Third Sunday of Easter Yr A April 26 2020

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Third Sunday of Easter Yr A April 26 2020

Acts 2:14a,36-41, 1 Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35, Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread. From the moment my journey in the Episcopal church began, this is the scripture, the prayer, the action, that made the presence of Jesus Christ real for me. There is nothing about church, about community, about family, about faith, about compassion and justice, about baptismal promises, about a passion for the gospel of Jesus Christ, that is not contained in this little collection of words, if only we can recognize. Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread.

As a child, I lived in a community of people. I am five of eight. There were most always people around, and the liveliest times of the day were our dinner meal. We would scrunch around our kitchen table, someone would have to sit on a stool at the counter, actually, the bread board, remember bread boards? in order to get us all in. I wonder if then I recognized the wonder in all that chaos. When my extended family would gather for holidays there were 23 of us grandchildren. We would enjoy a meal together, but not much quiet. Often many of us little ones would end up staying the night wherever we were, eating breakfast and lunch together the next day, and playing of course. I think the seeds of understanding Jesus’ real presence were planted in those gatherings.

In the summer of 2013, Rick and I, and Tom and Amanda, and Willie went on an incredible journey, and among many amazing things we did, we met some of our Norwegian relatives. They were as happy to meet us as we were to meet them. A cousin, Jan, took us to see the land on which our ancestors farmed. We were profoundly moved as we stood on that land, and felt the timeless connection to those who came before us, and those who will follow us. We recognized that connection, that story that joins us all together. At Jan's home, we ate a wonderful meal of Norwegian porridge, and pork, and cheese, and bread, of course. The next day we gathered with my cousins Kjell and MaryAnn, and had heart shaped waffles with cloudberries.

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread.

It makes so much sense, as we journey together through this life, that breaking bread together is the central activity for us, we come from farmers after all. The most radical activity that Jesus engaged in was to invite people to a meal. And everyone got that invitation. Not only were there religious leaders, there were tax collectors, there were women, single women at that, women who were protected by no one. At table Jesus taught about the kingdom of God. At table Jesus disrupted the social order. At table, Jesus nourished not only the body, but the spirit and the soul as well.

When we gather together at the communion table we come from home and work and school; we come from far away and down the street, we come and we tell our story, and we tell the story of God’s activity in our lives; we tell the story of creation, blessing, turning away, God loving us back into relationship, repentance, reconciliation and restoration. We tell the story of life, death, and resurrection. We tell the truth.

The story that we know and we tell, is about how God saved God's people from the flood waters, and God freed God's people from slavery in Egypt. God brought God's people out of exile back into their land and God came to live and die as one of us, Jesus is in our midst.

We read and we study and tell these stories. We listen and talk about what God did and continues to do in this world. We tell these stories to our children. And we do because they help us remember who we are. We remember who we are and we recognize one another and we are recognized in the breaking of the bread and the prayers. We give thanks for our blessings; we ask for healing for ourselves and others, we eat together.

That is what happened with the two in our story today, who were walking away from Jerusalem, dejected, alone, afraid. Wondering what it was all about, wondering how it all went so very wrong. And the one who told the story of Moses and all the prophets, who told them the story of Jesus, joined them. They invited him to stay, he did, they ate together, and they recognized him.

We recognize Jesus in the people with whom we gather to share and tell our stories, and the stories of our faith; we recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread, we see Jesus in the hands, and in the eyes, and in the faces of the people who are at our table.

But we also recognize Jesus in the stranger, and the alien, and the immigrant. We see and hear Jesus in those who are out there, those who continue to live in isolation, in loneliness, in hurt, in this broken world. We recognize the freedom, the peace, the community that can be theirs as well.

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread. But it's not just in the baking of the bread, or in the breaking of the bread, the bread broken for you and for me. Our wholeness comes from brokenness, our healing rises up out of broken hearts that are mended by God’s love. Humanity is made whole once more by the real presence of Jesus in our midst, in our lives, in our brokenness, the broken bread.

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread. Help us to recognize you in word and sacrament, in story and in food, help us to see you in the midst of community. Help us to be agents of your new creation, standing on the ground that you have already won in your resurrection.

