I’m sitting on a train. Next to my Dad. And we’re going on a journey. In fact, he might be reading over my shoulder. Luckily, the font is so small he can’t read it. (And for full disclosure, I can’t anymore either without readers)
We’re heading to Manhattan and Brooklyn, childhood home of one Chick Biegner. He wanted to see everything over there one more time and isn’t able to travel there on his own.. (And for full disclosure, I probably shouldn’t be able to travel on my own anymore without my readers.)
I guess I’m here to help him have a good trip and see as many things as he wants to see. I’m an advocate of sorts.
Not The Advocate. Just an advocate.
This coming weekend, in church we remember when The Advocate arrived for the train trip the first time. In Acts 2, the promised Advocate, the Holy Spirit, descends on the people and creates the church – and oh what a journey they are in for as they become the beginnings of the Church.
Jesus had been telling them – The Advocate is coming. He’s going to come up beside you and journey with you. Watch over you and care for you. Lead you and guide you. And stay with you! God’s present and presence.
And The Advocate never left. Couple thousand years later, that same Advocate rides with me and my pops on a train to NYC. That same Advocate rides with St. Paul’s. That same Advocate meets us in community and the meal we gather around. That same Advocate sits with you.
The Advocate doesn’t “take the wheel” or whatever the song says about Jesus. Taking the wheel is our job. But that Advocate that arrived on your train through your baptism will journey with you as you drive, sit in the passenger seat or let the conductor move you forward on the tracks. Leading. Guiding. Caring. Loving.
My dad and I do not travel alone today. You do not make your trip alone. You have an Advocate with you. God’s present and presence.
We had a vote last weekend at church. The early church will have their vote next weekend.
Last weekend at St. Paul’s, we had our annual meeting and in it, we elected new Council members. They will be leaders of the church over the next three years. I’m thankful for the folks that allowed their names to be lifted up. It’s a risk to put yourself out there.
Remember high school? Ever run for an office back then? Class President? Student Council? Maybe you made signs or hung posters or bought votes through buying people that extra little carton of milk? Either way, it’s a risk to put yourself out there.
In Acts chapter 1, the disciples are licking their wounds and re-grouping now that they’ve had multiple interactions with Resurrected Jesus. As they get their ducks in a row and they lift up two people to take the place of Judas, who sort of flamed out (no pun intended). Barsabbas and Matthias. They pray. They trust in God’s guidance. Matthias it is!
One went on to serve but thanks be to God for both of them. Matthias got the new gig but whatever happened with Barsabbas? Not 100% sure, but we do have another sighting of a guy named Barsabbas in Acts 15. (I mean how many guys could be named Barsabbas back then, right? Like, how many churches could be named St. Paul’s today, right?). Either way, he went to use his gifts to help in other ways build the church and allow God’s kingdom to break in. He risked, and it still worked out in ways that were a blessing to God.
I’m not sure what today will hold for you, but I hope you’ll be willing to take that risk. To put yourself out there and trust in God’s plan. To allow God to set in you the right time and right place to help build God’s kingdom.
You may not need to run for an office to do it. But certainly, God knows you. Knows your gifts. Gave them to you in the amazing creation that is YOU. May you take that chance today. Step out. Step forward. Rebound and move into the next. And allow yourself to be a blessing in God’s plan.
Lord, take me where you need me to go, meet who you need me to meet, say what you need me to say and keep me out of the way. Amen. (Prayer of Father Michael Judge, chaplain for the FDNY who died on 9/11)
I have log-sightedness. Or wait, do I have speck-sightedness? Or both???
There’s a great image by Jesus in Matthew’s gospel where he tells his crew: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor. “Let me take the speck out of your eye”, while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”
Yeah, it’s probably both.
I had a rough day yesterday. I had several different people point out my specks. Didn’t feel great. But most of the specks were truth, so there’s that.
If I’m honest though, what I found rising up in me as a response was anger. Anger because then all I started noticing was how many logs they had in their eyes! And now there I was hours later, focused only on specks and logs. Maybe this has never happened to you. Or maybe it has.
That could be why Jesus brings this up.
He’s speaking about judgment and the importance of making his message, that the kingdom of God is breaking in, a realistic, demonstrated and relational part of everyday life. In other words, we can’t proclaim God’s amazing and graceful love one day and then get hyper focused on specks and logs the next.
Speck-sightedness and log-vision are not the manifestation of the kingdom breaking in.
Instead, Grace is. Compassion is. Listening is. Presence is. Guiding is. Forgiveness is.
How’s your vision? May our lenses today not focus on the specks and logs, but instead, be the physical demonstration of God’s kingdom breaking in still.
The 23rd Psalm – a classic. Maybe you recognize it? Maybe you have it memorized? Maybe you have no idea what I’m talking about?
It comes up in our readings this Sunday, but I’m not really touching on it much. It’s like the elephant in the room if I don’t, so I’ll share it with you here.
Many times, it’s stereotyped as the “funeral Psalm.” And yes, often, this is the go-to section from the psalmist because it describes so many parts of life in six basic verses.
So I share it with you today to read and reflect. Here’s the reading part – Psalm 23 –
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff— they comfort me.You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.
Here’s the reflecting part –
What phrases jump out to you?
What words or images speak to your life right now?
What do you hear God reminding you about today?
This is not just a funeral Psalm. It’s a Psalm of Life – and all the parts of it.
May it remind you now of God’s presence and love in your life – yesterday, today and tomorrow..
Lord, thank you for the gift of your reminders! Amen
Whether it’s Easter or Christmas, there’s always a “break down” time where we box up or put back in the attic or basement some of the extras that make these sacred days even more special.
Without the lilies, poinsettias, Christmas trees, cross and “extra stuff”, the sanctuary looks fairly plain. Regular. Ordinary.
What’s interesting is the season that comes after Easter through Pentecost is sometimes referred to as just that: ordinary days. In fact, that’s what Christmas and Easter are more about: the extraordinary for the ordinary days.
Some days…many days..I feel fairly ordinary myself. Down. Loneliness can creep in. Far away from Easter and Christmas moments. Like a moon has blocked out the light and the clouds blocked out the moon! Down right ordinary.
But during that eclipse on Monday, even though it seemed ordinary because of all the clouds blocking my view, there was something extraordinary happening behind it all: darkness for 3 minutes, temps dropping, tree frogs starting to ribbit because they thought it was night and then the birds starting to chirp as the sun arrived back, as if it was the morning dawn.
Even in the ordinary times, the extraordinary has happened. The Word became flesh. And gave his life. And conquered death itself. And the light overcame the darkness.
If you feel ordinary today, that’s OK. Because the extraordinary still happened whether you saw it or not. So it’s OK, put the “extra stuff” away. It’s nice, but not the main part of the story. You are. And God’s extraordinary love for you.
Lord, thanks for the ordinary moments that can reveal the extraordinary! Amen
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