Monday, December 18, 2017

Anointed to Practice the Better: Reflections for the Third Week of Advent


On this third Sunday of Advent, we encounter the familiar words of Isaiah 61. This prophetic lection is the same text read by Jesus in Luke 4, a passage that framed the duration of his ministry. The illustration is clear, God’s holy one is anointed and sent to bear good news in the midst of pervasive devastation, despair, oppression, and injustice that had a chokehold on God’s once-exiled people. The jubilant agency of this prophet, which is assumed by Jesus in his time and place, cuts through their raw and real suffering with a much-needed word of comfort and hope longed for by prior generations. The time for lament had passed; theirs was the time to build, plant, and repair what was in distress.

In our time, there are more than enough reasons for lament. Whether another #metoo or #churchtoo story of sexual harassment and assault, mass shooting at a music festival or Sunday morning worship service, reminder that racism and white supremacy are far from issues of the past, or the madness that has become our country's political landscape, we can quickly become seduced by cynicism and stuck in despair. We may even get lost in the great echo chambers of social media, endlessly reading and occasionally delivering rants laced in fatalism, fear, and righteous indignation in light of whatever issue has unsettled our own prophetic conscience and moral compass. If we read the fullness of Isaiah, we would discover similar, albeit ancient, cries of dereliction provoked by the straying from God’s dreams for a just and whole world.  There is a sure place for such words of woe, especially when the dignity and worth of our most vulnerable neighbors hangs in the balance.

Rest assured, Jesus and the prophets turned over their fair share of tables. 

Yet, the witness of Isaiah 61 affirms that the ultimate call of God’s anointed hinges more so in construction versus deconstruction, building versus tearing down, and revitalizing that which is feared to be beyond repair. While we are to speak out against the horrid ways we see the humanity in our near and distant neighbors violated, well-nuanced statements of condemnation will not suffice on their own. We must be known not only for what we say in these moments, but also the ways we subvert the varied manifestations of evil with our own acts of love, justice, and a commitment to the renewal of the world God so loves.  As Franciscan priest, Richard Rohr, writes, “The best criticism of the bad is the practice of the better.” This is what it means to be an Advent people, practicing the better within a world that is simultaneously ruinous and beautiful.

As a networker, storyteller, and resourcer alongside our churches and related ministries within this presbytery, I am overwhelmed by the varied ways the saints have been anointed by the Spirit to practice the better. In the midst of a very real school-to-prison pipeline, ministries within our bounds have worked alongside public schools and local leaders to create mentoring programs for youth in at-risk neighborhoods. On the other end of the prison system, congregations and faith communities have opened their sacredspaces for those who have previously been incarcerated to develop necessaryskills to enter or the workforce or create elaborate murals that tell theirstory and the stories of their communities. In neighborhoods labeled as food deserts, our ministries have launched nutrition programs for young people toenhance a child’s ability to focus in school. Other congregations, in light ofthe growing opioid epidemic, have collaborated with local service agencies andprofessionals to develop programs for individuals and their families who battleaddiction and loss. Still more, there are congregations who form intentional community across racial-ethnic and political divides, extend welcome and housing to refugees, advocate for human rights, facilitate longest night services for those whom this season is dark and dreary, and host music and artsfestivals that confront and work towards the end of gun violence in our cityand nation. In virtually every realm where there is evidence of ruin, you can be sure there is also a witness to the gospel as proclaimed by the lives and lips of disciples within the bounds of our presbytery and around the country. In these places, as we drape garlands in the midst of ashes, we find God’s favor. 


As we wait for the coming of Immanuel at Christmas, may we be reminded of how the Spirit has anointed us to be such counter practitioners of goodness in a world deeply longing for something better than what is currently on display. May we refuse to sit on our hands in expectation, but refresh our sense of mission that works for the liberation of those captive to silence and fear, comforts the afflicted, extends belonging to those isolated and marginalized, offers compassion to those who grieve, and proclaims a word of hope that ensures nothing is so ruinous that it is beyond God’s promise to repair and rebuild, restore and resurrect. May the oil of such anointed promises drip from all we say and do- not only in this holy season of Advent, but also in the long journey from manger to cross and empty tomb.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

On Challenging Sacred Symbols in Church and Society: A Word for World Communion Sunday


When he bent down on his knees, he knew he was about to do something that challenged everything they knew. He was about to uncover a hard yet central truth to the movement he had inaugurated.
“You call me Teacher and Lord- and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to was one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you…” (John 13:13-15). 
The Gospel of John is the only of the four to tell this upper room story. The Gospel of John is also the only of the four not to include the Eucharist just before Jesus' arrest. 