And yet, we sit in our homes today, having not broken bread together for weeks. And we ask the question, Risen Lord, when we are not breaking bread together, are you still present? We miss you so much. We miss communion and community so much. But Jesus' gift of love and life is as real now as ever. If we were never to have bread and wine together again, Jesus would continue in our midst, of that I am sure. My heart and soul yearn to break bread together, with all of you. But Jesus in our midst is not dependent on us. Jesus is really present with us, wherever we are, socially distant or socially proximate. Jesus is present in the bread we break around our tables at home. Jesus is present in the ways we break for others, in our time given, in our phone calls made, in the cards written, in the prayers offered. Soon we will gather again, but always remember that Jesus is with us even when we are absent, one from another.

Second Sunday of Easter Yr A

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2nd Sunday of Easter Yr A

Acts 2:14a,22-32, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31, Psalm 16

Alleluia! Christ is risen: The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Can you imagine…. Just think of it, you go to the place where Jesus is buried, and he is not there. You see someone you take for the gardener, and when he calls your name you quickly recognize him as the teacher. You run to tell your friends that you have seen the Lord. And then, when it was evening on that day, you gather with your friends in fear and trepidation, and Jesus shows up again. Jesus says, Peace be with you, he shows his hands and his feet, and then breathes on you, receive the Holy Spirit he says. But Thomas isn’t there. When you tell Thomas that Jesus was there with you in that room, Thomas laments missing the unbelievable appearance, who knows where he was, probably out getting snacks and beverages, and Thomas wants to see Jesus too. Jesus hears Thomas’ lament, and shows up again, in that very room where you and your friends were staying.

That’s all Thomas needs. That’s all any of us need, isn’t it? In this story, Thomas is the courageous one. Thomas is the one who is willing to say, I need to see Jesus too. Thomas is not so different from me, or even you. I need to see Jesus too, and feel that breathe of Holy Spirit on my face, in my hair, relieving my fear and anxiety. You see, Thomas is not asking for proof, he is asking for what he needs, Jesus was there with all the others, Thomas wants the same. And what Thomas wants is the promise and the reassurance that they have not been abandoned. Thomas wants this relationship; Thomas must wait a week, but Jesus still shows up. You and I want this relationship, and Jesus shows up.

For a moment, let’s look back at John’s gospel, so that we can establish our place in it today. We know that John’s gospel contains signs and wonders. The word miracle is not used by John, very purposefully the word is sign. Signs point us in a direction, we read and follow them because we want to be on our chosen path. The signs in John’s gospel do that, they point us in the direction John wants us to look. John’s seven signs begin with turning water into wine at Cana and conclude with raising his friend Lazarus from the dead. We know however there are many more than just seven, we just heard that Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

That relationship is what courageous Thomas wants, and needs. I think that relationship is what we want and need as well, us courageous followers of Jesus. And as Jesus holds out his hands to Thomas, and invites him to touch his sides, Jesus offers himself to Thomas, fully human, fully God, and in that moment, Thomas realizes he doesn’t really even have to touch Jesus. Thomas breathes out, my Lord and my God. Thomas expresses all of our hope and all of our fear.

John points to Jesus. Fleshy, bloody, incarnate. Jesus eats, sleeps, is prone to anger and capable of deep compassion and sadness; his heart breaks and he cries at his friend Lazarus’s death. And Jesus turns water into wine, makes sure 5000 people are fed, and raises Lazarus from the dead. John’s gospel invites us, you and me, into a relationship with this, this God in the flesh, Jesus. Jesus is fully human, and being human means being born to die. What becomes incarnate, fleshy and bloody, must die, Jesus, you, and me. And Jesus weeps for death, for his own, for his friend, and for us. And yet, Jesus rises. Death cannot keep Jesus in the tomb. The reality John’s gospel points us to is the reality of relationship. Courageous Thomas shows us this lord and God who reaches out to us to offer grace, compassion, and abundant love.

And there it is, the reality in which we live. In the midst of whatever we are feeling in these days, pain, suffering, grief, isolation, Jesus also lives, Jesus shows up. Jesus reaches out to us, with fleshy and bloody hands, and a compassionate grief-stricken heart, and offers abundant love and grace. Grace upon grace, grace that flows from blood, sweat, and tears. Grace that infuses our bodies with the healing possibility that makes new bodies. Grace that flows forth with living water, that cleans and refreshes. Grace that creates in us the body of Christ.

