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This homily was preached for Fairfax Community Church on January 2, 2021

John 1:1-5, 14

“In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

All things came into being through him,

and without him, not one thing came into being.

What has come into being in him was life

and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness

and the darkness did not overcome it.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us

and we have seen his glory,

the glory as of a father’s only son,

full of grace and truth.”

This is the Word of God.

Every time I read these words, 

I feel I should sit in silence 

and let them reverberate in my heart and mind.

I think these may be my favorite verses in all of Scripture, 

and anything that follows, 

surely pales in comparison. 

But a preacher preaches,

and so I’ll ignore my inclination for just a few moments.

John’s gospel opens with lofty, abstract concepts: 

light, glory, grace, and truth.

The poetic nature of his introduction 

accentuates the loftiness of these ideals.

These are lovely, big ideas, …

and, thankfully, he grounds them in the Word …

who was with God and who was God …

in the other words Jesus Christ.

The Word became flesh and lived among us

and we have seen his glory …

full of grace and truth.

In Jesus we come to know this unknowable God 

in whom we live and move and have our being.

It is in the Incarnation of Jesus that we experience God,

even as he surprisingly comes to us as a vulnerable human baby.

My favorite Christmas book is  The Littlest Angel, by Charles Tazewell.

The story is about a young angel snatched out of life 

and ushered to the pearly gates far too young.

As you might expect of a 4-year-old boy, he wrecks havoc in heaven

being terribly unhappy away from his earthly family and activities.

After pages describing his heart wrenching attempts to adjust to heaven,

an Understanding Angel helps provide 

what will calm this Littlest Angel’s soul.

It’s a rough unsightly wooden box 

that the Littlest Angel left under his bed at home.

What was in it?

“Well, there was a butterfly with golden wings, 

captured one bright summer day on the hills above Jerusalem. 

And a sky-blue egg from a bird’s nest in the olive tree 

that stood to shade his mother’s kitchen door.

Yes, and two white stones, found on a muddy river bank, 

where he and his friend had played like small brown beavers.

And at the bottom of the box, a limp, tooth-marked leather strap, 

once worn as a collar by his morel dog,

who died as he lived, in absolute love and infinite devotion.”

Possession of this box finally brings the Littlest Angel peace. 

With no angst in his soul the book almost becomes mundane 

until we learn that Jesus is to be born on Earth.

All the angels in heaven 

prepare bright, sparkling, magnificent gifts for the Christ child.

The Littlest Angel, 

unable to think of anything more special,

gifts Baby Jesus with his very un-flashy wooden box. 

Setting it amongst all the glimmering gifts from all the other angels 

he immediately becomes embarrassed and seeks to remove it 

from the mountain of shimmering boxes,

but he’s too late and with tears of anguish streaming down his little face 

he hears God say:

“Of all the gifts of all the angels, 

I find that this small box pleases Me most. 

It’s contents are of the Earth and of people, 

and My Son is born to be King of both. 

These are the things My Son, too, will know and love and cherish 

and then, regretful, will leave behind when His time on Earth is done. 

I accept this gift in the Name of the Child, Jesus, 

born of Mary this night in Bethlehem.”

At this, the Littlest Angel’s wooden box 

began to glow with a radiant brilliance, 

rose up into the sky, 

and became the shining star of Bethlehem 

with its beckoning light over the stable where Jesus was born.

On this 2nd day of 2022, I invite us all into a time of reflection.

We have here circular pieces of cardboard,

one for each of you,

along with magazines, scissors, and glue.

[Those of you at home will likely be able to gather these items 

or can probably get some from church at a later time.

There’s nothing significant about the circles …

they are just a nice base to work on].

I’ll invite you to take some supplies 

and then we’ll spend 10 minutes or so in silence as we work.

Leaf through a magazine or two 

and tear out any images or words that stand out to you.

You don’t need to know why they do …

you might be surprised by what draws you.