This was no accident. It also was not unnoticed by the early church reading this rendition of the Jesus story in the latter portion of the first century. 

The gospel writer, in a bold, prophetic, and likely controversial move, replaced one of the more sacred symbols of the Christian movement with another ritual that would challenge the social norms and intra-community privileging that had begun to creep into the witness of the church. There is reason to believe,  see 1 Corinthians 11:17ff, that less than a generation after Jesus broke bread and shared the cup, calling his disciples to become the broken body and blood of Christ in and for the world, they constructed fences of elitism around the praxis. Was the table in danger of becoming a means to elevate status of persons within this grassroots community versus assurance that all had a place within God’s dreams for the reconciliation of all things?

John knew whenever a sacred symbol became more important than the fuller meaning to which it points, it was no longer a sacred symbol but an oppressive idol. The gospel writer knew that whenever a sacred symbol impeded upon our call to love and serve our most vulnerable neighbors, the sacred symbol must be challenged and deconstructed. This was less an affront to the symbol, in this case the Eucharist, and more a subversive attempt to rescue the holy from being misappropriated as an icon for a movement of exploitation, isolationism, and injustice. John aimed to draw the church into a fuller meaning of what it meant to participate in the mission of the Christ.

So John replaces the Eucharist with a foot washing and call to radical servitude, turning the servant into the very embodiment of Christ, and flipping social hierarchy upside-down. In essence, the beloved disciple added another layer of significance to the sacrament, whenever you eat the bread and drink the cup, remember this and do likewise.

It is important to note that the Eucharist is not necessarily absent from John’s gospel. If we have the eyes to see and the ears to hear, it shows up in another place. 
“Jesus said, ‘Make the people sit down.’ Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, ‘Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.’” (John 6:10-12).
Here we quite literally have the eucharist: when he had given thanks, or eucharist─ôsas, among the hungry crowds who would be satisfied by the one who was the very bread of life. The sacred symbol reframed until all are seated to be satisfied with the fuller meaning of God’s story incarnated in the person and work of Jesus then carried on by those who professed their allegiance to him and him alone. 

The church must remember, especially as conversations about flags, anthems, pledges, and national symbols swirl around us, there is nothing so sacred and worthy of human reverence that it is immune to being confronted and reformed. When any symbol or system it represents begins to stymie human flourishing, wholeness, and what the Scriptures call shalom, there is biblical warrant for subversion and a great cloud of witnesses to back the protest. This includes, as John reminds us, the Eucharistic table.*  After all, what makes a thing sacred and holy, in good reformed theological language, is when it points away from itself and towards God’s grace and dreams for justice, righteousness, and the reconciliation of the whole world. This redemptive grace is wrapped up in the person and work of of Jesus. 

In the midst of the pressing national and global realities that not all are free, treated equal, and valued as bearers of the very image of God, dare we heed the witness of Jesus and bend down in servitude until we can hear the cries for justice. May we ensure the movements that began as a confrontation against the killing of black lives by the hands of those sworn to protect are not reduced to generalized calls for unity by those who are privileged. May we not allow Twitter tirades by those in positions of power to distract us from the harsh realities that there are islands of U.S. Citizens and other global neighbors who go without electricity, food, water, or certainty about how to rebuild after Hurricane Maria. 

On this World Communion Sunday, may the Christian Church not allow flags to replace the table as our most sacred symbol of a unified allegiance that pushes us to link arms with the marginalized and broken until equity and justice are afforded to all. May we have the faithfulness to take a knee at the Table as a reminder of our call to always be on the side of those who are most vulnerable in our neighborhoods, cities, nations, islands, and larger world. The table, lest we forget, is what binds us together as the people of God, not any banner of one country. And when we do lapse in memory, may we turn to the pages of John’s Gospel as reminder of who is our Teacher and Lord and then go and do likewise. 

This is the message of the gospel. This is the witness of the church across every generation and geographical place. This is the fuller meaning of the sacred and the holy we find at Christ's table. 


