The Kingdom of God Come Near

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 29, 2015

1 Advent 2015

When I was a child, my advent calendar gave me the illusion that I was in  control of the time until Christmas.  The other indications of when Christmas would arrive were pretty fuzzy.  My mother was never one to procrastinate.  She had a freezer and was not afraid to use it, so she was finished with the cooking well before Christmas.  Shopping for the relatives was finished and packages were wrapped by early December.  If Christmas had come two weeks early in any given year, my mother would have been ready.  So, if I measured the time until Christmas by Christmas preparations around the house, I could be off by a couple of weeks.  But, every night I could open one little window on my Advent calendar,  find one small Christmas symbol, and know how many days were left until Christmas.  I realized that my control over the time until Christmas was limited, however.  If I opened all the windows on the same night, Christmas would be no closer.  But by opening one window each night, I felt like I was moving myself one step closer to something unimaginably wonderful.

This morning, while we might have come to church expecting to hear something about the baby Jesus...at the very least the liturgical equivalent of an invitation to a baby shower, instead we hear about the signs of Jesus' return. Quite frankly, those signs do not seem to be pointing us closer to something unimaginably wonderful.  The signs Jesus describes this morning sound rather terrifying, quite frankly.   There are enough terrifying situations in the world today that, as we turn our thoughts to the birth of the Christ Child, I would personally rather hear something a little more uplifting.  Perhaps we could hear Isaiah say "The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light."  Or perhaps we could hear Micah say "But you, O Bethlehem...from you shall come forth one who is to rule Israel."  But instead we hear Jesus say "There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.  People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of heaven will be shaken."   I want to anticipate the birth of a baby.  Jesus seems to have something very different in mind.

Jeremiah and Paul also anticipate something very different from the Christ Child  this morning, although what they describe does not seem quite so terrifying. Jeremiah says "The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah."  That sounds pretty hopeful, actually.  And Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians "And may the Lord so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints."  Hearts strengthened in holiness don't sound too scary, either.

In the case of  both Jeremiah and the writer of Luke's gospel, all the evidence is that their world is coming to an end, the future is terrifying, and God is no where to be found.  Jeremiah writes after Judah and Jerusalem have fallen to the Babylonians.  God's faithful people have been exiled, the land has been burned, the temple destroyed, and life as they knew it in the Promised Land had come to a most devastating end.  Where was the God who led the people out of bondage in Egypt and into the Promised Land?  Was the story all a hoax?  The first century Christians to whom Luke wrote did not have life any easier.  Jerusalem had fallen again, this time to the Romans, the temple had been destroyed again, and God's faithful people had been exiled, again.  Jesus had promised to return, but where was he?  Life was about as bad as life could get, and Jesus was no where to be found.  Was Jesus' promise a hoax?

In 2015, we live in a world that seems just as unstable as the world of Jeremiah or the writer of Luke's gospel.  While we, ourselves, may not be under attack, people of faith around the world are under attack.  People are living in and fleeing conditions I cannot begin to imagine.  Add in terrorism, natural disasters, illness, and other situations closer to home, and we, too, can wonder if the promises of God are a hoax, or if God is asleep on the job.  If the conditions of the first century and all the horrible circumstances people have found themselves in over the past 2000 years have not brought Jesus back yet, what are we waiting for?

After we hear Jesus describe the signs of his return in the sun, the moon, the stars and on earth, windows we would rather shut than look through, then Jesus says "Look at the fig tree and all the trees.  As soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is here.  So when you see these things taking place, you will know that the Kingdom of God is near."  Then Jesus tells us that his very generation will not pass away before these things take place.

How can this be true, all these years later?  Earlier in Luke's gospel when Jesus spoke about the Kingdom of God coming near, he said "Whenever you enter a town and the people welcome you, eat what is set before you, cure the sick who are there and say to them "the Kingdom of God has come near."  And then Jesus said to the disciples "But whenever you enter a town and the people do not welcome you, go out into the streets and say "Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you.  Yet know this, the Kingdom of God has come near."