Courageous Thomas shows us Jesus, who shows up in the muck and the mess of life. Courageous Thomas shows us Jesus who is fleshy and bloody – otherwise known as fully human, and Jesus who is God. Courageous Thomas gives us the gift of hope, hope in a dark and fearful time, hope when living is behind closed doors, hope when we just don’t know what comes next.

Courageous Thomas shows us God’s grace upon grace and God’s abundant love.

Courageous Thomas shows us Spirit that breathes peace and forgiveness on us, spirit that revives our weary bones, spirt that that makes us new creations.

You have seen God’s grace and love at work in your places. What does that look like?

You have been God’s grace and love at work in your places, this is Jesus showing up.

Easter in a time of pandemic April 12 2020

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April 12 2020 Easter in a time of pandemic

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia! Live is filled with paradox, it is at the core of Jesus’ teaching. Jesus says, it looks like this, but it really is about this. And in this time in the wilderness, because it feels a lot like wilderness to me, Jesus says, fear not, resurrection happens.

Wandering in the wilderness is not new to our people. In fact it is interesting to note that the plague of the 14th century gave rise to the modern concept of quarantine...it was 40 days, giving rise to the term quarantine, Italian for 40. The flood lasted 40 days, it took 40 years for Moses and the people to get to where they were going, Moses stayed on the mount to get the Commandments for 40 days, Jesus fasted for 40 days, there are 40 days between Lent and Easter.

Quarantine, 40 days, or weeks, or years, is important. It is important in our sacred story, maybe there is something to it for us. Maybe, change happens. We are experiencing in our world change that we can hardly begin to fathom. During quarantine, rivers are cleaning up, vegetation is growing, the air is cleaner because of less pollution, less theft, less murders, the Earth is at rest for the first time in many years.

We are experiencing before our very eyes, death, and resurrection. Our rest, the earth’s rest brings forth new life. Lent has always been a time for us to lay down that which is killing us. This particular Lent, that has been forced upon us. But is it bad? It is hard, that is very true, I long to see you, I long to go wherever I please whenever I please, but is it bad? No, it is not. It is lifegiving.

We have been given another chance. It is like the prophets who call us to repentance. They say to us, look, there is another way, take it. It is like all those dystopian novels I love to read, stories that show and tell us that unless we change our ways, unless we treat this earth with respect, unless we love one another regardless of difference, our earth will fall away, our lives will fall away.

Because you and I both know that death is not the worst thing that can happen, the death of the ways we have always gone about our lives is not the worst thing that can happen. Even in the midst of the tragedy of sickness, even in the midst of this pandemic, death is not the worst thing that can happen. This tragedy breaks our hearts, and it breaks open the possibility that we may live differently.

That is what Jesus does on the cross, Jesus is broken, our hearts and souls are broken open, Jesus bleeds, we bleed, and in those cracks and crevasses, in that brokenness, God’s light and love seeps in. This is resurrection. This is new life. We are given another chance. In the muck and the mess of our lives, we get a glimpse of the healing that Jesus gives us.

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go to the tomb and find the stone rolled back, and the one who sat on the stone said, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised.” They left the tomb with fear and great joy.

You see, Love does win. Sometimes the power of darkness seems so dark, sometimes the sadness leaves our hearts lying in the gutter, but Jesus raises us up. So many have lost jobs, so many have lost lives, and as it so often happens, so many have been raised up to make masks, to find ways to feed people. This life we live embraced in Jesus’ love is not always clear, and it surely is not easy. But we do not live it on our own, we live it as the body of Christ. God is doing a new thing, even the stones will shout out God’s praise.

Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia.


While it was still night.

While she could not see.

While she thought death held sway.

While she grieved.

While she wept.

While it was still dark, resurrection began.

Fifth Sunday in Lent Yr A March 29 2020 (2nd week of “Safer at home” COVID-19 order)

Fifth Sunday in Lent Yr A March 29 2020 (2^nd week of “Safer at home” COVID-19 order)

Ezekiel 37:1-14, Romans 8:6-11, John 11:1-45, Psalm 130

This passage from Ezekiel happens to be one of my very favorite passages from the Old Testament, among many actually. And, I think this story of dry bones speaks into the place we find ourselves today, this place of seeking connection in a chaotic and disconnected time.