Related Post: An Alternative Pledge of Allegiance

*In this year when we celebrate the 500th Anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, this also includes the church as (oppressive) institution. Thanks Martin Luther! 

Monday, August 28, 2017

Children & Youth Ministry as Resistance: A Brief Word for #BackToSchool


We were talking at home the other day about how, in many ways, to raise a family and rear children in the way of love, welcome, and commitment to justice is to participate in the faithful resistance to empire. When we say, “as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD,” (Joshua 24:15) we are declaring our commitment to a counter-narrative to those of hatred and oppression that have been given a renewed platform by those in positions of power.  When we read Scripture and pray at table or bedside, the stories we choose and the content of our prayers reinforces to our children what it means to be a people who follow Jesus in such a time as this. 

The same is true for those who serve in varied forms of children and youth ministry. In every age, to include our own, children and youth ministry is critical and subversive discipleship work. This work moves beyond Bible trivia, church membership programs, sporadic mission blitzes, and the handing down of abstract doctrinal statements into the craniums of young people. Instead, this work aims to equip young people for a counter-movement of love and generosity, forgiveness and welcome, justice and commitment to God’s preferential option for the poor and oppressed.  

Children and youth ministry is not about the preparation of future leaders in the church, although partially true, but strives to empower change agents in the here and now. This ministry is about joining them in their efforts to embody the gospel in the places they have discerned most pressing. Children and youth ministry is about nurturing the prophetic imaginations of Jesus' youngest disciples as we trust the Spirit’s movement in and through them. 

As social media feeds are flooded with chalkboard #backtoschool photos (we posted our own), my prayers are with those who serve in various capacities of children and youth ministries. I pray for mentors, teachers, listeners, counselors, and facilitators of conversations able to spark small and large expressions of faithful resistance. I pray for school administrators, faculty members, and coaches who worship in the pews on Sunday and walk into school campuses on Monday. I pray for Sunday School teachers, choir directors, and ministers and youth directors. I pray for weekend retreats, before and after-school programs, and fellowship gatherings that cross all lines of division based on race, class, language, and religious tradition. I pray that in each and every way adult disciples walk alongside children and youth, that they would do so aware of the significance of their call. I pray the church would equip all for their vocation, too. 

Even more, I pray for the children and youth. 
I pray they would know they have been called for such a time as this. 
I pray they would know God’s love is not based on the best or worst thing they have done, but rooted in the very image they were stamped with before they could even take a breath or speak a word. 
I pray they would know they are loved to love and blessed to be a blessing.
I pray they would feel empowered by adults to resist evil as an extension of their baptism whenever they feel their most vulnerable neighbors are being exploited by either church or state. 
I pray they would experience the church as a place where their questions about the intersection of faith and public life are welcomed as much as their neighbor whom they invited to the mid-week event. 
I pray the Bible and church history would come alive to them as they learn of the great cloud of witnesses who participated in the resistance against systemic injustices, even those perpetuated by religious institutions and traditions. 
I pray they know the world can and will be better because of the contributions they make, even as they lead us closer to the day when God once and for makes everything new and right again. 

Every day, as I move through the car line at drop off, I pray these prayers for my children and yours. It is one way I commit to the resistance that is the gospel, especially as we send our children back to school. 

"However we may be justified in wagging our heads over modern youth's fantastic drive for freedom, it is certain that our final attitude cannot be surprise and opposition; the youth movement of the present time in all its phases is directed against authority for its own sake, and whoever desires to be an educator today must...stand in principle upon the side of our younger people” 
---Karl Barth, The Word of God and the Word of Man, p. 292

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Demanding Inclusion: Did a Canaanite Woman Know More About the Gospel Than Jesus?


This past week, local celebrity and UVA alumna, Tina Fey, made a special appearance on SNL and invented the word“sheetcaking.” In the face of the all that’s going on in the world, comfort eating as escape was her solution.  The bit was quite funny.

Blogger, activist, and Presbyterian pastor, Carroll Howard-Merritt, pushed back on the sketch. Don’t sheetcake in avoidance but hit the pavement as witness- engage.

I say have cake and be an activist, too. Take cake to the pavement?

In this week’s gospel story, Matthew locates Jesus at the center of confrontation and controversy related to a deep-seeded racial and ethnic divide.  Yet, unlike any other texts that I can think of, Jesus appears particularly vulnerable and initially on the wrong side of welcome and embrace. 

