Where Else Can We Go?

That God chose to “wear skin” and take on our humanity is a shocking truth. We know all too well how broken and imperfect this world is. We know how limited and broken we can be. It is one thing to hear Jesus say that we are loved, welcomed, and invited to become part of His body in the world, but it is quite another thing to live out that kind of welcome in our lives. It’s incredibly hard to know how to find God’s grace, love, forgiveness, and presence in the midst of loneliness, isolation, pain, loss, and suffering. It’s easier to feel close to God, and serve God, when things are going well for us. It’s much harder to rest in God’s presence when we are struggling, hurting, or angry. 

In the gospel reading from John 6: 56-69 we realize that, even though Jesus’ disciples have been with Him through thick and thin, they still struggle to stick around. Even for Jesus’ disciples, living out their faith was hard. They struggled as we struggle. Loving as Jesus loves, and serving as He serves, means the hard work of relationship: loving those who are hard to love; taking care of those outside of our inner circle; forgiving those who haven’t earned our forgiveness; and seeing God’s presence in the simple and ordinary parts of life. 



Sometimes it will feel like the best we can do is grope around in the dark looking for God. When peace doesn’t come easily we can struggle to feel God’s presence. But Christ calls us back to the simplest places; to water, bread, and wine. In the grace of our Baptism we were marked as God’s beloved forever. In the spiritual food of the Eucharist Christ promises us that He is bound to us forever. We can never be separated from His love, just as the food that nourishes us can’t be separated from our bodies. So when we struggle, like the disciples, to accept that hope is stronger than brokenness, let us continue to come to Christ’s table together, to love one another, to serve one another, and to share Christ’s love with everyone we meet. Let us become so rooted in prayer, scripture, and service that, when the world asks why we keep coming to Christ’s table, we, like Peter, can say, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Come and Eat!

Food is at the center of everything we do, whether we are overwhelmingly busy or have lots of time on our hands. We may put off cleaning, laundry, or that project that has lived on our to-do list for way to long. But we never go for too long without eating. Most of us are privileged enough to know where our next meal is coming from, and we rarely forget to eat. Food is the way we care for the people we love and the way we celebrate a special occasion. Food gives us a reason to get together and share our stories. The savory and sweet aromas of certain foods has the power to instantly make us feel at home. We gather after church around a table of good food to catch up on the details of each other’s lives, and hopefully leave with the knowledge that we are loved, known, and belong.

In John 6:37 Jesus says, “Everything the Father gives to me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.” In other words, all are welcome at God’s table. No one will be turned away. No exceptions. We humans have a hard time wrapping our mind around that kind of welcome. So did the religious leaders of Jesus’s time. The need to eat is the most fundamental and universal human need. Jesus is telling us that, if you’re someone who eats, you are qualified to come to His table. Not only are you allowed to come, but you belong there. The meal was made for you; not the new-improved, once-you-get-your-act-together you. You, just as you are. This kind of welcome isn’t always comfortable or easy because it means there will be a whole lot of folks we might not invite if it were our table. God’s VIP list looks very different from ours. New Testament scholar David Rensberger says Jesus is “wisdom’s persistent address to the world.” As we go about our lives, preparing and eating from so many different tables, let us remember that the One Who Welcomes, “wisdom’s persistent address to the world,” has set a wide open table. At His table we are all loved, known, and belong. Your place is set. Come and eat!

#Blessed

#Blessed are the poor in spirit—

the ones who know more than their share of loss, bad luck, and uphill climbs.

Bless those for whom sleep is not rest,

and who often carry more than they can bear.

They know the God who promises, “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.”

#Blessed are those who mourn—

who have felt the pull of grief’s undertow.

Bless the ones in waiting rooms and hospital rooms.

Bless those who have felt the ground beneath them give way.

They know the God who is  “Repairer of the breach.”

#Blessed are the meek—

the ones who have no weight to throw around.

Bless those with no status to claim or power to leverage.

Bless the ones who could have “had it all” but choose to serve instead.

Bless the ones who are rarely in the headlines, but always on the sidelines.

Bless the ones who feel like they can’t run fast enough, do enough, or be enough.

They point us to the God who says, “Be still and know that I Am.”

#Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness—

The ones who stitch fairness into the tapestry of our common life,

one liturgy, one policy, one peaceful protest, one grant, and one meal at a time.

Bless the ones who notice empty cups and rush to fill them.

They know the God, not of half-full cups, or half-empty cups,

but of cups overflowing.

#Blessed are the merciful—

The ones whose hearts have broken wide open.

Bless those who had to walk through the valley of shadows

to learn what real light looks like.

Bless the ones who bear scars without shame,

and behold the scars of others as strength.

They know the God who leads forgotten people into promised lands.