Many of you know that I just submitted my Doctoral thesis, and therefore know that the subject of the thesis is a conversation between dystopian storytelling and scripture. One of the stories I have been living with for some time now is a zombie story, Warm Bodies. Although not technically dystopian, it is a brilliant story of love and connection in a dark and chaotic world. It speaks to where we are today.

What causes zombies is always an important part of any zombie story. Zombies are mostly created by catastrophe, nuclear fallout, and disease. This zombie story, Warm Bodies, takes us to a new place. A world where human lives are made up of disconnection and disinterest causes zombies, resulting in disintegration of the body, and the mind, and the spirit. The prophetic warning is real. Human interaction and relationship at a profound level is necessary for human life to exist. Human connection and relationship with God is vital for living fully alive. Without it, humans become violent and base creatures who no longer have any moral or ethical values, and then it becomes easy to drop bombs that kill innocent civilians and to ignore climate change that is leading to the loss of many species, both plants and animals. Human connection to one another and to the sacred and holy is necessary for human life to be lived fully. Without that human connection, disease, disintegration, and decomposition ensue. The evil one in this story is not so much embodied, as disembodied and disseminated. The beast becomes humanity itself—humanity that is decomposing, literally falling apart, because there is no more interaction, no more relationship. In Revelation, the beast is the personification of malevolent power; in Warm Bodies, the beast is the power that pulls humans away from one another. It is the breakdown of communication and connection resulting in distrust and hatred of one another.

The sin in this zombie story is not the ugliness of zombies and what they do; the sin is forgetting what humanity is, forgetting who individuals are. Each of the zombies are known only by a letter. Their names, who they are, and who they were connected to has all been forgotten. As our main character R begins the transformation back to human again, as he begins to be connected again, he begins to say yes to life again. R thinks to himself, “. . . we’ll see what happens when we say yes while this rigor mortis world screams no.” R resists the decomposition of the rigor mortis world, and others begin to accompany him on that journey—the very antidote to disintegration.

You see, it is the cultural narratives, the personal narratives, and the biblical narratives that we remember and tell one another that connect us and can possibly give hope in a dark world. When we forget these stories, when we forget who we are and to whom we belong, rigor mortis sets in.

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The Great Battle in this zombie story is fought against the skeletons, called “boneys,” and it is a battle worthy of the book of Revelation. But in the end is the realization that the beast or the skeleton or the zombie is really of humanity’s making. R found literal new life in connection and in love. He led those like himself to resist the greed and hate that power or apathy rained down on them until their souls hit rock bottom, and the only way out was to be put back together again.

In Ezekiel, idolatrous behavior demanded punishment, and so the glory of the Lord departed from Jerusalem. Once that defilement was removed, a new temple would provide the focus for a restored Israel. It is idolatrous behavior that causes disintegration and disconnection in Warm Bodies. Humans thinking they are in control, they are godlike, is idolatry, and this has been true since Adam and Eve were in the garden. The particular idolatry added on top of that in Warm Bodies is the barrier put between humans causing disconnection. In this modern world, that is represented by the lack of conversation, connection, and depth of living due to obsessive and sometimes narcissistic use of social media. Zombies in Warm Bodies are placeholders for isolation and alienation.

But Ezekiel’s vision that we read today, The Valley of Dry Bones, demonstrates how God, THE powerful integrating force in the universe, will always bring the beloved back from oblivion, even if the beloved is the one responsible for running headlong into oblivion in the first place.

God gives a second chance, new life, and resurrection. It is only through love and connection, and the One who calls us into integration, wholeness, and healing, that we can be saved from ourselves and the beasts without and within. It is love that makes us human and it is love that connects us to God. Hope is where God reaches out to humanity to lift us out of our disintegration into wholeness with God and healing with one another.