While we may be tempted to sheetcake away this uncomfortable story, the Spirit’s work through the lectionary dares us to engage it.

The story begins with Jesus in a home along the Mediterranean coast, the region of Tyre and Sidon. In what appears to be an intended sabbatical at the shore, Jesus could not escape notice and was immediately greeted by an unexpected Canaanite woman and her possessed daughter. This woman comes from a region known for violence, aggression, and oppression- including historical violence against the Jewish people; quite possibly violence against their own people. She is from enemy territory- a foreigner. Mark is even more explicit, identifying her as a Syrophoenician woman, i.e. from Syria.  Does she not know of the present and historical racial-tensions as she approaches Jesus?

Unconcerned about her heritage, history, or the reputation of her country, or maybe seeking refuge from it, this woman pleas on behalf of her possessed daughter, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” She expects a miracle and so evokes not only the Hebrew name of the Messiah, but also one of the central Hebrew characteristics of God- eleison or mercy. In Hebrew, the word is chesed, i.e. loving kindness or undying and steadfast love. My kids’ Bible turned the word into a lyric, “God’s never-stopping, never-giving-up, always-and-forever love.”  Chesed is central to understanding the good and just activity of God.   

Monday, August 14, 2017

On Charlottesville and the Call of the Church: Standing in the Tempests of Racism and White Supremacy

One thing I have learned lately, the Lectionary has a way of serving as a channel for the Spirit to speak into the issues of the day- and weekend. This was true with yesterday’s familiar Gospel story- Jesus (and Peter) walking on the water in Matthew 14:22-33. 

As I reflected late last night, with the events of Charlottesville on my heart and mind, I landed on this simple charge: upon the waters of chaos is where Jesus calls his disciples to walk. These are the same waters the Spirit hovered over in the beginning and called forth light.

Yet, when the strong winds of this world bellow upon us, like Peter, we are tempted to become become fickle and afraid. When our sure-footedness feels like a thing of the past and safety and security are as questionable as the waters beneath us, we wonder why we ever left the boat in the first place.

This is what Jesus saves Peter from- questioning that upon these waters is exactly where he and all disciples are called to wander in faith, hope, love, and an unwavering commitment to justice. Upon these waters is where he- and the whole world- will find deliverance.

In these days, with squalls of racism and violence and the tempests of white supremacy trumpeted with renewed energy under the banner of God and country, I am giving thanks for those who dare to step out of the boat in faith and to stand. I am giving thanks for those who refuse to sink in the chaotic waters even as they embrace the hand of Christ and walk upon such seas- exposing the evils and injustices that seek to unsettle the spirit and slow the progress of a nation through fragile acts of terror. I am grateful for preachers and prophets, teachers, bloggers, sisters and brothers across faith traditions, and advocates of all kinds who have refused to disengage, remain silent, or white-knuckle their own security and public image and instead have taken to the front lines of holy solidarity and cruciform love.

I pray each of us would have the courage to do the same. Only there, as we walk upon these turbulent waters armed with God's grace and compassion, can we find salvation. This is where the Spirt hovers and brings forth light.

This has always been so.

Some quick links to stories of those walking upon the waters of chaos in these days, please let me know of others I should add:

Monday, July 17, 2017

The Church as the Humus of Heaven: Jesus' Parable of the Sower and Some Wendell Berry, Too


(A Sermon on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23)

There is a well-known Wendell Berry poem that has hung in my office for nearly 10 years. The title of the poem, Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front. 

A portion of it reads: 

Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequioas. 
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant, 
that you will not live to harvest. 
Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years

Practice resurrection. 

I am far from a farmer and have a very faint green thumb- my greatest claim to a harvest being the six peppers I grew on our front porch and used in my southwest omelet a few years ago.  Eggs compliments of Wegmans. Seeds from Target. Yet there is something intriguing about not only the agrarian imagery of this poem, but also the very title. Farming framed as a revolt, a sustainable movement of subversion.  The farmer is marked as one gone mad, celebrated for raising unconventional questions, investing in the next generation, putting faith in a slow yet emerging process, and prioritizing sowing in such a way that the fullness of the harvest will out live even the farmer. 