That’s okay.

Maybe this is Spirit speaking to you 

with some small nugget of wisdom, some small gift of awareness.

I’ll let you know when 5 minutes have passed 

and if you like, you might choose to start cutting and pasting 

your words and images onto your circle. 

Many of you might appreciate much more time than just 10 minutes …

there is no pressure to finish this during today’s worship.

This is only for you, 

and if you’re so inclined, 

you might continue to work on it this coming week,

or even on and off during the month of January.

Ultimately, I invite you to look for what you might be encouraged 

to bring to life in this new year, based on what has attracted you.

Because you too,

each one of you,

are Words made flesh.

Each one of you have lofty concepts in you …

Love, compassion, justice, truth … 

and you grace all who know you with an incarnated, full-of-life experience 

of these otherwise unknowable virtues.

And God rejoices in witnessing the person you are, 

God’s child.

God rejoices in seeing how you have lived into your unique self

and will continue to do so in 2022.

Thanks be to God. 

Amen.

This sermon was preached at Second Presbyterian Church on April 22, 2018

Read Acts 16:16-34

I grew up in the 1970s when Free to Be You and Me 

— the book, the movie, the song — was released.  

For those of you not raised (or raising children) at that time, 

Free to Be You and Me was a children’s entertainment project

involving actors like Alan Alda, Carol Channing, Michael Jackson, Jack Cassidy, Diana Ross.

The opening scene of the ABC special starts with two infants,

puppets, arguing over which one is a boy and which one is a girl.

The boy baby points out that the girl is bald

and wants to be a firefighter when she grows up,

and so she clearly is a boy.

He is similarly convinced that he is a ‘she,’

because he has dainty baby feet and wants to be cocktail waitress.

The point of the program was to highlight gender biases

and advocate for an acceptance of one’s natural identity,

free of any heavy-handed cultural expectations. 

The seventies were a time of societal change.

The Civil Rights Act had passed,

women were beginning to shatter the proverbial glass ceiling

(that invisible but solid barrier to top management and leadership).

This was a time when any personal attributes

that might keep someone from successfully pursuing their dreams

were starting to loosen their grip,

or at least that is what we wanted to believe.

In many ways, our current American climate

is demonstrating the cracks in those ambitions —

the many ways gender, race, and other characteristics

still put parameters on our lives.

Black Lives Matter, the Me-Too Movement,

teens leading rallies to demand gun control laws —

all these things are loudly exposing the ways in which our culture,

like most, limits the freedom of various populations in our country.

It’s nice to think that we’re a melting pot,

that the American dream is available to anyone willing to work for it.

But in reality, some people have a leg up on such pursuits

and others have obstacle after obstacle in their way.

This, of course, is nothing new. 

Look at the scripture from Acts that we just read.

Here we have a slave girl being financially exploited

by her owners because of her fortune-telling ability.

We have a couple of men,

presumably white men or the equivalent thereof in our time and culture,

Roman citizens, being attacked for also being Jews

and thus not as pure-bred as the citizens of Philippi would like.

We even have a jailer,

a man trusted with keys to the local prison,

who nonetheless is locked up himself by expectations so heavy

that suicide seems preferable to having to admit he was unable

to uphold his professional responsibilities. 

Is anyone, then or now, really free to be

all of who they are, in all their fullness?

It certainly doesn’t appear so.

And yet, that is only the view seen without looking through the lens

of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Towards the end of this wild combination of biblical stories

relaying themes of slavery, exploitation, accusation, anger, and natural disasters,

the jailer asks a very familiar question,

even though I often think it sounds strange to our ears —

what do I need to do to be saved? 

Certainly, as Christians, we’ve heard this question many times before,

but what really does that mean?

Saved from what?  

We know the answer,

the ‘Who it is’ that does the saving.

Hopefully, Jesus is a big part of why we gather here week after week.

But what is it he saves us from, and how does he do it?