Jesus is telling us that we don't control the nearness of the Kingdom of God by our actions, much less our success, nor is the nearness of the Kingdom controlled by the actions of those who seek to maim and destroy.  Through out the gospels, the Kingdom has come near because God has drawn near.  Period. The exiles in Babylon to whom Jeremiah spoke, and the early Christians to whom the writer of Luke spoke could look back and see where God had drawn near and know that God's promises were not a hoax.  Jesus calls us to remember where we have seen and known the Kingdom of God to draw near in the past, and keep our eyes open for those places where the Kingdom of God breaks in now.  What Jesus tells us this morning is that the Kingdom does not break in only with the joyous birth of tiny babies.  The Kingdom also breaks in where the sun, the moon, and the skies are being torn apart, and the very earth is being shaken.  The promise of Advent is this: We are not in control of when, where, or how the Kingdom of God breaks in. But the Kingdom of God does break in, likely when we least expect it.  Advent calls us to keep our eyes and our hearts wide open, not weighed down by the worries of this life, and expect to find the Kingdom of God come near.
Amen.

Christ the King and Toilet Paper

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 22, 2015

Christ the King

As many of you know, I served for a number of summers as the chaplain for 4th and 5th graders at Procter Camp, our diocesan camp in Southern Ohio.  One of my responsibilities there was to celebrate the Eucharist every morning.  The lessons for each day were chosen to correspond to the theme of the camp, so each day I had new readings to work with for the homily.  But I needed something more to get the kids' attention. They were 8 and 9 years old, after all.  So, each day a different cabin got to put an item into a special bag and bring the bag to chapel.  Whatever was in the bag, I had to weave into the very brief homily.  The only rule was that whatever went into the bag could not be alive or ever have been alive.  That eliminates a lot of things fourth and fifth graders might come up with.  But over the years, I found a Barbie, a clock, all sorts of soaps and shampoos, socks- clean, fortunately, a talking stick, a camera, and all kinds of other random things kids bring to camp.  One year, on the last day of camp, when all the parents had come to pick up their children and were also at Eucharist, I reached into the bag and pulled out a roll of toilet paper.  Now, there are all kinds of ways one could go with a homily on toilet paper, and I am sure the boys' cabin that provided me with the roll had several in mind.  I don't remember  the theme of the camp that year, or what the Scripture readings were that day, but roll of toilet paper reminded me of the gratitude I see on people's faces at the Food Pantry when they receive this simple, and utterly basic necessity that I totally take for granted.  Kelly, our parish administrator, and I experienced this very gratitude on Wednesday after Food Pantry.  We saw a woman coming to the door of Hollenbeck after the Food Pantry had closed. We were completely and totally out of food.  Kelly grabbed a package of toilet paper, and I headed for the door to greet the woman.  The woman had actually come to get the walker she had left, but Kelly handed her the package of toilet paper anyway and said "Would you like some toilet paper."  The woman's is clearly not an Episcopalian because she threw her arms up in the air and shouted "Praise Jesus!" This for a package of toilet paper.  Kelly and I weren't sure whether to share in her joy, or weep.

What, you might reasonably wonder, does toilet paper have to do with Christ the King Sunday, our patronal feast day?  Today, we hear Pilate ask Jesus "Are you the King of the Jews?"  And we hear Jesus be less than direct in his reply: "Do you ask this on your own or did others tell you about me?"  When Pilate asks Jesus "What have you done?" Jesus replies "My kingdom is not from this world."  And he repeats "My kingdom is not from here."

So, is Jesus a king or not?  And what does this have to do with toilet paper?

When I think of Christ the King, I think of the resurrected Jesus, the one the reading from Revelation calls "the faithful witness, the first born of the dead, and ruler of the kings of the earth," the one who says at the end of the book of Revelation "Behold, the home of God is among mortals.  He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe away every tear from their eyes....Behold, I am making all things new."  But today's gospel reading is part of the gospel reading for Good Friday.  Every year on Good Friday, we hear Pilate ask "Are you the king of the Jews?" and we hear Jesus say "You say that I am a king."  Jesus does not look like a king when he stands before Pilate and Jesus certainly won't look like a king hanging on a cross.  There are no fancy robes, he has no great wealth, no army, no territory over which to rule.  Jesus will have a crown, but it will be made of thorns, not gold and jewels.  He will be called "King of the Jews" but the people will be mocking him, not honoring him.  His followers are not fighting to keep Jesus from being handed over to the authorities.  So what kind of king is Jesus?