Wendell Berry is an environmental activist, novelist, and prophetic poet who continues to live in simplicity with his wife in rural Kentucky.  His writings have captured the imaginations and underscored movements of change for generations. And Wendell Berry is known for his agrarian imagery. 

He’s in good company. 

While since the industrial revolution we have preferred machines, devices, and factories, the bulk of human history, and even most of the world still today, identified with fields, farms, and living off the land. Jesus was not exempt. It doesn’t take long to see that, in many ways, Jesus was a first-century rendition of Wendell Berry whose pithy statements were laced with references to grain and the harvest, reaping and sowing, wheat and chaff, mustard seeds and invasive plants. These were far from tame motifs, they were culturally relevant nuances of God’s kingdom intended to grow a movement of change called discipleship. 

Jesus’ use of the agrarian world and all its organic metaphors underscore God’s dreams for the world that come by way of a slow yet urgent process with a harvest not only for this generation, but also the generation to come. This mode of divine activity called the gospel is beautiful and frustrating, intentional and local, nourishing yet demanding, even requiring the ability to adapt and evolve in light of changes in conditions.  At it’s core, Jesus’ leaning on this imagery reminds us that the gospel, God’s Way in the World, requires our on-going participation and ability to dig our hands deep into the soil of this world God so loves. 

Nowhere is this more prevalent than in today’s parable, the first of many Jesus would tell to frame his budding movement called in Matthew’s Gospel, the kingdom of heaven. In fact, today’s Gospel story is so central to Jesus’ teachings that it is the only one he actually unpacks and explains for his disciples.

This makes it so much easier for the visiting preacher.

Matthew locates Jesus as seated seaside where he addresses the massive crowds outside of the home. “Listen!” Jesus shouts to those on the beach. "This message is for you, every last one of you.”

Much like the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus announced blessings to those most ignored and dismissed, Jesus again casts wide the net of God’s welcome.  "There was this sower of seeds who had gone mad, scattering seeds here, there, and everywhere- liberally tossing possibilities for new life everywhere this sower went.”

I was reading this parable with fellow leaders of the Presbytery the other day when one of the pastors raised a shared point of frustration, one possibly whispered down the lane by those on the shore that day two millennia ago. 

“This seems to be a pretty irresponsible farming practice,” she said. "A wise sower would have surveyed the land and known that this particular seed falling on a path, in the rocks, or among thorns wouldn’t work. They would have limited their planting to the good soil from the get go.”

That would work with conventional planting, sure. But if we know anything about Jesus and the kingdom of heaven he announced, it is less linked to convention and more reflective of madness. As Paul would say in 1 Corinthians, “the gospel is foolishness to those who believe.” 

Matthew’s inference is clear: Jesus is the Mad Sower of Seeds of this great liberation front called the kingdom of heaven. This Sower shows no judgment or partiality, in many ways his grace is frivolous, overly generous, and borderline insane.  

Which is good news, for the seeds of the gospel have been liberally scattered throughout the generations and to virtually every corner of the earth. The seeds have even been scattered so freely and without hesitation that they have been planted in each of us here today.  The Psalmist says it this way, “Your wagon tracks overflow with richness…”(Psalm 65:11).

The question for us, is what kind of soil will we be? 

Will we dare enable the seeds of God’s Word of love and generosity, welcome and hospitality, justice and commitment to those frequently labeled as other to burry deep within the soil of our individual lives, take root in our communities of faith, and sprout a harvest of hope and possibility in the neighborhoods we call home?

Will we dare look beyond the walls of our buildings to see that this Sower of Seeds is scattering fertile possibilities within the hearts and minds of our neighbors and in the communities our churches were first planted within?

Will we become like that two-inches of humus beneath the tree that is able to nourish a rooted discipleship able to withstand all that seeks to slow the growth of God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven?

These were the questions posed to those on that first-century beach. These are the critical questions posed to us today. 

In many ways and at various parts of my life, I have found myself more able to identify with the first three categories of dirt that Jesus describes than the final harvest. There have been times when I have failed to understand the kingdom and even allowed the birds of doubt, despair, apathy, and fear to swoop in and snatch the seeds of gospel possibility off my pilgrim path. Other times I have been the one whose faith is fickle, like seed falling on rocky ground or among thorns, unwilling to sink my roots deep into expressions of discipleship because it felt too risky, irresponsible, or may cost me my reputation, privilege, job, or financial security. Maybe you find yourself today as though you are merely feeding the birds, among rocky ground, or being choked by thorns of this world.