Some of you may be scratching your head right now, thinking,

“Wait a minute, one of the pastors here at Second doesn’t know what it means to be saved?

Oh, dear God, save us now!”

But, I’m pretty certain there are at least a few souls here

who are quietly saying, “Amen, sister!

Thanks for asking the question I’ve been too afraid to ask my whole life.”

Anyone in those shoes would probably consider themselves a good solid Christian,

and yet might find themselves a little uncomfortable

if someone sidled up next to them

and asked if they’d been saved by Jesus Christ.

Obviously, you know the answer,

but if the person looks at you with that look

that demands a little explanation,

a little proof,

you’d likely prefer run for the hills

than get into a deep theological conversation.

Can I have an amen? 

“What do I have to do to be saved?” asked the jailer.

In this particular story, the question doesn’t come across quite so obtuse.

The man is about to take his life,

so obviously he needs some saving.

In our vernacular, he might be asking,

“What do I need to do to survive this mess that I’m in?”

Now, that is a clear question,

and the answer seems not only clear and easy,

but very sensible as well. 

“You aren’t going to save yourself from this mess.

Only Jesus can help you on this one.

Put your trust in him, and maybe you stand a chance.

An earthquake shook the foundations of your workplace,

allowing all your direct reports the opportunity to escape,

and you are paid the big bucks to secure the place.

Yes, you are in over your head on this one,

so you might want to pray to the One who can help you most —

you know, the guy who turns water into wine and raises dead people,

the one who inspired Paul and Silas to sing hymns in the dark jail at midnight

as if in a drunken serenade.

Yes, that man could probably help you,

and he’s the only one who really can.” 

What do you need saving from?

What mess are you in?

Maybe one of your own making,

maybe one you cannot see how you could have possibly avoided.

Is it a health scare?

Relationship woes?

Work insecurity?

Maybe it’s not necessarily a mess,

but merely a scary unknown.

Are you graduating from high school and headed out into the world

in a new way for the first time?

Hopefully our high school seniors find this occasion largely exciting and even freeing,

but the shadow side likely exists also,

as it does for all of us,

no matter what big transition we might be facing.

It’s probably not advantageous to dwell on those worries,

but refusing to acknowledge them might invite them

to make long, dark shadows indeed.

If you’ve ever taken a stress inventory,

getting married or having a baby is right alongside

getting divorced or suffering the death of a loved one

on the stress scales.

Change — even if you consider it good change

and an invitation to experience more freedom,

a virtue almost everyone would stand hand-to-hand to support —

change and freedom create stress,

just like the harder stuff of life. 

Reflecting back on Free to Be You and Me,

there’s plenty that we can do as individuals and a community.

We are called as co-creators with God on this journey called life.

Commencement addresses at graduations are notorious

for encouraging action, strengthening resolve, and

demonstrating that staying the course when the going gets tough is well worth it.

I ran across an ad the other day that said

“a diamond is a piece of coal that stuck to the job.”

In spite of such helpful, uplifting inspiration,

at the end of the day or the season,

when your world is shaking apart,

unraveling at the seams,

there is one saving force above all,

and his name is Jesus.

He isn’t some abstract, distant, etherial God —

the white-haired grandfather figure in the sky —

well, maybe he is — but even if he is,

he’s also a flesh and blood human being (or he was one),

a man who walked this life journey,

his personal one being no piece of cake,

just like yours and mine.

And, He took all this on by choice,

agreeing to limit his divinity within the confines of our human dimension.

He cried, he laughed, he loved.

Sometimes he was the life of the party;

at other times he put hermits to shame.

He gets you, inside and out.

And in those moments when you doubt, say the prayer,

“Help me overcome my unbelief,”

and then listen for the still small voice of his Holy Spirit,

the gift he left you,

so that you would never feel alone.

Yes, Jesus saves.

Believing in him will set you free. 

Thanks be to God. 