#Blessed are the pure in heart—

who do the hard thing because it is the right and good thing.

Bless those who do small things with great love.

Bless those who listen without thinking what they’ll say next.

Bless those who love people without trying to change them.

They know the God who says, “I hold you in the palm of my hand.”

#Blessed are the peacemakers—

The ones who see the pain beneath the anger.

Bless the ones who have felt alone, and know what it is to be a companion.

Bless the ones who see broken buildings, broken systems, and broken lives

and use their two hands for Holy remodeling;

the ones who build Habitats for Humanity out of fortresses of fear.

They heed God’s call to “act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

#Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness—

The ones who trade reward for  risk, and comfort for conviction.

Bless those who speak truth to power, protect the weak, and speak up for the silenced.

Bless the thistle farmers, the road-in-the-desert-makers, and the loaves- and- fish multipliers.

They know the God who moves mountains with mustard-seed faith.

Framed

We frame wide smiles, new hair, "after" bodies, smooth skin in soft light.
We frame first steps, first dates, beautiful food at our #favoriterestaurant.
We frame new cars, remodeled homes, our #bestvacayever.
But we  hide the negatives in the darkroom. Undeveloped images of
                       the morning eggs scooped onto a cracked plate by aching, inflamed hands;
                       the breath held with the morning injection.
Where are the images of
                       the necessary cry;
                       the fear-smothering smile;
                       the long hug without words after treatment
                       the  whispered apology after too long a wait?
We risk curating a museum of half-truths.
We risk telling a story no one can find themselves in.
All moments are worthy, holy, necessary.
Frame them. Display them. Look at them. Remember them. Invite people to see them.
They will try to tell you to be #relatable.
Don't be framed. Frame it all.

Moms are under lots of pressure to be all things to all people. If a woman works outside the home, she's pressured by people (Gov. Mike Pence included) who shame them for not staying at home with their kids. If they stay home with their kids, they're questioned about why they aren't using their degree(s). What no one wants to talk about is that some mom's are better, happier mom's when they work. Some mom's have no choice but to work to keep the family afloat. Some moms' degrees lead to jobs that don't pay any more than daycare or babysitters would cost, so we invest in making a home on a budget and supporting the family that way (it takes time and planning to stretch a budget). Some mom's can easily afford to stay at home, and just love it. Some moms have kids with special needs who need them there. The truth is, it takes a village, but few women in this day and age have an unpaid village to rely on. Most women exhaust themselves everyday trying to honor their family's needs. Most husbands or partners exhaust themselves everyday trying to give their family the best life possible. It's time for us to stop judging and shaming one another for how we try to find balance and sanity in our vocations (one of which is parenting). Most of us are quietly doing the best we can. None of us can be all things to all people. All of us need support. Let's stop judging and start being a village for our friends in every little way we can!

Fear Goggles

This election is not only about Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton. It's about our deepest fears and how we respond to them. Fear in itself isn't a bad thing. It alerts us to danger and focuses us while we defend ourselves. But when fear sticks around and becomes the glasses we wear all the time, fear deceives us. It alters our vision. Fear can make neighbors look like suspects. It can make compassion look like weakness. It can make hope look like naivete. Fear can make isolation look like safety, and violence look like the only option. Fear can make prejudice look like wisdom and openness look like carelessness. Fear can make interdependence look like helplessness, and diversity look like a threat. When fear alters our vision it clouds our faith by convincing us that what we see is all there is. When we surrender our vision of our common humanity to let fear be our lens, we risk losing more than an election or an argument. We risk losing our souls. We were created in the image of a God of Love, called to give Love eyes, ears, hands, and a voice. Let us look for love everywhere we go. Let us listen for love in the midst of the bluster. Let us create spaces for love right where we are. Let us speak love into the angry, hateful, fearful, and broken places until everyone can hear it. Don't campaign for fear. It was never meant to lead. ‪#‎lovewins‬ ‪#‎loveheals‬

Space for Grace

I spent first 9 years of my life in the Catholic church. Each time I entered the Old Mission Parish in San Luis Obispo, CA I felt the quiet safety wash over me; not the kind of safety that says bad things won't happen, but the kind of safety that promises that when bad things happen I won't ever be hopeless or alone. It's the kind of safety that wraps itself around my senses and fills me with the assurance of Love that is bigger, surer, and more enduring than anything I know. Today I walk into the Episcopal Church and meet the same peace. We all need reminders of that Love; signposts that point us in the direction of that Light when we find ourselves in dark places. Those reminders can be people, spaces, or moments. They become sacred when they shelter us with the promise of Love that is bigger, surer, and more enduring than anything we know. Spend time with those people, be those people, inhabit those spaces, and open yourself to those moments. As the great Glennon Doyle Melton says, "Carpe Kairos".