God raises new life out of what looks like death. Both in the Ezekiel story and the gospel story God brings new life out of death. And that new life comes from God in our midst, Jesus. Jesus calls us to community, and connection. We are in this peculiar place today, something that might feel apocalyptic, but really we are being called to love in ways we have not had to before. We are being called to love our neighbor by not being with our neighbor. We are called to love our neighbor by being joined together in new ways. God can raise the dead, God can put us back together again so that we may be reconfigured as the body of Christ. In a political climate of division, and a cultural climate of hate, God calls us to be raised to new life. May it be so. Amen

Third Sunday in Lent Yr A March 15 2020

3 Lent Yr A March 15 2020

Exodus 17:1-7, Romans 5:1-11, John 4:5-42, Psalm 95

This story from the gospel of John is amazing. I think it is one of the most important stories of the entire collection of stories we have about Jesus. Just imagine the setting. Noon. In the desert. Absolutely the hottest time of the day. The sun blazes, the ground is dry and baked solid, any bodies outside are parched. Nobody would go out at that time; everyone would stay in their cool stone homes and siesta until the day grew cooler. And yet, here we are, at the center of the village, a lone woman, and Jesus. Neither of them belonged there. Neither of them should have been speaking to the other.

Jesus, a good Jew sits at the well, he is terribly thirsty, his throat is dry and scratchy; he has just arrived at this well after walking miles in the desert, in a foreign land, to get there. He sits at the well, but does not have a bucket or dipper to get any water. 

She arrives, bucket on her head, dipper in her hand, a Samaritan woman. She may have spent her morning cooking over an outdoor fire, and washing clothes in her bucket of water. This Jewish man asks this Samaritan woman for a drink of water. 

This is a scandalous encounter. Two circumstances make it scandalous. First, it is scandalous because they are a man and a woman, at a chance meeting at a well, and he speaks to her. She has a reputation, otherwise she would not be at the well in the heat of the day. The women would go to the well in the cool of the morning and evening. She was there in the heat of the middle of the day so she did not have to encounter the jeers and catcalls of the others in the village. The story says that she has had five husbands and she is living with a man who is not a husband. This status does not necessarily make her promiscuous, but what is true is that the only way for a woman to be protected in this society was to be attached to a man. To be unattached is certain abuse and maybe even death. And yet, a man could discard a woman by just saying so. We just don't know and should not make assumptions. But what we do know is that men and women just did not talk to one another in public. This is in violation of the Law they both lived by. 

Secondly, he is a Jew, and she, a Samaritan. The enmity between Jews and Samaritans is notorious. They traced their lineage similarly through Rachel and Jacob, Sarah and Abraham, and Miriam and Moses, but a split had caused them to worship in two different places, the Jews in Jerusalem, the Samaritans at Mt. Gerizim. Each tribe devoted to its own place of worship, and completely intolerant of the other. Intolerance is an understatement here. These tribes fought and killed each other over the proper place to worship. 

A Jewish man, a Samaritan woman, and he asks her for a drink of water. She states the obvious. "Sir, you have no bucket, how did you expect to get that living water?" He responds by describing the spring of water that gushes up to eternal life, and that will quench the thirst eternally. There is no turning back from this scandalous encounter. She places her tentative trust in him, "Sir," she says, "give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty again." She already has a glimpse of that eternal life which is now, that new life that gives us glimpses of the kingdom. And instead of judgment from Jesus, Jesus knows who she is and shows her she has value, and she remembers the truth of whom she is, God's beloved, marked and claimed by God. This living water and living word, transform her. Jesus gives her freedom, and gives her community freedom to know who Jesus is, to remember who she is, and to remember whom they are. She goes away with such excitement she forgets her water jug. She says to the people who have been deriding her “Come see a man who knew all about the things I did, who knows me inside and out. Do you think this could be the Messiah?” And they went out to see for themselves. 

Who does she think she is? The world has convinced her of the lie that she is worthless, that she is a throw away, that she is unlovable. In the living water of this well, Jesus reminds her who she really is. She is God's beloved, marked and claimed as God's own forever. And that changes her life. This encounter, Jesus' words and the life-giving water have literally restored her to new life. She was dead, dead to her community, dead to her family, dead to herself. Until in the water, Jesus reminded her, and she remembered she was God's beloved, marked and claimed as God's own forever.

It happens to us too, all the time. We begin to believe the lies of the world, the lies about who we are. You are worthless, you can't do anything right. Your happiness is dependent on how much money you make. You will be successful when you have a good job, you will be successful when you command a big staff. You will be happy when you feel good, so go ahead, take the purple pill, change the way you look, drink the whole bottle. 