For a little inspiration, watch and listen to Pharrell Williams’ Freedom video. Then play it again and DANCE!!!!

This sermon was preached at Second Presbyterian Church on January 28, 2018

Read John 3:1-21

We have a lot of new life, a lot of births happening around here lately.

Have you noticed?

For one, we just celebrated two baptisms,

welcoming the Forest twins into our church family.

Baptism is, of course, the sign of birth

that is not of flesh and blood

but that comes as a gift from above,

the sign of God’s new covenant with us through Jesus Christ.

We Presbyterians baptize infants and young children

as a way of celebrating that God cleans us, giving us new birth through the Holy Spirit

long before we have any capacity to understand the power

of that amazing claim in our lives.

Today’s baptisms are not the first ones this year,

and they will not be the last ones for very long,

as we have several more scheduled in February and March.

One church member,

a woman just a tad beyond childbearing years,

informed me that she was refusing to drink the water around here

for fear of joining the joyous trend of new births. 

But it is not just the birth of babies that is happening around here.

We are also birthing new ways of being community together.

Immediately after worship this morning,

you will be electing a new board of deacons.

Those 30 beautiful faces in your bulletin today are our nominations.

These folks will help us find fresh ways of being connected

and caring for one another.

You will also be electing a new nominating committee

so that we can continue to birth new lay leaders in 2018.

One could even say at this point in January

that we are eagerly awaiting signs of new birth in our natural world.

February 2 is Groundhog Day,

and while yesterday’s rain and gray skies may have been a bit dreary,

we might hope for the same weather again this coming Friday

so that that little critter in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania,

does not see his shadow and thus beckons an early spring.

A friend of mine said this week,

“I’ve been feeling so discouraged as I think we’ve lost our way as a nation,

but my hopefulness was brought back this week,

remembering that we ask a groundhog for his opinion on the transition of seasons.”

Yes, new life is springing up around us here in lots of ways,

and the messengers sometimes come in surprising forms. 

The lead character in our text today, Nicodemus,

often gets a bad rap for being slightly dense.

But he does know well enough to go to a reputable source for some guidance.

I always think of him as coming in the dark of night to Jesus with questions,

which is why it is important to revisit these familiar texts from time to time.

Because when Nicodemus first comes to Jesus, he did not bring a question;

instead he made an announcement,

something you might expect a learned man to do:

“I have seen your miracles, your signs and wonders, and I know that you are from God.

I know who you are.” 

Paraphrasing slightly, Jesus answered him,

“No, actually you don’t.

I guess you saw me supply wine for the wedding feast

and cleanse the temple of those making a business there,

but if you think you can use this evidence to draw logical, rational conclusions,

you are wrong.

If this is your profession of faith,

you do not know what faith is.

Faith involves commitments and risks.

Your sneaking over here in the dark of night to tell me who I am is not faith.

You need to start from scratch and be born from above, my friend.” 

Now the questions begin to roll.

“What on earth are you talking about, Jesus?

How am I supposed to be born after I’ve grown old?

Surely it’s not possible to be born a second time.”

Jesus’ response is something along the lines of,

“Listen, old dogs can learn new tricks, but you have to be open to the idea, Nicodemus,

and I’m not so sure you are.” 

To be fair, Nicodemus has put a lot of effort,

an investment of years, and a lifetime of experience

into becoming an expert as a Pharisee, a Jewish leader.

That’s a lot to let go of,

so it’s not all that hard to understand why he hesitates with a plethora of questions.

I suspect if we’re honest with ourselves, we can relate a bit.

I’m looking at a very educated and talented group of people here.

Being asked to set aside what you know,

what you have nurtured into being,

likely through many years of study and practice,

is no small matter.

Why would we let go of any semblance of control we might have,

or think we have?

As churchgoing folks, we know that our Lord and Savior

allowed himself to be utterly vulnerable,

but that doesn’t mean that we want to exhibit vulnerability ourselves.