Earlier in John's gospel, Jesus said "I am the Good Shepherd.  I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.  And I lay down my life for the sheep."  Jesus knew his Hebrew Bible and he assumed his followers did, too.  And those followers who heard Jesus talk about the Good Shepherd would have been reminded of the passage in Ezekiel where God says "I will set over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he will feed them himself and be their shepherd."  David, of course, was the great King of Israel, who is described in Ezekiel as a shepherd.  When Jesus says "I am the Good Shepherd," Jesus is describing his kingship.  Jesus is the king who is a shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep, which is what he is about to do when he stands before Pilate this morning.

Jesus' kingship is different.  Jesus' kingship is not of this world, and does not hold to the values of this world.  Jesus sought no power, wealth, or privilege for himself.  Instead Jesus worked to give power to the powerless, hope to those without hope, strength to the weak, and resources to the poor.   The last words of King David, Jesus' ancestor, are said to be those we hear in 2 Samuel this morning "One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land."   The work of the Shepherd King is to bring the light of morning to the darkness of night, and rain to the dry grass, making all things new for all people.

On Christ the King Sunday, we are reminded that this is the person for whom our church is  named.  The toilet paper we offer today will be greatly appreciated by those who receive it, I can guarantee that,  but the toilet paper will not change their lives.  The lives that will be changed by our offering of toilet paper are our lives.  Our lives are changed as we see and hear the deep gratitude of those who receive this simple, basic gift.  Kelly and I did not know whether to rejoice with our friend at the door on Wednesday, or to weep that someone could be so deeply excited about something so small.  I believe God calls us to be weep for all people all over the world who lack the basic things we all take for granted, whether toilet paper, food, shelter, medical care, or physical safety, and be moved to make this world of Christ is the King. As Christ Church, we are called be shaped by a kingship not of this world, and to make our world a place where the light of morning shines through for all people.  

Amen.

Where is Jesus?

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 15, 2015

28 Proper B

Our young Pub Theologians had quite a conversation about thankfulness last Sunday.  In my November Clarion article, I wrote about the apostle Paul's call in 1 Thessalonians to rejoice always, pray constantly, and give thanks in allcircumstances, not just the circumstances we find favorable.  So, I asked our 4th- 12 graders what they are thankful for, and they came up with a nice list.  Then I asked them to create a story about someone who finds him or herself in a dreadful circumstance. Any one who thinks youth lack in imagination have not met our young Pub Theologians.  Think Job meets the Zombie Apocalypse.  They came up with some wildly awful, and fortunately highly unlikely scenarios and we brainstormed what a person could possibly be thankful for if he or she found themselves in such a circumstance.  Then we backed up and talked about some challenges in our own lives and what we can find to be thankful for even when we are struggling.

While we don't hear about the zombie apocalypse this morning, we do hear from what is called the "little apocalypse" in Mark's gospel.  The 13th chapter of this gospel speaks about the end times, the times just before Jesus returns.  This morning Jesus tells the disciples and us not to be alarmed by wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famines, because these are the beginnings of the birthpangs. Our gospel reading ends there, but Jesus does not.  Jesus goes on to describe persecutions, divisions in families over the gospel, suffering such as has not been seen since the beginning of creation, and false messiahs.  Even the heavens will experience trauma as the sun and moon are darkened, the stars will fall from the heavens, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.  After Jesus has described in detail just how awful life will be, he says "But then, they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory."  But then, the birthpangs will bear fruit and we will find Jesus in our midst.  But we need to watch and be ready.