We forget so quickly that we are God's beloved, marked and claimed as God's own forever. But the living water is here to remind us that we don't have to be perfect, because we are perfectly loved. And when we miss the mark, we fall on our knees, ask for forgiveness, are reminded that we are human, and do it differently the next time.

And that changes our lives, just as it changed the life of the woman at the well. We are freed from the constant need to be perfect, or to be something that we are not, we are freed to be loved completely and absolutely. We are put back together, made whole, healed. 

She leaves her bucket at the well, goes into the city and tells everyone about the man she met at the well, and that this man who said such amazing things, was the One sent from God. 

Each time we come here, to this place, we encounter Jesus. Each time we confess all that we have done, and all that we have left undone, we encounter Jesus. Each time we come to this table to eat and to drink we encounter Jesus. Each time we put our hand in that water, and splash it on our face and hands, each time we baptize another child, we remember who we are, God's beloved, marked and claimed.

The woman at this well encountered Jesus, she received grace and love, and remembered that in her brokenness, she was perfectly loved. She received grace and love, and living water, and went to tell all that would listen that she met the One sent from God. May we be like the woman at the well and go out and tell everyone of the Good News of Jesus, the One who is from God.

When we leave here today we will not come together again for a few weeks.

Palm Sunday in a time of pandemic

video     Palm Sunday in a time of pandemic

The traditional Palm Sunday service is filled with song and symbol as we are reminded of the beginning of the end, or what seems like the end, you and I know it’s really not, but I get ahead of myself. The song we sing is All glory laud and honor, to thee redeemer king! to whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring. We wave our palms, parade around, and give thanks for Jesus.

We remember that Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is an occasion for celebration as hundreds, maybe thousands of people entered Jerusalem for the huge community gathering, the Passover. This was a community gathering, everyone was there, from the shopkeepers and artisans, to the wealthy and the temple priests, to the Romans and centurions. Among the throngs, there was a relatively small group that hailed Jesus’ entry as something special, something unusual, something revolutionary.

I have always loved the pomp and circumstance of Palm Sunday, the waving of palms, the parade, all the while knowing that as we leave church on this day, we enter into a holy week. In any other holy week we would be gathering together in the quiet church observing the events of the last days of Jesus’ life. It is Jesus’ gift of his very life, Jesus’ suffering and brokenness that creates the reality for us to be made whole, to be healed, to be made new as the body of Christ.

So not gathering together is really weird, it challenges our very understanding of community, and body of Christ. We will gather again I believe. But I think it’s important to consider Jesus’ presence in our lives and in our world when our very understanding of the gathered church changes. When we gather together, we trust in God’s presence. But when we are the church deployed, when we are the church dispersed, we also trust in God’s presence. You see, this is our call, to do the work that God’s calls us to do, in our homes, our neighborhoods, our communities. This is the paradox of church, we gather together to be the body of Christ, and we are sent into the world to do the body of Christ, both aspects, equally important and vital for the mission of God in the world.

Palm Sunday is filled with paradox. The paradox of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem riding on a donkey, not on a warhorse. The paradox of expectation that this king will save them all from the tyranny of Rome, but instead he dies on a cross. Palm Sunday presents to us the great paradox. That wholeness of life comes not through power or perfection, but through a body broken for us. The great paradox that what looks to the world like loss, death on a cross, death to our very comfortable and social lives as we know them, is instead the greatest gift of life humanity can know. The great paradox for us, at this particular time, is that in physical separation one from the other, we find deeper expressions of care, and compassion, and love. In the midst of this vulnerability, we find the kind of strength that binds us together.

I’m not sure we’re all that more faithful, all that much less fickle, than the crowds who play significant roles in both the Palm Sunday and Passion readings. Which is not to condemn us, particularly, but rather simply to remind us that God chooses another way. God chooses to meet us in our vulnerability, to accept us in our weakness, to love us in our un-lovability, to redeem us amid our sin. God chooses to love us no matter what, and no matter where we are.

Our holy week will be nothing like any we have ever experienced. We will walk this road with Jesus in our own homes. I encourage you to find your sacred space, mine is at my kitchen table. Light your candle, gather your people. Jesus will show up, not in the raucous parade, but the quiet of quarantine.

Peace be with you.