It’s hard for most of us to admit we have needs.

Who wants to be seen as weak or incompetent, or lacking in any way?

We want to be self-sufficient!

— But, we need to face reality.

And if we can’t directly, sometimes it catches us by surprise.

A story from my own life might help illuminate this. 

About 15 years ago, I had a hernia surgery and spent 24 hours in a recovery room

with a 90-plus-year-old fellow patient.

She was agitated, calling out to a son I suspected was no longer of this earth.

At one point, she began to cry for a blanket.

The nurses must have been busy, because no one came.

Without thinking, I hopped out of bed to get one for her

and promptly crumped to the floor.

Being in my early thirties,

physically fit and never having undergone a surgery before,

it didn’t occur to me that I might be slightly incapacitated at the moment.

The IV pole I was hooked up to didn’t even clue me in.

I laughed at myself, I think, or rather I may have done my best

to spring back into bed before a nurse came and saw how foolish I had been. 

Being vulnerable is not for the weak of heart.

And yet, it is what our faith calls of us.

One could say that a spiritual journey invites us to continually fall on our faces,

and then get up, brush ourselves off, look sheepishly at God,

and take another step.

This is not a particularly pleasant process;

it’s humbling.

Barbara Brown Taylor, a renowned preacher and Episcopalian priest,

speaks for many of us, I think, when she says,

“If I had to name my disability, I would call it an unwillingness to fall.

This reluctance signals mistrust of the central truth of the Christian gospel—

that life springs from death,

not only at the last but also in the many little deaths along the way.” 

If we live long enough,

or really live fully at all,

there are countless experiences

that call us to let go of the old and embrace the new.

There are big things, like coming to terms with the actual death of a loved one.

Or “adjusting to a new normal” as we used to call it in hospital chaplaincy,

when one has been diagnosed with a chronic illness.

Or weathering a divorce.

Or even welcoming a new baby into our family.

There are also little deaths,

ones that are really quite trivial in the grand scheme of things

but which can disrupt us just the same.

For example, I got up one day this week

and traveled through the damp darkness of predawn city streets

for a 6:00 a.m. yoga class,

only to find that it had been cancelled when I got there.

It’s crazy how much that situation threw me.

I had so perfectly envisioned the way my day was going to go,

and I was thrown for a loop, out in the dark, cold, early morning,

unable to start the day as I had planned and completely at a loss

for what useful thing I could do at 5:45 a.m. 

And so, I invite each of you to consider what might need to die in your life right now.

Not a very pleasant question to consider or ask,

but it is relevant nonetheless.

A friend recently reminded me that everything we say “yes” to,

or allow to be born,

requires saying “no” to something else, allowing it to die.

So what needs to go in your life?

Are you willing to step into God’s light where these things can be revealed?

This requires considerable courage,

as seeing what needs to change is generally pretty uncomfortable.

It might help to hear a new beatitude, thanks to Dr. Michael McGriffy:

“Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.” 

If we consider all the small gyrations we must do on a daily basis,

much less in the larger seasons of life,

we could say that life is just one adjustment after another.

Flexibility, or being attentive to where the wind blows,

is pretty important and seldom easy.

It might help to recall verse 3:16 in our reading today,

arguably the most well-known verse in the Bible,

the one Martin Luther said was the gospel in a nutshell—

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,

so that everyone who believes in him may not perish, but have eternal life.”

Jesus.

That is the One who holds us in the midst of our many necessary deaths

and continual rebirths.

We are in good hands. 

There is a canvas out in the narthex,

which I invite you to look at as you leave today.

I find that sometimes images speak louder than words.

It’s a photo I took several years ago —

or maybe I should say the Holy Spirit captured it through me

(as I was utterly shocked at the powerful image I saw on my camera screen upon first viewing it).

It’s an image of a man and a little boy holding hands

and walking through a dark tunnel into a blinding light.