Hear the good news of the gospel this morning- Jesus continues to scatter the seeds for the harvest among you and your neighbors still. The invitation remains to be that fertile soil whereby a rooted discipleship can sprout, when the Word of God grows within you and flowers expressions of justice and love alongside neighbors near and far.

While Matthew’s gospel certainly speaks to Jesus’ personal invitation to individual discipleship, this parable is also a corporate, communal call. The parable of the sower is a charge to the gathered people of God, namely the church, to scatter as a subversive movement of frivolous love and generosity, a liberation front in the face of all that seeks to snatch, choke, and wither the world God so loves. The parable is a nudge to be the humus of heaven on earth able to reap a rooted discipleship in Jesus- the Mad Sower of God's love, justice, and grace.

As our Presbytery has leaned into our 300th Anniversary we have spent significant time reflecting on our beginnings, when God’s Spirit first scattered seeds in the hearts and minds of the faithful who came to this nation and founded what is the American Presbyterian Church. In each generation, the faithful were challenged to ask unconventional questions, leverage new incarnations of the gospel initially marked as madness, and pray for God’s Spirit to sprout unique expressions of God’s love and justice alongside the numerous congregations in the communities they were called to serve. In many ways, what began three hundred years ago was like the two inches of humus underneath the tree that created the necessary nutrients for the witness of the Presbytery to sustain growth and faithful witness over many generations and in light of the relevant issues of each passing age.

Whether in the midst of the civil rights movement or the AIDS epidemic, slavery or pervasive poverty, racism or immigration, suburban sprawl or the rise of the millennial generation, rapid change in technology and social media or increased violence, churches in this Presbytery for 300 years have been dared to ask, will we as individuals and communities of faith be fertile ground for new possibilities or will we allow the lure of power, privilege, and the institution choke our witness? Will we allow the joy we first found in being called to follow Jesus frame relevant and prophetic work in the world or will we bail the moment discipleship costs us something? Will we understand Christ’s call to rooted discipleship in the midst of our current socio-political context when many are looking for assurance that chaos is not the final victor and the concerns of the elite are not all that matter or will we allow the seeds of God's grace to be snatched up by the birds of doubt, despair, or worse- irrelevance?

Over the course of three hundred years, the faithful of this Presbytery have demonstrated that we indeed are fertile soil with the seeds of our witness rooted in God’s grace made known to us in Jesus Christ. Yes, we have much to confess and more than enough reasons to lament our being complicit throughout history. We also must acknowledge the fertility of our faith that has extended across generations. Churches have been planted by emancipated slaves ordained to ministry; congregations have been launched in immigrant communities and alongside people experiencing chronic homelessness; hospitals, schools, nutrition programs, and Christian camps have been birthed and mentoring ministries developed in at-risk communities; once vibrant churches have discerned a call to close and reshape their structure so to best engage their changing community with the gospel.  One church even opened up their fellowship hall and vacant Sunday school rooms to artists previously incarcerated and now looking to turn their lives around as they impact the next generation through the creation of elaborate murals that envelop the walls of public elementary schools. 

The Sower of Seeds has been at work scattering seeds of resurrection possibility in this presbytery and in many ways we have been fertile soil for rooted discipleship. I say all this not as an ad for our Presbytery, but because such fertility of the faithful sprouted this congregation in sixty years ago.  This is your storied history, too.

My prayer is that we would continue to allow the seeds of God’s word to take root in our individual and corporate discipleship so that God’s Spirit reaps a harvest among us thirty, sixty, and hundred fold. Along the way, I pray we also remember we are neither Sower nor seeds, rather the soil God’s Word is being rooted within as we live into the hope we call the Gospel.  I pray we view our neighbors near and far through the same lens, for God is scattering seeds of goodness and possibility within them, just as well.


I end by recalling the final line of Wendell Berry’s poem. Two simple words: Practice Resurrection. I had never thought about it before, but resurrection is even an agrarian image, new life out of what was once dead. We are only able to practice such resurrection because Jesus, the frivolous Sower of Seeds, has already been raised.  That’s madness. That’ gospel. That’s the root of our discipleship from one generation to the next. Let it sink deep within you as the humus of heaven on earth.  Amen.