The truth is, apocalyptic writings in scripture usually describe what is actually happening in the lives of the original readers, while also describing a future salvation.  The original readers of Mark's gospel were being persecuted.  They were experiencing many of the kinds of things Jesus describes in this section of Mark's gospel.  And they heard Jesus promise that this is not the end.  Jesus is coming and may even be here now, and they must watch.  Passages such as this give the people hope that the challenges they endure do not have the final word, and the challenges do not mean that Jesus is absent.

When times are difficult, we can easily wonder where Jesus is.  On a global level, the devastating terrorist attacks in Paris and in other parts of the world last week sound a lot like wars and rumors of wars, and the people of France feel under siege in a way not unlike the situation described in Mark's gospel.  On a local level, Springfield is certainly facing serious challenges, and while our challenges may not be apocalyptic, they are certainly life altering for those most directly affected.  The gun violence this fall has been devastating and can certainly make one wonder about Jesus' presence in our city.  The seemingly constant news about the challenges Wittenberg faces along with  businesses shutting down, leaving, or being sold is disheartening and a real challenge to our economy here.  Many of our own parishioners are deeply affected by these situations.  And then there are those who are suffering from frightful diagnoses or the lack of a diagnosis for difficult symptoms.  These local challenges may not add up to famine, war, and earthquake, but they are enough to make us wonder if Jesus has disappeared or God is asleep.

In the reading from 1 Samuel, Hannah is crushed by her lack of a child.  She is experiencing bullying by her peers and the heartbreak of infertility.   At the time when God seems most absent to her, what does Hannah do?  1 Samuel says she presents herself at the temple, but from the way the passage reads, I think she throws herself down at the temple, is deeply distressed, weeps bitterly, and pours out her soul to God.  She is reassured by Eli, the priest, that God has heard her.  God has not abandoned her, and eventually she does conceive and bear a son.  Yes she does get her hearts desire, which does not always happen, not even in Scripture, but the point is that, rather than run from the God who seems so absent, she drew near to God.

Scholars do not know who wrote the letter to the Hebrews or the circumstances around that writing, but the words at the end of our reading this morning are among my favorites.  The vestry actually wrestled with these words in our Bible study a few months ago as we read "And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching."  Provoke one another to good deeds.  The word "provoke" actually means "to call forth" but I find myself provoked more often to anger or impatience as Hannah was by her rivals  rather than being provoked to good deeds.  When the writer says "and all the more as you see the Day approaching," the writer is telling us that the need to provoke one another to love and good deeds, and not neglect to meet together only increases as challenges increase.  The early church did not gather to sing hymns, share scripture, and break bread together because life was easy.  They gathered because life was hard and they needed each other in order to be able to find Christ in their midst. They needed each other in order to be able to make Eucharist, which is the Greek word for thanksgiving, when being thankful was too hard to do alone.

We can hear scripture that describes the end time as hopelessly outdated and irrelevant, or we can hear the call of such passages to watch for Jesus to be among us in challenging time.  We can hear the story of Hannah as a miraculous healing unlikely to really happen, or we can admire her honesty in baring her pain before God.  And we can get bogged down in the talk of sacrifice and offering in the book of Hebrews and give up, or we can hear the call to hold together and encourage one another in good times and bad and make a difference in the world.  Scripture reminds us this morning that God is closest when God seems most absent, and that the way to know God's closeness and find Jesus in our midst is to come together and encourage one another, to provoke one another to love and good deeds so we make a difference, and to stick together.

Amen.

Enjoy the Ride!