For me, it is a reminder that God invites us throughout our life journey to step out in faith — into what sometimes is a blinding, disorienting light —

and grow into the new person God is manifesting in us. 

Will you pray with me?

Gracious God, guide us in the midst of life’s many twists and turns.

Help us trust you as we embrace life,

as we are called to lose certain aspects of our lives,

and invited to step into new resurrected life.

Strengthen us so that we may bravely step out of the shadows into your light,

where we are shown the need to be remade continually in you.

We give thanks for your choice to enter our world,

taking on the limitations of being human and thus being a companion like no other.

In Jesus’ name we pray, amen. 

This sermon was preached at Second Presbyterian Church on October 22, 2017

Read First Samuel 16:1-13

How would you rate your capacity to see as God sees?

If a 10 is a perfect score,

how many of you by show of hands would give yourself an 8 or above?

Okay, how about a 5 or above?

So, for the rest of you, we’re talking more like a 2 or a 3?

I guess we have some work to do, huh?

You and me both.

I’m not going to promise that you’ll rate yourself a 10 by the end of this message.

In fact, I’m leaving your outcome completely up to the Holy Spirit.

As my father says to me when he wants to be absolved of any responsibility

in a matter, “Good luck with that.” 

Most of us are likely familiar with the story we just read

about King David’s anointing.

With seven older brothers, David isn’t seen

as being even remotely needed at this important meeting with Samuel.

Our human sight knows that the baby of the family is certainly not

going to supersede all of his older brothers

and be called into leadership over them and all of Israel, …

so he’s out tending the sheep.

Maybe his father Jesse insisted that he do so.

Maybe the older brothers passed the baton down the line.

Maybe David said, “Please let me do something productive

rather than go to one of those ceremonial religious services.”

We aren’t told exactly why it is that David is in the field

rather than with his father, brothers, and their important guest Samuel.

We are just told that he is not with them, but is out working. 

Now, if David’s family status, or lack thereof, weren’t enough of a deterrent,

I’d still see David as a curious pick.

Consider how he is introduced in the story.

The only thing we are told about him as he passes before God

is that he has a healthy, glowing, handsome face and beautiful eyes.

These attributes seem like odd things to mention

since God just stressed that outer appearances aren’t the deciding factor.

Remember what we just read?

“The Lord does not see as mortals see;

mortals look on the outward appearance,

but the Lord looks on the heart.”

As a smart person said to me this week,

“God might not look at outward appearances,

but apparently the narrator of this story can’t help him or herself!” 

David is also a curious pick because if God is all knowing,

one would think that David’s eventual foibles —

of which he will have more than a few —

including some relatively grave ones

(he does end up breaking four of the ten commandments, if you recall)

would keep him from being God’s selection. 

But maybe all of this comes from the perspective of human sight

rather than divine sight. 

Upon a bit of reflection,

most of us would probably admit that our failures teach us

as much or more than our successes,

so maybe God is not looking for a perfect king.

Being the flawed and broken people we are,

King David included,

God is going to use each one of us to accomplish good in the world.

What’s interesting,

and ancient audiences might see this more readily than we do,

is that David is already demonstrating his leadership capacity

by being out with the sheep in the first place.

Whether he chose to be there or was strongly encouraged to do so,

he is doing in this moment what God wants him to do on a larger scale—

he’s leading and caring for the flock.

Maybe God’s sight or decision-making isn’t as mysterious as we sometimes think.

David seems a pretty logical choice in this way of thinking.

Select someone who is a natural,

someone who’s already doing the job. 

But even after all this analysis,

it’s quite clear that our plans, our human plans,

are not necessarily aligned with God’s plans.

Have you ever noticed that?

It shows up all throughout this short narrative. 

• Samuel, a prophet of God, thinks every brother, especially the tall, handsome ones, must be God’s pick. 

