remember all the beautiful names for Jesus, names that reflect his birth, life, and ministry, as well as in our experiences with Christ today. Thos name can help us remember how we can embody his teachings and his love in the world. Dietrich Bonhoeffer called Jesus “the Man for Others.” He therefore believed the Church is truly being the Church only when it exists for those outside its walls. It starts by reminding ourselves of the names that Jesus carried. We can remember that Jesus is our Wonderful Counselor—and we can try to be that for others, too, being present with those we meet and listening to them fully, celebrating who they are and the gift of the time we spend with them. Jesus is the Prince of Peace—and we can try to embody peace, too, which is especially important in a time when too much of society is uncivil, uncaring, and self-centered regardless of the cost or effects on others. Jesus is Healer and Reconciler—and we can be that too, if we take seriously the power Jesus’s love can have in our own lives, first of all, and let that love work to gentle us, to center us, and to help us let go of the weight of past hurts and anger. We can then take seriously our ability to effect real change in the world, work to heal the broken places we encounter in creation and in each other. Jesus is the Light of the World—and with gratitude for his healing love, we can remember that we can be bearers of grace and light ourselves by our deliberate choices to walk in his wisdom, humbly, and with intention. The name of Jesus is powerful indeed! God is indeed with us. Yahweh certainly does save. Jesus is proclaimed as the Messiah, as the point of contact between human frailty and God's infinite wisdom and love, the greatest gift of this Christmas season. Alleluia!
Preached at Christ Church Cathedral in St. Louis on the Feast of the Holy Name, January 1, 2018.