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 8, 2015

27 Proper B

When I was in high school, our youth group took a trip to Six Flags over Texas, an amusement park.  We had washed cars, raked leaves, and sold candy bars all year to raise the money for this trip.  We boarded a bus on a Friday night, arrived at Six Flags on Saturday morning where we spent the day riding the rides, and then got back on the bus and arrived home Sunday morning.  Riding the bus at night saved money on overnight accommodations, and all of our waking hours could be spent riding rides.  My friends talked me into riding the roller coaster, which I am sure was fairly tame by today's standards.  "You will love it," they said.  Against my better judgement, I agreed.   The ride only lasted 90 seconds.  How bad could that be?  Once we got in the cart, were strapped in, and the safety bar had been lowered across the seat, the train started slowly up a steep incline.  "This is not so bad," I thought.  And then, the bottom fell out.  The roller coaster descended at an alarming rate.  I could hear people screaming, but I couldn't breathe, much less scream.  I was holding on for dear life, but in the brief moment I had my eyes open, I could see others with their arms up in the air, eyes open, and their screams seemed to be happy screams.  Apparently, the way to enjoy a roller coaster is to let go and trust the safety bar, but I was having nothing of that.  I shut my eyes, tried to breathe, and held on for dear life for a very long 90 seconds.  And I promised God that if God would just get me off that roller coaster alive,  I would never, ever get on a roller coaster again.  And for all the promises I struggle with, I have kept that promise to God. No problem!

This morning we hear the story commonly known as the story of the widow's mite.  I always wonder what the poor widow was thinking when she put into the treasury what was, according to Jesus, her last two coins.  Because if Jesus is right, and those really were her last two coins, I am hard pressed to think the widow was anything other than foolish.  Not that the two copper coins were going to get her very far, but at least they were something.   I wonder if the widow at the treasury reminded the disciples of the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings.  In that story, the widow is down to nothing but a little bit of olive oil and flour when Elijah asks her for some water and a little bit of bread.  The widow tells Elijah that she is gathering sticks for a fire so she can go home and make a meal for herself and her son, and then they will lie down to die.  Then Elijah says to the widow "Do not be afraid.  Go home and do as you have said.  But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me.  Then make something for yourself and your son.  For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel says ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jar of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain to the land.'" And, indeed, that is exactly what happened.

But Jesus does not tell us what happened to the widow who put all that she had into the treasury, and he does not even tell us that what she did was right.  He only says that she has put in more than all the rich people because she put in everything.  The rich people had put in out of their abundance, and she had put in out of her poverty.

I wonder if Jesus is teaching us about the difference between living our lives while holding on for dear life, and living our lives letting go.  Before the widow put her last two coins in the treasury, we saw the scribes who like to walk around in long robes and be greeted in the market places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets.  The scribes seem to be people who want to hold on to what they have, in part, perhaps, because those long robes, best seats, and places of honor gave them their identity.  And I imagine they like that identity, so they hold on to it.  On the other hand, the poor widow lets go of everything, down to her two last coins, so she has to be defined by something else.  She has nothing to rely on but God, so her identity comes from that relationship. And if, indeed, we are meant to remember the widow at Zarephath, we know that the offering of her last two coins will not be the end of the widow's story.

When we give out of our abundance, we still have plenty to hold on to.  When we give out of our poverty, we have to let go and rely on God.  I do not think this story calls us to give our every last coin to the temple.  I do think this passage calls us to think about what we hold onto so tightly because we have so little, and to let go of even that little bit.  For many of us, perhaps our poverty is that of time. We feel like we have so little time that we have to hold onto it and manage what we have down to the last nanosecond.  The way we manage our time tells us a lot about who we are.  What if we were to let go of our hold on time, or whatever our poverty might be?  Rather than hold on so tightly that we cut off circulation to our fingers, forget to breathe, and fail to open our eyes, what if we, like the widow, let go?  What happens if we throw our arms up in the air, open our eyes, and let ourselves be exhilarated by the ride?  Perhaps Jesus is telling us that only by letting go, and giving out of our poverty, whatever that poverty might be, can we really enjoy the ride as children of God.

Amen.

"Unbind him and let him go."

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 1, 2015

All Saints

Don and I had been married about 2 years when we went to Colorado with Don's parents to visit Grandma and Grandpa Stinnett.  A lot about that trip was a new experience for me.  For starters, there was the car trip itself.  The distance from Arkansas to Colorado was further than I thought!  Then, there was farm life.  I grew up in the suburbs and in the city.  Don's grandparents were wheat farmers.  I will never forget Grandpa Stinnett's voice-somewhere between disbelief and disdain, when he found out I had never ridden a horse.  "You are a city girl" were his exact words.  And then there were the meals.  My mom was a great cook, but she saved the really big meals for festive occasions.  Grandma Stinnett, on the other hand, was feeding men who worked in the field all day.  Every meal was a major food event that could have fed a football team.  Platters of chicken fried steak, bowls of mashed potatoes and vegetables, most of which were home grown, salads, breads, and dessert were on the table and while the selection varied from meal to meal, the quantity did not.  These meals were not for any particular celebration, although they were certainly prepared with plenty of love.  These meals had a purpose and that purpose was to nourish people to do the hard work of farming.