• Jesse, the father of this large pack of brothers, doesn’t think his youngest needs to be in the lineup.

• I’m pretty sure the brothers didn’t think the baby of the family was going to be selected, … and I suspect David didn’t think so either. 

• The townspeople, who were terrified by Samuel’s arrival in the first place, asking if he has come peaceably, don’t expect the selection of a new king to be on the agenda for the day, …

• not to mention King Saul, who certainly wouldn’t have anticipated that he was going to be replaced. 

And so it goes …

No one in this story seems to be clued in to what God is up to.

I wonder if any of this resonates with you?

I must confess that it does for me. 

Most of you know that I arrived here in January of this year.

About a year prior to that,

I said one of my most simple but powerful personal prayers,

and it was simply, “Mercy.”

You see, for several years I had been a solo pastor of a small church in San Francisco.

I was making three-quarters of a pastor’s salary,

whatever that means. 

The Bay Area isn’t the easiest place to have that kind of life,

especially as a single mother,

and so I said, “Mercy. I give up, God. Get me out of this predicament.”

I did the footwork and posted my PIF (Personal Information Form),

as we Presbyterian pastors affectionately call our resumes.

I posted it on Church Connections,

a website that allows churches and pastors to connect,

and it wasn’t all that long before I received a phone call from Henry here,

asking if I might be interested in talking with the call committee about this position. 

The call here felt exceedingly strong to me.

I might even have thought at the time

that I had a pretty good handle on what God was up to.

I had said “Mercy,”

and God was answering.

In some ways, what has unfolded

has been closely aligned with what I would have anticipated, —

with one huge wrinkle —

my 11-year-old son John isn’t here with me.

If God had asked me ahead of time if this would be an acceptable sacrifice,

I would have said unequivocally, “No.”

Unfortunately, God did not ask that question,

or if God did,

I failed to hear it. 

Is it possible for human beings to acquire the capacity to see as God sees?

Will studying the Word help?

I think it will.

Will listening to one’s spiritual elders —

which in my case is a certain 11-year-old boy named John in San Francisco —

will that help?

I think so,

even though neither of us saw this one coming.

How do we align ourselves with God’s plan?

How do we see as God sees? 

In Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s story, The Little Prince,

the fox who has a relatively small but very important role,

tells the Little Prince a secret.

He says it is a very simple secret, which is that

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.

What is essential is invisible to the eye.” 

Now, as an artist drawn to the beauty around me,

I don’t so much want to discount what my eyes see.

And as a pastor, I want to think that I do see with the heart.

So, in my way of thinking,

it would seem that using all one’s available faculties would be wise —

and maybe that is part of the challenge.

As finite human beings, we can’t see the whole picture.

We can’t know why one person succumbs to addiction and another recovers.

We can’t understand why some of our loved ones end up dying from cancer

and others live long, healthy lives.

It’s hard to comprehend how one house could burn up

in the wildfires surrounding Napa, California

and another would be spared.

Those of us who do our best to walk humbly with our God

probably struggle to understand why it is that our world

is such a broken and flawed place so much of the time. 

Maybe our goal should not be to see how God sees.

Maybe our goal needs to be to learn to trust the One who loves us,

the One who loves each and every one of us —

with a love that is beyond description —

with a love that is eternal —

with a love that no person and no thing in this world can ever take away. 

Maybe the call is to be like Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane.

To ask God to hear our prayers;

to ask God to know our desires;

to ask God to keep our best interests at heart;

BUT ultimately to work in our lives powerfully —

and in a way that will accomplish what God wishes to manifest through us.

Maybe our job is to keep looking,

keep anticipating,

that God will make a way where there is no way.

If this is the task, then we are truly quite fortunate,

because we live on this side of the resurrection.

If God did that once, who are we to think that God won’t do it again?

Our task, it seems, is to look for those little resurrections in our lives

and the lives of those we love,

because God is good

and we aren’t in this alone. 

Thanks be to God.