Today is All Saints Day, one of the most beloved feast days in the Church.  We sing magnificent hymns, light candles as we remember our loved ones, and on this particular All Saints Day we hear what are, in my humble opinion, some of the greatest passages in all of Scripture.  On this day that we remember the lives of those who have gone before us, we hear God promise, in both Isaiah and Revelation, that the day will come when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes and God will swallow up death forever.  Some day, we will not be parted from our loved ones by death.  And before God destroys death, God "will make for all people a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well aged wines strained clear."  God will prepare a banquet for us, not unlike the banquet Grandma Stinnett created over and over again bringing all the workers together-although minus the well-aged wine, at least when Grandma was watching.  On All Saints Day, we are reminded that at God's banquet table, both the one at this altar and the one to come, we are joined with all those who have gone before us for the feast that gathers us and makes us one.

But for what purpose does God create this meal?  To show God's love for us? To gather all of human kind together? As a great celebration of the new thing God is about to do?  Or to nourish us for the work ahead?

Today's gospel reading contains my favorite line in all of scripture. After Jesus has raised Lazarus from the dead, and after Martha worries about the stench when the stone is removed from the tomb, and after Lazarus has come stumbling out with his hands and feet bound and his face covered, Jesus says to the startled onlookers "Unbind him and let him go."

"Unbind him and let him go."  Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead.  But until Lazarus has been unbound, he might have been able to stumble out of the tomb, but he can't do much else.  In order to be fully free, Lazarus must be unbound.  And apparently, unbinding is not in Jesus' job description.  Resurrection is Jesus' job.  Unbinding is the work that belongs to Jesus' followers. Unbinding is the work of resurrection people who can see the new thing God is doing in their midst.

Unwrapping Lazarus sounds simple enough.  But Mary and Martha are being asked to touch a man who was dead just a few moments ago, a man whose stench they feared.  And if they unbind Lazarus, what might they be unleashing?  The man had been dead.  Now he was alive.  What new power might he now have?  Will he be the same brother they once had?  But we know they swallow their fear and unbind their brother because in a few verses later, Mary and Martha give a dinner party for Jesus, and Lazarus is at the table.  Unbound.

Unbind him and let him go.  When we think about the great saints of the Church, and perhaps the saints of our own lives, we see people who heard Jesus say "I do the work of resurrection.  You do the work of resurrection people."   Those people stepped out of their comfort zones in faith to do things they could never have done on their own. Resurrection things.  Mary said to the angel "Let it be with me according to your word."  Peter, despite his many failings, stepped forward to be the rock on which Jesus would build the church.  Mother Teresa worked with the poorest of the poor in Calcutta.  The list goes on and on.  All these people believed that Jesus does the work of resurrection and we do the work of resurrection people who believe God is doing something new in our midst.  But the work of resurrection people is not always, or often, easy.  Being resurrection people in a world that fears the stench of death is hard work, for which we need real nourishment.  And so God draws us together and feeds us with the holy meal, a foretaste of the meal Isaiah describes, to nourish us for the hard work ahead.  Does God feed us because God loves us?  Yes.  Does God feed us so we can see the new things God is doing in our midst?  Yes.  And does God nourish us so we have the strength for the work ahead?  Absolutely.

The Saints of the Church and the saints in our own lives are those who have challenged us to be more than we think we can be, face what we think we cannot face, to live more fully than we think we can bear, and to give more generously than we think possible.  The Saints of God call us to see the resurrection work God is doing in our midst, and to trust that God will nourish us, as God nourished them, to do the work of resurrection people.

Amen.